Feast of Sorrow

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Feast of Sorrow Page 8

by Crystal King


  I was alarmed to see that Octavius remembered me. He kept moving his eyes in my direction. Why would he care if I were there? Sotas noticed as well, nudging me with his elbow after one prolonged look. I wished I could have disappeared, the stare disarmed me so.

  What did Livia and Corvinus want? We were all still waiting to know.

  When the main course arrived, the conversation turned toward food and drink. Apicius, once more in his element, did not hesitate to talk about his culinary loves. He described a recent trip to Sicily, where he’d discovered a special recipe for olive relish. He promised to have it sent to Livia. Octavius, rising to the occasion, had a story to rival each of Apicius’s tales. To counter the relish, Octavius offered to send Livia honey from Spain. When Apicius said he thought the best cheeses were from Gaul, Octavius disagreed, saying that aged cheese from Bithynia was the best. Livia nodded politely, not seeming to care much about the topic of conversation.

  “How is your son, Tiberius?” Fannia asked Livia, being careful to distinguish between Livia’s son and her ex-husband, who shared the same name. She seemed to be trying to steer the conversation away from the increasing rivalry between Octavius and Apicius, though it was another jab. Tiberius’s withdrawal from politics was rumored to be an embarrassment to both Livia and Caesar.

  Livia didn’t give in to the bait. “He is well, cousin. I visit him often. The isle of Rhodes is a beautiful place and his villa has astonishing views of the ocean.”

  “Julia must miss him,” Fannia said, referring to Tiberius’s wife (and Caesar’s daughter by his first wife, whom he forced to marry Tiberius). All of Rome knew how much Tiberius hated Julia. There was increasing gossip about her attendance at nightly orgies and drinking parties, so much so that it wouldn’t be long before Caesar would no longer be able to ignore the rumors.

  “Not as much as you must mourn for your lost son.” She reached across the couch and patted Fannia’s hand.

  Fannia snatched it away. Livia knew how to wound her cousin. Fannia still lived with the pain of losing her only child to fever at age ten. Sotas had once told me he thought it was part of the reason she had taken to mentoring Apicius, to feel solace for the son who was gone.

  “I hear your grandson, Drusus, is growing up quite fast,” Apicius said to Livia in an attempt to change the subject.

  “Why, yes, he is.” Drusus was Tiberius’s only son from his first wife. “He’s sixteen and is learning the sword already. I suspect he’ll make a fine commander in Caesar’s army one day.”

  The asparagus patina came out and Fannia’s scissor slave sliced the egg dish into wedges for each guest. “This is a recipe from Apicius’s kitchen,” she said with pride.

  Livia took a bite. “This is exquisite.” She seemed to be addressing Octavius, who smiled and dipped his head.

  “It is indeed,” he said between mouthfuls. I was surprised. I expected him to be more contrary.

  She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Apicius, everyone I know who travels to Baiae says an invitation to one of your parties is most desirable. After tasting this, I know why.”

  Warmth flooded me and I felt momentarily dizzy. The empress liked my food!

  Apicius too was pleased. “Thank you, my lady. I am humbled by your words.”

  “I see you brought your coquus with you,” Octavius noted, waving his spoon toward me.

  All eyes were on me. My heart leaped into my throat, lodging there like a too big piece of radish.

  “Octavius says that he has made you quite the star in Baiae.”

  It was strange to hear that Octavius would say anything nice about his rival. Nor did he seem perturbed by Livia’s words.

  Apicius didn’t have the wherewithal to be humble. “Why, yes, Thrasius has certainly helped me raise the bar when it comes to entertainment.”

  “Octavius would like to buy him from you,” she said.

  My mouth dropped open in surprise.

  Octavius delivered an oily smile at Apicius’s hesitation. “I realize he must be quite valuable. I assure you, I am willing to pay whatever price you name.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. I said a small prayer to Sotas’s goddess, Fides, promising to be faithful to Apicius if she would keep me from being sold.

  “Well?” Octavius asked, his brow furrowed in irritation.

