It was midafternoon on the Flosis. The early summer sun shone down warmly on the river, which flowed slowly toward the sea – too slowly for a couple of suspiciously hyperactive otters. Annoyed by the flatness of the landscape, which provided little opportunity for whitewater body surfing, the enterprising mustelids had taken advantage of a slope on the riverbank and created their own mudslide. They were now busy climbing, sliding, and swimming. Their water acrobatics were impressive.

An observer more versed in natural history than the average Potentian might have wondered how those otters had managed to build a mudslide: after all, there hadn't been any rain in at least a week. A suspicious observer might also have noticed a pile of clothes on a nearby rock – enough for two people – and wondered where the owners were. At the moment, however, the only human on the riverbank was a white-haired member of the philosopher class. Like all his tribe, he was even less observant than the average human. After all, he knew almost everything already.

The rest, he was prepared to read about. Aloud.

For any type of gout a live black torpedo should, when the pain begins, be placed under the feet. The patient must stand on a moist shore washed by the sea and he should stay like this until his whole foot and leg up to the knee is numb. This takes away present pain and prevents pain from coming on if it has not already arisen.

'Well,' said the philosopher. 'That's a very good thing to know.' He surveyed the river disapprovingly. 'I don't suppose there are any torpedoes in this river, though, alive or dead. The letter does say, 'sea', and I'm sure Scribonius Largus knows what he's talking about. After all, he is the emperor's personal physician.'

The otters had paused in their water play to listen to all this. 'What the heck is a live torpedo doing along the sea shore in whatever-year-this-is?' one otter asked. Fortunately, the philosopher was far too engrossed in his letter to bother paying attention to a couple of chattering weasels. Besides, he didn't speak Otter.

'He means a torpedo fish,' the other otter said, also in that language. In Otter, 'torpedo fish' has the connotation of 'live wire', 'don't touch', 'ouch', and 'ptooey'.

The first otter floated on his back. 'Can they really cure gout that way?'

The second otter chuckled, which came out like a trilled bark. 'Yes, they can. Ever since one of Tiberius' bureaucrats accidentally stepped on one – don't ask – and was cured of gout, electrotherapy has been all the rage. It's said to be good for migraine, too, and a prolapsed anus. Really don't ask.'

'Go and stick your head in a fish,' chortled the first otter, splashing. Forgetting about humans and their lack of natural history information, the otters continued to play and chatter.

The philosopher looked up, startled by the noise. He noticed the otters. 'Yah, yah! Go away, you vermin! Leave me to think in peace! Yah!'

The otters stopped swimming.

They climbed up on the riverbank.

They looked at each other. 'He called us vermin,' they said simultaneously. One nodded.

They charged the philosopher, chattering as loudly as they could. Several jays, attracted by the rumpus, joined in with raucous cries and decided to dive-bomb the philosopher, who had disturbed everyone's afternoon.

'Eek! Ut dii me adiuvet! Animals attacking! This is a terrible omen!' The philosopher hastily tucked the letter into his toga, gathered up the folds of his garment, and hot-footed it away from the river in the direction of town.

By the time the horrified patrician had reached the gates – he moved pretty fast considering his age and lack of athleticism – two naked humanoids lay beside the river where the otters had been. They were gasping and wheezing – with laughter, not exertion.

'Who in hades was that?' demanded Radu.

'Oh, that's old Pertinax,' said Demetrius. 'He's our neighbour. I haven't had much to do with him so far, although he did yell at the kids for making too much noise while he was 'meditating' on Plato. He's terribly pretentious. He hates being out here in the boondocks among the veterans, but he can't afford life in Rome. He's a big snob, always name-dropping that he knows this one and that one.' Demetrius laughed. 'He asked me once if I was related to the Pompeiian Georgenii.'

'What did you tell him?'

'I looked at him very solemnly and said, 'We've taken an oath not to mention them in public.' He almost died of excitement.' This set off another round of laughter.

Radu looked up at the blue sky. 'Do we have any Georgenii in Pompeii?'

'I think Alegra and some of her minions are hanging around there. They like the city life.'

'I hope she remembers about the upcoming volcano,' said Radu. 'It wouldn't be nice to have your house overrun by pyroclastic flow.'

