CHAPTER IX.
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.