by Crystal King
“She said thank you, then introduced him to Dominus as her cousin, Lucius Aelius Sejanus, whom she hadn’t seen in years. He leaned in and whispered to Apicius words I still remember to this day. ‘I delivered the poison, but kept the letter and gave the instructions directly. I suggest you treat me well in the years ahead. You never know when I might need a favor.’ Then he returned to his place in the procession to walk with his family. Dominus was horrified.”
As was I. “How could that letter be traced back to him?”
“Dominus used to leave notes with the proprietor of the popina to let Sejanus know when to meet again. Nothing salacious in those letters but they were fastened with his seal. I saw Dominus write the letter of instructions for the assassin. He mentioned Octavius by name.”
I thought about Apicius’s distinctive flair with the stylus. His writing was as rich and dramatic as he was. Anyone who had seen his writing, even once, would instantly recognize it. Even without his seal. “Why wouldn’t he have disguised his handwriting?”
Sotas shrugged. “I think he thought Sejanus was of no consequence. Plus, back then Dominus himself was not in the public eye.”
I shook my head in disbelief. The story seemed nearly too incredible to be true. I tried not to think about what might happen if he was found out. What would happen to me, to all of the slaves, if he were discovered.
I wasn’t sure how to absorb this new information. Lost in thought and not paying attention to where I walked, I managed to bump into a table and knock over a vase full of white roses. Sotas caught me as I lost my footing in the slick water coating the tiles.
“Thanks, Sotas. Hopefully I’ll be the only one you need to catch tonight.”
“I hope so too,” he said grimly.
CHAPTER 9
I was passing through the atrium when Fannia Drusilla arrived. A slave showed her in and a quick glance at the water clock revealed that she was early.
“I cannot tell you how happy I am that you will be by my side tonight.” Apicius clasped his mentor’s hands in his own. “I need your advice and good fortune to guide me this evening.”
Fannia had lost weight and looked ten years younger. “Good fortune indeed! I do bring a bit along with me tonight. Now tell me, did you consult a haruspex?”
“I did. My first sacrifice was unworthy—the liver was full of spots. The next one was fine, but he warned me I should watch for conspiracy. I have been fretting, I must admit.”
“No, do not fret.” She patted his arm. “I consulted with an astrologer before I came. He said nothing untoward would happen this evening, though he did say that something occurring tonight would have far-reaching consequences for the future. Perhaps someone will recommend you to Caesar?”
“We’ll see. What about you, Fannia? It could pertain to you.”
“I had a priest paint an evil eye on my stomach before I came. I don’t want my cousin showing up tonight! But the good news is I think Livia is growing bored with tormenting me. The graffiti has lessened.”
After Octavius and Livia had offered to buy me, Fannia had begun to see graffiti in her neighborhood, graffiti naming her as a woman cursed by Pluto himself. In the last two years, not more than a fortnight went by before new markings appeared. When she saw fresh scrawls, she always sent a slave to scrub them clean, but the emotional damage had been done. Daily, she made a sacrifice to Hera, asking for protection, for both her and Apicius. “You’re in Rome now!” she would say, telling him she made the sacrifice so he wouldn’t be vulnerable to the complex and violent politics of the Forum and the palace. I imagined that it would take more than a painted tattoo and a few sacrifices to protect him.
One of my serving girls arrived with glasses of pomegranate honey water. The girl was blond, and dressed in a long, white, diaphanous slip that hid nothing—even I had to avert my eyes from the dark buttons of her nipples and the soft triangle between her legs. She would cause a stir in such a half state of clothing, which was precisely what Apicius wanted when he’d instructed me to find twelve slaves to be given as gifts to some of the night’s lucky guests. I disliked the duty of finding these women but I took comfort in the fact that I could protect Passia. I therefore suggested they should be exotic because I didn’t want Passia to be considered. While she was striking, Passia was of Greek birth and thus her features were quite familiar. Instead the slaves given as gifts were from the farthest reaches of the Empire, from Germania, Cappadocia, Galicia, Britannia, and other provinces.
