anyone you suspect? Any of the residents or guests in Gelina's house who seem more likely to have killed Lucius than the slaves?'
In answer he only shrugged and scowled.
'Which makes me wonder, Mummius, why you've expended so much of your own time and energy to help Gelina prove that the slaves are innocent.'
'I have my reasons,' he said curdy, thrusting out his jaw and staring straight ahead. He spurred his horse to a gallop and raced on to the villa alone.
Part Two
The Jaws of Hades
VII
Dinner began at the twelfth hour of the day, just after sundown, in a modestly appointed room in the southeast corner of the upper floor. Windows opened onto views of Puteoli to the east and Vesuvius farther south. A coterie of slaves unobtrusively hurried about the room and the adjoining hallways, lighting braziers against the slight chill in the air and illuminating the richly coloured walls with an array of hanging lamps. The air was windless, empty of bird song or the noise of any other living thing; the only sound from the World outside was the vague murmur of the sea, like a distant sighing. Looking out of the southern window, I saw a single star glimmering above Vesuvius in a sky of darkest blue. A sensation of hushed luxury descended upon the villa, that special feeling of comfort and sumptuous privilege peculiar to the homes of the rich at twilight.
Gelina, already reclining on her divan, welcomed her guests as they arrived separately or in pairs, all dressed in sombre dark blue or black. There were places for eleven people in all, an awkward number for a dinner, but Gelina managed it by placing the company in a square with three divans on each of three sides and two on the last, one for herself and another reserved for Crassus. The small tables before each divan were already set with cups of honeyed wine, white and black olives, and an appetizer of sea urchins in a cumin sauce.
The painter Iaia and her protegee Olympias, along with the polymath Dionysius, sat opposite Gelina; Marcus Mummius, Faustus Fabius, and Sergius Orata sat to her right; Eco and I were to her left, along with the actor Metrobius. Gelina introduced us simply as Gordianus of Rome and his son, with no further explanation. From their expressions, I gathered that Gelina's guests already had some idea of my purpose in being there. In their eyes I saw varying degrees of scepticism, suspicion, and disinterest.
Iaia, striking in her jet-black stola, silver jewellery, and voluminously coiffed magenta hair (surely dyed), had clearly been a great beauty in her day; now she exuded that mellow, self-confident appeal of women who have lost their youth but kept their charm. Her high cheekbones were generously rouged, her eyebrows shaved and pencilled.
While Iaia gave me cool glances, her young protegee, a dazzling blonde, stared.at me brazenly as if my presence were some sort of affront. Olympias could afford to be careless with her beauty; her undressed hair was like a mane of spun gold and silver in the lamplight, her eyes an almost purple shade of blue that would have made the least trace of makeup, had she bothered to use it, look pale and tawdry on her perfect flesh. Her sleeveless, dark blue stola was absolutely plain, even plainer than the tunics Eco and I wore, having no embroidery or border. She wore no jewellery. I noticed traces of pigment on her fingers, and a few dabs of paint near the bottom hem of her gown.
Dionysius, a gaunt greybeard with a supercilious expression, gave me shifty-eyed glances between dabbing at his olives with the fingers of his left hand. He was almost silent during the first part of the evening, as if holding his words in reserve for later use. He looked to me like a man with a secret, but perhaps that was only due to the appearance of smug sagacity which he affected, like so many other philosophers.
Dionysius's reserved, sour countenance offered a striking contrast to that of the local businessman and engineer, Orata, who
In answer he only shrugged and scowled.
'Which makes me wonder, Mummius, why you've expended so much of your own time and energy to help Gelina prove that the slaves are innocent.'
'I have my reasons,' he said curdy, thrusting out his jaw and staring straight ahead. He spurred his horse to a gallop and raced on to the villa alone.
Part Two
The Jaws of Hades
VII
Dinner began at the twelfth hour of the day, just after sundown, in a modestly appointed room in the southeast corner of the upper floor. Windows opened onto views of Puteoli to the east and Vesuvius farther south. A coterie of slaves unobtrusively hurried about the room and the adjoining hallways, lighting braziers against the slight chill in the air and illuminating the richly coloured walls with an array of hanging lamps. The air was windless, empty of bird song or the noise of any other living thing; the only sound from the World outside was the vague murmur of the sea, like a distant sighing. Looking out of the southern window, I saw a single star glimmering above Vesuvius in a sky of darkest blue. A sensation of hushed luxury descended upon the villa, that special feeling of comfort and sumptuous privilege peculiar to the homes of the rich at twilight.
Gelina, already reclining on her divan, welcomed her guests as they arrived separately or in pairs, all dressed in sombre dark blue or black. There were places for eleven people in all, an awkward number for a dinner, but Gelina managed it by placing the company in a square with three divans on each of three sides and two on the last, one for herself and another reserved for Crassus. The small tables before each divan were already set with cups of honeyed wine, white and black olives, and an appetizer of sea urchins in a cumin sauce.
The painter Iaia and her protegee Olympias, along with the polymath Dionysius, sat opposite Gelina; Marcus Mummius, Faustus Fabius, and Sergius Orata sat to her right; Eco and I were to her left, along with the actor Metrobius. Gelina introduced us simply as Gordianus of Rome and his son, with no further explanation. From their expressions, I gathered that Gelina's guests already had some idea of my purpose in being there. In their eyes I saw varying degrees of scepticism, suspicion, and disinterest.
Iaia, striking in her jet-black stola, silver jewellery, and voluminously coiffed magenta hair (surely dyed), had clearly been a great beauty in her day; now she exuded that mellow, self-confident appeal of women who have lost their youth but kept their charm. Her high cheekbones were generously rouged, her eyebrows shaved and pencilled.
While Iaia gave me cool glances, her young protegee, a dazzling blonde, stared.at me brazenly as if my presence were some sort of affront. Olympias could afford to be careless with her beauty; her undressed hair was like a mane of spun gold and silver in the lamplight, her eyes an almost purple shade of blue that would have made the least trace of makeup, had she bothered to use it, look pale and tawdry on her perfect flesh. Her sleeveless, dark blue stola was absolutely plain, even plainer than the tunics Eco and I wore, having no embroidery or border. She wore no jewellery. I noticed traces of pigment on her fingers, and a few dabs of paint near the bottom hem of her gown.
Dionysius, a gaunt greybeard with a supercilious expression, gave me shifty-eyed glances between dabbing at his olives with the fingers of his left hand. He was almost silent during the first part of the evening, as if holding his words in reserve for later use. He looked to me like a man with a secret, but perhaps that was only due to the appearance of smug sagacity which he affected, like so many other philosophers.
Dionysius's reserved, sour countenance offered a striking contrast to that of the local businessman and engineer, Orata, who
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