by Crystal King
“Cousin, it is good to see you! How many years has it been?” Aelia was polite, but the warmth she used to have for her cousin was gone.
“Six years. Always victorious but ever so far away from Rome.”
“At least you are returning to a life many soldiers never see,” Apicius said.
“True. Though Caesar likes to live sparsely. It is not as luxurious being in the Imperial villa as many would imagine. Although I must admit the cooking has improved since I last dined with Augustus.”
“I’m sure it has.”
I gritted my teeth. The thought of Rúan feeding Sejanus every day made my stomach roil.
“What brings you here today?” Apicius asked the question we were all wondering.
“Oh, just a friendly visit to my favorite relatives.” Sejanus was glib. “Where is Apicata? How old is she now?”
Passia’s fingernails dug into my skin upon hearing those words. I clamped her hand flat to alleviate the pressure.
“She’s not . . .”
Apicius cut Aelia off. “We’ll send for her! She’s fourteen, and I know she will be pleased to see you. Helene, fetch Apicata please.”
“She will be fine,” I whispered to Passia, more to reassure myself than her. I looked at my lover in the dark of the room and while I could not see the definition of her features, I could see her shake her head. My stomach clenched; I feared she was right.
The talk continued, about life at Caesar’s villa, about Sejanus’s treks across Germania, defeating the Dalmatians and Marcomanni, and how he and Tiberius were fast friends. I wasn’t sure I believed all his tales, but, then again, I had little trust for him at all.
We heard Apicata coming down the hall with Helene. As she passed the door to the room we were in I heard her say, “I would rather die.”
And then she was in the room and Sejanus’s voice rang out.
“Oh, my dear Apicata, how you have changed since we last met!”
Apicata didn’t respond, or if she did we couldn’t hear her.
“Apicata has been studying philosophy,” Aelia said, trying to be conversational. “Apicata, recite for us some Plato, will you?”
I could hear a waver in her voice, although it was slight. I wondered if Apicius could hear it too.
“Yes, Mother.” She was as obedient as you would ever hope a well-educated Roman child to be.
She cleared her throat and her voice rang out in a loud, clear tone. “From his Republic: ‘The man who finds that in the course of his life he has done a lot of wrong often wakes up at night in terror, like a child with a nightmare, and his life is full of foreboding; but the man who is conscious of no wrongdoing is filled with cheerfulness and with the comfort of old age.’ ”
Oh, I could not have had more pride than I did then. Our little bird had spread her wings and let her voice take flight. I wished I could see the look upon Sejanus’s face.
There was silence, then a brief flurry of applause. “Lovely, my dear!” Aelia crowed, clearly pleased with her daughter’s choice of words. “Oh, Sejanus, I’m sure you would be even more delighted by her poetry.”
When Sejanus spoke, his voice had a warning edge. “I’m sure I would be. All the more reason for me to visit more often. Perhaps next time I can make a special request. Thank you, Apicata. That was admirable.”
I couldn’t see Aelia, but I was sure she understood the veiled threat. She did not respond.
“May I go now?” Apicata asked in a petulant tone.
“Of course you may.” Apicius sounded as though he’d been made uncomfortable by her recitation. Could he have thought it was directed at him and not Sejanus? It was likely. My former master was apt to assume the world revolved around him.
“It must be hard for you to manage both the school and the kitchen, with your other cook gone.”
I gave a start. He was talking about Rúan. He didn’t give Apicius time to respond. “I think I have an answer for you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You need a cook so Thrasius can focus on your other needs, am I right?”
Apicius sounded skeptical. “Perhaps.”
I peered through the thin crack at the edge of the tapestry. I saw Sejanus tuck a hand into the fold of his toga. “One of my guards is related to a man who was cousin to Maecenas. When Maecenas passed, he willed all his slaves to his son, who has himself just died. This is lucky for you, I suspect.”
“Do tell.” There was true curiosity in my former master’s voice. Maecenas had been cultural and gastronomic adviser to Augustus Caesar and was known for his incredible feasts.
