by Crystal King
“Stop.” My voice wavered.
Hesitantly, she pulled back and perched on the bed beside me. I sat up and gathered up the blankets to pull around her lithe, enticing frame.
“I don’t understand.” Her eyes were dark and unreadable.
“Apicius sent you, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” She lifted her hand to move a strand of hair out of her eyes.
I wished those fingers were touching me once more. I struggled to imagine her with her clothes on. I tried to think of carving apart pigs, or to imagine myself standing in a pit of snakes . . . anything to lower the level of my desire.
“Do you want to be here?”
She crinkled her brow, just for a second, puzzled by my question. I thought she would tell me that she did, that she would lie, because she was here by the will of Apicius and it was her duty. I was wrong.
“I do not.”
She leaned over and picked up her shift. I didn’t stop her. I longed to touch the curve of her spine, feel the skin beneath my fingers. But in the space of time between my last and next breath, she was gone.
Oh, Lady Venus, I prayed, please do not let her have slipped away from me.
• • •
The next morning at the salutatio, Apicius jostled me in the arm when I took my place standing next to his chair. He winked at me and I returned the look with an awkward smile.
At that moment, thank Fortuna, the first client arrived, one of Apicius’s neighbors, a balding man who I remembered owned swaths of vineyards east of Baiae. I was glad for the interruption; my anger was such that I was sure to have said something that would have warranted punishment for disobedience.
As a patron, Apicius was the benefactor to many individuals, each of whom looked to him for advice, protection, loans, or political connections. In return these clients, a mixture of equites and plebs, would provide important political votes and support, information, hard goods, or favors of all kinds. Every morning all across the Empire, patrons met with their clients at the salutatio to discuss whatever business was at hand.
My first salutatio was the easiest, as I had no real duties other than to watch and learn. Apicius’s secretary did all the work, reminding Apicius of the history of various clients, advising him about decisions that might affect his relationships with other patricians, and helping him decide who would have a seat on his couch for the cena that night. Sometimes he would advise Apicius to instruct certain clients to fulfill particular favors, such as running errands, casting votes on bills in the local senate, or bartering items needed for the household. In some cases, Apicius handled the meeting without assistance. Each client was shown in to meet with Apicius in turn, for five to ten minutes and no more.
At the end of the salutatio, I was overwhelmed with the enormity of what was being asked of me. Sotas had been dismissed while Apicius went to take a bath and he sat with me while I went over the books with the secretary.
“Looks like you might rather be back in the kitchen?” Sotas teased.
“How can I be expected to keep track of all that?” I said, collapsing into Apicius’s open chair.
“Do not fret,” the aged secretary said to me, squinting as he finished taking notes on his wax tablet. “Apicius wants you to advise him primarily. You will have secretaries like me to take notes and inform you. Afterward, we will meet to go over what transpired and you will decide what actions need to be taken.”
I thought the old man would be perturbed that his position was being partially usurped, but instead he was relieved. It turned out that he wasn’t fond of the role. “I’d much rather be behind the scenes,” he confided. I wondered if perhaps I would too.
“It gets easier,” Sotas reassured me after the secretary left.
“It’s the same fifty or so people, and once in a while one of Apicius’s clients from another town will pop in with a request. You’ll get to know each of them and their quirks pretty quickly.”
“I hope so,” I said, but I didn’t feel hopeful.
“I have names for them all,” he whispered, picking up the goblet of wine that Apicius had left behind and downing it with a single quaff. “When your duties are to stand next to Apicius all day you have to make a game of it.”
Sotas gazed off across the atrium as he remembered who had been at the salutatio that morning. “The first one, the guy with the grapevines . . .”
I consulted my list. “Arvina?”
“You mean Gator Mouth.”
I laughed. Arvina had a mouth full of teeth that looked a bit too pointy to be real.
We continued to banter about names until the bath slave came to tell Sotas that Apicius was asking for him.
“Do you have a name for Dominus?” I asked as he stood to leave.
I had never seen Sotas look offended, but in that moment, he truly was. “May Fides strike me down, no.”
I watched him go, shocked at the depths of the loyalty he held for Apicius. What slave held his master in such high regard?
• • •
After the salutatio, I returned to the kitchen to help Rúan start preparations for the rest of the day. I was carving flowers and animals for Apicata’s prandium, the lunchtime snack, when Passia walked in.
I caught my breath at the sight of her, dreading the awkwardness that I expected to follow in the wake of the previous night’s encounter.
She came right to the table where I worked, ready to retrieve the tray, just as she did every day. I set it in front of her. My heart beat so hard that I was almost sure she could hear it.
“Thank you, Thrasius.”
She looked at me then, her dark eyes locking with mine. It was the first time she had ever said my name. Then she turned away, tray in hand.
“Wait! You forgot this,” I said, placing a large radish flower next to the plate on her tray.
She smiled at me, a small but genuine smile, held more in her eyes than on her lips. She nodded her head at me then departed.
