“Keep your thoughts under cover,” said Pertinax, glancing at the steward and the slaves who were beginning to carry in the meal.  But he was evidently pleased, and Sextus’s next words pleased him more: 

“I am ready to do more than think about you, I will follow where you lead—­except into licentiousness!”

He lay on both elbows and stared at the scene with disgust.  Naked girls, against a background of the torchlit water and the green and purple gloom of cypresses, was nothing to complain of; statuary, since it could not move, was not as pleasing to the eye; but shrieks of idiotic laughter and debauchery of beauty sickened him.

There came a series of sounds at the pavilion entrance, where a litter was set down on marble pavement and a eunuch’s shrill voice criticized the slow unrolling of a carpet.

“What did I warn you?” Norbanus whispered, laughing in Sextus’s ear.

Pertinax got to his feet, long-leggedly statuesque, and strode toward the antechamber on his right, whence presently he returned with a woman on his arm, he stroking her hand as it rested on his.  He introduced Sextus and Norbanus; the others knew her; Galen greeted her with a wrinkled grin that seemed to imply confidence.

“Now that Cornificia has come, not even Sextus need worry about our behavior!” said Galen, and everybody except Sextus grinned.  It was notorious that Cornificia refined and restrained Pertinax, whereas his lawful wife Flavia Titiana merely drove him to extremes.

This Roman Aspasia had an almost Grecian face, beneath a coiled extravagance of dark brown hair.  Her violet eyes were quietly intelligent; her dress plain white and not elaborately fringed, with hardly any jewelry.  She cultivated modesty and all the older graces that had grown unfashionable since the Emperor Marcus Aurelius died.  In all ways, in fact, she was the opposite of Flavia Titiana—­it was hard to tell whether from natural preference or because the contrast to his wife’s extremes of noisy gaiety and shameless license gave her a stronger hold on Pertinax.  Rome’s readiest slanderers had nothing scandalous to tell of Cornificia, whereas Flavia Titiana’s inconstancies were a by-word.

She refused to let Galen yield the couch on Pertinax’s right hand but took the vacant one at the end of the half-moon table, saying she preferred it—­which was likely true enough; it gave her a view of all the faces without turning her head or appearing to stare.

For a long time there was merely desultory conversation while the feast, restricted within moderate proportions by request of Pertinax, was brought on.

There were eels, for which Daphne was famous; alphests and callichthys; pompilos, a purple fish, said to have been born from sea-foam at the birth of Aphrodite; boops and bedradones; gray mullet; cuttle-fish; tunny-fish and mussels.  Followed in their order pheasants, grouse, swan, peacock and a large pig stuffed with larks and mincemeat.  Then there were sweetmeats of various kinds, and a pudding invented in Persia, made with honey and dates, with a sauce of frozen cream and strawberries.  By Galen’s order only seven sorts of wine were served, so when the meal was done the guests were neither drunk nor too well fed to carry on a conference.