It was a turbot weighing six pounds, which for years had been fed with
goose-liver in the sea-water fishponds of Kallistratos. The much-prized
"Rhombus" was served upon a silver dish, with a little golden crown on
its head.
"All ye gods, and thou, Prophet Jonah!" stammered Balbus, sinking back
upon the cushions, "that fish is worth more than I!"
"Peace, friend," said Piso, "let not Cato hear thee, who said, 'Woe to
that city where a fish is worth more than an ox.'"
A burst of laughter, and the loud call of "_Euge belle!_" drowned the
angry exclamation of the half-drunken Sicilian.
The fish was carved, and was found delicious.
"Now, slaves, away with the weak Massikian. A noble fish must swim in
noble liquid. Quick, Syphax, the wine which I have contributed to the
banquet will suit exactly. Go, and let the amphora, which the slaves
have set in snow outside, be brought in, and with it the cups of yellow
amber."
"What rare thing have you brought--from what country?" asked
Kallistratos.
"Ask this far-travelled Odysseus, from what hemisphere," said Piso.
"You must guess. And whoever guesses right, or whoever has already
tasted this wine, shall have an amphora from me as large as this."
Two slaves, crowned with ivy, dragged in the immense dark-coloured
vase; it was of brown-black porphyry and of a singular shape, inscribed
with hieroglyphics and well closed at the neck with plaster.
"By the Styx! does it come from Tartarus? It is indeed a black fellow!"
said Marcus, laughing.
"But it has a white soul--show, Syphax."
The Nubian carefully knocked off the plaster with an ebony hammer which
Ganymede handed to him, took out the stopper of palm-rind with a bronze
hook, poured away the oil which swam at the top of the wine, and filled
the cups. A strong and intoxicating odour arose from the white and
sticky fluid.
Every one drank with an air of examination.
"A drink fit for the gods!" cried Balbus, setting down his cup.
"But as strong as liquid fire," said Kallistratos.
"I do not know it," said Lucius Licinius.
"Nor I," affirmed Marcus Licinius.
"And I am happy to make its acquaintance," said Piso, and held his
empty cup to Syphax.
"Well," said the host, turning to an, until now, almost silent guest at
his right hand, "well, Furius, valiant sailor, discoverer and
adventurer! you who have sailed round the world, is _your_ wisdom also
at fault?"
The guest slightly raised himself from the cushions. He was a
handsome athletic man of about thirty years of age, with a bronzed
weather-beaten complexion, coal-black, deep-set eyes, dazzling white
teeth, and a full beard, trimmed in Oriental fashion. But before he
could speak Kallistratos interposed:
"By Jupiter Xenios! I believe you do not know each other!"
Cethegus measured his unknown and attractive companion with a keen
look.
"I know the Prefect of Rome," said the silent guest.
"Well, Cethegus," said Kallistratos, "this is my Vulcanic friend,
Furius Ahalla, from Corsica, the richest ship-owner of the West; deep
as night and hot as fire. He possesses fifty houses, villas and palaces
on all the coasts of Europe, Asia, and Africa; twenty galleys; a few
thousand slaves and sailors, and----"
"And a very talkative friend," concluded the Corsican. "Prefect, I am
sorry for you, but the amphora is mine. I know the wine." And he took a
Kibitz-egg and broke the shell with a silver spoon.
"Hardly," said Cethegus with a sarcastic smile.
"Nevertheless I do know it. It is Isis-wine. From Memphis." And the
Corsican quietly sipped the golden yolk of his egg.
Cethegus looked at him in surprise.
"Well guessed!" he then said. "Where have you tasted it?"
"Necessarily in the same place as you. It flows only from one source,"
said the Corsican, smiling.
"Enough of your secrets! No riddles under the rose!" cried Piso.
"Where have you two weasels found the same nest?" asked Kallistratos.
"Indeed," said Cethegus, "you may as well know it. In Old Egypt, and
particularly in holy Memphis, there remain near the Christian settlers
and monks in the deserts, men, and especially women, who still cling to
their old faith; who will not forsake Apis and Osiris, and cherish
faithfully the sweet worship of Isis. They fly from the surface, where
the Church has victoriously planted the cross of the ascetics, to the
secret bosom of Mother Earth with their holy and beloved religious
ceremonies. They still keep, hidden below the pyramids of Cheops, a few
hundred amphoras of the strong wine which intoxicated the initiated at
the orgies of joy and love. The secret is kept from generation to
generation, there is always only one priestess who knows the cellar and
keeps the key. I kissed the priestess and she let me in. She was like a
wild cat, but her wine was good; and at parting she gave me five
amphoras to take on board my ship."
"I did not get as far as that with Smerda," said the Corsican. "She let
me drink in the cellar, but at parting she only gave me this." And he
bared his brown throat.
"A dagger-stab of jealousy!" laughed Cethegus. "Well, I am glad that
the daughter has not degenerated. In my time, that is, when the mother
let me drink, the little Smerda still ran about in baby-frocks. Long
live the Nile and sweet Isis!" And the two men drank to each other. But
yet they were vexed that they shared a secret which each believed he
had possessed alone.
The others, however, were charmed by the amiable humour of the icy
Prefect, who chatted with them as youthfully as the youngest amongst
them, and who now, when the favourite theme of young men at the
wine-cup had been introduced--love adventures and stories of lovely
women--bubbled over with anecdotes of jests and tricks, of most of
which he had himself been witness. Every one stormed him with
questions. The Corsican alone remained dumb and cold.
"Say," cried the host, and signed to the cup-bearer just as a burst of
mirth caused by one of these stories had ceased; "tell us, you man of
varied experience--Egyptian Isis-girls, Gallic Druidesses, black-haired
daughters of Syria, and my plastic sisters of Hellas--all these you
know and understand how to value; but tell us, have you ever loved a
Germanic woman?"
"No," said Cethegus, "they were always too insipid for me."
"Oho!" said Kallistratos; "that is saying too much. I tell you, I was
mad all the last calendars for a German girl; she was not at all
insipid."
"What? you, Kallistratos of Corinth, the countryman of Aspasia and
Helena, you could burn for a barbarian woman? Oh, wicked Eros,
sense-confuser, man-shamer!"
"Well, I acknowledge it was an error of the senses. I have never before
experienced such."
"Relate, relate!" cried all the others.