Volume 26 – Issue 33 17 Nov 2017 28 Heshvan 5778

Year 7 History – A regal banquet

Anna Davis

A regal banquet

“A toast to our victory.” Regalia pressed her ear to the door. Her mother had told her, after a brief greeting to her father and brother just back from Carthage, that she should be off to bed. So naturally, she was outside the doorway to the banquet hall, eavesdropping. She heard the sounds of goblets being drained and laughing. One man was excitedly recounting how under her father, General Scipio, he had defeated an elephant, bravely luring it in between the ranks only to duck aside and attack with javelins from there. Regalia somewhat pitied the elephants but was glad of her father’s victory. Sometimes he would bring her back spoils of war, little bracelets or statues. Though really she longed to experience the glory of battle herself, but being a woman she had to content herself with listening to their stories of battles. She held a wax tablet where she would take down the accounts of their exploits. She had noticed that every time her brother told a tale, the number of soldiers he had defeated grew exponentially as he retold it.

Regalia ducked behind a marble column as a slave bearing a bowl of porridge which reeked of fish and egg went by. She had to stifle her giggles as some of the wine in another slave’s decanter splashed onto the household altar. She’d always thought Juno could’ve done with a splash of purple. This would be the start of a banquet which could most probably last for several hours. Through the doorway she now heard one of her father’s soldiers, a young man named Lucius, who was pleasant enough but better suited to poetry than warfare. He was discussing dowries with her father; she wondered who he would be marrying, she had several older sisters and sorely hoped she wasn’t to be married. Then again, there were many more unpleasant men than Lucius.

She quickly returned to her hiding spot behind the column as an even longer procession marched past bearing platters heaped with salted oysters, salads, pottages and all manner of meats with spices and generous quantities of fish sauce. Her stomach growled. Regalia herself had only been allowed some bread and meagre pottage before she supposedly went to bed – her family had been keen to get straight to the feasting. She checked the pockets of her second-hand faded tunic but unfortunately found nothing. Inside, some of the men, by the sound of the snoring, had fallen asleep. She knew they would be teased mercilessly on their awakening. A good Roman soldier was meant to hold is liquor. The slaves still returned bearing empty platters soon to be filled with seconds, the soldiers had gone a long while with only rations of cheap wine and mutton and were now very hungry.

From the kitchens, she could smell the scents of sweet fruits, wine cakes with dates, and various tarts. Dessert was delicious and fruit a luxury she was glad to possess. Unfortunately, it would probably be a while until the soldiers got to the desserts. They were too busy gorging themselves with meats, vomiting, then stuffing themselves again. Regalia checked her wax tablet, now filled with diagrams of tactical manoeuvres and elephant sketches. Inside the men were now giggling, and unlikely to tell any more stories on anything other than fairies and pink elephants. She started walking down the corridor, not to be off course, but to the kitchens. Maybe the cook would give her some dates or a slice of pear tart. As she walked, she imagined herself, a retuned commander feasting with her loyal troops discussing glory and battle, no ridiculous mermaids in sight. Soon Regalia grew tired and sat in a corner to catch her breath. The following morning her oldest sister, now engaged to Lucius, found her there, fast asleep.