Feast of Sorrow

by Crystal King

If I had held real knives at the time I might have released them without thinking, so great was my anger. I glanced at Sotas and he gave me a warning look—a look that said I should keep my mouth shut and agree to whatever Apicius wanted. Of late I had been seeing more and more of that look from the big man. My dominus’s moods were becoming increasingly unpredictable and extreme and no one understood why.

  When we reached the library, Apicius crossed the room to the open window facing toward the ocean. The morning sun made the sea sparkle as if it were covered in flecks of gold. “A beautiful day to sail!” His voice held no irritation. Instead he sounded joyful.

  I was flabbergasted. “You’ve been preparing to sail?” I managed, struggling to hide both my anger and my disbelief. “Where are we going?”

  “To Libya! You recall the Carthaginian governor bragging last week about the size of prawns there? Even better than those here in Minturnae, he said. Bigger. Sweeter. I decided to find out. I’m going to hire a ship this morning.” Apicius smiled, no doubt thinking of the baskets upon baskets of crustaceans that would accompany his return.

  I grunted, angry about everything that had happened that morning. And now, to top it off, I would be spending more time away from Passia.

  “Have Rúan prepare a special cena for my return. I will be anxious to share my find with my best Minturnae clients. I also want to ship a few barrels down to Baiae. The gods know those vacationers can afford higher prices for shellfish than the citizens here in Minturnae.”

  I plastered on my best smile, determined not to let him see my true emotion. His mood was too quick to change and I wanted none of the lash. “Of course. How long do you expect we’ll be gone? A week? What about Neptunalia?”

  “Yes, a week, give or take a day. The winds are perfect. And Neptunalia is the most auspicious time to set forth over the sea. Why stay here when our fortune lies elsewhere?” Apicius extended a hand toward the ocean beyond the villa.

  I followed the motion with my eyes but was already running through the pantry in my mind, thinking about what to make for the cena. “I’ll have Rúan begin preparation on the sixth day and everything will be in order when we return.”

  “Perfect.” Apicius started to turn toward the door but stopped. “Oh, could you take a tray to Aelia this morning? Then meet me at the port.”

  “Certainly. I’ll meet you there in an hour.” I left, fuming and thinking of all the things I needed to do in that small space of time.

  When I arrived in the kitchen, Rúan was instructing the staff on cleanup from the start of the breakfast duty. Sotas had already sent a slave ahead and told them to stop the preparation for the gustatio, and to pack for the trip; baskets with bread, cheese, olives, and early-summer apples, as well as several amphorae of wine from the cellar. He must have known before the salutatio, I realized.

  I talked over the upcoming cena with Rúan, then sent the staff on a day’s vacation, for which they were overjoyed. Normally they had days to themselves only on certain slave holidays, so this was a rare treat. I assumed that Apicius wouldn’t even notice, and if he did, taking in that wrath was little compared to what he had done to Mato that morning. If I had to, I would endure it.

  When I brought breakfast to Aelia’s rooms Helene greeted me with a puzzled look. “Domina is still asleep,” she whispered. “Why did you bring a tray?”

  “I’m awake, Helene, it’s all right,” Aelia spoke up from inside the room. Helene waved me in, following behind to open the shutters, letting light and the ocean air filter into the room. Aelia sat up in bed, still dressed in her sleep shift. She wore her hair in one long braid draped over her shoulder.

  “What’s this?” She squinted at me. “I was planning on joining my husband for breakfast after the salutatio as I always do. Wait, something is amiss. Where is Marcus?”

  I paused. “You mean he didn’t tell you?” Nervously, I set the tray down on the table next to the bed.

  “Apparently not.”

  “He is sailing for Carthage this morning. He’s excited about a new sort of prawn rumored to be better than those here in Minturnae.” I watched a cloud of displeasure change Aelia’s sunny features into a dark glower.

  My heart sank even further. There was nothing worse than when Apicius had me do his dirty work. Aelia blinked to keep her tears at bay. “He’ll be gone for days,” she said, her voice quiet but measured.

