Feast of Sorrow

by Crystal King

  She put her arm around her daughter, who had grown tall in the last year. “Thrasius has done a great deal to advance your father’s interests among Roman society, my treasure. Freedom comes to slaves at different times. Passia is bound to have her freedom someday. But for now, she’s happy here. If she had her freedom, both Thrasius and Passia might move away, and you wouldn’t want that, right?”

  Aelia had touched upon the crux of the matter. It pained my heart to think of it. As long as I was important to his success, Apicius would never sell Passia nor would he grant her freedom.

  “That’s ridiculous.” Apicata snorted, raising an eyebrow at her beloved slave. “Passia would never leave us, would she?”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle as Passia gave her a reassuring hug. The girl’s certainty was refreshing. In moments like those I always felt such a deep outpouring of love for our little domina. She was right. This was our familia. How could we ever leave?

  • • •

  I wasn’t prepared for how Sotas would take the news. For most of Saturnalia, he was cold toward me, refusing to sit near me on any of the couches, to break bread with me, or even to have more than a cursory conversation. He took the gift I offered him, a new pair of fine leather sandals, but did not thank me or even try them on.

  “Sotas, talk to me,” I said to him one day while the family was playing knucklebones with the slaves in the atrium.

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “But what did I do?” I knew it wasn’t what I did, but what I had become. I was a freedman and he was not.

  “Nothing,” he grunted.

  “You do realize that I am not entirely free. I will still be his cook. And his adviser.”

  He would not look at me. “You can leave whenever you want.”

  “I cannot. Where would I go? And how could I live without Passia?”

  The big man shrugged and wouldn’t say anything more.

  • • •

  On the last day of Saturnalia, Apicius asked me to accompany him to the library. When we arrived, he dismissed Sotas, who did not even look at me, then walked over to his desk, picked up a large, thick parcel, and handed it to me.

  “My promise to you.”

  I eyed the parcel, wondering what sort of promise could be within.

  “Go ahead, open it.”

  I ripped the large wax seal on the parcel and opened it up. It was the toga Apicius had promised me. I didn’t unfold it—there was no way I would know how to fold it again. It was made of expensive off-white linen. I knew how much it cost—I had purchased many similar togas for Apicius to give as gifts to his friends.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  He smiled. “Say nothing. I am sending my dressing slaves to your cubicle to help you get into it. Make sure you ask one of them to show Tycho how to wrap a toga—you’ll need his help every morning from now on.”

  The thought of wearing a toga every day was one of the few things about having my freedom that I didn’t look forward to. They were hot and cumbersome.

  “Thank you, Apicius. Thank you for everything.”

  “Go on now. Happy Saturnalia!”

  I repressed a bow and went to subject myself to the strangeness of having someone else dress me.

  • • •

  That night we held a very big banquet, with all of Apicius’s slaves from both the villa and the school. It was a night of great festivity, with games of dice and knucklebones taking place across the villa. Togas were shunned in favor of the synthesis, colorful, casual dress that was never condoned at dinner. There was an amphora of wine free flowing in each of the common areas, food was in great abundance, and Apicius was especially giving to all his slaves and clients. At the salutatio that morning, many of Apicius’s poorer clients received a very generous gratuity that many of Rome’s richest took honor in giving at Saturnalia and one that the clients relied upon to buy gifts for their families.

  We were in the triclinium listening to the slaves give little speeches, mocking the mannerisms and tones of the nobility. Helene had us all in stitches with her speech pretending to be a patrician woman attending an unfavorable play.

  “And those miserable wretches in the chorus!” she intoned with a stereotypical voice. “Who do they think they—?” Helene broke off as a door guard ran into the atrium shouting.

  “Empress Livia is here! Dominus, Empress Livia is here!”

  My heart lodged in my throat. Passia folded herself into me, trembling.

  “Oh, mighty Hera, do not let her take my love from my arms,” she whispered.

  Livia swept into the room before anyone could react. She had with her a small entourage, which included, to no surprise, Publius Octavius. She didn’t wear a wig and the gray in her hair was whiter since I’d last seen her. She looked old. Old and determined.

