by Crystal King
“Yes, Aelia admired that room when she attended a gathering Livia had arranged, so I hired the same painter.” I had heard the story many times before. He loved to boast about the commission.
“I thought so. You should see his new work.” His eyes continued to wander over the images in the frescoes. “I hired him last month to design my baths and to decorate the walls of all my slaves’ chambers. I anticipate keeping him very busy for the next year!”
Apicius ignored the one-upmanship. Slave quarters were often painted, but never by someone with such esteem.
“Come and sit. Enjoy some wine with me,” he said instead. Octavius followed Apicius’s lead and sat back on one of the plush couches. Sotas, without prompting but knowing his dominus well, took a spot so that he was standing not far behind Apicius, in large opposing view. The two rivals chatted about the weather, news of the war, and other trivial things. After a short while, Passia swept by me, her arm brushing against me on purpose. She came forth with the tray of wine and food and set it on the small tripod table in front of the men. The front of her tunica dipped down, affording Octavius a glance at her shapely chest.
“Thank you, Passia.” Apicius dismissed her with a nod.
“Beautiful girl,” Octavius remarked, licking his lips. He stared at her as she left and Apicius smiled with satisfaction. I fumed, thinking about Sejanus and how he had desired my lover as well. It was then I realized what my master had done by introducing Passia. He was flaunting yet another unattainable purchase in front of Octavius.
“Now tell me, Octavius, what brings you here?” Apicius reached forward and took a cluster of grapes.
Octavius lifted his glass to his lips, closing his eyes as the wine went down. After savoring the taste for what seemed to be an inappropriate amount of time, Octavius responded, “I hear you are building a cooking school?”
“Where did you hear that?” Apicius forced a smile.
“Gossip is always easy to find in this city.” Octavius waved a hand to indicate Rome’s expanse. “I do not recall. At the baths. Are you? Building a school?”
“I’ve considered it.”
“Well, if you have only considered it, why are you breaking ground at the foot of the hill? You tore out an entire block of insulae. What for?” Octavius popped an olive into his mouth and spat the pit out onto the floor for the ancestral gods.
“Ah, that.” Apicius took a sip of wine.
“Do you really need so much space for a school?” Octavius pressed.
“Does it matter?”
“Just curiosity, my old friend. I was surprised when I heard the news and saw how much space you have planned. Do you truly think you will have so many students?”
Apicius paused. I had said the same to my master on several occasions but I found he always gave more weight when such observations were made by others.
“I said, ‘considered,’ ” Apicius reiterated with a little too much force.
“Well, what are you building, then? A shrine to Edesia?” Octavius laughed at the reference to the goddess of feasts.
“You will have to wait and see.”
Octavius leaned forward, his smile gone and the many folds of his chin stretching out as he elongated his neck. Darkness slipped into his voice. “I would advise you against such a school.”
“And why would that be?” Apicius was struggling to keep his composure. His fingers were playing with the edge of his toga; it was a gesture I knew all too well.
“I am trying to keep you from wasting money.” Octavius’s chin and lips jiggled. “Who would send their cooks to such a school? Who among us patricians wants our cenae to come out the same?”
“Some patricians could use a cook with skills,” Apicius replied. “Take Oppius Velius Justus, for example. You’ve dined on his couch, drunk his plonk, and complained wholeheartedly to everyone afterward.”
Octavius lowered his glass. “Perhaps.” He didn’t deny the claim. “However, I’m also not sure Caesar would approve.”
“And why wouldn’t he?”
Those words convinced me that Octavius was scared of the cooking school being a success. Caesar couldn’t care less about such matters.
“He would never want his parties to fall short of another’s,” Octavius managed, but it sounded like he was floundering.
“I doubt that could happen with you at the helm.” Apicius sounded as though he were beginning to enjoy the conversation. “If I were to build such a school, Caesar would have nothing to worry about. No one would dare outshine him.”
Octavius winked. “Except you and me,” he said conspiratorially.
Apicius paused, clearly unsure if Octavius was trying to lure him into a conversation he didn’t want to have. “I heard you were in Cyrenaica,” he replied instead.
Octavius pressed forward. “Yes. I went to meet with my silphium supplier.”
I suppressed a snort of derision. How many times was Octavius going to try to trump Apicius during this conversation? Apicius didn’t waver. “And how did you fare?”
“Better than I hoped.” Octavius picked up the last cluster of grapes. “My supplier stumbled on a few precious plants along the coast. All for me.”
Apicius had grown weary of the discussion. He set his glass down on the table and tapped the edge of the couch idly with his fingertips. The tap was an indication to Sotas, who signaled the serving boys waiting in the hallway next to me.
“Really? And he sold them only to you? Impressive.” Apicius smiled broadly as he flattered his guest.
“Four little hillocks full, no less!” Octavius started to elaborate but paused when one of the serving boys who had been standing with me emerged from the shadows to whisper in Apicius’s ear.
“My apologies, Octavius. It appears I am late for an engagement with a client. I must prepare. Sotas can see you out.” He rose from the couch and leaned forward to clasp Octavius on the shoulder. “Thank you for your visit. I promise to consider your words.” He gestured to Sotas and hurried out of the atrium, taking me by the arm as he walked past.