  I couldn’t look her in the eye. “Yes, I suspect we’ll be gone for seven or eight days. He wants to hold a cena on the day he returns.”

  Aelia sat silently for a few moments, smoothing the bedsheet methodically with her hands. I stood patiently, awaiting her command, my eyes fixed on the green finch on the bush outside the window. She swung off the covers and jumped out of bed, frightening the bird with her sudden movement. Helene was ready with a robe but Aelia shrugged it off. She went to the window and looked out over the sea where Apicius’s ship would soon be sailing.

  “Oh, Juno!” she exclaimed, looking skyward. “Tell me why you saddled me with that man?

  “This is your fault, Thrasius. Your food and that blasted cookbook. Where will it be next? Numidia for snails? Ebuso for figs? Attica for honey? Tell me, Thrasius, where does he have his sights set on next week?” Her voice rose as she spoke. She picked up an expensive Egyptian wineglass from a nearby dressing table and dashed it on the tiles near my feet. The glass broke into tiny specks of pink, blue, and green.

  I jumped to avoid the spray of glass. I had never seen Aelia so angry. “I do not know, Domina, I swear. I didn’t even know about today until we had already made dozens of sweet cakes for this morning’s salutatio.” I began to back toward the door, slowly, head down and eyes on the tiles, desperate to be away from the tempest in front of me. This wrath was new to me and I did not know what she might do.

  “Helene, send for Passia and Apicata. We have a lot to do today.”

  I reached the door and looked back at her. Furious, she waved her hand at me.

  “Be gone, Thrasius! Sail away to whatever damned country you desire. I want nothing to do with you or my husband.”

  I hurried away, my heart in my throat.

  • • •

  The merchant vessel was of medium size, meant for carrying both cargo and passengers. It was a new ship, having sailed only a few times. The wood still gleamed with fresh oil and there wasn’t a single chip to be found in its paint. Dozens of men worked to ready the boat to sail.

  The captain greeted us on deck. “I heard you wanted to see me?” He leaned against a thick beam and eyeballed Apicius with distrust. The captain was younger than I would have expected of someone of that rank, with fine chiseled features and muscles like those you might see on an experienced gladiator.

  Apicius raised a hand to shade his eyes. “You are sailing this morning?”

  “Yes. For Greece.”

  “Cargo or passengers?”

  The captain hesitated. “Both. Why do you want to know?”

  “I need a ship to take me to the coast off Carthage. I want to leave today, as soon as my men bring supplies. I hear you are one of the best captains in port right now.”

  “You’ve heard right, but this boat has already been commissioned. I can’t take you.” The captain turned away but Apicius called out before he had gone more than a couple of steps.

  “I imagine your patron cannot beat the price I’m willing to give you.”

  The captain paused. “And how much is that?”

  “I’ll double what he’s giving you.”

  The captain waved over one of his deckhands and whispered something in his ear. The boy ran toward the stairs leading belowdeck and disappeared.

  “Let’s see what my patron says.”

  Together we waited in silence, looking toward the dark aperture in the deck where the sailor had disappeared. Eventually he poked his head into the sunlight, followed by a tall man with short cropped hair and a scroll in his hand. As he neared I realized it was a rolled-up map.<
br />
  I recognized the man. It was Publius Octavius’s head steward, Buccio, whom I always seemed to run into at the market. Before the slave could reach us, Apicius touched the captain on the shoulder.

  “Forget what I said before. I’ll triple whatever price that slave is authorized to give to you,” he said in a low voice.

  The captain’s expression shifted from shock to wonder.

  How much had Octavius commissioned the ship for? It must have been a large sum to begin with—the vessel was brand-new.

  “Master Apicius,” said the steward in a stern, less than cordial greeting as he approached. “Captain, you wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, Buccio. This man wants to commission my ship for Carthage. I imagine Octavius might have authorized you to negotiate costs if the situation demanded?”

  “He did indeed.”

  The young sea captain could barely contain his excitement. “He’s offered to triple the price you have given me.”

  Buccio gasped at Apicius. “Triple? Do you even know what has been paid?”

