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On Amarantus’s thirty-first birthday, Fabia has a revelation: the former slave is now a prosperous and popular freedman. His bar always has a queue halfway around the insula. In addition, the bar’s clientele has changed in the past year. Instead of rowdy gamblers and drinkers Amarantus serves some of the richest merchants and freedmen in Pompeii. |
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Everyone in town is talking about the white wine from Lesbos that smells of pine, or the full-bodied Cretan red so dark it is almost black. ‘That Amarantus!’ they say. ‘His nose is pure gold. He can sniff out the best wine in the Mediterranean.’ Just yesterday she overheard Valeria Volusa tell her mother, ‘You have a pearl above price in Amarantus. Make sure he never leaves this house.’ ‘No fear,’ laughed Pompeia. ‘I have given him charge of the bar.’ ‘You should give him something else,’ said Valeria, leaning forward, ‘You should give your daughter.’ For the first time, Fabia seriously reviews her previous objections. True, he was a slave until recently. But some of Pompeii’s richest citizens are freedmen. The fabulously wealthy perfume- makers called the Vettii, for example. Yes, he has a big nose. But that’s partly what makes him a success: his ability to sniff out the best vintages. Admittedly, he’s foolishly soft-hearted about animals. He even sleeps in the same room as his mule and dog. But she is certain he’d get rid of them if she asked. Today, his birthday will not be celebrated with great rejoicing because it is also the anniversary of her grandfather’s death. But it will be celebrated. Not in the main house, where rooms have been repurposed and the atrium is now full of amphorae, but in the wine-garden of the bar. Fabia thoughtfully puts on her best stola and lots of perfume and makeup. She has temporarily taken over the tablinum as her bedroom. It is peaceful and looks out on to the garden. They will probably never re-open the upstairs rooms. Even Mestrius was ordered to reinforce his upper rooms. |
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She goes to the doorway, where it is brighter, and admires herself in her hand mirror. She has never looked more beautiful. ‘I could do worse,’ she whispers to herself. ‘Besides, I can always have boyfriends on the side, if I am discreet.’ Fabia waits until she is sure everyone has arrived, then goes the long way around in order to make an entrance via the bar. But when she emerges into the wine-garden she gets several shocks. Instead of couches, they have spread rush mats, coverlets and cushions right on the grass. Also, Amarantus has invited some of the slaves. Even though he is now free, that wretched Grata is reclining beside him along with Scumni. Doesn’t he realise he need not associate with them anymore? Her mother Pompeia doesn’t seem to mind; she is sitting between Papilio and Romulus the wine dealer. Amarantus’s mother and her husband are there, too: a fishwife and a lowly fisherman. Scandalous! She is also shocked to see that they have started without her. They’re already on the prima mensa, roast cockerel glazed in honey and garnished with horseradish. Ever since Grata was told to eat hot foods Coquus has been going to the extreme. But the worst shock is when Amarantus stands up and rings a bronze bell for attention. Then he announces that he is going to marry Grata! How could he? It is unthinkable! Fabia turns and bolts through the kitchen and straight into Quintus Mestrius Maximus, who is also arriving fashionably late. Tanned and oiled and with his curly blond hair set off by a lilac tunic, he looks very handsome. ‘Fabia!’ he says, holding her at arms’ length. ‘What’s wrong?’ She can’t bear to tell him the truth, that she had been considering marriage to Amarantus. So instead she says. ‘They’re dining with slaves!’ ‘With slaves?’ He looks suitably shocked. ‘Yes, and they’re eating nothing but hot and spicy food. All for that silly Grata!’ ‘Being of a choleric nature,’ says Mestrius, ‘I must have cooling foods. Fish and fresh cheese, cucumber and melons, yogurt and milk, mint and fruit.’ ‘Well you’ll get none of that today,’ she huffs. ‘What a shame,’ he says and then gives her an appraising glance with his bright blue eyes. ‘How beautiful you look today. Why don’t you dine with me?’ She feels her heart skip a beat. ‘Alone?’ she whispers. ‘Without a bodyguard or chaperone?’ ‘Why not?’ he says raising an eyebrow. ‘I’ll have my cook prepare some tuna with mint and dill. It’s one of his best dishes. For dessert we’ll have watermelon and dates.’ ‘What will Amarantus think? And my mother!’ ‘They’ll never know you’re gone.’ His hands are still on her upper arms and she can smell his cinnamon perfume. ‘All right,’ she says, feeling very daring. She met Celadus the gladiator once or twice at the ruined Temple of Venus but going to a man’s house on her own is bolder than anything she has done before. Mestrius leads her out of the bar, around the corner and up the narrow street to the entrance of his house. A barefoot young slave in a short tunic opens the door before Mestrius can even rap and Fabia steps straight over the threshold into a large entrance court. The space is plain but clean. There are no messy piles of wine jars stored here as at home. |
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Straight ahead she sees what must be his tablinum and beyond that a sunlit garden between white columns. Almost as in a dream, she moves forward. Water gurgles in a charming gutter lined with white pebbles at the garden’s edge. At its centre, a simple fountain sends up a jet of water which glitters in the sunshine. Planted around the fountain are bushes showing blooms of red, white and pink. A delicious scent fills her head. ‘Oh! You have roses!’ ‘For my perfume. Come.’ Mestrius steps over the white- pebbled channel that borders his garden. ‘Smell this one. It is white with a blush of pink like your skin.’ She hesitates. Up above, four white marble discs twirl slowly, one between each pair of columns. She knows they are meant to keep away evil. That reminds her of something. ‘Are you still acting as an undertaker?’ she asks him. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I feel I’m doing people a service. Also, it is very profitable.’ ‘Where do you … treat the bodies?’ she asks. ‘At the front of the house, there is a suite of rooms on the left. No taint of dead ever reaches back here,’ he says. ‘If you were to marry me, this garden and colonnade would be your private domain to do whatever you like.’ ‘Marry you?’ she gasps. ‘Really?’ ‘You know I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you. But then everyone said you were going to marry Celadus the gladi- ator.’ He heaves a deep sigh. ‘You dashed my hopes on the rocks of your beauty.’ ‘Dear Quintus!’ she says. ‘Celadus was just an infatuation. Nothing ever happened between us and he has gone back to Rome. I have always admired you.’ ‘Then would you consider accepting me as husband? We could make beautiful children.’ He holds out his hand and she knows that if she takes it and steps over the sparkling channel into the garden her life will change forever. |
