by Crystal King
Apicius tipped the glass, and as the drink touched his lips he almost sputtered, but he caught himself before he breached etiquette. As he realized the wine was undiluted, I could almost hear his internal dialogue of worry.
I stepped forward to let Aelia and Fannia know. Aelia let out a small cry that Fannia stopped with a tight grip on her arm.
I knew my master struggled on the bench. Apicius could barely keep the alarm from showing on his face when the seventh goblet arrived and he discovered it too was undiluted. He stared at Aelia, to give him focus, I suspected. Why on the Seven Hills hadn’t anyone else noticed?
My master hesitated at the eighth glass, likely unsure of how he was going to keep the thick spiced wine in his stomach. He drank it as slowly as he could manage without breaking the rules. Drusus leaned over to him, and they had a short conversation that culminated in Apicius nodding his head vigorously. Whatever was said, it appeared to give my dominus resolve. But when Apicius passed the glass to the servant, he almost moved forward too much—at this point the slaves had been instructed to stand farther away as a challenge for the drunken men, to see who might fall off the bench. Apicius wavered at the edge, and then finally held the glass to the slave.
“We’ve got to get him out of here,” Aelia said to Fannia. “I fear what Marcus might do if he humiliates himself in front of Caesar. It would ruin all his plans.”
Fannia lifted the fan in front of her lips. “Agreed. It won’t be long before he won’t be able to walk out on his own two feet. You’re going to have to play sick. Stagger forward a bit and faint. I’ll do the rest. Try to fall convincingly and don’t move, don’t blink, until I nudge you. Can you do that?”
“I’ll try.” She looked at her husband. Apicius was starting to turn a bright shade of pink. His wreath hung crookedly on his head and the look in his eyes was imploring. Drusus was sitting closer to him, seemingly bolstering him. I thought I saw him jostle Apicius a few times in such a manner that would keep my master from falling from the bench. Perhaps he realized that Apicius’s wine was undiluted as well?
“Sotas, Thrasius, attempt to help but let us manage the situation until it is clear you need to step in.”
“Yes, Domina,” we said in response.
“Ovid, dear heart,” Fannia said in a low tone. “I’m going to need your help. I’ll take care of Aelia, you take care of Apicius. Help him when the time is right. I’ll explain later. And I promise you, it will be worth your while.” She trailed one finger along his bare arm. The poet nodded and smiled without question.
“Now.” Fannia nudged Aelia as a slave placed the ninth glass in Apicius’s hands.
Aelia stumbled toward the long line of patricians on the bench, clutching the fabric of her stola as though her chest hurt. After she’d taken a few steps and a hush fell over the crowd, she “tripped” and with a cry pitched forward. Fannia and Apicius called her name as she fell. Her body landed on the soft grass, her eyes closed and a blank look upon her face. Sotas and I tried to reach her as did many others in the crowd. Fannia reached her first but it was Livilla’s voice that rose above the others, shouting for her slaves to attend Aelia.
For a few minutes the garden was filled with chaos. We could not get near our domina—there were too many trying to help her. The drinking contest fell apart as several of the participants raced to Aelia’s aid when they saw her fall. Apicius tried to move toward her, but there were too many people and the wine had clouded his senses. Drusus had thrown an arm around him to hold him up. Apicius called his wife’s name over and over as he struggled to reach her side, drunkenly pushing through the knot of senators and slaves, with Drusus helping to part the way. I left Sotas and followed Ovid, who was also making his way toward Apicius.
“Come now; let us move out of the way. Aelia will be fine.” Ovid’s voice was quiet but commanding. Apicius lifted his head and blearily recognized the poet. “Drusus is a good friend to help you.”
“But he knows nothing about bitter almonds,” Apicius blurted out.
Drusus chuckled a little at the jab. “I feel fine, Apicius.”
“Well, I don’t. I am drunk.”
“You certainly are,” Ovid said, steadying him with a hand to the shoulder.
