"All right, all right, Tina, just watch out for any hungry wolves."
"There are no wolves up here, Uncle Rinus!" cried my little 6-year-old niece as she raced forward from the shady path. Her brother of seven, his short brown hair coiffed with leaves of ivy, and holding aloft a small branch as if it were a legionary's standard, said: "You said we were going to have a treat after we visited the shrine of Jupiter."
"I did, and your favorite uncle's always right. Look, right here there's a popina. Good afternoon to you, master Brutus."
I approached the counter and smiled at the proprietor who acknowledged me with a nod.
"These two children have been nibbling on grapes and figs all day long, but since they behaved themselves at the grove, I --"
A wild shriek tore through the silent hillside.
"Oi, Tina! I said no screaming up here! Unless you don't want your treat after all...."
Both children were at my side in no time flat.
"Calm down, now. What will the wood nymphs think of you making all that racket? And this nice man? Now, do you see what he's been preparing? I'll let you choose a snack, just one, the last one for today, remember! What would you like? A helping of that yummy stuffed hare? Or a slice of pork sausage?"
"Glis! Glis!" they cried in unison.
Brutus bent down and winked broadly at them.
"Nothing better than one of them tasty little dormice, eh? With a bit of salt and vinegar? Or you prefer 'em coated with honey? What do you say?"
The children giggled, wriggling with delight as Brutus turned his back to skewer two hand-size rodents.