Volume I Part 30 (2/2)

Meanwhile he counted the guests.

”Not less than the Graces, nor more than the Muses,” he said with a smile.

”Quick, choose a wreath,” said Kallistratos, ”and take your place up there, upon the seat of honour on the couch. We have chosen you beforehand for the king of the feast.”

The Prefect was determined to charm these young people. He knew how well he could do so, and that day he wished to make a particular impression. He chose a crown of roses, and took the ivory sceptre, which a Syrian slave handed to him upon his knees.

Placing the rose-wreath on his head, he raised the sceptre with dignity.

”Thus I put an end to your freedom!”

”A born ruler!” cried Kallistratos, half in joke, half in earnest.

”But I will be a gentle tyrant! My first law: one-third water--two-thirds wine.”

”Oho!” cried Lucius Licinius, and drank to him, ”_bene te!_ you govern luxuriously. Equal parts is usually our strongest mixture.”

”Yes, friend,” said Cethegus, smiling, and seating himself upon the corner seat of the central triclinium, the ”Consul's seat,” ”but I took lessons in drinking amongst the Egyptians; they drink pure wine. Ho, cupbearer--what is he called?”

”Ganymede--he is from Phrygia. Fine fellow--eh?”

”So, Ganymede, obey thy Jupiter, and place near each guest; a patera of Mamertine wine--but near Balbus two, because he is a countryman.”

The young people laughed.

Balbus was a rich Sicilian proprietor, still quite young, and already very stout.

”Bah!” said he, laughing, ”ivy round my head, and an amethyst on my finger--I defy the power of Bacchus!”

”Well, at which wine have you arrived?” asked Cethegus, at the same time signing to the Moor who now stood behind him, and who at once brought a second wreath of roses, and, this time, wound it about his neck.

”Must of Setinum, with honey from Hymettus, was the last. There, try it!” said Piso, the roguish poet, whose epigrams and anacreontics could not be copied quickly enough by the booksellers; and whose finances, notwithstanding, were always in poetical disorder. He handed to the Prefect what we should call a _vexing-cup_, a bronze serpent's-head, which, lifted carelessly to the lips, violently shot a stream of wine into the drinker's throat.

But Cethegus knew the trick, drank carefully, and returned the cup.

”I like your _dry_ wit better, Piso,” he said, laughing; and s.n.a.t.c.hed a wax tablet from a fold in the other's garment.

”Oh, give it me back,” said Piso; ”it is no verses--just the contrary--a list of my debts for wine and horses.”

”Well,” observed Cethegus, ”I have taken it--so it and they are mine. To-morrow you may fetch the quittance at my house; but not for nothing--for one of your most spiteful epigrams upon my pious friend Silverius.”

”Oh, Cethegus!” cried the poet, delighted and flattered, ”how spiteful one can be for 40,000 solidi! Woe to the holy man of G.o.d!”

CHAPTER VIII.

”And the dessert--how far have you got there?” asked Cethegus, ”already at the apples? are these they?” and he looked, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his eyes, at two heaped-up fruit-baskets, which stood upon a bronze table with ivory legs.

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