'She has a look that will freeze lava,' replied Demetrius solemnly. They both laughed.

Demetrius sat up. 'You know, that gives me an idea.'

'What does? Alegra freezing lava?'

Demetrius waved dismissively. 'Nah. Torpedo torpedo. You know, the electric fish. Let's head down to the harbour. I know a couple of fishermen with more than two brain cells.' He reached for his clothes.

Publius Flaccus Pertinax dressed in a flurry of excitement. There was so little social life here in backwater Potentia that an invitation from another patrician amounted to a highlight in his week. He slapped at the slave arranging his toga.

'Here, clumsy! Let me!' He examined himself in the silver-polished mirror and decided that he looked presentable, at least, from what he could see. What a shame he couldn't see his own face in profile. (He'd tried, but it made him cross-eyed.) Being fairly sure he now displayed a figure befitting the noble house of Flaccus, he swept down the three front steps of his villa and walked, with great dignity, toward Villa Georgenius next door. A torch-bearing servant preceded him. He looked good enough for a frieze, he thought.

The whole journey took three minutes.

Demetrius met him in the vestibulum. 'Salve, Publi Flacce Pertinax! Si vales bene est, ego valeo.'

Pertinax beamed. Now this was living. Being welcomed properly into the home of another nobleman. Having one's station acknowledged. And look, the vestibulum's floor mosaic was so tasteful, depicting a winged figure in flight among stars. The legend must be a family motto: per ambages ad astra, it said. Not like the vulgar merchants, whose mosaics of Priapus, or, gods help us, cave canem, made Pertinax shudder.

There were the usual pleasantries, inquiries as to everyone's health, etc. Demetrius introduced his cousin Radu from Dalmatia, a respectable province though hardly top-drawer. Pertinax continued to find these neighbours mysterious. So effortless in elegance, yet so modest in demeanour – and they appeared to have no ambition at all. Very unusual in Romans. He himself constantly chafed against his own lack of personal advancement. He still had hopes for his son, who was busy making his way in the capital, and who didn't write often enough.

Demetrius was saying something. 'I thought tonight we would do something different and have our meal in the peristylium. The stars are so bright, and the air is full of the scent of evening flowers. Besides, I have a surprise for you in the pool.'

A surprise! Just for the honoured guest! How splendid. Pertinax beamed gracious assent. So, instead of eating inside in the stuffy triclinium – they passed through it, and Pertinax caught a glimpse of what he considered an indifferent set of murals – the three diners arranged themselves around the pool. The air was indeed scented with jasmine and lilium, an intoxicating mixture.

The food was delicious, even if the service was a little slipshod for Pertinax's liking. Those small children who handed round the olives, nuts, and raisins giggled far too much and should have been disciplined. He shrugged inwardly. 'Do not judge another man's slave' was a wise precept. At least the musicians were good. He said as much, and was rewarded by a broad smile from the group leader and another chorus of Song of Seikilos. His host nodded approval, although the cousin lifted an eyebrow. Obviously not a true music lover.

Pertinax could hardly contain himself, waiting for dinner to be over and the 'surprise' to reveal itself. Still, as guest, one had responsibilities to the dinner conversation, and Pertinax did his level best to entertain the party with titbits from the gossip in Rome, gleaned from letters.

'They say our emperor Claudius is a most earnest judge,' Pertinax informed them. 'He often hears law cases himself.'

'Indeed,' responded Demetrius. 'And does he uphold the letter of the law?'

'Not always! That is the unusual thing. His is a most idiosyncratic form of judgement, or so I am told.' Pertinax preened in his role of informant.

He went on. 'In one case, a woman before him refused to recognise her own son. Witnesses gave conflicting testimony: one said yes, they knew him to be her son, another – probably paid for by the woman – insisted he wasn't. What was a judge to do?'

'What, indeed?' said the cousin. 'A difficult case.' Was he mocking him? It was hard to tell: that young man seemed never to be completely serious.

Demetrius leaned forward. 'Do tell, please.'

Pertinax cleared his throat. 'You'll never believe what the emperor did! He ordered the woman to marry the man! And, of course, she was terrified to do that. She knew him to be her son: she would have been hounded by. . . '

'The Eumenides, ' said Radu, obviously more used to Greek than Latin.