  Apicius bowed his head, then stood up tall. He seemed to be drawing on power I had never seen before. Confidence covered him like a blanket.

  “My dear Livia, what brings us the honor of your presence on such a special Saturnalia evening?”

  Livia was not swayed by the reminder that it was a sacred holiday. “I have come to buy your cook, Apicius. This time I will not take no for an answer.”

  Apicius smiled, retaining his jovial demeanor. “Rúan, come forward.” He extended a hand toward my friend, who stood a few feet from Passia and me. “The empress has come to purchase you.”

  Rúan stared at me, horrified. My mouth gaped open, shocked at Apicius’s words.

  Octavius pushed his way past the slaves flanking Livia. His face was as red as a beet. “That’s not his cook!” His gaze landed on me. “He is!”

  Livia looked at Apicius, anger deepening the lines around her eyes. Her voice held the heat of the vestals’ flame. “Are you trying to deceive me?”

  Apicius squinted his eyes and curled his lips, looking puzzled. “Why, no. Rúan is my cook. The man Publius Octavius is pointing at is my friend.”

  “That’s the slave, it’s him!” Spittle flew from Octavius’s lips. He waggled his finger at me like a teacher would at a schoolboy. I thought I heard Fannia snort from where she stood at the side of the atrium.

  Apicius smiled and patted the shoulder of his rival. “Ahh, my dear Octavius, now I understand the confusion.” Octavius jerked his shoulder away.

  “My dear lady, this man used to be my slave and my cook. That is true no longer. He is a loyal freedman and a citizen of Rome.” Apicius snapped his fingers in Sotas’s direction. “Get me the papers.”

  Sotas left to get the copy of Apicius’s set of papers—mine were tucked away in my cubiculum.

  Passia clutched me so hard I knew I’d have bruises on my rib cage. Octavius’s eyes skimmed across me. I realized he was looking for my slave plaque or an identifying tattoo that had not been burned away with my freedom. Thank the gods Apicius hadn’t branded me, as some slave owners did!

  Livia folded her arms across her chest. She was not amused. I suspected Octavius would receive an earful when they left.

  “You freed him?” Octavius said in disbelief.

  Apicius nodded. “Why, yes, of course. I reward those who are loyal and work hard.”

  Sotas returned. He handed the papers to Apicius and returned to his place.

  Apicius passed them to Livia. “You’ll see they’re in order. We went to the Curia two days ago; I wanted to surprise him for Saturnalia.”

  Livia glanced at the papers, then handed them to the wrinkled old secretary who had accompanied her. He looked them over and gave them back to Apicius. “They are true documents, signed by the required number of witnesses.”

  While the secretary had been going over the papers I observed Livia staring Fannia down. There was darkness in her eyes.

  Aelia stepped forward to join her husband. “Empress Livia, we would hate if your visit here was for naught. We would be delighted if you and Publius Octavius would join our Saturnalia feast today if you are able.”

 
“Oh, our trip today is not for naught.” Octavius waved a hand at Rúan. “I trust three thousand denarii will be enough?”

  Apicius shook his head but kept his smile. “Now, Octavius, you know the worth of a cook from my household. I cannot take less than eight thousand denarii.”

  I thought Rúan might faint. Passia stiffened next to me. Apicius was playing a dangerous game, bargaining with Livia and Octavius.

  Livia did not look pleased but she agreed to the bargaining. “Six thousand and no more.”

  “That is acceptable. May he remain with us today for our Saturnalia feast? He is well loved in my house.”

  “Very well.” She was angry but resigned. “I’ll send my slave tomorrow to draw up the papers and fetch him.” Livia waved a hand at her secretary. Regaining her sense of protocol, she took Aelia’s hands in hers. “Thank you for your generous invitation but we must be going.”

  I think I took breath again when I saw the last sandaled heel of the slave who brought up the rear of her group. Passia relaxed her grip on me.

