“I do not know,” he replied honestly. “When the spellcaster brought me to life, I was a beast. I shudder to imagine what might transpire when an intense deity such as the Morrigan attempts to possess a human body.” He turned towards him, his face suddenly severe as he changed the subject. “You are my protege, Davius. My brother in this life. We embark on this mission of vengeance because I care for you, but this is the last time I will entertain such things. These human inklings have no place in our lives. After tonight, we will return to Greece and plan our travels moving forward. You must allow me that.”
“Absolutely,” Davius responded, though he was slightly taken aback. “I am grateful for your support,” he added.
Lucius resumed his reclined position, satisfied with his answer. “Of course. I do appreciate a good killing anyway.”
The litter came to a halt. They exited through curtains that opened to reveal dozens of armed guards poised to greet them. They accepted their arrival without question, leading them through the front door of what was once Eridus’s villa. A chill settled over Davius as he re-entered his former home. The interior had been completely transformed, rendering him curiously impressed. Not only did its new occupant restore the villa to its former glory, but surpassed it in extravagant decor.
The entire atrium was now laid with imported white marble, the deep reds that once draped every window and chair exchanged for a scale of rich purples and soft lilacs. The masculine busts Eridus once favored were replaced by smooth polished statues of the fiercely independent Diana and the curious triple-faceted Hecate. Each candelabra and lighting fixture was fashioned in bright silver, while intricate tapestries draped the walls and woven rugs lined the floors.
The dining room they soon entered mirrored the entryway in concept. Gone were the dining couches boasting the jolly face of Bacchus, the plain white marble benches that replaced them giving the room a look of sterile elegance. Frescoes depicting tales of the Greek goddesses covered each wall. Davius’s eyes pulled immediately towards the front of the room to the scene of Arachne transforming into a spider, her eternal punishment for her hubristic challenge of the goddess Athena. Her shriveling frame cowered beneath the war goddess, who stood fierce and unwavering. Delicia was seated directly underneath the painting, her choice in position a blatant warning to all who might follow in such footsteps.
She was preoccupied by conversation, offering them a distracted nod as they found empty spaces at the long, oversized table. Her apathy towards their presence allowed Davius a few moments to observe her. Although the mousy girl he had once seen at the Roman Circus had grown into a woman, she was still small and delicate, wrapped in a lilac toga with silver adornments, as if strategically matched to her preferred decor. It hung awkwardly against her tiny frame, silver earrings dangling beneath the mousy brown hair piled loosely atop her head. Her slightness offered the illusion of attractiveness, but her face was quite plain. She had inherited her father’s beady eyes, though they glimmered a pleasant brown rather than cold ebony. They darted around the room as she feigned interest in those who spoke to her, making it appear as if she hunted rather than entertained.
Davius seated himself, quietly taking in the room. It felt as if an eternity had passed since he’d last witnessed a Roman feast. Delicia spared no expense in spoiling her guests, the spread before them an endless compilation of obscure foods. Along with the customary fresh fruit and bread platters, she had somehow managed to acquire ostrich from Africa’s northern boundaries, pickled peacock brain, and a platter of exotic flamingo tongues boiled in red wine. Yet the peculiarity of the victuals were apparently lost on the party; the exotic menu and sophisticated room did little to deter them from their gluttonous imbibing. They thought nothing of slamming around their beverages until they sloshed over the lid onto the floor, spit running down their chins as they licked greasy fingers.
Their host seemed unperturbed as she delicately sipped her drink and picked at her plate, but Davius sensed her vehement displeasure. Her eyes caught his for a moment, revealing a burning intensity carefully concealed behind her stony exterior. He offered her a pleasant, close-mouthed smile, which brought the briefest warmth to her cheeks before she hardened and promptly turned away.
Conversation rolled smoothly throughout the evening, the musicians Delicia had hired drowning out most of the idle chatter from Davius’s ears. Lucius was at ease playing the part of a Roman aristocrat, but Davius remained quiet and still, save for when he was forced to laugh when appropriate or when he pretended to swallow bits of food which were secretly discarded into his napkin. He was unprepared for how delectable the scent of so many humans near him would be, grateful that Lucius had brought a flask of blood to pass between them under the table.
The night pressed on mercilessly as Davius struggled to maintain his pleasant facade, when at last someone spoke the words he had been waiting to hear. A voice shouted out over the clamor, “And where is our elusive Nirus tonight?”
Delicia cleared her throat, waving her hand to silence the instrumentals. “My father is not well, as you all know,” she replied.
