Blood Games (40 page)

Monostades came into the dining room and stood at a respectful distance behind his master. “The dinner...” he said quietly, to attract Justus’ attention.

"The dinner?” Justus turned around and stared at the slave. “Is there some difficulty?” he demanded, almost as if he wanted an affirmative answer.

"No,” Monostades promised him. “No difficulty at all. There was only the question of the wine, and you told me I should come to you for instructions....” Three years with this master had taught Monostades a great deal, and he had assumed a manner that was at once subservient and arrogant.

"Of course,” Justus said, and moved across the room toward his Greek slave. “We will want to warm it, I think, on a day like this. There's no reason to serve cold wine to so distinguished a visitor."

Monostades achieved a sour smile. “The cook has made a few recommendations you may want to consider."

Ordinarily Justus might have let this pass, but not now. He wanted the entire guiding of the meal, since it would mean so much to him in future. “The cook oversteps himself,” he snapped as he strode from the room, glancing once at the water on the floor of the atrium.

"Your wife is in her chambers,” Monostades said, anticipating Justus’ inquiry. “Sibinus is keeping watch on her."

"Good,” Justus said tersely as he entered the corridor that led to the kitchen. “I don't want any untoward interruptions tonight."

"She has much to do. You need not be concerned.” He shivered and thought it was because the hall was chilly.

"You've arranged for the staffing of her father's house as I ordered it?” Plainly he would accept no answer but his desired affirmative.

"As you've instructed,” Monostades agreed. “She may be sent there in a few more days, and Sibinus has already prepared the various guardian stations. There is no chance that anyone will visit her at any time without your permission and full knowledge. Three of the slaves will be set to watch her day and night, and one of them will always be no more than a room away. One will sleep during the day so that he can keep watch at night, and that way it will do no good for her to hope for a visitor to come late in the night so that you will know nothing about it.” He was rather breathless as he followed his master into the cavernous kitchen.

Triges, the cook, raised his eyes from the slowly turning spit. “My master,” he said, not diverting his attention from the young wild boar that was being basted with oil and honey.

"I understand you wish to advise me on the matter of wines,” Justus said, drawing himself up.

The cook had heard that tone before—every one of his household slaves had. “I ventured a suggestion,” he said cautiously. “I thought you might not want to be concerned with such a minor matter—"

"Wine,” Justus interrupted him sweetly, “is not a minor matter, particularly when my guest is the son of the new Emperor."

The cook's shrug suggested that there had been four emperors in the past year, and one more could have little effect on them. He knew his master's temper, however, and so tried to mitigate his offense. “It is important to serve the best food—it is as important to my reputation as to yours, master, and I would not allow a wine that would disgrace you or the meal to be served. Two of the sauces I have prepared for the first time have a special savor and would be at their best with certain wines. I did not mean to overstep my authority."

Ordinarily this would have brought grudging approval from Justus, but he had gambled too much on this day to be forgiving. “You will learn, slave, that there is no will here but mine, and that all you do is for my use. The new sauces are a good idea, though Domitianus is not noted for his love of food. The wine must be the best, and I will select it."

Triges sighed. “Very well, master, but may I suggest that when the thrushes stuffed with pomegranates are served that there be a sweetish, light wine served with them? I have used mace and cinnamon and pepper cooked in garlic oil to baste them, and the sauce will be less flavorful if you do not serve a sweet, straw-colored wine. The spices were brought all the way from Hind and cost more than the rest of the food combined. It would be a shame to overwhelm them with too robust a wine.” When all else failed, Triges had learned to appeal to his master's greed and love of luxury.

"From Hind? When did you buy them?” Justus was at once fascinated and affronted that such a purchase had been made without his approval.

"Six days ago,” Triges lied with a quelling glance at his underlings, “there came a merchant from a ship anchored at Ostia. He had rare spices from Hind and the lands of the Silk Road. They were more valuable than jewels, he said, and gave me a sniff of the best. Knowing that you would have a distinguished guest, I decided that this would be the best time to buy new spices so you might serve a meal that would be remarkable in every way. It is impossible that the Emperor's son should have such a dinner from any other host.” He waited, half-expecting the leather-braided rod that Justus carried to be slammed down on his shoulders.