  Everyone except Apicius looked stunned. Rúan seemed on the verge of tears. He kept smoothing back his red locks with one hand, a habit he had when he was upset. Balsamea rubbed his arm, trying to reassure him.

  Apicius clapped his hands together and the sound reverberated through the room. “What do you say, everyone? Should we break out the Falernian wine?”

  Most of the slaves began to cheer. Apicius nodded to me to go with Rúan, a kindness that surprised me. Balsamea, Sotas, Passia, and I steered him toward the hallway that led to the gardens, where we proceeded to spend Rúan’s last night at the villa in great but sad, roaring, drunken splendor.

  Sotas pulled me aside later that night. He handed me a fresh glass of wine—a peace offering.

  “I did not show you my best face, Thrasius. I offer my apology.”

  I took the glass. “No need, my friend.”

  “If you were not free, you would not be here before me. For that, I thank the goddess.”

  I raised my glass. “Let us thank her together.”

  And we drank.

  PART VI

  10 C.E. to 11 C.E.

  PARTHIAN CHICKEN

  Draw the chicken from the rear and cut it into quarters. Pound the pepper, lovage, a little caraway, pour on liquamen, flavor with wine. Arrange the chicken pieces in a ceramic dish, put the sauce over the chicken. Dissolve fresh laser (silphium) in warm water and put it straightaway on the chicken and cook it. Sprinkle with pepper and serve.

  —Book 6.8.3, Fowl

  On Cookery, Apicius

  CHAPTER 16

  Rúan’s absence made life difficult for all of us in the first months after that fateful night. Not only did I lose a constant friend and trusted assistant, but despite my newfound freedom, I was busier than ever. Because I was still, in many ways, the de facto coquus, we had never found Rúan an assistant. That meant while I was in charge of running the school, with Rúan absent, I took on many of my old duties in the household. By the end of every day I was exhausted.

  The better part of a year had passed and we still hadn’t found a cook to replace Rúan. Or rather, we hadn’t found a cook to satisfy the high standards both Apicius and I had. There were a few slaves we purchased for the task, but in the end, they were always relegated to other parts of the kitchen. So it seemed that while I was free, I was still not free. At least now I was well paid, far more so than I could ever be if I were to leave and be on my own.

  • • •

  One morning during the salutatio a messenger arrived at the door of the villa. His tunic was muddy, as though he had come from a great distance.

  “I come from the family of Numerius Cornelius Sulla,” he said, presenting the scroll to Apicius. He waited while Apicius read the note.

  I wondered at the contents of the scroll. Sulla, of the great gens Cornelia, had been betrothed to Apicata several years ago. Of late Apicata had been asking more about her future husband. She found it hard to fathom marrying someone almost four times her age, despite his wealth and his position as a general in Caesar’s army.

  Apicius waved the messenger off. “No reply.” The man left as quickly as he came.

  Apicius handed me the scroll. “He’s dead.”

  “What happened?” But Apicius did not respond. He walked past me to return to the seat where he greeted his clients, irritation wrinkling his brow. I opened the scroll to discover that Sulla had died in the early part of October at the hands of robbers when he was returning to Rome from Germania after a shoulder injury discharged him from service.

  I understood Apicius’s silence. He now had the new worry of choosing a suitable husband for his daughter.

  Passia told me that Apicata said little about the incident when Aelia gave her the news. However, I noticed a new sense of relief that floated about her in the weeks after the news came to us. I did not blame her—the man had been older than her father.

  • • •

  Sometimes Rúan would come to visit me, usually slipping in the back entrance and finding me in the kitchen or the garden. One golden fall afternoon he found me at the villa tending to our prized pigs. After our experiments with fattening up ducks to make their livers even more delicious, Apicius and I had decided to apply the same principles to pigs. We kept four of them in a slightly smaller pen than the other swine and had been fattening them up with several pounds of dried figs a day. When they were fat we planned to feed them one last meal, letting them gorge themselves on honey wine until the figs expanded, and then get them so drunk they died. I had high hopes the resulting livers would be one of the best delicacies I had created yet.