Pertinax laughed. 'Exactly, my young friend! It was a brilliant stratagem for getting at the truth. Oh, that Claudius is a wise one.'

'A Daniel come to judgement,' murmured Demetrius obscurely. Talk moved on to other things. The conversation was lively and some very good wine contributed to a comfortable atmosphere. Feeling a bit light-headed from the drink and the strong scent of the flowers, Pertinax recounted his hair-raising escapade with the jays and otters.

'I am convinced this was an omen,' concluded Pertinax. 'What is your opinion?'

Demetrius seemed to give the matter sober consideration. The idiot cousin smirked a bit, no doubt thinking Pertinax did not note this, but note he did.

'I believe the otters were offering you protection in these uncertain times,' Demetrius said. 'As you no doubt know, being a scholar, Pliny has noted the ability of weasels to destroy the dreaded basilisk.'

Flattering as it was to have his host assume his knowledge of contemporary science, it was unsettling to think of himself as being menaced by basilisks. Pertinax wasn't exactly sure what a basilisk was, and he didn't want to find one in his kitchen one day. He privately determined to call an exterminator tomorrow.

The night was warm, and the floral scent of the garden almost overpowering. He must ask Demetrius what sort of fertiliser he was using.

At last, the meal was over, and Demetrius was ready to unveil his surprise. 'Come over to the pool, please,' he said. The three patricians settled by the pool, sitting cross-legged, and gazed down into the torchlit waters, which sparkled in the flames. There were various fish swimming about: even a few eels. This was not a bathtub or a swimming pool, but a real water feature. Pertinax's appreciation of these neighbours grew. They really knew how to live, these Georgeniis.

Something came gliding through the water. Something bigger than the other fish, who avoided it. Something triangular in shape.

When the torpedo fish came close enough to the edge of the pool, Radu dropped a wire fence into the water, effectively trapping it so that it couldn't swim away or harm the other fish. The fish appeared to be only mildly annoyed; swimming around the confines of the smaller enclosure and finding no immediate exit, it settled down to a meal of minnows that incautiously filtered through the mesh.

'Is that. . . ?' Pertinax began. Demetrius nodded.

'It's a torpedo fish,' he said. 'Everybody says these days that they're good against gout. I'd heard from the local pharmacist that you had a touch of it and I thought you might want to try it out.'

'But how. . . ?'

'How did I get hold of this torpedo fish? Sheer luck. We happened to be down at the fishermen's dock and heard them complaining about this useless fish they'd caught. I took a look, thought of you, and arranged to have it brought here. The fishermen couldn't believe their luck.' He paused. 'You know, this might have something to do with those otters, after all. Perhaps the weasels were saying, Here: look to nature for your cure.'

'Or something similar, only in Weasel,' put in Radu.

Pertinax was pleased beyond all measure at this sign of collegiality. This is how patricians should treat one another, he thought dreamily. He readily agreed to dangle his feet over the side of the pool and into the water where the torpedo fish was circling.

The fish avoided the human's feet. This was good. 'Don't touch the fish!' warned Radu. 'We want low voltage here.' Pertinax didn't know what 'voltage' was, but avoided touching the fish. The water produced a pleasant buzz in his extremities, and his feet started to grow numb. Just as Scribonius Largus said. Science was wonderful thing.

The combination of low electrical current, a full belly, the mellowing mood of wine, and the heady perfume of the night-blooming flowers, Pertinax's mind began to wander. He gazed up at the stars, which seemed to emanate roseate streams of energy, all directed at him. Inspired, the old philosopher began to prophesy:

I never understood wind.

I know windmills very much.

I have studied it better than anybody.

You know we have a world, right?


So the world is tiny compared to the universe.

A windmill will kill many eagles.

After a certain number, they make you turn the windmill off.


Why is it all right for windmills to destroy the bird population?

His legs were numb. Solicitous hands helped him from the water bath. Others towelled him dry. Still others laid him back on a couch.

As he closed his eyes, he murmured, 'The chimney sweeps. Talk to the sword. Shut up, you got a big mouth! Please help me up, Helvitice. Maxime, come over here.'

As he slipped into a restful sleep, the others heard him mutter, 'French-Canadian bean soup.'

The last sound he heard before drifting off to dreamland was Radu's muffled laughter.

DG

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