"How much did it cost?” Justus asked, intrigued in spite of himself. The cook was right—it would be a triumph to serve Domitianus a dish he had never had.

"A great deal, master,” Triges admitted. The amount had been more than Justus had paid to buy his cook six years before. “Sixteen gold denarii."

"Sixteen gold denarii?” Justus repeated. “The spices are worth more than a racehorse?"

Triges thought of a number of retorts, but kept them unsaid. “They are rarer than racehorses, certainly,” he ventured.

"All right, slave,” Justus said grandly. “If this meal is all that you have promised, then I will give you your freedom and sixteen gold denarii. If it is not, you will get one kiss of the flagellum for each of those gold denarii. If that does not spoil your uses, I will have you on the auction block afterward, or you will be set to hard labor on one of my estates.” From his satisfied smile, it was plain that Justus had no intention of freeing his cook.

"As you wish,” Triges muttered. He knew as well as every other slave in the kitchen that he had been given his death warrant, whether it came quickly from the lash, or slowly from torturous labor. It was so tempting to poison the meal. He wished now that he had taken the little packet the foreigner had offered him—who had not come ten days ago and was not off a ship at Ostia, but was the slave of one of his master's distant relatives. Triges thought he had been a fool to refuse the offer.

"Are you satisfied, slave?” Justus asked.

"I am satisfied to obey your will, master.” Perhaps, he thought, he could open his veins when the last of the meal had been served. There were knives enough and it could be very quick.

Monostades made a deferential sound in his throat. “It is very nearly the hour when the Emperor's son is to arrive. You have yet to be shaved and perfumed, master."

This reminder got Justus’ attention. “Yes. It grows late. While I am being shaved, I will order the wines, and you will send one of the household slaves to the kitchen with my instructions. And you"—he leveled a finger at Triges—"will do as I tell you and serve my choices...unwatered."

"As you command me, master,” Triges answered, his face and voice both hard.

"See that you remember that,” Justus said as he turned on his heel and walked away from the kitchen, oblivious of the panic he left behind him.

His body slave had wiped away the last of the lemon-scented water from Justus’ face and was applying a perfume of rose, sandalwood and hyacinth when word was brought that the Emperor's son had arrived.

Justus turned in his chair. “Very good. I will be with him in a moment. See that his train is made comfortable in the slaves’ wing and offer him a dry cloak. Make it the golden silk one, so that I may present it to him as a gift."

The slave Ixion had been given the task of serving young Titus Flavius Domitianus, and he accepted this order eagerly, hoping that among the other things that Justus was sure to give his guest, he would be included. The giving of slaves was not uncommon and Ixion wanted to be out of the Silius household more than he wanted his freedom.

Justus entered the atrium a short while later. He was resplendent in a toga virilis of rose linen with a border of gold eagles. He wore a profusion of rings and one wide bracelet, though at the last minute he had decided against painting his face. It had been the fashion for Nero and Otho, but there was no way of knowing what the styles of the new court would be. He made a rather grand gesture of welcome. “Domitianus! My house is much honored, and in this time of victory and grief, it is particularly gratifying that you are willing to visit me. And in such weather."

Titus Flavius Domitianus resembled his father, having the same wide brow and set mouth, though his lips had a dissatisfied turn to them and his large eyes were fretful, and there was already the start of a permanent crease above them. Unlike his older brother, Domitianus was not a handsome man, and at eighteen lacked any definite stamp of character on his face. He had contented himself with a pale green toga with a discreet border of dark red, and a single gold ring. “It was gracious of you to invite me, but it's my understanding that you have always been in the forefront of those sharing interests with my family."

Justus clapped him on the shoulder. “As well I should be, lad, for the good of Rome. I can tell you that I was much shocked at the death of your uncle. Sabinus was a good man, and one to be valued. I ordered an offering be made at the Temple of Jupiter the Biggest and Best on his behalf.” It had been a very public gesture, one that he was certain would be reported to the new Emperor and place him in even higher esteem.