“You look different.” Apicius lifted a hand to touch the poet’s face. Ovid pulled his head away and Apicius’s hand fell into empty air.
Ovid smacked him across the face. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone was attending to Aelia. “Apicius, I need you to stand up straight. Pretend you are sober. You must make us all believe.”
Drusus took his arm away to see if Apicius could stand.
Apicius, to my surprise, straightened, just as the sea of people parted. Livilla and Fannia held up a weary-looking Aelia. Two slaves appeared at their sides, frantically waving sizable palm fans to push away the humid air. I saw Sotas standing in the crowd behind them.
“There you are,” Fannia said loudly to Apicius. “This is no time for games—we must get your wife home to bed!”
“It’s all right, you will be fine. They’ll take you home,” Livilla kept saying to Aelia. “It’s too hot, I know. Look, here’s Apicius. He’ll take you home!”
Apicius managed to walk a few steps without staggering. He pulled Aelia close to him and they wavered a bit. Drusus reached out a hand to steady Aelia, but I knew the effort was made to bolster Apicius.
I was amazed at how Apicius managed to rally to the situation. “Is there a litter?” he asked loudly. Drusus started yelling for the guards to find a litter, taking away some of the focus from my master.
The crowd parted and Caesar appeared with Livia and a tattooed barbarian slave at his heels. Tiberius was behind him, his face etched with annoyance. Octavius followed up at the rear. I thought my heart might leap out of my throat. Oh, Apicius! Do not falter now! He had always desired an audience with Caesar but this was not how either of us had dreamed it—drunk, with his wife feigning an illness in the Imperial gardens.
“Are you all right?” Caesar asked Aelia.
“Yes, it’s the heat, I’m afraid. I think I need to sleep for a while.”
“There are guest chambers where you can rest.” Tiberius waved to his slaves. “Dear lady, please accept my hospitality. My slaves will make sure you are comfortable.”
“Thank you.” Aelia bowed her head. “You are very generous, but I think . . .” She trailed off. If she suggested she return home it could be seen as an insult to both Tiberius and to Caesar.
Ovid came to Aelia’s rescue. “I think what she is trying to say but is far too polite is that sometimes, when one is ill, the best medicine is your own pillow, your own surroundings, and your own medic there to administer to your ills, with your own masseuse there to rub your feet. With your permission, I would be pleased to see them home. I could read to her. I know you understand how the power of words can ease the soul.”
Tiberius nodded. “I do understand. It’s up to you, dear lady, but know you are welcome to all the comforts of my home and the expertise of my doctors.”
“Again, thank you,” she said, feigning weakness. “I believe our poet may also read minds. I do long for the comfort of my own bed.”
Apicius spoke up, but his speech was slow. He was trying not to slur his words. “Thank you, honorable Caesar. But I ask your permission to depart for home as my wife desires.”
“Permission granted,” Augustus said. “May the gods bring you swift healing.” He waved at the slaves to bring the litter, and left with Livia in tow, I noted with no small measure of relief. Octavius lingered, staring at me with a scowl. Then he snapped his fingers at his body-slave and followed Tiberius, Augustus, and his wife.
Livilla and Fannia kissed Aelia good-bye. Drusus and Ovid helped Aelia and Apicius into the litter and we departed, Sotas, Helene, and I walking behind, feeling strangely useless and grateful for it, all at the same time.
PART V
7 C.E. to 9 C.E.
&nb
sp; LENTILS WITH CHESTNUTS
Take a new pan and put in carefully thoroughly peeled chestnuts. Add water and a little soda, put it to cook. When it is cooking, put in a mortar pepper, cumin, coriander seed, mint, rue, laser (silphium) root, pennyroyal, and pound them. Pour on vinegar, honey, liquamen; flavor with vinegar and pour it over the cooked chestnuts. Add oil, bring it to heat. When it is simmering well, pound it with a stick as you pound in a mortar. Taste it, if there is anything lacking, add it. When you have put it in the serving dish, add green oil.