When we reached the garden, Apicius collapsed on the divan across from his wife. I took up my spot on the stool next to him.
“Bastard,” he muttered as he lay back.
I didn’t say anything.
“What did he want?” Aelia asked, not looking up from her scroll.
“He warned me not to build the school. How did he know?”
“You know how slaves talk.” She winked at me, then turned to her husband. “Maybe you should listen to him.”
“Listen to him?” Apicius was incredulous. “Me? Listen to Octavius? You can’t be serious, wife! I would sooner eat a pile of fresh sheep dung than listen to that man.”
“I know.” Her voice softened. “He has his own reasons for making such a suggestion, I’m sure, but I’ve been thinking, and, well . . .”
“And what?” He looked at me as though expecting me to back him up. I’m not sure why; it was not my place to speak up in such matters.
“I’m concerned about how it may fare.”
“Explain. What do you mean, wife?”
I closed my eyes and wished I were in Baiae, sitting on the beach, looking at the water, with Rome and its intrigues a hundred miles away.
“Now, don’t be upset. Think for a minute. What if no one sends their slaves to the school?”
“They will!” he roared, sitting up. “What do you think, Thrasius?”
I opened my eyes. “I’m not sure, Dominus. I do know we have had many requests for me to teach other cooks.”
Apicius’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know they will,” he said again, with less enthusiasm.
“How can you be sure?” Aelia asked.
“My clients, for one. They will send their slaves if they want to continue to have room on my couch!”
Aelia raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure it wouldn’t only be under duress?”
“Is that what you believe, wife?” He spra
ng to his feet, unable to contain his anger. It bled into his words, lending his voice a screechy quality. “You know how they talk about me in Rome! Even the plebs gossip in amazement about how marvelous my parties must be! My clients are already asking me for advice and to have Thrasius train their slaves. There is no duress.”
“All right, but consider this. Once their slaves are trained, who will want seats on your couch?”
I groaned inwardly, wishing Aelia had not opened up this jar full of worms. I hated being with them when they argued, which was often.
Apicius took a sharp breath. “Then tell me,” he hissed at Aelia, “why would Octavius threaten me if he wasn’t scared? He knows this will be a success.”
“But, Marcus, where will your new students come from? How long do you think it will run before people start laughing and calling you a fool?”
“Wife, you are out of line.” Danger rode on the back of each word.
Aelia pursed her lips. She rolled the scroll downward to the next stanza of her poem. “Of course, husband. I should not have spoken.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” Apicius stared at her for one long moment, then abruptly rose and left. Sotas followed behind.
“You are dismissed,” Aelia said to me, her voice catching.
As I left the room I heard a sob escape from my domina.
CHAPTER 14
It was just as Hippocrates said—the building of the cooking school took a year, almost precisely to the day.
Apicius burst into the kitchen to tell me. There was sweat on his brow and a broad smile on his face. It had been many weeks since I had seen him in such a good mood.
“Today is the day, Thrasius!”
I pushed aside the meat I was chopping and washed my hands. The water was cold against my skin. “What do you mean, Dominus?”
For the entire year Apicius had been obsessed with building his cooking school. He wouldn’t let me see inside, telling me he wanted it to be a surprise. I even tried to get the guards to let me in when I walked by on my way to market, but they had been instructed to let no one in unless the foreman or Apicius was there. And the foreman knew me, so I was equally thwarted on that front.
Apicius brought his hands down against the counter with a heavy thud. He smiled broadly and exclaimed, “My school is done!”
“Already? I thought it was weeks away from being finished.”
Apicius grinned, pleased with himself. “I brought in extra workers. I was tired of how long it was taking to build. Come now; let’s do what we have talked about doing.” He glanced toward the stoves where Rúan was helping the slave boy tie a pig to a spit above the flame.
“Rúan! Come here!”
Rúan approached and looked askance at me, confusion flaring in his green eyes. From that look, I knew my assistant feared the worst. Apicius had become increasingly difficult to read in the past year. Rúan had been on the receiving end of Dominus’s anger all too often in recent months, usually for no reason, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Everyone was watching us, but Apicius winked at me and, without warning, picked up a wide pan and slammed it down upon the counter several times. Then there was no doubt everyone was listening.
“Today is a day for celebration!” Apicius gestured at me with one ringed thumb. “Your coquus, Thrasius, will be assuming duties as head of my brand-new cooking school!”
A murmur of surprise and disappointment rose among the slaves, sounds from those who doubtless assumed Apicius was granting me my freedom (which, despite my growing peculium, I didn’t believe he ever would). There were grunts of confusion from others. My face reddened from both the heat and the intensity of being under the gaze of all the staff in my kitchen.
A voice rose from the crowd. “A cooking school?” No one had ever heard of such a thing.
Apicius ignored the question. “Tell him!” The tone of Apicius’s voice was giddy, like a child opening presents on the first morning of Saturnalia.
I raised my voice. “Rúan, I am giving you full control of this kitchen. Today Dominus Apicius and I hereby bestow upon you the title of coquus of the Gavia household. From here forward, all servants of this kitchen will take their orders from you.”