  I had finished dumping the last of the figs into the pen when Rúan arrived. He leaned his pale torso against the fence and watched them eat. Even after years in the Roman sun he had not tanned; his skin reddened so he tended to avoid the brightest parts of the day. I watched him flick a loose piece of wood off the fence and into the pen. “If this is a success, I will be forced to steal this idea, you realize,” he said ruefully.

  “It won’t matter.” I hung the bucket on the peg next to the pen. “By the time Publius Octavius gets his hands on the idea, everyone will already know it came from Apicius.” I did not want Rúan knowing that I did have concern—his skill in the kitchen was strong and could outpace mine if he set his mind to it.

  Rúan, fortunately, didn’t seem to have the inclination. “I suppose that word does get out fast. But soon Octavius will have me torturing other beasts in an effort to outdo you. I’m not looking forward to that.”

  Rúan had always had a soft spot for animals. He had some crazy barbarian notion that the gods believed they shouldn’t be kept penned up. They should wander the hills and be rounded up once a year before winter. How inconvenient that would be!

  “How is it, working for Caesar?” I asked, without envy. Whenever he visited, he had a new tale of Imperial life with which to horrify me.

  “For me, not good.” He lifted up his tunic to reveal fresh stripes taken from his flesh. “One of my boys failed to adequately debone a pheasant served to Livia. She casually remarked on the tiny bone she found and Octavius let me have it.”

  “You should ask Balsamea to give you some of the salve she makes for the boys.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  I took a seat on one of the stone benches outside the kitchen doors and gestured for him to take a seat on the bench across from me. Tycho appeared with a tray holding glasses of rose water, which he deposited onto the end of my bench before returning to the kitchen.

  “Ahh, the life of a freedman agrees with you,” Rúan said.

  “I wish I felt freer!” I laughed. “Now tell me, what really brings you here today?”

  Rúan sobered. He stared into his water, moving the glass so it swirled up against the sides. “Bad news, I’m afraid. Your curse didn’t work. Sejanus has returned.”

  My anger rose like bile. “Damn him to Tartarus!” I
threw my glass and it crashed to the ground. Tycho heard the noise and came running from the kitchen.

  I waved him inside. My voice shook. “Has Tiberius returned?”

  “No, he’s still in Germany. Tiberius sent Sejanus home with a recommendation that he be installed as one of the prefects in Caesar’s Praetorian Guard. The talk is that Tiberius wants to have loyalty in the Guard in the event Augustus dies and he’s forced to return to Rome.”

  “Why couldn’t he have taken an arrow to the eye?” I muttered, mostly to myself.

  “Only the gods know.” Rúan leaned forward, his voice low. “But I can tell you this, Thrasius. You will have to find a way to hide your hatred of him. Your position as Apicius’s freedman guarantees you will have more direct contact with Sejanus. He’s no longer a regular soldier—a prefect wields much power. Be careful.”

  A piece of glass had landed on the tiles in front of me. I kicked it with my foot, wincing as the edge poked my middle toe and brought forth a dot of bright blood.

  • • •

  A week later, Sejanus sent word to Aelia that he was planning to visit his cousin and her family the next day. Apicius appeared delighted when Aelia told him the news over breakfast but I knew otherwise. Inwardly neither of them was happy. After she left, he stormed out of the atrium, knocking aside one of the youngest slaves who had come with me to pick up the dishes. Later Sotas told me Apicius had spent the morning throwing things around the library, even breaking a precious Greek vase that had been in the family for more than four hundred years.

  Sejanus arrived the next day as he promised, promptly at noon according to the sundial. Apicius and Aelia received him in the main atrium. Passia and I hovered in the adjoining room where we could hear through a window that opened to the atrium that had long been covered by a tapestry. It was the first time that Aelia had seen Sejanus since the assault and I worried about her.

  They greeted Sejanus, then settled into the couches alongside the renovated fish pond in the back part of the atrium, not far from our clandestine window. Sotas took up a place near us, signifying his presence by giving us two slight taps on the tapestry to let us know he was there.