—Book 5.2.2, Legumes
On Cookery, Apicius
CHAPTER 13
“Tear it all down.” Apicius waved his hand toward the cluster of insulae standing before him. Finding land in the center of Rome was not an easy task, but if you were willing to pay money for prime real estate it was easy to convince a landlord to displace his tenants. Apicius had done just that, looking for the right property, then propositioning its owner. He had been determined to build in the small valley between the Palatine and Caelian Hills, near where the majority of his friends and clients lived and where it would be a short walk from his own villa.
The block was one of the more crowded along the Vicus Cyclopis, the long winding street between the hills that gained its name from a grove said to hold Cyclops many years past. Several tall buildings rose upward in a mess of rough boards, rickety balconies, and torn curtains flapping in the windows. The insulae had been cleared of occupants but remnants of them remained—a tunic left hanging to dry in a window or a child’s ball in one of the doorways. I wondered what had happened to the families who’d lived in those apartments. Housing was difficult to come by in Rome, especially so close to the center of the city. Although it had often been talked about in the Senate, to date there were no laws governing the way occupants were treated when there was a sale. That made it likely Apicius had forced many dozens out of their homes. I winced at the thought.
The foreman to whom Apicius spoke was a sturdy middle-aged man with a big hooked nose and the hint of a country accent. He seemed unfazed by the task before him. “What would you have us do with all of the wood and material from the buildings?”
Apicius shrugged. “I don’t care. Do with it what you will.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Dominus, that’s a lot of marble, brick, and wood. The profit—”
“Not worth worrying about,” he said curtly. “Just tear this mess down as quickly as you can so we can begin building.”
I regarded the buildings in dismay. Not only did he just eliminate the living spaces for dozens of families but he was throwing away thousands of sestertii in building materials. I understood none of it. Granted, the gods had been kind to Apicius when it came to money, but when he ruined lives and squandered his money, I felt nothing but anger toward my master.
“I’ll return in four days to check on your progress.”
I was sure that when we returned the foreman and everything on the city block would be gone. Doubtless the foreman would run as far and fast as he could with his profit before Apicius realized how much money he had given away.
Sure enough, when we returned at the end of the week the insulae were gone and all that was left on the land was some rubble from broken concrete walls. It was a large piece of land and without the buildings it looked even more expansive, just a vacant slab of dirt in the middle of the city.
• • •
The architect, named Hippocrates, met us a little past noon. He rolled out several sets of papyri showing how the building would be constructed. He was from Greece and rumored to be one of the most talented designers in the whole Empire. He appeared to be twenty-five at most. The man’s foot was twisted to the side and he used a cane to walk.
“This is an ambitious project, you understand?” Hippocrates surveyed the plans and gazed back over the land.
“Yes, I do. I will pay you well for your efforts.”
“I know what you suggested in your letters to me but, respectfully, I must disagree. I don’t think we should make the entire building two stories. Now hear me out,” he said, halting Apicius’s protest with his hand. “I think the areas where there are stoves and fires should be one story, with ample ducts for the flames and air to escape. I think it would be dangerous if you put rooms above this area. Instead, let us take only one quarter of the building and make it rise upward. You could have three floors for your lectures and for housing for the school’s slaves. In the rest of the building, which would be only one floor, we’ll place the kitchen and storerooms. What say you?”
Apicius studied the plans as the architect spoke. “Interesting. Where do you see the entrance?”
“Look here.” Hippocrates thrust a dirty finger at the drawing. I leaned in for a better look. “I propose we have a large walled garden at the front of the building where you could hold outdoor parties. There would be a gate at the entrance with a walkway and a series of canals and fountains leading toward the doors of the main building.”
“What do you think, Thrasius?”
It was the first time that I could recall Apicius asking my opinion when we were in front of others. I could barely find my voice. “It sounds incredible.” And it did. There were no organized school buildings in Rome. Most of the wealthy hired private tutors and those who couldn’t sent their children to attend classes in the streets where many teachers held lessons. This would be a different school indeed—there had never before been a place where students would learn how to cook. Despite my trepidation, I felt a great excitement blooming within me.
