Felix glanced down. A man in a tunic was glaring up at them. He was short and wiry and was surrounded by goats — animals Felix had never seen in the flesh. More to the point, the man was addressing them in Latin.
“Don’t stand there like two dolts! Come away from there!”
“What’s he saying?” Carolyn asked.
“He wants us to come down. Look around for a field with flowers. Quickly. This guy is just about ready to explode. ”
Felix was right. The man was yelling and gesturing at the pair. Other people were gathering now, lured by the commotion. All of them were yelling as well.
“I can’t see any flowers,” Carolyn said. “What now?”
“We’ll have to search for it the hard way.”
“Maybe we’re in the wrong Panarium.”
“We can’t know that for sure. Let’s check things out.”
Felix descended the stairs, his gait somewhat awkward because his toga kept slipping. Carolyn followed, muttering to herself. The crowd confronted them at the foot of the hill.
“Explain yourself!” the first man cried. His face was burned a chestnut brown and he was missing two fingers.
“The goddess is moody,” a woman added. She was dressed in a tunic that had been patched all over, two incisors were missing, and she had a bad rash.
“You’re not from here!” a third person yelled, brandishing a hoe.
“That is so,” Felix replied, anxious to test his Latin on a band of native speakers. “We’re priests from Prytan and wished to visit your goddess. We meant no harm.”
The crowd’s mood underwent a sudden reversal. From hostile and suspicious, they became friendly and servile. They had noticed how well-dressed their visitors were, how their skin was fair, and their teeth white and even. They were clearly well connected, to a senator perhaps. And they were priests! Maybe they would bring the town good luck.
“Is this Panarium?” Felix asked, addressing the first man.
“Yes, amice. It is the finest town in Italy, I daresay.”
“Do you know a farmer named Balbus?”
“No, adulescens. I have never heard of Balbus. But there are numerous households in this region, and our prefect may be acquainted with this person.”
“Many thanks. You have been most helpful.”
“The pleasure is mine, domine.”
“Curate ut valeatis.”
“Valete, both of you.”
Motioning to Carolyn, Felix led her down a narrow road toward the town’s sturdy ramparts. As they walked, he summarized his exchange with the crowd and suggested that they were best off consulting the prefect.
“I still say we’re in the wrong town,” she maintained.
“Maybe, but let’s make sure.”
They continued along the road in silence. While Felix felt vaguely pleased with himself — he hadn’t known how a Roman would respond to his Latin — Carolyn was irritable. Her lack of language frustrated her, and their surroundings were more alien than she had expected.
“Look at this road,” she finally spoke, after stubbing her toe for the fifteenth time, “It’s riddled with potholes.”
“It’s a secondary road, a via glarea,” Felix answered. “But in the eyes of the ancients, even a road like this is a marvel.”
“There are no lights. Imagine walking it at night.”
“You wouldn’t. Unless there were a full moon and you were properly armed.”
“And look at these fields. They’re empty. What’s the use of wasting land?”
“It’s not being wasted. The Romans don’t synthesize their food. This wheat you see will be turned into bread.”
“It’s so … so … primitive,” she observed. “Although the effect is very pretty.”
By now they had reached Panarium’s outskirts. The area was packed with legionnaires and merchants and market stalls full of various wares. Flies were swarming everywhere, and the gnarled and unhygienic crowd kept fingering the produce, even as the merchants told them to keep their filthy hands to themselves. Children had a free run of the place, and there were dogs everywhere, on the lookout for scraps. A withered man was playing a pipe, while a knot of soldiers, reeling with drink, danced to his plaintive tune.
“This place is unbelievable,” Carolyn observed.
“Let me ask someone where we can find the town prefect.”
Felix approached a stall that contained plates of pastry — grainy cakes of dough that were swimming in oil. He had to brush a dozen flies from his face as he confronted the owner, a big-headed man with piercing black eyes.
“What can I do for you, adulescens?”
“Where can I find the prefect, please?”
“Why do you want the prefect?”
“I’m looking for a farmer named Balbus and …”
“Balbus? I’ve never heard of him. Hey!” he called to several passersby. “Do you know a farmer named Balbus? Marcus? Octavia?”
A knot of people quickly formed. Again Felix couldn’t help but notice how tough they seemed, how gnarled and short and badly bruised by life. One had a facial scar, another an arm that was sorely misshapen, and a third was missing his right leg altogether. Glancing Felix over, they said no farmer named Balbus lived in the region. Felix was about to grimace in frustration when a boy came running up to his side. He was eight years old and cradling a hen — again this was an animal that was rarely seen in modern times.
“I know a Balbus,” he piped up. “He lives in my hometown, which is a five-day walk from here.”
“Then he can’t be the right Balbus, can he?” the pastry man sneered.
“But this Balbus is famous,” the boy persisted, “Instead of grain, his land is choked with flowers, that’s how much the gods detest him.”
“That is the Balbus I’m looking for!” Felix felt a surge of excitement. “Where are you from?”
“I’m from a hamlet called Canepria. It is one of several viculi that lie close together.… Ah! I understand!” the boy proclaimed. “A second Panarium lies three miles north of us. That’s the place you’re after, and not this oppidum here.”
He began to laugh at Felix’s mistake, as did the rest of the group. But the chicken in his arms took fright at this clamour, beat its wings vigorously, and escaped his arms. With a cry of anguish the boy set off in pursuit. Laughing still, the crowd went about their business.
“What a bumpkin that boy is,” the pastry man chuckled. “Although I feel bad for his family. They fled here to escape Spartacus’s army and have lost their farm and all of their possessions.…”
Felix was only half listening. He was explaining to Carolyn what the boy had said, and how they had in fact selected the wrong Panarium. Both agreed that they should return to the temple, and were turning to leave when the man snatched Felix’s arm.
“One moment,” he growled, “Is that how you repay a favour? I helped you find that farmer Balbus, and the least you can do is buy a piece of my pastry. Your wife is thin and could use some fattening up.”
“She’s my sister,” Felix replied. “But you’re right. A thousand pardons. We’ll take two servings of your pastry,