Saturnalia

LVII

I barely made it back in time to be smartened up and hauled out to dinner with my sister Junia. I tried telling Helena I was too tired, too gloomy and too tense to go. I received the response I expected. All over Rome unhappy lads were being forced to attend parties with uninspiring relatives. To avoid it needed very careful prior planning.

It was a perfectly good evening – if you ignored the fine detail: Junia couldn't cook; Gaius Baebius had no nose for wine; their overwrought son Marcus – King for the Day – had no idea what was going on; my precocious little girls knew exactly what they wanted to be princesses who behaved badly; and wonderful Junia had invited Pa. Helena asked him to tell us about his operation, knowing that would cheer me up. It did. Better still, prim Junia was thoroughly offended by the ghastly details. That was even before my father offered to show us all the results.

He drew me aside at one point, and I thought I was to be favoured with distasteful tunic-lifting, but he just wanted to croak that he had brought the ear-rings he was trying to flog me. I bought them. Then I refused to humour his proffered demonstration of his wounds.

He must have found a taker, because soon we were subjected to an hour of three-year-old Marcus Baebius Junillus running around, showing everyone his bare little bottom. 'We can't stop him!' gasped Junia, horrified by her predicament. 'He is our King for the Day!' Little Marcus might be deaf and speechless, but he had a flair for misrule.

Notwithstanding his rights, Helena eventually grabbed the excited child, plonked him on her lap and made him sit quiet for the ghost stories. All the children were far too young for that. Things became tricky. Pa, Gaius and I made the traditional exit to the sun terrace, where we stood around with half-empty wine cups, shivering and discussing chariot teams. I supported the Blues, while Pa supported the Greens (that was precisely why, many years ago, I had chosen the Blues). Gaius never went to the races, but ventured that If he did he thought he might fancy the Reds. At least that gave Pa and me something to talk about, as we massacred the mad idea that anyone would ever support the Reds. 'You two bastards always gang up together,' complained Gaius – which gave us both something else to get annoyed about loudly, while we were angrily denying it.

This was a true family occasion. We walked back indoors for another drink – Pa and I both extremely keen to open up the amphora he had hospitably brought, rather than Gaius' vinegar. Junia's hired ghost had arrived.

'Whoo-hoo?!' he went, spookily gliding around in a white garment with his face hidden. Silent children cowered against their mothers, thrilled. Helena and Junia were equally thrilled, now the children had calmed down. We men stood and applauded, pretending to be brave. Only Gaius Baebius was quaking, since I had just muttered to him to keep a check in case the spook stole something. Pa couldn't care less so long as it was over quickly; he was too busy shifting from foot to foot as the red hot pain flared up in his damaged posterior. I was stunned: I knew this ghost, though he did not remember me. It was Zoilus. He might be crazy, but as Saturnalia entertainment that could only help. I had thought when I met him on the Via Appia that he must have had theatrical training. Actors are often paid too little to lead decent lives, and Zoilus had the air of being too unreliable to obtain steady work. Even so, he was on some good contacts list. Junia had obtained him from the Theatre of Marcellus, a snooty monument built and named for a nephew of Augustus, but not above providing acts for private homes. Intellectual aesthetes employed small teams to give them masterpiece-theatre all to themselves, on rickety stages in their chilly villas. Children's parties in fine mansions had little entertainments where the spoiled brats threw food at the performers. Stage donkeys were popular. And there was always a demand for sexy charades at degenerate banquets. The stage donkeys, and sometimes stage cows, featured in those too – usually having a really good time with some stage virgin. 'They offered me a stage donkey,' saidJunia, unaware of the effect she caused in some of us. 'But I didn't think we had the room.' 'Very wise!' intoned Pa seditiously. When Zoilus had finished his turn, I cornered him. 'That was a good haunting – though not as frightening as when you jumped me on the Via Appia!' I backed him up against Gaius and Junia's petite but decorative Greek urn display stand. Their four alabastra and their kylix (which had one broken handle, but Pa thought it was reproduction anyway) wobbled disconcertingly. 'Now before you get paid, you will answer me some questions.' 'Marcus, mind my precious red figures!' 'Just shut up, Junia. This is men's talk. Talk, being the big word, Zoilus.' 'I am just a restless spirit -' 'I know, I know; drifting about eternity like a dried leaf… Why did you call Zosime a bringer of death? – Don't go all vague on me. My sister's going to give you a big bowl of her deep-fried sesame balls as thanks for this evening, so there's no need to be ethereal. You'll need a strong stomach. Why did you say it, Zoilus?'

'I don't know-ow – Owl' He might be a spirit but he knew when his privates were kneed. This was my first time putting the persuaders on a ghost. His ectoplasm had more substance than he pretended. After a couple of wine cups, I was not gentle; my sudden jerk produced a satisfactory shriek.

'Stop messing about, or you'll really be dead and I won't bother to bury you.' I had no time for finesse. 'Look here – Members of my family, some of whom are young and sensitive, are gathering to see what's going on. I'll have to beat you up fast and very hard…' Zoilus understood. He had roamed among vagrants long enough to know about impatient men and the pain they could inflict.

He caved in and answered me sensibly. He knew about the runaways who died in the night even though they were fit, or halfway fit. I asked if he had seen any being killed. He moaned a bit, which I took for an affirmative. I asked if the killer was a woman or a man; to my surprise, he said a man. It was one of the few statements I had ever heard him make with firmness. 'Are you sure? So what had Zosime to do with it?' 'Woo-oo…' This tremor was barely audible. 'Oh stop it, Zoilus. Brace up, you ghoul! If I brought him in front of you, could you identify this man?'

But Zoilus collapsed. Hiding his head in his spectral robe, he just writhed about and moaned more. Eventually I foolishly loosened my hold on him as Junia interrupted again, bringing a tray of dubious looking bites. Zoilus made a sudden run for it, through a set of double doors and away across the home-built sun terrace that was the pride and joy of Gaius Baebius. My hands were too greasy to stop him; my will was flagging too. As he fled, he snatched the purse with his agreed fee from Junia, but ignored her snacks. Maybe he could tell that my sister's famous over-salted, under-spiced deep-fried sesame balls were as hard as Pluto's heart in Hades.