  “My friend, while I appreciate your offer, I cannot part with Thrasius, not for any amount of coin. He has become part of our family and to lose him would be devastating to all of us.”

  “I see.” Octavius’s tone was abrupt and threatening. “I promise you, Apicius, at some point you will be most inclined to change your mind.” He glanced at Livia, as though he expected her to back him up, but she only arched her eyebrow at Apicius.

  Then she smiled, glancing at Fannia as she spoke. “Family is important and should be highly regarded. It is admirable of you to protect and respect yours, Apicius.” She gestured to her body-slave, who rushed forward to help her up and into her cape.

  “Fannia, thank you for a lovely meal. Apicius, I am glad to have met you. I trust that you will seriously consider Octavius’s offer. May Mercury protect you on your journey home.” Her voice was flat and held no hint to what she might truly feel.

  As soon as the door closed, Fannia barked an order to her slaves to bring back the absinthe. “You, my dear friend, have just made yourself a powerful enemy in Octavius. Be glad he did not fully curry the favor of Livia. She could have forced a purchase today if she had desired. In the future you may not be so lucky.”

  • • •

  Apicius wasn’t anxious to return home and ordered a stop at the villa in Minturnae, where he spent his time brooding, drinking, and bedding the female slaves. His temper was short and he made Sotas administer many beatings during our visit.

  “Please, Dominus Apicius, we should return to Baiae. Surely you miss Apicata?” I said one day, in an attempt to reason with him. I was desperate to see Passia with every passing day.

  The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. I dared not move as he strode toward me and slammed his hand against the side of my face. His heavy rings smashed against my temple and I could see stars through the blackness. I fell to the ground, clutching my head in pain.

  “We go when I say we go. Next time think hard before you question me.” He turned back to the window and left Sotas to gather me up and escort me out.

  I reeled with his words.

  I stayed away from him after that, sharing only the barest of words when asked at meals. A month passed before his mood shifted and we returned to Baiae.

  • • •

  Aelia came out to the gates to meet us. Her hands were on her hips and the look she bore was that of a woman deciding whether to give her lover a second chance. I looked for Passia but she had not come to the door.

  Apicius hurried to his wife and wrapped his arms around her as though he were afraid he would never see her again. “Oh, how I missed you!”

  She held him for a spell, then pulled away. “You were gone for much longer than you promised. Why didn’t you send a messenger?”

  Apicius bowed his head. “In truth, my little dove, I was so busy I didn’t think of it.”

  I wanted to kick him.

  “Well, husband, what kept you so busy that you didn’t have time to think about your wife?”

  Though the scorn in her voice was evident, Apicius was excited to show her all he had acquired in his travels. He shouted at the slaves to start bringing in the furniture.

  “All this, dear wife.”

  Aelia’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened. I knew her well enough to guess what she was feeling—amazement at her husband’s inability to comfort her and astonishment at the purchases being unloaded from the many wagons.

  “You are replacing all of our furniture?”

  Apicius grinned. It was as though he were eight years old and showing a favorite toy to his friend. “I hoped to cheer you
up. I bought new furniture for the villa in Minturnae as well.” He pulled her close once more. What he couldn’t see but Sotas and I could was the look of sadness and resignation on Aelia’s face.

  CHAPTER 6

  After we returned from Rome, Passia was a different person toward me. Much to my delight, she would often appear in the kitchen with Apicata in the late morning when all was quiet. We would tell Apicata stories and sometimes take walks with her in the garden. We talked only a little to each other at first, with most of our conversation centered on Apicata.

  Over the months that followed, the walks began to include longer conversations. Six-year-old Apicata would run ahead and Passia and I would sit on a bench and talk. I longed to touch her, to reach out my hand and place it against hers, but I did not. Instead we let our words touch and entwine. We talked about what life would be like if we were not slaves. We shared house gossip, gave each other advice on how to handle Apicius, and discussed Aelia’s sadness.