"I heard something of that,” Domitianus said. He looked toward the opening in the atrium ceiling where the rain clouds were visible, and the water that streamed from them in bright, pale waves, like the bending of wheat in a high wind. “The storm has caused a great many problems."

"Yes, I'm certain it must have,” Justus agreed promptly as he waved his hand toward the smaller dining room. “Come in, be comfortable. I'd love to hear what your plans are, but you will probably prefer to have a little spiced wine, served hot, and an opportunity to take your mind off your work.” He preceded his guest to the door of the smaller dining room and flung it open.

The effect was all he could have wished. The Asian slave had worked hard, and now the room was one of Eastern splendor. There were worked hangings on three walls, and braziers as well as hanging lamps gave the chamber a rich light. Lamp oil and brazier charcoal had been scented, so that the room was redolent of cloves and lilac. The two couches had been moved close together, and each had large, down-filled pillows piled up artlessly, promising warmth and relaxation. There was only one table between the couches, a wide one of fancy inlaid woods. Golden and silver goblets stood on the table, and two small dishes filled with warmed rosewater.

Domitianus was still easily impressed, and this was the grandest reception he had yet been given in Rome, and it seemed all the more so for its intimacy. The other dinners he had attended, he had been overwhelmed by the number of important guests, all of whom crowded around him seeking his good opinion, and through him the approval of his father, who was still in Egypt.

As the young man reclined, Justus clapped his hands, and Ixion appeared. He had been dressed in a Doric chiton of fine wool, and he waited, rather shyly, three paces back from the table between the couches. The sound of Justus’ hands brought him forward to kneel to Domitianus.

"Pour the spiced wine,” Justus ordered, then turned to the other slave in the room, a frightened young man from the north, in whose yellow hair silver grape leaves were twined in a wreath. “We will have the pickled fish now,” he ordered, having learned that Domitianus had a weakness for pickled fish.

When Ixion had poured the wine, he stepped back as he had been told to do. He felt very awkward now, wishing that he had had more time to learn what was expected of him. The Emperor's son, he told himself, would be willing to overlook his inexperience.

"Tell me, Domitianus,” Justus began as he sank onto the couch opposite his guest, “are you looking forward to wearing the toga picta?” This garment was reserved for victors and Emperors: Justus would have been willing to give away half his wealth to have the right to wear it.

"It's only cloth,” Domitianus said as he dipped his fingers in the rosewater and wiped them on a square of linen set out for that purpose. “My father will have to show more durability than his predecessors if mine is going to be anything more than a shroud."

Justus forced himself to laugh heartily at this. “At the worst, you could go back to Egypt and join your father."

"Nothing!” Domitianus said with vehemence surprising in someone who had appeared so self-effacing. “Nothing in the world would get me back to Egypt. All of that part of the empire is worse than an open grave. The people are contemptible, their manners are appalling, their conduct bestial, their leaders are criminals and degenerates, and their religions are farcical!” He waved his wine cup rather wildly in the air and a few drops fell on his toga. When he slammed down his other hand for emphasis, the little bowls of rosewater were overturned. Domitianus looked down, chagrined. He had been warned by his father's general, Licinius Mucianus, that he would have to behave in a circumspect manner, at least at first.

"Don't be bothered,” Justus said indulgently. “A little matter, my lad, easily remedied,” he assured the Emperor's son, and clapped for the blond slave. “Ferrado, see to this. At once."

The handsome blond youth obeyed immediately, almost clumsily, clearing away the bowls and finger cloths.

"After each course, bring us fresh rosewater,” Justus reiterated for Domitianus’ benefit. “The finger cloths are an idea I've picked up from the Parthians. They're worthy enemies, in their way, and have a few things to teach us. If we can continue the peace for a while, it might be profitable.” He had his freedmen investigating the possibility of buying Parthian jewels, and as long as the two huge countries maintained their uneasy truce, there could be trade between them. It would take nothing more than two or three years for Justus to make enormous profits as well as establish some trade agreements which would guarantee that he continue to get jewels, whether Rome and Parthia were at peace or not.