Apicius bobbed his head with approval. “You will give Rúan the same respect you gave to Coquus Thrasius. If not, then you will be subject to both his lash and mine.” He sounded as though he would be delighted at the prospect. A few slaves shuddered at the warning.
I smiled at Rúan, even though there was a deep sadness reverberating within me at the words I was expected to say. When I came to the Gavia household nine years ago I never thought I would be in such a position.
Rúan knelt. One knee slid a little on an errant parsnip peel when he kissed Apicius’s sandaled foot but he didn’t show any discomfort. “Thank you, Master Apicius. I will serve you well as coquus.”
Apicius put a hand on Rúan’s shoulder, gesturing him to stand. He looked out on the kitchen again, raising his voice in command. “Make no mistake. Thrasius will remain superior in this kitchen and in all my households. You will heed his words when in his presence.”
I leaned against the nearby table, hoping for an anchor to steady me. I loved that kitchen. Those people, huddled around stoves as hot as the fires of Vulcan, were my family. The thought of not seeing them every day saddened me more than I ever anticipated it would.
Apicius seemed infused with the light of the gods. I had seen him this happy only on a few occasions, usually at the height of a cena going particularly well.
My master waved an arm grandly as he spoke. “Tonight we will celebrate such a glorious day! All of us! Rúan, cook us a grand feast and the entire household will partake together this evening. Cook whatever you want. I’ll even let you open a barrel of Falernian wine for the slaves. What do you say?”
Rúan grinned, plainly excited at the prospect. Normally the staff was relegated to eating simple foods in the kitchen between the meals the Gavia family was served. What Apicius suggested was a pleasure usually reserved for Saturnalia.
“Yes, Dominus. With pleasure!”
Then Rúan noticed I was standing there in a daze. He gave me a light cuff on the shoulder. “You will be an excellent teacher. You have taught me well all these years. And all of them too.” He waved an arm at the servants. They cheered and clapped.
Balsamea came to me and threw her bony arms around me. “I am so proud of you, Thrasius,” she said in my ear.
The blood rose to my cheeks as the cheering in the kitchen grew to thunderous levels. Apicius often praised my work but my servants never did; they did their work, they seemed to respect me, and they never talked back. It had never occurred to me to consider how I affected the people I worked with every day. A curious mixture of happiness and sorrow blended within me. I was proud to have become more than a cook, but leaving the kitchen behind, even if not completely, would be difficult for me to do.
A few minutes later, I stood with Apicius and Sotas in front of the high-gated wall I had passed countless times on my way to market. It was the same gate from which the guards had always turned me away. Apicius posted the guards to watch the school after the second episode of graffiti. Someone (both Apicius and I suspected Publius Octavius was involved) had been marring the walls with profanity and images of fat, gluttonous men and women eating mountains of food or doing lewd things to one another. You couldn’t trust slaves for such a job so Apicius had been forced to hire a private guard. The first time I saw the monthly fee written in Apicius’s account books, I almost choked on my wine.
• • •
The door he led me to was no longer the drab wooden door I had passed by each week. Instead it was newly painted in red and bright yellow with the Latin words Apicius School of Cooking carved in careful letters. It was impressive.
“Well?” Apicius asked, his voice gleeful. I was reminded of Apicata after she had built houses of sand on the beach at the Baiae villa and was
waiting for approval. Was Apicius looking to me for reassurance?
“I have not seen inside, Dominus.” I wasn’t sure what to say, or how to react. My stomach felt like the gods were playing marbles with my innards. I did not want to admit to my master how excited I felt about the school.
Apicius didn’t notice my discomfort. “Come!” He placed the key in the door. It swung inward to reveal a wide courtyard filled with a number of fountains and several mosaic platforms where dining couches could easily be erected. Garden slaves were hard at work tending to the pathways and watering the many plants. To one side a small amphitheater was nestled between two small stands of trees. At the opposite end of the courtyard, marble columns rose in front of a long reflecting pool. Apicius pointed at the door standing between the central columns.
“See that door?”
I nodded, still reeling from the idea that my dominus intended me to run the school. I suspected that not only would I be teaching but I would still be putting on elaborate cenae.
Apicius was still pointing at the door. “That, dear Thrasius, is the door to your future.” He strode off toward the building.
The gardens, extravagant as they were, were nothing compared to the interior of the new school.
The first thing I noticed was the floor, a mosaic of various gods eating foods from the histories. “The staircases go up to the classrooms and the slave living quarters.” Apicius gestured to steps on each side of the hallway. At the end of the hall, he swung open the door with a flourish and stood aside to let me pass. He told Sotas to wait there and stand guard.
“What do you think?”
When the next door opened, I took in the scene with hungry eyes. It was the largest kitchen I had ever seen. Or kitchens, for what lay before me was not one large kitchen but half a dozen stations, each complete with a hearth, a trough with flowing water, and a large cabinet for pots and pans. Additionally, each work space had a vent in the ceiling to filter the oven smoke upward. Slaves, none of whom I recognized, bustled about the kitchen or waited along the walls for commands. There were more slaves here than I had in my entire kitchen.