  “I try to keep Apicata from Aelia when the darkness consumes her,” Passia said to me one day, almost a year after the night in my cubiculum. I was pulling radishes up from the garden and she was helping me by wiping off the dirt and placing them in a basket. Apicata was drawing in the dust with a stick at the other end of the garden. One of the house cats was batting at the stick in play.

  “It’s not good for her to see her mother so depressed,” she continued. “It fills her with sadness and no little girl should feel that way.” It sounded like she was remembering her own childhood.

  “She should have more children her age to play with,” I said, pulling hard on one of the radishes. “Apicius should not be so narrow-minded. He should let her play with the slave children.”

  “I asked Sotas to help me convince Apicius to let one of the girls be a little handmaiden to her but Dominus refused. He did not see the need for her to have two slaves at her age.”

  Rúan appeared at the end of the row of radishes. “Popilla is looking for Apicata,” he said, waving at Passia. “She wants to have lunch with her.”

  “May Pluto take that old goat,” Passia muttered.

  We watched her take Apicata by the hand and pull her away. “Pluto won’t help her,” Rúan said as they disappeared into the house.

  “You’re always so certain that our gods are worthless,” I teased, but only half-heartedly. In the three years I’d known him he had often been dismissive of the gods. I had never understood. “How can you be so sure? We don’t scoff at your Tuatha Dé Danann. We even have temples to your own goddess Epona.”

  Rúan sniffed with disdain. “In this the Romans are stupid. They would rather believe in everything than make a choice.”

  “But who are we to say what gods may decide our fate?”

  Rúan picked up the basket. “Men decide their own fate.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true. I think that the gods step in and change our fate. We can ask them to help us.”

  “Believe what you will, but no god has ever helped me get what I want. If they did I wouldn’t be standing here watching you sit in the dirt pulling up radishes.”

  When he left, I thought about his words. I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t. I had to hold on to hope that Venus would bring me Passia and that Fortuna would bring fame to Apicius and in turn to my food and my kitchens. Otherwise I had no purpose, I would be just like so many other nameless slaves, worked to the bone until they died, alone and with no stone to be remembered by.

  • • •

  That evening, Apicius intended to hold a small cena. I had planned an ocean theme, with a wide variety of morsels fresh from the morning’s catch.

  When my dominus found me, I had just finished filling a basket of snails plucked from the cochlea where they had grown fat on a specially mixed milky porridge, then boiled and cooled. The snails, nearly as round as a baby’s fist, were ready to be fried and served with salt, oil, pepper, cumin, and a bit of silphium.

  “There you are!” Apicius’s voice rose over the din of the kitchen. He wasn’t yet dressed for dinner and wore a red tunic that appeared to be simple at first glance. But as he came close, the intricate border of the tunic became apparent, a thin patterned line of gold along its edges. I could not help but grin. Opulence should have been Apicius’s cognomen. Sotas crossed the kitchen with his master but moved beyond to stand against the wall where he could easily survey the kitchen. He smirked at me.

  “Snails, I see!” Apicius said. His voice was bright and his enthusiasm was infectious. When his mood was high my world always felt a little lighter.

  “Part of the gustatio.” I was pleased he approved.

  I set the basket of snails down on the table next to Vatia. “Shell these, please. You can use the pick in my knife box.”

  Apicius picked up one of the snails. “What else is on the menu?”

  “I was thinking of an oceanic theme. Sprats in white wine, salt fish balls, stewed eels, oysters, mussels . . . perhaps a patina of sea nettles.”

  Apicius frowned. “These snails aren’t from the sea.”

  “I know.” I chuckled, moving out of Vatia’s way so she could slip by and get the shell pick out of my personal box of knives, which I kept in the area of the kitchen designated as my work space. “But they seem as though they should be from the sea, do they not?”

  “I suppose they do.” Apicius laughed. “Now tell me . . .”

  Apicius was cut off by Vatia’s scream, a piercing cry that stopped everyone in the kitchen.

  I turned from Apicius to see Vatia swinging her arm hysterically. A small snake hung from her hand.