That afternoon, before the cena, I ran to the temple of Venus in the center of town and left a honey cake at her feet.
• • •
A few days later, I awoke to the sound of women wailing in a distant part of the house. I scrambled from my bed and threw my clothes on. When I reached the commotion, I found Sotas and a handful of other guards in the hallway before Apicius’s bedchamber, waving curious slaves back to their duties. Passia stood in the corridor, her face a mask of worry. Before he sent me away, Sotas indicated that I should cancel the salutatio. He was too busy to explain further.
Passia fell into step with me on my way to the kitchen.
Surprised, but pleased, I asked her if she knew what had happened.
She nodded her head and folded her arms close to her body as she walked. “Domina miscarried. It’s the third child she has lost.”
Then I understood the shrieks of grief, which were likely not from Aelia but from her mourning slaves. I hadn’t even known Domina was pregnant, but suddenly I understood some of her strange food requests of the past few weeks.
Passia spat into the flower bed lining one edge of the atrium to ward against the evil eye. It was a strong gesture that I did not expect from someone like her.
“It’s Popilla. She cursed Domina. I know she did. She’s trying to force Apicius to put our Domina aside for not giving him an heir. She never thought Aelia was good enough for Apicius. No one is ever good enough. I bet there is a leaden scroll stuffed in the cracks of Popilla’s family crypt, filled with curses of hate and loathing for the people in her son’s life.”
“Do you think she’d do that?” I thought of the curses that flew in my direction every time I had the misfortune to run into her.
“I believe that with all my heart. She knows nothing but hatred.”
“It is strange to see such jealousy in a mother toward a son.”
“Her husband never loved her.” Passia wiped tiny beads of summer sweat from her brow. “When he was a child, Apicius was desper
ate to please his father and he emulated him in every way, including loathing his own mother.”
“So she is in conflict,” I mused. “She is desperate for Apicius’s attention, and yet she would do anything to destroy the things he loves.”
Passia nodded. “It’s made her easy to hate. Everything she does is dark and mean and petty. Personally, I think she gave her soul to Discordia. She desires nothing more than to wreak havoc on all those around her. She’s a selfish, bitter woman.”
Venom laced each of Passia’s words.
“You hate her even more than I do,” I said, venturing a guess. I marveled that she was talking to me at all and I wanted desperately to keep her attention.
“She killed my mother,” she said in a low, bitter voice.
I was shocked. I stopped and ushered her into the little chamber that often served as a breakfast area so we could be away from the prying eyes and ears of passing slaves. “What do you mean, she killed your mother?”
Passia looked away, her eyes scanning the painted garden frescoes on the walls. She seemed to be considering whether she wanted to continue the conversation.
“Apicius’s father purchased me and my mother when I was three. It was hard growing up in Minturnae with the Gavii. So hard, in fact, that for much of the time when I was young, my mother went out of her way to hide me. I spent most of my time keeping the slave chambers clean or helping out in the vineyards.”
She turned back to me. Her eyes held none of the hardness that used to be there when she looked at me. “My mother died when I was six, before Apicius took command of the domus. Popilla was angry that my mother had failed to bring her the correct wine. She had my mother beaten so severely that several of her ribs broke and her lung was punctured. She died that night.”
I could feel the sadness radiating from her. After a short, uncomfortable silence, I reached over and took her hands, squeezing them in comfort. “I’m sorry. May Pluto and Proserpina keep her safe.”
She let me hold her hands for a moment, then pulled them away. “It’s hard to think back to those times. I haven’t spoken to anyone of my childhood for many years. It’s better not to think of these things. I do not like the darkness that comes when I do.”
Passia left then. I watched her go, the wisps of her yellow tunica fluttering against her legs as she walked.
My own hatred toward Popilla had increased a thousandfold.
CHAPTER 5
“Don’t leave me!” Aelia lay propped up by dozens of silk-encased pillows. Her voice was shrill despite her weakness, her eyes red with sorrow and her hair greasy and lifeless. It had been five days since she lost the baby and she was still despondent. Her body-slave, Helene, was itching to get Domina into the bath as soon as her strength would allow. That morning I brought some broth for Aelia to sip, but when I made to leave, Apicius commanded me to wait for him. I went to stand with Sotas next to the door, where we faded into the background as Apicius paced the room, instructing one of his new Gallic slaves on what to pack in the large trunk next to the door.
“Please, husband. I need you now. Do not go away to Rome. The signs are all wrong. Lightning broke apart our tree in the courtyard earlier this week. And a crow landed on the windowsill yesterday!”
Apicius looked at his disheveled wife and sighed. “I must. I am expected in Rome for an important convivium that I dare not miss. Fannia invited Consul Messalla Corvinus. You know I want him to commend me to Caesar Augustus. I cannot miss this opportunity.”
I was alarmed at my master’s lack of empathy. Aelia had been sick for days, and only in the last two had rallied back toward some semblance of her old self. No longer fighting to live, she was free to mourn the loss of her child. Already the slaves were wagering on how soon it would be before Apicius divorced her. He needed a male heir and she didn’t seem to be capable of providing one.
