Arms of Nemesis

Slaves entered bearing silver trays that flashed in the lamplight, bringing baked pears stuffed with ci

The leaping flames were reflected in the silver platters, so that the delicacies on each table seemed to float upon pools of fire.

'A pity Marcus Crassus is not here to enjoy such a feast,' said Metrobius, picking up a stuffed pear and breathing in its aroma. 'Of course, with Crassus here, the discussion would have turned on nothing but politics, politics, politics.'

Mummius glowered at him. 'About which some people know less than nothing. A good political discussion might keep certain people quiet for a change.' He popped a chestnut into his mouth and smacked his lips.

'The table ma

'What did you say?' Mummius bolted forward.

'I said you have the able ma

Mummius sat back slowly, looking sceptical.

'Perhaps we should discuss something we all have in common,' suggested Metrobius. 'What about art? Iaia and Olympias create it, Dionysius contemplates it, Orata buys it. Is it true, Sergius, that you've contracted to. construct and decorate a new fish pond for one of the Cornelii down in Misenum?'

'True,' said Sergius Orata.

'Ah, these villa owners on the Cup and their love of a decorative fish pond. How they cherish each and every bearded mullet! I've heard of senators who give each fish a name and feed them by hand from infancy, and when the mullets are grown they ca

Gelina finally smiled. 'Oh, stop, Metrobius. No one is that silly.'

'Oh, yes, they are. I hear the Cornelii insist on surrounding then-new pond with all sorts of pretty statues – not for the enjoyment of their human guests, but for the edification of their fish.'

'Nonsense!' Gelina giggled and drained her cup, then held it up for a slave to refill it.

Metrobius looked utterly serious. 'Of course, the problem is that the mullets – well, I hate to pass on such vicious gossip – but they say that the mullets of the Cornelii are so stupid that they can't even tell the difference between a Polyclitus and a Polydorus. You could switch the head of Juno and Venus and they wouldn't know. Imagine that!' Amid the general laughter Metrobius wagged his finger at Orata. 'So be careful, Sergius, what kind of statuary you bring over for the Cornelii's new pond! No need to spend a fortune on a Mad Mullet who won't appreciate the difference.'

Orata blushed amiably. Mummius looked apoplectic. Faustus Fabius, I noticed, had one restraining hand on Mummius's thigh, clutching hard enough to whiten his knuckles, while with his left hand he raised his cup to his Lips to hide his smile.

Gelina was suddenly talkative. 'If you wish to discuss art, we should talk about Iaia's project downstairs, in the anteroom to the women's baths. It's delightful! From the floor to the ceiling on all four walls, octopi and squid and dolphins all cavorting beneath the skylight. It makes me feel so serene and protected, as if I were at the bottom of the sea. Such shades of blue – dark blue and pale azure and blue-green seaweed. I love blue, don't you?' she said tipsily, smiling at Olympias. 'Such a lovely blue colour you're wearing tonight, so lovely with your lovely blonde hair. What talent you both have!'

Iaia pursed her lips. 'Thank you, Gelina, but I think everyone here has already seen the work in progress.'

'No!' Gelina said. 'Gordianus hasn't, nor has his charming boy, Eco. They must be shown everything. Do you understand? We must conceal nothing from them, nothing at all. That's why they're here. To see, to observe. He has a sharp eye, they say. Not the eye of a co

Olympias cocked one eyebrow and looked at me coolly, then at Eco, who fidgeted under her gaze. Iaia, imperturbable, smiled and nodded. 'Certainly, Gelina, I'll be happy to give Gordianus a look at our work. Perhaps in the morning, when the light is at its best. But as long as we're speaking of art, I know that

Dionysius has a new play in progress, and we've hardly heard a thing about it.'

"That because Crassus always shuts him up,' Metrobius whispered in my ear.

'Actually, I've set aside my comedy for the time being.' Dionysius's thin Lips compressed into a smile. 'The events of the last few months, and especially of the last few days, have turned my thoughts to more serious matters. I am engrossed in a new work, a treatise with a timely subject – an examination of previous slave revolts, with some observations on how best to avoid such disruptions in the future.'

'Previous revolts?' Gelina said. 'You mean such things happened before Spartacus?'

'Oh, yes. The first that we know of was about a hundred and twenty years ago, after the war with Ha

'Ah!' Gelina, who had been listening, wide-eyed, nodded approvingly. 'I like a story with a happy ending.'

'The only thing more boring than politics is history,' said Metrobius with a yawn. 'In times of great crisis, such as we live in now, it seems to me that Dionysius would be doing the world a far greater service by producing a decent comedy instead of rehashing the dead past.'

'What on earth did a man like Sulla ever find to talk about with a man like you?' muttered Mummius.

Metrobius looked at him balefully. 'I might ask the same question about you and your-'

'Please, no unpleasantness after the meal,' insisted Gelina. 'It disturbs the digestion. Dionysius, do go on. How did you ever discover such a fascinating tale?'

'I have often given thanks to Minerva and to the shade of Herodotus for the magnificent library so assiduously collected by your late husband,' said Dionysius delicately. 'For a man such as myself, to reside in a house full of knowledge is almost as great an inspiration as to reside in a house full of beauty. Here in this villa, happily, I have never had to choose between the two.'

Gelina smiled, and there was a general murmur of approval at such a pretty compliment.

'But to continue: the aborted uprising at Setia was the first instance I can find of a general revolt or attempted escape by a large, organized body of slaves. There followed a few other, similar occurrences over the years, in Italy and elsewhere, but I can find only scanty documentation of them. And they are of no account compared to the two Sicilian slave wars, the first of which began about sixty years ago – in the year of my birth, in fact. I often heard tales of it when I was growing up.