  Another cry rose from the table next to where I stood with Apicius.

  “No!”

  It was Pallas, the slave who’d broken the glasses on my first day in the household. I had moved him from the kitchen and now his job was mostly in the laundry, washing the napkins, the seat cushions, and the costumes the serving boys wore. His scream mixed with Vatia’s shrieks of fear and pain. Pallas stood there, a look of horror on his face.

  Vatia slammed the snake against the table. She snatched up a nearby knife and slashed at the snake, missing and cutting deep across her wrist. Blood poured from the wound and across the head of the viper. Eventually, it relaxed its hold and thudded against the tiles. It had happened so fast that most of the kitchen was too stunned to move. The snake lay there for a second before slithering along the floor toward Apicius.

  The blood-spattered serpent was marked with shades of dull red and two dark stripes that began at the eyes and extended down the body. A white wavy pattern crisscrossed its scales. When it was three foot lengths from Apicius it paused and began to make a terrible rasping noise. The whole kitchen knew that sound, the snake was a deadly asp.

  “Jupiter, protect me,” Apicius whispered.

  “Don’t move!” I yelled to him, although it was clear my dominus was too scared to do anything but stand there, frozen.

  Keeping my eye on the viper, I reached back to the table next to me, feeling for the basket Vatia had emptied of the snails. I began to lift it off the table, trying to keep my movements slow and steady.

  My effort at subtlety was futile. The rasping sound stopped and the snake began to move. This time I moved much faster. I pulled the basket off the table and slammed the reed vessel down over the viper one second before it would have sunk its fangs into Apicius’s ankle.

  Apicius fell backward, his head narrowly missing the thick acacia-wood legs of the kitchen table. He pushed himself away from the basket, while the creature hissed beneath.

  I pointed at the pale boy. “Grab him!” I yelled at Sotas and another burly slave standing behind Pallas. They responded with the same urgency, lunging forward to grip the boy by the wrists and shoulders, preventing his escape. Pallas tried to struggle but gave up after Sotas slapped him across the head.

  Vatia was on the floor. Rúan reached her first.

  “Vatia, oh, Vatia,” he crooned as he took her in his
arms. Tears brimmed in his eyes. She was as white as a freshly bleached toga. Her breathing was heavy and she stared past Rúan.

  Balsamea rushed forward with an armful of towels with a swiftness that belied her age. She knelt and wrapped up Vatia’s arm. I watched in horror as the blood soaked the towel in less than a minute. She quickly snatched up another towel and tried again to stanch the flow.

  I could not help them. Apicius was still sprawled on the floor. I reached out an arm to help him up. He took my hand and, shaking, got to his feet. Then I turned back to the cluster of slaves standing around watching. “Get that snake out of here, now! Kill it once it’s out of the house. Now!”

  Apicius touched me on the arm. “Who is he?”

  I looked in the direction of his gaze. Pallas’s head hung low, his dark hair covering his face.

  “He’s from the laundry,” I told Apicius. “And I think he knows what happened.”

  “Is this true?” Apicius said, moving toward the boy.

  Pallas looked up. His mouth formed a wet O, but no sound came out.

  Sotas tightened his grip on the boy. “Tell your dominus what you know!”

  Pallas fixed his eyes on the ground. “Popilla . . .” he managed.

  Apicius gasped.

  “Popilla what?” I asked, moving forward to grab the boy by the tunic.

  “She, she, she . . .”

  “Did you put the snake there?” Apicius asked.

  “Yes.” The boy began sobbing. Snot dripped out of his nose and over his thin lips.

  “What did she offer you?”

  The boy struggled to speak. “One hundred denarii and, and . . .”

  “And what?” Apicius’s voice rose.

  The boy’s watery eyes were rimmed with red and full of despair. “Safe passage to Cyprus.”

  I winced. What a fool. “Safe passage” was more likely his being handed to a slave trader bound for Egypt, where the boy would serve its Roman governor. The one hundred denarii would go right into the trader’s hands in return for silence.

 

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