“Beautiful girl. I have half a mind to ask you for her hair! I could use another wig.” Fannia took the glass goblet from the slave and nodded at Apicius approvingly. “Now back to my astrologer. His name is Glycon and I think you should take comfort in his words.”
Apicius took Fannia by the arm to escort her to the dining area. I had not yet been dismissed so I fell into step behind Sotas.
“What else has he predicted true for you?” There was hunger in Apicius’s voice.
“He told me my damned husband would return early from Alexandria last month. I took heed and went to Herculaneum to visit my sister. Sure enough, he did and I was able to avoid him.”
They reached the peristylium and lay down on the sumptuous pillows on the couches. I knew there were numerous duties awaiting my attention, but I hesitated in the shadows beyond, wanting to hear the rest of the conversation. I could see my master and his friend through a slit in the curtain that covered the door. Sotas sent the rest of the slaves away, but when he saw me lingering in the shadows, he smirked.
The peristylium was lit with lamps hanging from poles along the wall, with more small lamps placed on a high, water-free platform in the upper part of the center fountain. Apicius had spared no expense. The couches were covered in cloth dyed the most expensive Tyrian purple and studded on the edges with hundreds of tiny rubies—many of which I expected would be pocketed before the night ended. Dancers dressed like nymphs waited in the next room, ready to float through the crowd, twirling and bending and twisting to the flutists.
“He also told me I would take a lover.” Fannia winked at Apicius. Her face had a girlish glow.
“He did? Have you?”
“I have! It’s positively scandalous, of course, so you must be discreet. He’s strong and dark with a body that . . . mmm.” She paused and licked her lips. “Glycon also told me the very day I would meet my new lover and, sure enough, on that day I met Florus at a beach party in Cumae. I am serious. You should consider hiring Glycon.”
Apicius set his empty glass on the small tripod table next to his couch. “I’ll think about it. Having extra guidance would be good.”
Her face darkened. “You mean now that you are here in Rome with enemies.”
“Yes, that’s part of my concern. And I worry about Popilla,” he admitted.
“She can’t touch you here. Even if she were a ghost who wanted to haunt you, you are a hundred and fifty miles from where her shade might be. Rest easy.”
Apicius gazed down at the tiles. “I suppose. But there are other reasons too.”
“Sejanus will be here tonight, won’t he?” Fannia said.
Apicius curled his lip into a distasteful snarl. I was surprised that Apicius had told Fannia about the relationship with Sejanus, but, then again, she had always been his closest confidante. I wondered if she knew about the accident that killed Tiberius’s friend.
“Yes, damn him to Tartarus. And Octavius too. Why I was ever moved to invite him, I don’t know.” From the folds of his toga, Apicius pulled out the amulet he’d had blessed at Jupiter’s temple. He held it to the sky. “May Jupiter and Vesta protect me this night in my own house!”
Fannia raised her glass in solidarity. “Sejanus won’t do a thing,” she reassured Apicius. “He doesn’t want anyone to know he was sleeping with you. Worry not—he can only delight in making you uncomfortable. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
“I have much more to lose than he. Not only did I sleep with my wife�
�s cousin, a damned equestrian, but I also committed adultery, which is punishable enough on its own if the emperor decided to enforce the law—”
“Unlikely,” Fannia interrupted.
“But those letters . . .” he continued, his voice dropping. “I was so stupid to include my seal on the notes to him. He could decide to give them to Octavius at any time! Worse, he could do it in front of me! Or worse, he could show Tiberius and my life would be over without a trial—he could have Caesar order my death.” His voice lowered into a barely audible hiss. “I killed his best friend!”
Fannia patted Apicius’s hand. “It might not go as bad as that.”
“Are you mad? Tiberius would not spare me. Oh, gods, I wish I knew what Sejanus wanted. He’s clearly biding his time, but for what? Pluto, I beseech you, take him now!” He punched the back of the couch with his hand and several rubies fell into the cracks. When Apicius pulled his hand back, there was blood. I passed a cloth I kept on my belt to Sotas and he rushed forward to help stanch the blood. Apicius took the cloth and waved Sotas off.