“Bring him out, you are among friends here!” another man called.
Her smooth face offered no emotion, yet Davius once again sensed her growing displeasure. This was her house, her party, and she hadn’t intended on sharing the spotlight. After a moment of consideration, she called to one of her slaves, a meager looking young woman with eyes rimmed in charcoal. She whispered in her ear, the girl nodding nervously before disappearing into the folds of the house.
Delicia took a sip of her wine. “I will remind you once again of my father's illness, and the fact that I have taken great pains to keep him hidden from those who would enjoy seeing him jailed for conspiracy,” she said. Her voice was soft but strong, with the regal air of a monarch. “His weakened state would see him dead in such conditions. I ask that you remember that I am now head of his estate and the negotiations made tonight are strictly of my own affairs. I am willing to have him join us as a courtesy to you all, an extension of good will in our dealings, but know that his authority here has ended.”
The men surrounding the table nodded, murmuring acquiescence, one raising up his glass towards her in a gesture of respect.
Davius was struck by the fierceness of her eyes as the men surrounding her agreed to her terms, an expression similar to that of the Morrigan. He smiled to himself, briefly wondering where their guardian goddess had wandered off to.
And then he appeared.
A gasp floated about the room as a shriveled creature appeared at the doorway, leaning heavily on a slave girl who could barely handle his weight. His right leg was completely mangled, hanging uselessly from his body as he limped forward, favoring his left. His beady black eyes bulged from their sockets, his face a swollen map of purple bruises and oozing sores, sloppily covered with flesh colored oil paints that only enhanced their grotesqueness rather than concealed it. He was completely bald, which magnified the misshapenness of his skull and the hideous absence of his formerly elongated nose. It seemed to have shrunk back into his head, leaving two large nostrils exposed as they pulled at his upper lip to reveal less than a dozen teeth hanging hopelessly to his skull. Even from across the room, he reeked heavily of alcohol and decay.
“Romans! How I have missed you so,” he managed through his deformity, spittle flying from his desiccated lips.
The dinner party managed to hide their horrified surprise, cheering his presence with extended glasses.
“How is he still alive?” a man on Davius’s left mouthed in an inaudible whisper, one that only an immortal could hear.
Nirus slumped down onto one of the open couches, greedily slugging down the cup of wine before him. “More!” he demanded, slamming it back down on the table, sending his dishes flying.
Delicia looked perfectly mortified.
His personal slave girl hurried to refill his cup. A sense of satisfaction gripped Davius as he watched Nirus struggle to put it back to his lips, both his drunkenness and his disease rendering him utterly pitiful.
“You must listen to my daughter, you fools!” he roared. “I have never been prouder to have her by my side.”
Delicia forced a thin smile. “Thank you, father.”
“The only child I ever bore! Born to a real cunt of a mother, though, who did not last very long in my employ, if you catch my meaning. I am glad she inherited her brains from me at least.” He erupted in laughter, spit and wine flying freely from his rotting mouth.
Delicia’s eyes burned with hatred, yet her pleasant countenance was unwavering. “Do you need more drink, father?”
“I need music! I need whores! Come now, I haven’t had a proper feast in years.”
The party chimed in accord, the music recommencing as the Romans resumed their festivities.
Lucius studied Nirus as he awkwardly chugged another tall cup of wine, letting the roar of the party rise to its original intensity before murmuring to Davius, “He suffers so already. Perhaps there are worse fates than death.”
“I made a vow,” Davius reminded him.
It was not long before the intoxication of Nirus overshadowed any hopes for constructive talk of business. He fell twice from his dining couch, resituated only to slosh his wine about his place setting like a defiant child. Delicia was now openly furious, her eyes pleading with her father’s friends in the hopes someone would help discourage his antics.
Finally, it was Davius who stood, smoothing his robes before approaching the spectacle before him.
Delicia watched him curiously.
“Drink! Bring me more drink!” Nirus slurred as he came up behind him.
“Hello, sir,” Davius interrupted, bending at the waist to match his level. “My name is Marcus Athenus, my father fought with you in the wars before his passing.”
“Ah, yes,” Nirus nodded enthusiastically, feigning recognition.
“I have always been interested in winemaking as a business venture,” Davius continued. He gestured towards Lucius, who had decided to follow. “My associate here once owned a successful winery in Greece. We came here tonight in the hopes of making arrangements with your lovely daughter, for our resources are vast. I also hoped you would be willing to let us tour your wine cellars. I am sure you have more than ample provisions stowed away,” he winked at him.
