13
A Messy Night for Faustus
A
By: Audrey Mase
Faustus awoke with a goodie bag stuffed full of food at his side, unidentifiable stains on his tunic, and no recollection of how he made it home. Where had he been last night? What was he doing? And why were his clothes such a mess?
Opening up the bag of food beside him, he looked for potential clues. Bread, olives, a pear, dormice, standard fare. Not helpful. He dug deeper. There was a fine slice of what looked like pork. Now he was getting somewhere. At the very bottom, he dug out a peacock feather. He only had one rich friend. Of course- it was Sextus’ dinner party last night! But that didn’t answer the question of what had happened.
After a minute of knocking, a slave opened Sextus’ door. Giving Faustus a strange look, he led him through the house to Sextus’ office, where he sat at his desk, looking tired. “Oh, hello Faustus. Back so soon?” asked Sextus. “And you look even worse than you did last night!” Faustus collapsed into a chair and stared back at his friend. “What happened to me? What did I do at the party? And why is everyone looking at me weird?”
Sextus sighed. “Where do I begin? It started out normal. We were all lying around the table, eating hors d'oeuvres. I had the slaves serve olives and honeyed dormice. Surely you remember that, Faustus. We gossiped and shared stories, you had only had a cup of wine.”
“It’s coming back to me,” replied Faustus, “I remember some things. Quintus sloshed water on his expensive new toga. We all laughed at him, and he got angry. Is that right?” “Correct. The first of many misfortunes brought on that toga. I do believe you are expected at his home to make an apology.”
Faustus groaned, slouching into his chair. “Why? Don’t tell me I did anything to it?”
“Not on purpose, at least.” Sextus set down the stack of letters in his hand and turned to fully face his friend. “We drank some more wine, and we were talking about the candidates for consul. And then you proposed a toast, for something insignificant. One of the candidates I think. And so that was more wine. When they brought out the boar, you were many cups in. You declared the thing a beast and said you would slay it. You stabbed it a few times, and you gave Marcus a scrape on the arm when he hauled you off so we could eat the thing. You both seemed to think that was funny, and crossed weapons a few times for our amusement.” Nodding to a large gash in Faustus’ clothing, he said, “I assume that was the source of that.” “That sounds familiar, I think, keep going. What else?” begged Faustus, but Sextus waved him off.
“Can’t you see I have work to do? Go ask Marcus if you’re so desperate to know. Now get out! And you better be on your best behavior next time or I’m not inviting you back. You’re entertaining, Faustus, but soon you won’t be worth the property damage!” His friend teased. Faustus laughed, and headed out to his next stop; Marcus’ house. He had to find out what had happened next. He found Marcus in a disheveled state similar to his own and rushed to see the cut on his arm, for which he was apparently responsible. It was long, but shallow, thankfully not a serious injury. Marcus laughed it off like he had the night before, and offered Faustus a chair and some bread and fruit. After gratefully accepting both the seat and the food, Faustus asked his friend; “So after our fight- what happened exactly? My memory is hazy.”