  “It’s of no matter,” Apicius replied, sliding a heavy purse full of gold aurei into the captain’s hand. “Take this. I’ve already sent for the money changer to authorize credit for whatever the rest might be.”

  “Are you mad? That’s nearly one hundred thousand denarii!” Buccio blurted out. “You could buy the whole boat!”

  Apicius sneered at Buccio. “Slave, were you questioning me?”

  Buccio dropped his head, anger and shame tinting the tips of his ears red. “No, Dominus Apicius. I was not questioning you. Nor do I have the ability to meet your price. Take the boat. We will return to Dominus Octavius. I’m sure he will want news of this changed commission right away.” The slave didn’t wait for a response. He backed up a few steps and moved toward the bowels of the ship to gather the rest of his men.

  Apicius gazed toward the sky. I heard him whisper a prayer to Fortuna, for being able to purchase passage, and to Mercury, to bring the news swiftly to Octavius that his rival had stolen the ship right out from under him.

  • • •

  At the end of the third day after we left the harbor, I stood next to Apicius and watched the long fishing boat draw up next to our ship. It had one tall sail and held a dozen or so men, two of whom were playing some sort of dice game while they waited. Heaps of netting were piled on each end of the boat, and in the center, two large, pitch-sealed holding tanks held a variety of fish and prawns in a few feet of seawater. The men were all dark-skinned Libyans, tall and reedlike. There was something beautiful about the way these people moved, about the rhythm of their strange language and their laughter, as clear as the bright sea. Unlike my dominus, they seemed to be in no hurry.

  An African man shouted a greeting in a language I did not know.

  Apicius gestured for one of the ship’s slaves to translate for him. “Ask them if they have any prawns.” A youth leaned over the deck to talk to the sailors.

  “They have prawns. They say you will not be disappointed.”

  Apicius rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Excellent. Have them send a basket to the deck.”

  The young slave shouted down the instructions. In just a few moments a basket the size of Sotas’s head appeared on the hook that the slave had reeled up from the other ship. Apicius hurried toward the basket, excited to see if the prawns lived up to their reputation.

  I followed, still amazed that we had spent the last few days on that wretched ship all for the want of a few shellfish. The basket contained a wide-mouthed clay jar filled to the brim with seawater and a dozen or so of the little creatures, still squirming, struggling to climb out of the container.

  Apicius reached in and lifted one of the prawns out. He held it in the palm of his hand. “Not very big, are they?” he said to no one in particular. He paused, flipping the prawn over. “By the gods! These are no good. Not any better than the prawns in Minturnae. Have them send up another basket, of the best selection they have.”

  In due time another basket appeared and the ship’s slaves pulled it onto the deck for inspection. Apicius scooped up a handful of the crustaceans, cursed, and threw the prawns over the edge of the boat. He made them send one more basket and then threw up his hands in disgust.

  “Sotas,” he said, anger rising in his voice like a rushing tide, “go pay those men a suitable fee for their time, then tell our captain to turn the ship around and head back to Minturnae. I’m tired and I’m going to my cabin.”

  I rolled my eyes, thinking of all the barrels of snow that would go unused in the ship’s storage, thousands of denarii melting away.

  For the remainder of the trip Apicius locked himself in his cabin with his scrolls, too angry to emerge. I slept most of the time, or played backgammon and knucklebones with Sotas and the other slaves. Always I dreamed of Passia. With every wave that rocked the boat at night I wished she were there, curled into me, our bodies pressing closer together with every pitch of the sea.

  • • •

  Back at the villa I knew Rúan would have started preparing for the dinner on the sixth day. I imagined he’d started by testing the recipes I left with him. To accompany the prawns, I had wanted him to serve black-eyed peas with cumin and wine. The first course would include citron melon, black pudding, and cooked cucumbers. For the third course we had planned a variety of honey fritters, a pear patina, and tiny sips of Roman absinthe. I felt let down that I would have to tell him to cancel the cena. I had been excited, especially about the new sauces, including a pine nut and pepper sauce for the prawns. Lately Apicius had been talking about having me write a separate book, a slimmer volume entirely about sauces. I wanted to surprise him with some of the first recipes for this new book. They would now have to wait.