“I don’t want travertine or marble for the columns.” Apicius lifted his chin in the direction of the Roman Forum. “You will use porphyry, regardless of the expense.”
I sighed. The purple stone was expensive to import and usually reserved for temples built by the wealthiest of patrons. A cooking school was hardly a temple—how did Apicius expect to recoup any of these costs?
The architect nodded, as though requests like this were common, as though building a cooking school were, in fact, common. “You will have your school in one year, Marcus Gavius Apicius.” He lifted his cane and shook it in warning. “That is, if you stay out of my way and let me get the work done.”
Apicius was silent for a few moments, unaccustomed to such insolence. Eventually he asked, “Do you think I will be in your way?”
Hippocrates smiled for the first time, a wide, yellow-stained grin. “Of course you will be. Patrons are good at finding methods to get in my way and slow my work down or change it from the grandeur of my vision. I dare not hope you will be different, but in the event you might be, I ask you to place your trust in my hands. If so, I will build you a school that will be the talk of the Empire.”
“One year?”
The architect grew serious. “Yes. One year and you will have your school.”
“And you promise me it will be the talk of the Empire?”
Hippocrates began to roll up the papyri. “Yes, by Apollo, I promise.”
I shook my head, wondering if this promise would be like that of the foreman of the last villa Apicius had built, in the Alban Hills beyond Rome. The man had promised a vast estate, but while building it had asked for greater and greater sums of money, half of which went into the use of inferior materials, and the other half he pocketed. Still, there was something about Hippocrates that made me believe he was true to his word. It also helped that he was quite well known, and if he cheated Apicius it would be more damaging to his reputation than it might be worth. Sotas cracked his knuckles; it was as though he knew what I was thinking.
Hippocrates turned at the sound and grinned. He understood the gesture.
“One year, Master Apicius. I promise you, it will be magnificent.”
• • •
A few days later I was going over a cena menu with my dominus when we were interrupted by one of the door slaves.
“Publius Octavius is here to see you,” the boy announced.
Aelia reclined on a long chaise next to us, reading Homer and basking in the afternoon sunlight filtering into the garden where we sat.
“I’ll be there presently.” The door slave hurried off. Apicius waved the lyre players entertaining us to silence, and dismissed them with a flick of his wrist.
“What could he want?” Aelia snapped her fingers at Helene to hand her a glass of honey water.
“I know not, but I’m sure it isn’t good. Come, Thrasius. I want you to wait in the corridor and listen.” He gave Aelia a peck on the cheek before stalking off in the direction the door slave had gone. Sotas, who had been standing at his post along one wall, fell into step with me.
On the way to the atrium, we encountered Passia heading toward the kitchen with a tray holding the remainders of Apicata’s midday meal. She bowed her head as she attempted to pass but Apicius stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. “Have some Falernian wine, grapes, and olives brought to the atrium.” He paused and considered her. He brought a hand to her chin and she gawped at him, her eyes widening at the strange, intimate gesture. “On second thought, bring it yourself.” He let her go and continued on.
She saw me and a look of shame crossed her face. I stopped as I passed and leaned down to kiss her brow. She sighed.
As slaves we all knew our bodies were not our own, but this was the first time Apicius had crossed into territory that he himself had set when he “gave” Passia to me. I clenched my jaw tight, determined not to let my anger show.
When we reached the atrium I waited in the corridor with two of the other house slaves. I could see and hear everything well but it was dark enough that Octavius would not be able to pick me out from the nondescript forms of the slaves waiting in the shadows.
“Octavius!” Apicius said jovially as he crossed the atrium. “How good it is to see you!” He clasped hands with the man.
“It’s good to see you as well.” Octavius surveyed the room. “I must say, I love what you have done with this atrium. It reminds me of Livia’s chambers in her villa,” he observed. Each wall was part of a large garden scene, decorated in great detail with olive trees, bright feathered birds, and a sky of vivid blue.