Fannia was unperturbed by his display of anger. “Oh, I’ve no doubt that he’ll attempt to blackmail you at some point. I’m sure you are right. He’s waiting until he knows exactly what he wants in return.”
“I wish I could get those blasted letters back.” He pressed the cloth to his hand. His face was twisted into a scowl.
“Have you had any run-ins with Livia?” Fannia asked, changing the subject.
“No, not at all. But I dined with Caesar’s gastronomic adviser last week and he told me she’s been traveling with Caesar Augustus. It was the first time I had seen him since the night at your house.”
“Ahh, Corvinus.” Fannia tapped the edge of her glass with her finger. “What else did he say?”
“I asked if Livia bore me ill will for refusing to sell Thrasius to Octavius. He didn’t think so. He thinks she’s forgotten all about it.”
“Don’t trust her. She harbors grudges for years, then strikes like a cobra. Always be wary. But Octavius . . . he is ever more dangerous. Unlike Livia, he is more desperate. Why did you invite him?”
“I want to know what he is up to. Besides, I have Sotas to protect me.” Apicius turned in our direction and I pulled my head away from the curtain, hoping he didn’t see me.
“True. You would not want to meet Sotas in a dark alley. Your father did well when he bought him.”
I looked at Sotas, agreeing with Fannia. He was large enough to pick me up and hurl me across the room with ease.
Apicius grew quiet, returning to the subject of his mother once again. “Do you really think that Popilla is not able to follow me here?” It was one of the few times when I heard true fear in the voice of my master.
“Absolutely not. Besides, you performed the rites at Lemuria this year, didn’t you?”
He had. I still had in my mind the image of him wandering the Baiae domus at midnight this past May, his voice low and dark. He tossed black beans into every corner of the house as he chanted, “I send these; with these beans I redeem me and mine.” He walked the length of the domus nine times. When he was done, all the slaves erupted in a cacophony of noise as we crashed bronze pots together and sang, over and over, “Ghosts of my fathers and ancestors, be gone!” nine times. If that racket hadn’t scared off the ghost of Popilla, I’m not sure anything could. But Apicius didn’t look convinced.
The slave with the gossamer gown entered from the door across the peristylium, this time leading a couple into the garden. Fannia patted Apicius’s shoulder and told him not to worry about Popilla. He nodded and straightened to meet the guests, Trio and his wife, Celera. The party had begun. I rushed to the kitchen, chastising myself for being pulled into such ridiculous intrigue. I was worse than Balsamea, listening to conversations that were not my own.
• • •
Back in the kitchen, Rúan presented me with a large square of framed wax and a wooden stylus. The tablet had been my idea. Finding a way to explain the dishes was important given the unusual manner of presenting food during the commissatio. Apicius had arranged couches for those who preferred a more formal presentation, but guests could also mingle and partake from slaves who wandered among them, offering up morsels on silver trays. The wax tablet, which would describe the menu, was to be placed on a table at the entry to the peristylium.
I inscribed the names of the dishes onto the tablet. Fried hyacinth bulbs, sow’s udder, Lucanian sausage, hard egg mice, fried hare livers, oiled cabbage, fried carrots, milk-fed snails, honey ricotta sliced bread, apples, mussels, and peppered truffles.
“Are you sure about this?” Rúan asked me. “There is no surprise for the guests.”
In truth it was an experiment, but I thought it a good one. “I think that guests might appreciate a choice.”
“Mayhap, but it seems odd to show people what we’re serving.”
I was about to respond when Tycho, who had become one of my most prized serving boys, piped up behind me. “Will Dominus be pleased?”
He waited with four other serving boys, ranging in age from eight to twelve. They were dressed in silver tunics with tiny feathered wings strapped to their backs. Their hair shone with silver flecks, a trick Passia had come up with—how she managed the effect, I hadn’t asked. The boys’ lips were reddened with the finest colors from Egypt, purchased that morning from the peddler who brought cosmetics to Aelia.
