'And Severina.' Seven. Plenty of elbow room on the couches. 'What was the table plan?'

'Mealtimes are not my province, Falco. You want the chamberlain.' The chamberlain would be full of himself, a wearying talker (I had met them before). He could wait.

I walked all around the triclinium, but nothing caught my eye. Wine flagons and water jugs had been left on several side tables after the meal, with a litter of spice bowls and straining equipment. The only relic of the food was a complicated structure on a low central table. It was a tree, sculpted from golden wire, which must have arrived festooned with the fruit for dessert. Bunches of grapes and apricots still hung from its twisting arms and loaded its plinth.

I was still lost in thought, and Hyacinthus was hunched miserably on a dining couch, when the stillness was interrupted by a man arriving explosively.

'Someone has died-yes?'

'Someone may have done,' I answered sombrely, giving the wild apparition a once-over. He had a bald forehead, a wide mouth, a nose two sizes bigger than his other features and darting mid-brown eyes. His stature was unexceptional but he filled extra space by exuding the operational energy of a well-oiled Cretan windmill left with its brake off in a steady gale. 'Who gave you the information?'

'A skivvy ran and told me!'

'Why? What is it to do with you?'

Hyacinthus looked up. 'If you are blaming the food for poisoning Novus,' he told me, with a faint trace of amusement, 'he thinks you're after him-he's the chef, Falco!'

Chapter XXXIV

'Novus!' The wild-eyed chef grew still. He was visibly upset.

'Steady! What's your name?'

'People here call me Viridovix,' he informed me stiffly.. 'And if my master has been poisoned-then you want to talk to me!'

'If you're the chef,' I commented, 'most of the people who ate here tonight will want to do that!'

If I needed confirmation that the Hortensius crowd were a clutch of social amateurs, I would have found it in the fact that they had a Gallic cook.

It was a hundred years since Rome decided to civilize the Gauls; since then we had moved on from genocide at Julius Caesar's hand to taming the tribes with commodities which came cheaper for the Treasury: ceramic bowls, Italian wine, and the finer points of democratic local government. Gaul's response was to fill Rome's artists' studios with life models who specialised in posing as Dying Barbarians, then later to inflict on us a rash of heavy-going middle-class bureaucrats in the mode of Agricola. Many prominent Gauls come from Forum Julii, which was graced by what passed for a university-plus a port, so they could easily ship themselves out to Rome.

I am prepared to concede that one day the three cold Gallic provinces will come up with a contribution to the civilised arts-but nobody is going to convince me that it will be mastery of cuisine. Even so, I never imagined that Hortensius Novus died because his cook came from Gaul. His dinner almost certainly killed him-but that was nothing to do with the cook.

Calming Viridovix was my first priority; he might become less agitated without an audience. I winked at Hyacinthus, who obligingly disappeared.

'I'm Didius Falco. I'm investigating this tragedy-and frankly, after finding your master's body I need a drink!

Considering that he was poisoned, I imagine you'd like to join me-let's try and find something we can assume has not been tampered with ...'

I sat him down to simmer off boiling point. I found one wine flask, an elegant sky-blue fluted glass affair with a silvery, lustrous finish, which stood with its bung out, breathing, like a special vintage set aside for the after-dinner toasts. The amber wine was brimming well up the neck of the vessel; the diners had plainly overlooked their treat. I took a risk that anything that was meant to be partaken of by the company in common was probably safe. It was a big risk; but Viridovix was obviously badly shaken, and I was desperate.

'This should do us -' The contents were thick as nectar and probably of great age. Although I took my own cup neat Viridovix asked for spices; I found a little bowl in matching blue glass standing handy beside the flask and, thinking a cook would appreciate flavour, I emptied the entire contents-myrrh and cassia, by the sniff of it-into his cup.

One gulp convinced me the person who should be enjoying this was my expert friend Petronius. It was fifteen-year-old Falernian, if I was any judge. I recognised the way it slid down my throat like molten glass, and the warm burn of the aftertaste. I knew it because Petro used to treat me on his birthday; he always said it was a waste pouring this noble grape juice into a cluck like me, but Falemian should not be drunk alone (a philosophy I encouraged).

We quaffed. The rook immediately looked less pale. 'Better? Viridovix, the tact is Novus has died, but no one is likely to blame you-unless you had a grudge against him.I I wanted to remind the cook that when a free citizen died by violent means the first suspects were his slaves, but to offer a hope of my protection if he was innocent. 'The best thing you can do to help clear yourself-'

'I have done nothing wrong.'

'I realise that.'

'Yet others may not agree with you?'

I liked his wry attitude. 'They will if I identify the real killer.' Viridovix looked uncertain. 'I was hired to prevent this,' I grumbled. 'So yours is not the only reputation under threat, my friend.' My glum mood had convinced him. We took another swig, then I persuaded him to go through the dinner menu. Obviously a worrier, he had been carrying it around, written on a scrap of parchment which was still in a pouch at his waist:

DINNER FOR SEVEN; HOSTED BY HORTENSIUS NOVUS

Appetisers:

Salad of Lettuce and Mallow Leaves

Peacocks' Eggs

Sausage in a Ring

Baian Oysters Hortensius

Artichoke Hearts

Olives

Main Dishes:

Hare in Rich Wine Sauce

Lobster in Saffron Pot Roast Pork Crowned with Laurel

Wild Crane Halibut Pancakes Fennel; Potted Peas; Stewed Leeks and Onions: Mushrooms

Dessert:

White Cheeses

Fruits Presented on a Hesperides Tree Purchased Pastries

Wines:

With the Appetiser, Mulsum (first pressing), warmed

with Honey and malabathron flavouring With the Main Dishes, a choice of Red or White Chian

Served to Individual Taste For the Toasts after Dinner, Setinum

'And who devised this elegant collation?' I asked.

'I myself,' boasted Viridovix, then added, 'with some suggestions from Severina Zotica ...'

I was not ready to think of Zotica. 'Was the evening a success, Viridovix?'

'Certainly.'

'Your creations were well received?'

'Good ingredients,' he shrugged. 'You cannot go wrong. I am free to buy the best.' He was evidently conscientious. I discarded my private joke earlier about shiny meat-and with it any lingering doubt that his master might have been poisoned by accident, simply through eating unsafe food.

Rereading the list, I put some further queries to the cook, not all of them for professional reasons. 'What are Oysters Hortensius?'

'Poached in a light bouillon of white wine, laurel leaves, juniper berries and lovage-'

'Invented by one of the family?'

'Invented by me!' I was corrected. Of course. No one as pretentious as these freedmen would allow visitors to be served up with a recipe named after a Celtic slave. Viridovix provided the creative skill; they took the credit.

'Mushrooms make people think twice nowadays .. .' I was referring to the infamous murder of the Emperor Claudius by his wife. Viridovix, who was well down his winecup, merely sniffed. 'Did the pastries come from Minnius along the road?'