  Rúan greeted us wholeheartedly on our return. I didn’t have time to warn him of our master’s mood. “Welcome home. We have a marvelous cena planned for tonight. I have slaves ready to run invitations out to your clients as soon as you give the word.”

  Apicius strode past Rúan toward the bath. Sotas followed behind, looking more enervated than I had seen the big man in past months. He had seasickness much of the trip and I knew he was glad to be back on land. Rúan followed, hesitantly giving us an update on the cena preparations, including the sauce for the prawns.

  Apicius cut him off. “The prawns were small. Varus duped us! Varus is governor of Carthage. Of course he would say his prawns were the best. How could I be so stupid? And Publius Octavius. He will gloat to no end when he finds out.”

  “You didn’t bring any back?” Rúan turned to me for confirmation.

  “No, we did not,” Apicius said, slamming a nearby vase from its pedestal to the floor as he continued on his way to the bath.

  I jumped to avoid the flying ceramic.

  “We can use Minturnae prawns for the dish we had planned for tonight,” Rúan offered. “Besides,” he continued, “Pilus took down a stag in the meadow yesterday. We have deer steaks; not having the prawns won’t be a problem.”

  “Deer steaks. That sounds delightful.” Apicius paused. “Fine. Hurry and invite our guests; the day grows long. Make sure you invite Horatius Blaesus and Claudius Scipio as we have business to discuss. For the rest, pick the worthiest clients. Set up a triclinium for the ladies that opens up toward the sea. That might please Aelia.”

  At the mention of Aelia’s name, Rúan hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Umm . . .”

  “Spit it out. What has happened? Where is Aelia?” Without waiting for an answer Apicius stormed off in the direction of Aelia’s rooms. Sotas and I hurried after.

  “Dominus, please, wait!” Rúan called after Apicius.

  Apicius spun on his heel. “Slave, where in Tartarus is my wife?”

  Rúan halted a few paces away—out of reach. “She went back to Rome.”

  I had wondered why Passia had not come to greet me. Now I knew. A wave of sadness washe
d through me with the realization that I would not see my lover that night.

  “What do you mean she went back to Rome?”

  “When she found out you had left for Libya, she decided to return to Rome. She packed up and left with her servants.”

  “The steward let her go to Rome alone?” Apicius was incredulous.

  “No, Dominus. I remembered your client Antistius Vetus was going back to Rome—he sent word the night before to let you know he wouldn’t be at the salutatio. I told the steward, and when Aelia was packing to leave, he sent a messenger to Vetus asking if she could accompany his family when they traveled. He agreed. Twenty of the house guards went as an escort, with instructions that ten of them should return to Minturnae when she arrived safely in Rome. They arrived two days ago. Aelia and Apicata are both safe at home.”

  Apicius mumbled a short prayer. “Did she leave a message?”

  “I don’t know, Dominus, but she left in such a hurry I don’t think she would have. I’m sorry.”

  Apicius stared at the stones at his feet. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice low but full of deep anger. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

  “Sotas, tell the servants to start packing for Rome. I want to be gone within the hour. Thrasius, tell the slaves to distribute what has already been prepared for tonight’s cena among my top clients. Then ready yourself to travel.”

  I hesitated only a moment, but it was enough to further raise Apicius’s ire. “Go! Do not tarry! If we are not ready to leave in an hour all slaves will receive the lash.”

  We hurried to do our master’s bidding and were nearly ready to go when a shout rang out across the garden in front of the domus. Everyone stopped to look in the direction of the sound.

  “It’s that client Mato. . . . Do you remember him?” Sotas said to me, squinting to see the figure making his way toward us.

  “The man with the sick boy. Yes, I do.”

  Apicius appeared in the doorway as Mato neared, his gait halting and awkward. His hair was mussed and his dirty face was lined with tracks made from many tears.

  “He looks drunk. Sotas, be prepared.” Apicius folded his arms in front of him to stand his ground. Sotas moved toward Mato to keep the man at a distance.