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‘Have you ever served at a banquet before?’ Amarantus asks the new slave-girl, a pretty redhead from Britannia. They are standing in the wide doorway of the triclinium with their backs to the garden. Grata shakes her head and stares at her bare feet. He notices that she is trembling. ‘You understand Latin, don’t you?’ he asks. She nods. ‘Then you’ll be fine. Don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you.’ |
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He sees that her eyes are filling with grateful tears. ‘Look!’ he says quickly, trying to distract her. ‘See the three couches?’ She nods. Amarantus spreads his hands like a merchant displaying his wares. ‘That’s why they call this room the triclinium. The word means “three couches”. Each couch is designed to hold three people comfortably. Therefore, the ideal number at a banquet is nine, though you can squeeze in more if you need to.’ She nods. ‘Yes, master… I mean…’ ‘I’m a slave like you. Call me Amarantus. Do you know left from right?’ ‘Yes, Amarantus.’ |
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‘The couch on the left is the Lowest Couch. That’s where the host and family usually sit. The couch in the middle is the Middle Couch. It’s for high status guests including the guest of honour. And the Highest Couch is for guests of lower status.’ Grata frowns. ‘Shouldn’t they call it the Lowest Couch then?’ Amarantus shrugs. ‘Maybe. But they don’t. Your mistress Pompeia will be at the top end of the Lowest Couch. Her son Superbus comes next, then Fabia on the end.’ Grata looks from the couches to Amarantus. ‘You like Fabia, don’t you?’ ‘It doesn’t matter whether I like them or not,’ he says briskly. ‘We must serve them all diligently. Now, our guest of honour is the paterfamilias, old Camillus. So, where does he go?’ ‘Put him on the lowest couch?’ she guesses. ‘Because he is family?’ ‘There are already three on that couch so we can put him on the middle couch in the place of honour. We’re going to put a man called Successus next to him. You know there are seven other houses on our insula, right?’ Grata nods. ‘Well, Successus owns one of the grandest houses up at the north end of this insula.’ ‘North?’ Grata frowns. ‘That way.’ Amarantus points. ‘The top end you might say. Anyway, he is very rich and important. Next to him goes Vatia. He became rich importing fruit from Syria and his house is full of fruit trees, both painted and real. He has a beard and bad teeth. Don’t wince when he breathes on you.’ Grata giggles and Amarantus smiles. ‘On the Highest Couch we have another neighbour, a banker named Saturninus. He has a grey beard and wandering hands, so I’ve put him in the corner in the lowest place of the highest couch.’ ‘Which is really lowest of the lowest.’ ‘You’ve got it! A good-looking perfume dealer named Mestrius Maximus will recline on this end. He always wears too much of his own product. And in the middle comes Axiochus, the only guest who doesn’t live in our insula. He used to be a slave of Camillus, so he took the master’s first two names, Sextus Pompeius. He got rich importing sea-sponges from the island of Symi, but don’t mention sponges.’ |
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‘Why not?’ ‘Sometimes in the public latrines they use sponges on sticks to wipe their bottoms.’ Grata claps her hand over her mouth to stifle more giggles. Amarantus smiles back, but then becomes serious. ‘Now this is important. Our master, old Camillus, is very superstitious. So never sweep the floor while a person is getting up from their couch and never remove a table while someone is drinking. If someone drops a piece of food onto the floor you must pick it up without blowing on it and put it on a corner of the table until we can burn it at the household shrine. Otherwise it’s terrible luck for the man who dropped it. And pray that nobody sneezes.’ Grata nods. ‘Sneezing is also bad luck where I come from.’ ‘Some of the guests may bring their slaves. If so, they’ll probably sit on the floor near the couches.’ Grata looks at him wide-eyed. ‘At meals the slaves sit on the floor while their masters lie down?’ He shrugs. ‘Sitting is not too bad. At most banquets the slaves must stand for hours.’ ‘It must be hard to eat lying down,’ she says. ‘I could never do it.’ ‘Of course you could,’ says Amarantus. He kicks off his sandals and climbs onto the end of the middle couch, where Camillus will recline. ‘Try it out. Come here in Pompeia’s place.’ He pats the top end of the Lowest Couch. ‘Really?’ Grata looks around. ‘Nobody’s here,’ says Amarantus. ‘They’re all at the baths.’ Grata climbs up on to the couch next to Amarantus. ‘This is strange,’ she says, ‘but the cushion smells nice.’ ‘Probably someone’s hair ointment, left over from a previous banquet. Lie on your left side. Yes, like that … but move your feet closer to the wall. See how your head is close to mine, even though I’m on a different couch?’ He rolls onto his other arm. ‘Yes,’ says Grata. Her tummy rumbles and she flushes. ‘Forgive me,’ she says. ‘Are you hungry?’ ‘Always.’ ‘You can get food from the kitchen whenever you want. Coquus will give you any leftovers he can spare. See?’ Amarantus reaches down the front of his tunic and produces a wedge of bread. Grata’s eyes widen. ‘That reminds me,’ he says. ‘Each guest will bring their own spoon and napkin. Don’t be surprised if one of them wraps food in his napkin and drops it down the front of his tunic for later. Here,’ he says, breaking the bread in two. ‘To prove you can eat while reclining.’ Grata snatches her piece of bread and tears at it with eager teeth. ‘No!’ laughs Amarantus. ‘Dainty bites, even if you’re starving. Watch Fabia at the banquet later,’ he adds with a sigh. ‘She eats beautifully.’ |
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‘What’s going on here?’ says a man’s voice. ‘Slaves reclining in the triclinium? Is it the Saturnalia already?’ It’s Superbus, Pompeia’s 25-year-old son. His dark hair is damp and his handsome face gleams with olive oil. He is obviously just back from the baths. Amarantus scrambles off the couch and helps Grata down. ‘I was just showing our new slave-girl how things work at a banquet. She’s never served at one before.’ ‘Well, mother needs her. She plans to wear her real hair this afternoon, not a wig. Wait, girl!’ says Superbus with a wicked smile. ‘As you’re learning how to wait at a banquet, why don’t you practise washing my feet?’ |
