Under Vesuvius

'Conquest is honorable,' she pointed out, 'and degradation is the price of defying Rome. It's not the same as making a living buying and selling human beings.'

That was it, of course: the buying and selling part. Just slaughtering a pack of barbarians and selling off the survivors was not the same thing at all. Patricians weren't supposed to engage in trade. I wondered what she would think had she been present to see Uncle Julius auctioning off thousands of prisoners at a time, wheedling up the price with the touch of an expert. The slavers used to follow the legions like vultures, and Caesar knew exactly what he could get from them. I suppose Julia thought it was all right for him to sell them, since he hadn't exactly bought them.

The servers brought out a specialty of the region: a fish stew containing a great variety of shellfish in a savory broth tinged with aromatic saffron. This is one of my favorite dishes, and I forgot all about slavers and Caesar while I dug into the scallops and oysters, cracked crab claws, and, at intervals, dipped bread into the broth.

'I see we've found your weakness,' said a woman named Quadrilla. She was the wife of the duumvir Manius Silva. She was a small, dark woman and her Coan-cloth gown rested on her like a shadow. On her head she wore a silver diadem set with black pearls. Her vulpine little face was engagingly acerbic.

'Keep me supplied with this,' I told her, 'and you'll have nothing but favorable judgments from me. This must be what the gods eat on their better days.'

'My husband exaggerates,' Julia assured her. 'Much as he loves good food, he is boringly conventional in his public duties. I wish I could say the same for his off-duty activities.'

While these women discussed my shortcomings, I let my gaze roam over the crowd. Everyone seemed extraordinarily happy, except those who were too inebriated to feel much of anything. In true Baiean fashion, there were specially trained slaves to carry these off to their litters before anything unpleasant happened. I saw my freedman, Hermes, arm wrestling with a man who, from his short, two-striped tunic and small topknot, I took to be a charioteer, the two of them surrounded by attractive young women. Hermes was strong, but men who have spent years holding and controlling the reins of a quadriga have hands and arms like iron. Hermes lost the contest and his wager, but he seemed to care little for his defeat. He smiled blissfully as the girl next to him, her hair dyed a startling purple, massaged his sore arm.

A short distance from us, Circe and Antonia had planted themselves at either side of young Gelon. The lad seemed quite accustomed to such feminine attention and was regaling them with something that made them rock with immoderate laughter. I looked all over but did not see Gorgo, the priest's daughter. The priest himself was at our table, but was not looking as merry as the rest, perhaps because he was sharing the table with Gaeto.

By late evening the party began to break up. It might have gone on all night, but a stiff breeze sprang up off the sea and the boatmen advised that the great raft be taken apart and towed ashore. Before leaving, I got up and addressed the community.

'People of Baiae, at last I have found the one place in Italy where people truly know how to live!' This brought vigorous applause and shouts of agreement. 'Now that I've seen Baiae, I may not even bother going to Pompeii and Puteoli. What would be the point?' At this, the crowd roared with approval. 'In fact, I may just settle here permanently!' Raucous clapping and pledge making ensued.

On that note, the wind redoubled and everyone hastened to get ashore. Our litter was brought over the boat bridge from shore, and we crawled in. I was replete with the all the delicacies I had taken aboard and my head was only lightly buzzing from the wine. The bridge rocked with the growing waves, but our lurching steadied as the bearers took us ashore.

'I am going to have to get one of those Coan-cloth gowns,' Circe said.

'I already have one,' Antonia informed her. 'I'd have worn it tonight if I'd known it was the fashion.'

'Not in my party, you wouldn't,' Julia said. 'The dignity of the praetor has to be upheld, and it wouldn't look good if the women in his entourage dress like trans-Tiber prostitutes.' She affected to ignore their laughter. 'I suppose there's something to be said for transparent gowns. How else would we know that Rutilia, the wife of Norbanus, gilds her nipples or that Quadrilla, the wife of Silva, has a navel stretched three times its natural size to accommodate that huge sapphire?'

'How did she do that? I wonder,' Circe mused.

'Started with a small, navel-sized sapphire,' Antonia said, 'and replaced it with a larger one and then a larger, until she could accommodate that stone.'

'The concubine of the marble merchant has Scythian tattoos all over her thighs and buttocks,' Circe remarked.

'They were Thracian, not Scythian,' I told her. 'I've seen those designs before.'

'I can see where your attention was all evening,' Julia said. Then she grew thoughtful. 'They are a strange lot of people. With all that wealth and dazzle I expected them to behave like rich, jumped-up Roman freedmen, all vulgarity to go along with their ostentation. But they are as suave and cultured as any of the better class of Romans, considering how many of them are tradesmen.'

'A little light on the gravitas, though,' Antonia said. 'And that suits me just as well. I'll take frivolity over heavy political talk any day. Or night.'

I was wondering about Gaeto's words to me. He'd said that I might find the banquet 'illuminating.' Had he meant this social leveling? Certainly, I would never have expected to see a slaver at the table of honor at a banquet in Rome. Or anywhere else.

3

The next few days, I traveled among the towns of the district, holding court, being feted and entertained, and generally enjoying life.

One day I went to the lovely little town of Pompeii. Actually, all the towns of this district are beautiful. Pompeii showed off its greatest adornment by entertaining me with an afternoon in the amphitheater. This splendid structure is made of stone, taking advantage of a natural depression in the ground. The depression was improved by digging, forming a perfect oval that was lined with stone seats. The outer, aboveground wall is a complete circle of graceful arches, decorated with fine carvings. One enters this imposing structure by ascending a double stair built against the outer wall, then taking one of the inner stairs that descend among the seats.

This clever building seats no fewer than twenty thousand people.

That is not a great number compared to Rome's Circus Maximus, which can accommodate one hundred thousand, but it is huge for a town the size of Pompeii, which lacks sufficient free population to fill half these seats. At festival time, people from all the surrounding countryside and nearby towns flock to Pompeii to attend the spectacles.

On that afternoon the gladiators from the local school came out to entertain us. Since the occasion was not a munera, the fights were not to the death but only to first blood or a declared decision. We lounged at our ease in the editor's box as they marched out in their finery, colored plumes nodding from helmets, the sun flashing on polished armor, blades and spearpoints glittering.

Campania is the homeland of this dangerous sport. The funeral combats are enormously popular in Rome, but in Campania they form a veritable cult. These men were as fine and skillful as any I had ever seen, fearless and tireless as they fought in pairs, matching a man from one style with another of contrasting weapons: large shield against small shield; sword and shield against net and trident; spear against sword; curved sword against straight; even a man who fought with a sword in each hand against a heavily armored man with a small shield and a spear. Two teams of horsemen pelted one another with javelins.

Hermes and I, and the other men of my following, enjoyed all this immensely. Julia had chosen not to attend and forbade the women of our party to go. She said that, since women were forbidden by law to attend the munera, there was no reason why they should go to the sham fights. Of course, women went to the fights anyway and nobody stopped them, but Julia was a great stickler for the proprieties during those years. (In more recent years, the First Citizen has reinstituted the adult-male-citizen-only rule for the munera. It has not improved his popularity. Half the fun was seeing how excited the