Richard kept them in suspense for a moment:
"The committee met for a full three hours this morning and did indeed reach a decision in the end."
Luca was lifting a potato to his mouth, waiting for him to continue.
"What decision?"
"The decision was to continue the meeting this afternoon."
At that, the dining hall fell silent. Everyone seemed speechless at Richard's terrible joke.
The scribe from Naples sat at the far end of the table, using bread to mop up the sauce on his plate.
"Ah, that's how it is... Officials from Rome are all like that.
Meetings in the morning, meetings in the afternoon, and when they get back to the hotel at night, they still have to write reports about the meetings. I really can't stand it."
The man from Genoa widened his eyes.
"Aren't you from Naples? How do you know Romans are like that?"
"I studied at a university in Rome for a year.
People in Rome have this habit. They like casting these four letters onto public property."
The Neapolitan scribe wrote p on his plate with the sauce—the abbreviation for the Roman Senate and People.
"Fountains, streetlights, municipal garbage trucks, even sewer covers all have p on them.
Take a random look down while walking along a Roman street, and what you're stepping on is the Roman Senate and People."
Hearing that, the tall scribe asked lazily, "When you studied in Rome, did you ever spit on a Roman Senate and People manhole cover?"
The Neapolitan stopped wiping his plate.
After a long silence, he admitted painfully, "Once."
Everyone at the table leaned closer.
"I'd had a little to drink that day, and I regretted it as soon as I did it.
Think about it. Beneath that cover were Caesar, Augustus, Diocletian...