“You've repainted!" Apicius said with delight as he gazed upon the intricate frescoes decorating the atrium walls. "But aren't you treading a bit on the scandalous?" He gestured at the depiction of Bacchus with his wine-bearing nymphs. I wondered the same thing myself. The cult of Bacchus was not well accepted; Caesar didn't like how rowdy the god's festivals had become. Her laughter rang through the room. "What the world needs is a good old-fashioned Bacchanalia, I say!" "Shame about that pesky little decree against them," Apicius teased. She snorted her derision. "We don't have to call it a Bacchanalia, now, do we?" Apicius laughed.”
Book:Feast of Sorrow