Read Online Blood Games by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Free Book Online
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
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evening.
Artemidorus, dressed in the Greek fashion as a compliment to the Emperor, made one last check of the three U-shaped dining areas, each with the proper nine couches. He frowned, not wanting to forget any detail.
"Have the chickens been drowned yet?” Petronius asked after sneezing violently. “I thought I told you to remove all the roses."
"They were removed. There are four bushes of them in the adjoining garden, in full flower,” he reported sadly. “I went to speak with Corrastus, but he wasn't willing to cut the blooms off, not even for money."
Petronius sighed. “I may sneeze most of the night. Hardly proper for the Emperor's host, but I can't change my plans now. Tigellinus would never let me forget it. I wonder if I have time to send a message to Saint-Germain? He made me a concoction once that stopped my sneezing awhile."
"I'll send a messenger to him,” Artemidorus offered.
"It might be wise.” He took one end of his toga and wiped his eyes. “Yes. Do that. He is staying in the city for a few days, at the house of that Greek physician. Now, about the chickens?"
"Triges drowned them half an hour ago. He used a red Lusitanian wine. And I have made him promise not to use one drop of liquamen."
"Good.” He managed to stop another sneeze. “Roses are the curse of the gods! Let me see: tarts with honeyed wine, asparagus, kid cooked in milk, Gallic ham dressed with Mauretanian pomegranates, oysters from Britannia, pickled vegetables from Baetica, wines from Jura and Pannonia, the chickens, lamprey in a sauce of herbs, salmon roe in cream"—he ticked off the menu on his fingers—"dormice in cheese bread, calves’ livers with mushroom, geese with garlic and snails, pears, apples, grapes, berries...Will it be adequate? Nero has sworn that he has given up elaborate dining, but I don't know.” Petronius’ face tightened about the eyes. It was difficult to know what Nero would want from day to day. He had taken him at his word and arranged for a simple dinner, yet now he was unsure if it had been the wisest course. He had invited those guests Nero had wanted, including Cornelius Justus Silius and his wife. Thinking about it, he anticipated a miserable evening. If only the dancers from Hind were all that Saint-Germain had promised they would be. Without unique entertainment, Petronius had a ghastly fear that his banquet, charming though the concept might be, would certainly be a failure, and that, coming now, would be disastrous. Petronius had been losing influence with the Emperor, who was now showing increasing favor to the Praetorian captain Tigellinus. For Petronius, an unsuccessful party could set the seal on his influence and lead to ruin.
"Master?” Artemidorus interrupted these disheartening thoughts. “Shall I send the messenger?"
"Yes. Yes, of course. I'm going into the house for a bit. It may help. Send word to my wife that I would like to speak to her before the guests arrive.” He gave one last apprehensive look to the couches and the specially created arbor, then hastened through the garden to the rear entrance to his home.
He was at his desk, stylus in hand, when his wife tapped at the open door. Petronius put his writing aside as he smiled. “Come in, Myrtale."
"You wished to speak to me?” She was a tall woman, almost as tall as her husband, and was attractive without being pretty. Her most arresting feature was her dark auburn hair, which she wore simply dressed. There was a serenity in her face that found no reflection in her husband's expression.
"I'm worried.” As always, he was direct with her. “I'm afraid I've made a serious error with this banquet."
"Why?” She sat in a chair not far from him. “Do you think there will be trouble?"
"I hope not, but I'll admit I'm preparing for it.” He rubbed his chin. “I wanted you to be warned. I know the slaves will gossip, no matter what happens. I wanted you to be prepared."
"That's kind of you.” They regarded each
Artemidorus, dressed in the Greek fashion as a compliment to the Emperor, made one last check of the three U-shaped dining areas, each with the proper nine couches. He frowned, not wanting to forget any detail.
"Have the chickens been drowned yet?” Petronius asked after sneezing violently. “I thought I told you to remove all the roses."
"They were removed. There are four bushes of them in the adjoining garden, in full flower,” he reported sadly. “I went to speak with Corrastus, but he wasn't willing to cut the blooms off, not even for money."
Petronius sighed. “I may sneeze most of the night. Hardly proper for the Emperor's host, but I can't change my plans now. Tigellinus would never let me forget it. I wonder if I have time to send a message to Saint-Germain? He made me a concoction once that stopped my sneezing awhile."
"I'll send a messenger to him,” Artemidorus offered.
"It might be wise.” He took one end of his toga and wiped his eyes. “Yes. Do that. He is staying in the city for a few days, at the house of that Greek physician. Now, about the chickens?"
"Triges drowned them half an hour ago. He used a red Lusitanian wine. And I have made him promise not to use one drop of liquamen."
"Good.” He managed to stop another sneeze. “Roses are the curse of the gods! Let me see: tarts with honeyed wine, asparagus, kid cooked in milk, Gallic ham dressed with Mauretanian pomegranates, oysters from Britannia, pickled vegetables from Baetica, wines from Jura and Pannonia, the chickens, lamprey in a sauce of herbs, salmon roe in cream"—he ticked off the menu on his fingers—"dormice in cheese bread, calves’ livers with mushroom, geese with garlic and snails, pears, apples, grapes, berries...Will it be adequate? Nero has sworn that he has given up elaborate dining, but I don't know.” Petronius’ face tightened about the eyes. It was difficult to know what Nero would want from day to day. He had taken him at his word and arranged for a simple dinner, yet now he was unsure if it had been the wisest course. He had invited those guests Nero had wanted, including Cornelius Justus Silius and his wife. Thinking about it, he anticipated a miserable evening. If only the dancers from Hind were all that Saint-Germain had promised they would be. Without unique entertainment, Petronius had a ghastly fear that his banquet, charming though the concept might be, would certainly be a failure, and that, coming now, would be disastrous. Petronius had been losing influence with the Emperor, who was now showing increasing favor to the Praetorian captain Tigellinus. For Petronius, an unsuccessful party could set the seal on his influence and lead to ruin.
"Master?” Artemidorus interrupted these disheartening thoughts. “Shall I send the messenger?"
"Yes. Yes, of course. I'm going into the house for a bit. It may help. Send word to my wife that I would like to speak to her before the guests arrive.” He gave one last apprehensive look to the couches and the specially created arbor, then hastened through the garden to the rear entrance to his home.
He was at his desk, stylus in hand, when his wife tapped at the open door. Petronius put his writing aside as he smiled. “Come in, Myrtale."
"You wished to speak to me?” She was a tall woman, almost as tall as her husband, and was attractive without being pretty. Her most arresting feature was her dark auburn hair, which she wore simply dressed. There was a serenity in her face that found no reflection in her husband's expression.
"I'm worried.” As always, he was direct with her. “I'm afraid I've made a serious error with this banquet."
"Why?” She sat in a chair not far from him. “Do you think there will be trouble?"
"I hope not, but I'll admit I'm preparing for it.” He rubbed his chin. “I wanted you to be warned. I know the slaves will gossip, no matter what happens. I wanted you to be prepared."
"That's kind of you.” They regarded each
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