ear.”
“Was the door in the Prefect’s triclinium in the same position as the one in this room?”
“Yes,” answered the girls in unison.
“How long was the priest gone?”
“Not too long,” answered Pulcheria. “But I wasn’t really paying attention. I was too busy trying to dodge flying objects.” She laughed.
“What did Serpentinus do?” asked Severus to Chloe, the girl on the couch next to Isarion’s, who had been with the Prefect at the previous party but had been given to Serpentinus by the Prefect this time.
“He was eating all the fish patties,” she answered with a distasteful expression. “In fact, when Isarion was chasing Demetria around the room, he leaned over and stole their platter of fish patties. I wondered at the time how someone who eats like that could be as scrawny as he was. He looked like his name too, serpent-like, thin and creepy, with sunken eyes and sunken cheeks. And he treated me very roughly. He forced me down on the couch, held my arm in a painful grip and brutalized me from behind more than once. He was deliberately hurting me and my cries of pain stimulated him. I endured it with my eyes closed and stayed that way even after he finished with me. So I really didn’t see much.”
Severus turned to his assessor. “Flaccus, let me have the painting.”
Flaccus opened a cylindrical box on his lap and extracted a rolled sheaf of papyrus. He handed it to the judge.
“This is a painting of the Prefect’s slave Ganymede,” said the judge as he unrolled it. He handed it first to Selene. “Please pass it among yourselves and tell me if you remember him from the party.”
“Is he the slave who confessed?” asked Selene as she studied the painting.
Severus nodded. “Weren’t you questioned about him?”
“Not really,” she answered. “Secundus came by one day with some clerks and told us that one of the Prefect’s slaves had confessed. He asked whether any of us had seen him do it. He didn’t really question us like you’re doing.” She passed the painting to Chloe, the girl on Serpentinus’ couch.
“I don’t notice slaves,” said Chloe with a touch of haughtiness as she looked at the painting, and then passed it to Demetria. Neither Demetria nor Pulcheria remembered him. Aurora, on the Prefect’s couch, commented, “I remember some of the slaves, but not this one.”
The girls on the Pudens and Secundus couches couldn’t remember him either.
“It’s beginning to look,” commented the judge nervously, “as if he wasn’t there at all.”
“But I remember him,” said Andromache from Philogenes’ couch. “He was the one who refilled my wine glass after it was spilled by the flying tunic. And he was directing a young boy to wipe the wine off Philogenes and to clean up the floor.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m positive. It’s him. It’s a good likeness too.”
“Did you drink the wine he poured into your cup?”
“Of course,” she answered. “And I’m still here,” she added, catching the judge’s meaning.
Severus looked at the Prefect’s couch. “Aurora, think again. Send her back the picture. Did Ganymede fill the Prefect’s wine cup? The one with the dolphin on it. Or yours, perhaps?”
Aurora stared at the picture a long time. “I never noticed this person at all, and certainly not at our couch. Our couch was attended by two young slave-girls, who were stationed along the wall behind us. I think one was about 12-years-old and the other about 9 or so. I remember the child filled my cup and the older one attended the Prefect. They did it at past parties too.”
“Did you and the Prefect drink from your cups after they were refilled?”
“Yes.”
“Did no other slaves approach the Prefect’s couch? Perhaps when sex was going on?”
“They wouldn’t have dared,” said several women at once. “And they couldn’t have done it without being noticed,” commented Andromache, “at least by the other
“Was the door in the Prefect’s triclinium in the same position as the one in this room?”
“Yes,” answered the girls in unison.
“How long was the priest gone?”
“Not too long,” answered Pulcheria. “But I wasn’t really paying attention. I was too busy trying to dodge flying objects.” She laughed.
“What did Serpentinus do?” asked Severus to Chloe, the girl on the couch next to Isarion’s, who had been with the Prefect at the previous party but had been given to Serpentinus by the Prefect this time.
“He was eating all the fish patties,” she answered with a distasteful expression. “In fact, when Isarion was chasing Demetria around the room, he leaned over and stole their platter of fish patties. I wondered at the time how someone who eats like that could be as scrawny as he was. He looked like his name too, serpent-like, thin and creepy, with sunken eyes and sunken cheeks. And he treated me very roughly. He forced me down on the couch, held my arm in a painful grip and brutalized me from behind more than once. He was deliberately hurting me and my cries of pain stimulated him. I endured it with my eyes closed and stayed that way even after he finished with me. So I really didn’t see much.”
Severus turned to his assessor. “Flaccus, let me have the painting.”
Flaccus opened a cylindrical box on his lap and extracted a rolled sheaf of papyrus. He handed it to the judge.
“This is a painting of the Prefect’s slave Ganymede,” said the judge as he unrolled it. He handed it first to Selene. “Please pass it among yourselves and tell me if you remember him from the party.”
“Is he the slave who confessed?” asked Selene as she studied the painting.
Severus nodded. “Weren’t you questioned about him?”
“Not really,” she answered. “Secundus came by one day with some clerks and told us that one of the Prefect’s slaves had confessed. He asked whether any of us had seen him do it. He didn’t really question us like you’re doing.” She passed the painting to Chloe, the girl on Serpentinus’ couch.
“I don’t notice slaves,” said Chloe with a touch of haughtiness as she looked at the painting, and then passed it to Demetria. Neither Demetria nor Pulcheria remembered him. Aurora, on the Prefect’s couch, commented, “I remember some of the slaves, but not this one.”
The girls on the Pudens and Secundus couches couldn’t remember him either.
“It’s beginning to look,” commented the judge nervously, “as if he wasn’t there at all.”
“But I remember him,” said Andromache from Philogenes’ couch. “He was the one who refilled my wine glass after it was spilled by the flying tunic. And he was directing a young boy to wipe the wine off Philogenes and to clean up the floor.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m positive. It’s him. It’s a good likeness too.”
“Did you drink the wine he poured into your cup?”
“Of course,” she answered. “And I’m still here,” she added, catching the judge’s meaning.
Severus looked at the Prefect’s couch. “Aurora, think again. Send her back the picture. Did Ganymede fill the Prefect’s wine cup? The one with the dolphin on it. Or yours, perhaps?”
Aurora stared at the picture a long time. “I never noticed this person at all, and certainly not at our couch. Our couch was attended by two young slave-girls, who were stationed along the wall behind us. I think one was about 12-years-old and the other about 9 or so. I remember the child filled my cup and the older one attended the Prefect. They did it at past parties too.”
“Did you and the Prefect drink from your cups after they were refilled?”
“Yes.”
“Did no other slaves approach the Prefect’s couch? Perhaps when sex was going on?”
“They wouldn’t have dared,” said several women at once. “And they couldn’t have done it without being noticed,” commented Andromache, “at least by the other
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