Wearing his own clothing, straightened up as much as possible given that he’d been up a tree and fearing for his life, Jack stepped through the marble arch into what seemed very like a Roman banquet hall. Half a dozen men lay around on Roman replica lounges, low to the ground and painted gold. Tuxedos in various states of undress still managed to look elegant, like some new form of onyx toga that Caesar would have worn, given the chance. Pretty youth, about the same age as Gael wore actual togas, barely long enough not to be obscene while moving between the diners, offering wine from pitchers, grapes, and other delicacies.