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ONE
    Rome, AD 113
    “Pass me the parrot, Pertinax!”
    Augusta shouted across the kitchen.

    Augusta’s grandson picked up the large red-and-yellow bird and carried it across to the bench, where she was chopping herbs.

    The kitchen stoves were burning and the slaves were sweating. Pertinax was a skinny boy, and struggled to carry the dead bird. “Here it is, Grandma. What are you going to do with it?”
    “Chop off the head,” said Augusta.
    “What for, Grandma?”
    “Because my master, Pliny, wants to eat the head,” she explained, neatly chopping it off. “Now, pluck out the feathers, and we’ll eat the rest for dinner.”
    “Why would you want to eat a parrot’s head?” Pertinax asked.

    Before Augusta could answer, the kitchen door swung open and a tall man in a toga stood there.
    His narrow face and eagle nose made him look a little like a parrot himself.

    Augusta and all the slaves bowed low. The cook grabbed her grandson’s neck and forced him to bow, too.
    “Master Pliny,” she cried. “What an honour to see you in my humble kitchen. What can I get for you? The wild boar is roasted, ready for tonight. I’m sure I could carve you a slice with some tasty garum sauce…”

    “No, no,” the master said, with a wave of the hand. “I am far too worried to eat a thing. This is the largest feast I have ever held. Some of the greatest men in Rome will be here tonight. If the food and wine is poor, I will die of shame.”

    Augusta gave a fat grin. “It will all be fine, sir. I’ve even brought my grandson, Pertinax, here to help.”
    “Ah, good, good,” Pliny muttered. “Excuse me… it’s so hot in here, I feel faint.”
    “Step into the garden, sir, and I’ll bring a cup of ale to cool you,” said the cook.

    The kitchen door was already open, but there was no cooling breeze inside. Pliny moved out and sat on a bench in the shade of a tree.
    Augusta took a silver goblet, stepped into the dark, chilly larder and dipped it into a barrel of cool ale. She carried it into the garden. Pertinax followed.

TWO
    “There you go, master,” the cook smiled. “Stop worrying. Remember, when I was a girl I helped cook for the Emperor Vitellius. What a man! What an eater! We made banquets like yours three or four times every day. That man was a glutton. He lived for food.”

    Pliny sipped at the ale and nodded. “I have heard the stories about him. He died when I was just six years old, so I never met him. But he was famous for his eating.”
    “Famous and foul,” said Augusta. “It was murder cooking for him, I can tell you.”

    “Why, Grandma?” Pertinax asked.
    “Because it was a waste.”
    “Didn’t he like your food?”
    “He liked it too much,” Augusta sighed.
    Pliny nodded. “They say he would eat and eat till his stomach was full. Then he would take a large bowl and push a long feather into his mouth. He’d tickle the back of his throat till he threw the food back up. When his stomach was empty, he’d start eating all over again.”

    “What a wicked waste,” Augusta moaned. “The slaves would have enjoyed that food. Or the poor people of Rome.”
    Pliny snorted. “Of course it wasn’t just the poor people who hated his habits. He used the Roman navy to sail the world and find him new treats. At one feast, they say he had 2,000 fish and 7,000 birds.”

    “Parrots?” Pertinax asked.
    “Probably,” Pliny nodded. “I wasn’t there.”
    “But I was,” Augusta reminded him. “Vitellius was very fond of the rarest foods, like pike livers, pheasant brains and flamingo tongues.

    “In the end, the Roman people became tired of his silly ways – they sent an army to kill him.
    “Vitellius tried to hide in a cupboard at the temple. They dragged him out, hacked him to death and threw his body into the River Tiber.”
    Pliny chuckled. “His fat corpse must have made a fine feast for the fish. The pike had their revenge. Ha!”

THREE
    Pertinax looked at the parrots on the