“Oh, yes, Dominus will be very pleased.” They were so charming, I was sure each of them would be lent out before the evening was finished. I tried not to think about that aspect of their duties. I kissed each of them on the head and bade them to go make their evening offerings to Vesta before the party started.
Not long after the serving boys returned from their prayers, I was helping Balsamea carefully plate the last of the hard-boiled mice—clove eyes, chive tails, and almond-slivered ears—when Rúan came to inform me more guests had arrived. “I served them honey water, but Dominus requested that we bring out the food,” he said.
“The plates are ready to go, as are the boys.” I waved to Tycho to bring his troupe over to start gathering serving trays.
Passia entered the kitchen, sweeping past Rúan and dragging Apicata with her. The girl held her new puppy, a thin gray creature, one of the smaller hound breeds. It held its tail between its legs as though it had just been whipped.
“Maybe you can talk some sense into her,” Passia said, her brow wrinkled with exasperation. I wanted to reach out and hug her worries away. Our little mistress had recently begun to assert her independence more frequently and Passia had often been frustrated. Apicata behaved as a perfect angel when Aelia was anywhere near, but as soon as she was sent back into Passia’s care, the girl turned into a baby Hydra. You never knew which head you were going to get when dealing with Apicata.
“What’s wrong now?” I knelt down to be on her level.
“I want to show Perseus to Father’s friends!”
“Apicata, I’m not sure a party would be the best place for Perseus. He might be frightened with so many people milling about.”
“He wasn’t afraid when we went to the market the other day.”
I stifled a deep sigh and tried another angle. “Have you asked your mother or father?”
She pushed her sandal along the tiles, moving a fallen piece of carrot around with her toe. “I can’t. They are already with their friends. That’s why I want to go show them!”
I pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked at me with wide hopeful eyes.
“How about we do this? Let’s go to the peristylium. Passia will escort you to your parents and I’ll stand by the door with Perseus. Ask your father what he thinks, and if he is happy to let your dog play with his guests, have him give me a thumbs-up. If he’s not, you give me a thumbs-down and I’ll take Perseus back to your room.”
Apicata didn’t look happy with the suggestion but she nodded. Looking over her shoulders, I saw her ball up he
r thumb between her fingers behind her back in the sign of the fig. I tried hard not to smile. Many young children used it as a lucky sign, not knowing the gesture had sexual implications. I put my hand on her shoulder, happy we were able to come to a compromise. Together we walked to the peristylium, the squirming puppy in my arms.
When we reached the wide-open doors, I saw many guests had arrived, far more than we had anticipated at such an early hour. The women in their silk stolae made a colorful contrast to the men in their white togas. They stood around, talking and sampling food from the trays the slave cherubs held in their young hands.
I waited at the door while Passia brought Apicata to the couch where her parents sat. My view was blocked by Passia, so I watched carefully to see who would give me the agreed-upon wave of the hand. Several moments passed as the conversation turned toward Apicata. I strained to hear but the nearby fountain burbled too much for me to make out any words.
Suddenly the sea of people parted. Passia moved to the side and I saw Apicata with her arms outstretched, waiting for me to release Perseus. Apicius gave me the thumbs-up and as I set down the hound and released it, I realized Apicata stood in front of a man in his midtwenties. His hands were on her shoulders, and his face was twisted into a conniving smile.
I thought my heart might stop.
The man holding Apicata was the same man we saw at the market that morning in Baiae five months ago. Then I understood, all the pieces coming together in a mad rush. The man had to be Sejanus.
He saw me and recognition flickered in his eyes. He gave me a two-fingered wave and smiled down on Apicata, who was ruffling her pup’s ears.
• • •
When I returned to the kitchen I could hardly focus. I left Rúan in charge of the next course and went to seek out Sotas in the shadows of the peristylium.
He sat on a tiled bench, watching the guests mingle. The night was steamy and I brought him a cup of wine in which I had slipped some precious snow, a treat not typically afforded to slaves, but no one would notice; in the unusual heat of the October evening it had already melted.