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‘It is not so much what is lacking but what is present in abundance,’ he said, side-eyeing an arrangement of solid gold cherubs.
Claudia flushed hot, humiliated in front of the gathered crowd, though she tried not to let it show.
She’d expected him to flatter her, perhaps even sweep her off her feet, but he seemed displeased to be here instead, maybe even more displeased than she’d been to receive him.
‘I hope at least your journey was uneventful,’ she said, ‘and the military escort gave you no trouble.’
‘I would not say that. A man could not take a shit without making eye contact with a Roman soldier,’ he said gravely.
Gia cough-laughed, clearing her throat to cover it.
‘Our arrival was also… not ideal.’
He looked at the stain where the rotten fruit had hit.
‘My deepest apologies, for that… unfortunate incident,’ said Claudia. ‘He will be dealt with. As for the escort, I’m sure you can understand my position. It would be foolish to allow an unknown man to enter my city without a chaperone.’
‘I am your fiancé, am I not?’ he said.
‘This is our first meeting. You are still unknown to me.’
The crowd stirred uncomfortably again.
‘But… you must be tired and hungry from your difficult journey,’ she said, smiling broadly. ‘We have arranged a grand feast for your arrival. I do hope Roman food can impress you more than our city.’
Claudia raised her brows at Gia as the prince and his court were chaperoned into the triclinium, the grand dining room with one wall open to the atrium. She and the prince took their gold-winged thrones side by side as their staff sat down alongside them.
She was sure to reserve the seat next to her for Gia, forcing Hieronymus to sit further down the long bench, next to his Persian equivalent: the smallest bearded man in the tallest hat.
Damocles led a programme of entertainments as appetizers were brought out on golden trays, beginning with a poetry recitation.
Outside, clouds gathered and a light rain began to fall. Also not ideal. It gradually developed into a storm as they ate fruit and cheese, winds blustering in and riffling the curtains, cloths and napkins.
Claudia shivered, remembering the storm that had almost wrecked her ship and the way the sky had darkened before the assassination attempt at the Pantheon. Jupiter was known for his ability to control the weather. Now every time she saw dark clouds, it put her nerves on edge.
As musicians played, they ate an ostentatious feast of exotic Roman culinary delights, including fish, goat, and even peacock, which the prince declined with a sorrowful look on his face.
When Claudia caught his eye, he explained:
‘The peacock is sacred to the Persian royal family,’ he said. ‘My father’s throne is shaped like a peacock.’
Hieronymus shot her an apologetic look. He hadn’t mentioned peacock when he outlined the plan for the feast, and she wasn’t sure if the mishap was intentional or not.
‘I do apologize, Prince Darius. We meant no offence,’ said Claudia. ‘It is prized as a delicacy here, due to its association with the goddess Juno… though I can’t say I am fond of it.’
‘Let us eat some real food,’ he said. ‘Once you have tasted a perfumed stew with cinnamon and pomegranates, you will never be impressed by anything cooked by a Roman man again.’
‘Is that so?’ she said, cutting eyes at Gia again.
‘I hear you’re a fan of sweet things,’ he said.
‘Guilty. The rumours are true.’
‘Then wait until you try tar halva. It is made of rice flour, ground cardamom and butter, and sweetened with a light saffron syrup.’
‘Tell me you have brought some,’ said Claudia.
‘It would be rude not to.’