“I have been here for you, night and day,” he continued, sitting down next to her. “You are getting well, my love, and will be on your feet soon enough. You yourself said you had a dream about a gazelle last night. See? Swift travel is in my future. And when I return, there will be plenty of time to try for another child.”
Aelia laid her head on Apicius’s shoulder, sobbing as he held her tightly. I exchanged a glance with Sotas. I was glad to see the tender, if rare, side of our dominus.
Apicius stroked her hair. It was hard to hear his whisper. “I promise you, Aelia, I will never leave you or send you away from me. I love you and will be home to you in a fortnight. I go to bring the name of the Gavii greater fame and fortune, all to benefit our family.”
Aelia wiped away the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Come,” Apicius said to me, Sotas, and the slaves who had helped pack his trunks. “We should make haste. It’s a long journey ahead.”
I groaned when I realized that the reason he had asked me to stay with him was that he meant for me to attend him as well. Since I had taken on his morning salutatio duties, he seemed to want me with him more and more often, much to my chagrin. I did not want to leave Baiae, or, more important, Passia. I wished Aelia’s dream of a gazelle would be prophetic, but traveling with Apicius was rarely swift. Apicius’s roofed carriage, called a carpentum, was especially heavy, adorned with gilded statuary on each corner post and bedecked with thick red curtains. Because of the weight, instead of mules, a team of oxen pulled it on the open road. A small contingent of slaves dressed in bright colors waved red and gold flags ahead of us, clearing peasants out of the way. Armed guards flanked the carriage and protected the party. It was always a spectacular ordeal to travel with Apicius. I was sure it would be slow and arduous for all except my master, who would be ensconced in the carpentum, gambling or listening to poetry by the clients who always found ways to hitch a free ride when he traveled to Rome.
• • •
The journey was as I feared. A trip that normally took two days took four. On the first night, it rained heavily, leaving several slaves who slept on the wet ground feverish in the morning. The second day was even worse.
The ambush came in the afternoon, when the sun was at its highest point. The robbers seemed to come out of nowhere, cresting over the hills on horseback, waving their swords in warning.
“Stop the carpentum and put down your weapons,” one of the robbers yelled through the cloth that masked all but his eyes. His accent marked him as one of the peasants who lived on the back side of the great mountain Vesuvius.
The carriage rolled to a stop but none of the guards put his weapon down. The slaves who had been walking, including me, huddled against the carpentum in fear. Apicius’s guards circled around us, their long rectangular shields forming a wall to hold us safe within.
Apicius had given Sotas a kindness and let him sit in the carpentum for a few miles. When he stepped out of the carriage, an audible gasp arose from the robber closest to me. Sotas was always an imposing figure, but when he traveled, he kept a monstrous spatha at his side. The sword was longer than a typical gladius, and was used by gladiators in the ring. I had never seen a spatha as large as the one that Sotas carried and it seemed that the bandits had not either. Apicius’s guards parted their shields to let Sotas pass through. He held his sword out in front of him.
“Ask me to put my weapon down again,” he boomed.
The bandits hesitated, their horses dancing nervously. Then, without warning, one of the robbers spurred his horse forward, intending to slash at Sotas as he rode by. It was not the move of a professional marauder.
Sotas effortlessly cut the man’s hand off and the sword clattered to the ground, the hand falling away when it hit the dirt.
“Who is next?” Sotas pointed his sword at the robbers.
Two of them immediately turned and rode off, and the others did not hesitate long before following suit.
“Are they gone?” Apicius sounded bored. He peered through the curtains.
“They are gone, Dominus,” Sotas assured him.
“Good. All of us, we must make haste!”
Apicius pushed us hard, making us run for much of the distance until we reached the next way station five miles away. He hired extra soldiers to accompany us but the intrusion had left everyone on edge. When we arrived in Rome, we all were weary except for Apicius, who was oddly rejuvenated.
Fannia greeted us warmly at her villa on the Caelian Hill. Apicius’s clients had already departed—they had secured their ride to Rome and would seek him out again only for the return. Apicius dismissed most of his slaves into the care of Fannia’s steward. Sotas and I both longed for the reprieve that the other slaves had while Apicius was in Rome, but instead we found ourselves standing on one side of the atrium while Fannia caught up with Apicius.
“Some honey water will refresh you.” She flicked a finger toward a Nubian slave.
Fannia wore a white tunica with an emerald green stola that complemented her auburn hair, piled high upon her head with far too many ringlets framing her face.
Apicius took a seat on the couch opposite his hostess. The midday sun streamed through the atrium overhead.
“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.
“Tell me about Aelia. Is she well?”
“She is. She’s most excited about me bringing new furniture home. The list she has for me is leagues long. Couches, tables, and rugs! You must come to visit soon. I know she will be delighted to show off all the new finds I’m going to bring back for the domus.”