Under Vesuvius

anywhere, since Rome makes the same claim. Doubtless there is some reason for this but I can't imagine what it is.

From the tomb, our little procession passed through the gate, which was little more than an ornamental arch, since this town was never meant to be defended, and into the city proper, where I was showered with enough flowers to glut the floral lust of a triumphing general. Somehow, I didn't allow this to go to my head. I could tell that these people didn't care a peach pit for another visiting Roman official. I was just one more excuse for a party. Well, that was fine with me. I liked parties as much as anyone. Maybe more than most.

We wended our way through the city to the bay, and there I was carried onto a bridge laid atop a line of boats; and this was not a simple boat bridge of the sort used by the legions to cross rivers and straits but an elaborate construction, painted and gilded, its roadbed covered with turf, its railings sporting statues of Triton and Nereids and other fabulous sea deities and covered by the inevitable awning, lest anyone get sunburned while getting to the festivities.

' The banquet was held on one of those artificial islands I mentioned earlier. This one consisted of a central barge you could have raced chariots on for size, surrounded by two-story barges, so that the whole thing was surrounded by a gallery and topped by an immense canopy held up by poles twice the height of ship's masts and dyed, unbelievably, purple.

'There can't be that much purple dye in the world,' I muttered. That dye is the most expensive substance known to man. The purple border of my toga praetexta had cost enough to buy an excellent farm complete with staff. I had nearly had a seizure when presented with the bill. Oh, well, the expenses of office were intended to keep the riffraff out.

A herald of thunderous voice announced us, naming the most distinguished members of my party. Then we got to meet all the local grandees, most of them wealthy equites like the duumviri. These were mostly heads of various guilds and syndicates. I quickly discerned that few of these were involved in the actual manufacture of their products. Rather, they were importers, distributors, and speculators in goods, mainly high-priced luxury items but also staple products like wine, grain, oil, and garum.

The men for the most part observed the sumptuary laws, their clothing, while of the highest quality, consisting of the usual white tunic and toga and no more than a few gold rings by way of jewelry. Their wives, however, provided a sharp contrast. Each sought to outdo the others in showy finery or shocking immodesty. All were draped with jewels and pearls; their hair was dressed into towering, complicated styles, adorned with more jewels and pearls and powdered with gold dust. And then there were the gowns.

In Rome, the infamous, all-but-transparent Coan cloth was worn by a few rich, scandalous women but only at private parties attended by the fashionable set. Here in Baiae, women wore it at public banquets. It was frequently forbidden by the censors, who, it seemed, failed to impress the women of Baiae.

'This is shocking!' Julia said in a strangled voice as these women lined up to be presented.

'I'm getting to like this place better by the minute,' I told her.

'You would.'

'Look,' I said. 'There's a woman wearing a dress you can't see through.' I inclined my head toward a tall lady with flaming hair whose gown was a startling emerald green.

'That gown is pure silk!' Julia hissed. 'She just wants to show that she can afford such a thing. Who can afford pure silk? I've only seen such dress at Ptolemy's court.'

We were conversing in the subdued tones one uses at such occasions, smiling and nodding as we did. Catilina's wife and daughter had owned silk gowns, but I didn't want to call Julia's attention to my relationship with the latter lady.

First to be presented was the wife of Norbanus, one Rutilia, who wore an astounding wig made entirely of hair-fine gold wire. Her close-pleated gown of pale saffron Coan cloth displayed a more than ample body and that her use of cosmetics did not end at her throat.

'You honor us with your presence,' Rutilia said. 'The two of you really must be our guests at a little evening entertainment Norbanus and I are hosting in a week's time.'

'It would be our honor,' Julia answered. 'Is it a special occasion?'

'Of course. It is in honor of your arrival. I can promise that all the most fashionable society of Baiae will be there without all this-' she waved gilded fingernails toward the glittering throng '-vulgar crowding.'

'Well,' I said, 'we wouldn't want too many millionaires treading on our toes, would we?' Julia nudged me in the ribs.

'We shall be anticipating the event eagerly,' Julia assured her.

'Wonderful.' She beamed. 'Well, I mustn't monopolize you. So many boring people to meet, eh?' She bowed slightly and made her way off, swaying and jiggling fetchingly.

And so we went through the greeting line. Last of all was the tall, red-haired lady in the emerald silk gown. Apparently she thought the extravagant dress was display enough, for her gold, jewels, and pearls were relatively restrained.

'And you would be?' I asked.

'Jocasta, Praetor,' she said, 'wife of Gaeto the Numidian.' She had a furry voice, very pleasing to the ear.

'Then you would be the mother of that charming young man we met, Gelon. He does you great credit.' Apparently, Julia did not find her voice or perhaps other attributes as pleasing as I.

'I wish I could claim him, but Gelon is the son of Gaeto's eldest wife, Riamo. She has never left Numidia and rules over the household there.'

'And is your husband here?' Julia asked, looking out over the multitude. 'My husband has met him, but I have not had the pleasure.'

'Oh, he is certainly here,' the woman said, smiling. 'There are very few gatherings in Baiae to which Gaeto is not invited.'

'How-' Julia searched for a word, a rare practice for her, '-how enlightened.'

And then we were swept off to be greeted by another pack of notables, after which it was time for the banquet proper to begin. We were led to an empty couch on a dais, where the magnates of the district reclined on couches at a long table. Other tables and couches stretched in long rows down the full length of the great central barge, and soon the servers were bringing in the first courses.

In traditional fashion they first brought out eggs prepared in every imaginable fashion, some of them from birds I had never heard of. This being a coastal town-and the banquet held on the water to boot-it was fitting the most abundant and imaginative part of the feast were the fish courses. There were great varieties of shellfish along with the finned variety and great concoctions of lampreys, eels, octopi, squid, dolphin, and even skewered whale flesh. All this was accompanied by splendid wines, and soon the occasion was most convivial.

The talk was light and frivolous, which was not unusual. After all, this was not a pack of dry old philosophers debating the merits of Pythagoras's harmonic theories. But there seemed something strange about all the talk, and eventually I realized what it was.

'Julia,' I said in a low voice, 'do you realize that nobody has mentioned Julius Caesar once? Or Pompey or the eternal struggle between the populares and the optimates!'

'Odd, isn't it?' she said. 'These people aren't interested in senatorial politics. They gauge status by wealth, not breeding. They compete through display and by outentertaining their peers, not by currying favor with the masses.'

'I find it a great relief. In Rome, I always find myself sprawled next to some old patrician who thinks he's my better because his ancestors settled in Rome fifty years before mine, around a thousand years ago.'

'Well,' Julia said, 'in Rome you certainly wouldn't see their sort at the same table as the city's elite.' She nodded toward the end of our table, where Gaeto and his flame-haired wife reclined between a shipping contractor and a priest of Mars, with their wives, and all of them getting along as convivially as any born peers.

'You're letting your patrician snobbery show, my dear,' I chided her.

'But the man's a slaver!' she protested.

'Your uncle Julius just made slaves of a whole nation.'