“The son left no will and no wife. All his slaves are going up on the market and the proceeds will pad Caesar’s coffers. One of those slaves is a man who served in Maecenas’s kitchen. He grew up preparing meals for Caesar and for foreign kings.”
“Is he for sale?” I could hear the anticipation in Apicius’s voice. He felt desperate to fill the gap Rúan had left, and while I did too, I was not anxious to trust Sejanus.
“He is. He went up on the block today. I remembered you were still looking for a cook so I sent word to the slave master to hold on to the slave until you could look him over.”
My former master lauded Sejanus with thanks.
Passia and I exchanged a wary look.
The rest of the conversation was banal, except I learned there was a party planned the following week to celebrate Consul Publius Cornelius Dolabella’s new arch erected as a gate on the Caelian Hill. I suspected I would be dragged along. At last, Sejanus left, saying he had to get back to Caesar for evening duties.
• • •
The next morning found me with a slip of paper in hand, heading to the market to purchase the cook Sejanus had reserved for us. Was he a relation to Sejanus? I wondered. A spy?
As I walked along the line of slaves I was reminded of the day Apicius had purchased me, more than eleven years gone past. I often went to the market to purchase slaves for Apicius, but it was my first time as a freedman. I felt the same wash of sadness I always had when I passed the slave pens and saw the dirty people in rags and chains. The slave master I was looking for had set up shop along one end of the market, with a line of slaves of varying ages.
“There he be.” The slave master jerked a bony thumb at one of the cages. The man huddling there had not been cleaned up before I arrived. His shirt was ripped and I could see large bruises along his ribs.
“You’ve been beating him well, I see.” I gritted my teeth and turned to the slave before the slave master could respond.
“Stand up. Did you cook for Maecenas?”
The man grasped hold of the bars and pulled himself up, wincing. He was an older man, nearing forty, I suspected. His hair was speckled with gray and he had deep lines around his eyes and mouth, lines I somehow knew were from a life full of laughs. Until now the man had likely never seen the inside of a cage.
“Yes, sir.” His voice did not hold the weakness his body did.
I glared at the slave master. “He’s injured and old. This is not what I expected.”
He shrugged.
“How much?”
He turned his head and spat on the ground. “Three hundred denarii.”
“Are you trying to rob me? This man probably only has another five years in him! I’ll give you two hundred.” The figure was ridiculously low in the first place but I was always one for a good haggle. I felt a pang of sadness for the man. We were bargaining for his life with such a petty amount. All those years ago, Apicius had paid a staggering twenty thousand denarii for me.
“Two hundred and fifty. Can’t go lower.”
“Fine.” I handed over the money and he opened the cage door. The man stumbled out, looking at me with empty eyes. The smell wafting from him nearly made me gag.
“Come now, let’s get you to the baths.”
That’s how Timon came to Apicius’s kitchen—by way of a cursed man. Fortunately, there was no other connection bet
ween Sejanus and the cook he recommended for us. Timon turned out to be more than either Apicius or I had imagined. I could only guess that it was a way for Sejanus to make us feel like he was a nicer, changed man somehow. Or to make Apicius feel more indebted. Regardless, Timon easily stepped into the role left by Rúan and, much to our surprise, he did so with the gusto of someone half his age. In the months following his purchase we collaborated on some of the most elaborate feasts Rome had ever seen. It also gave me time to focus on growing the school, which was enrolling more students with each banquet Apicius gave.
CHAPTER 17
Between the grand dinners and the success of the school, Apicius’s name seemed to be on everyone’s lips. Except for Apicata’s.
Apicata couldn’t care less about banquets or the school or her father’s affairs. By the time she was fourteen she was nearly as tall as me, with a budding figure that made heads turn. It was hard to believe she was the same girl I used to carry on my shoulders to the market.
The name on Apicata’s lips was that of a boy, Leonis Antius Casca, the son of a senator, who was, for all practical purposes, a respectable choice of possible husbands for our girl. His father, Antius Piso, had been a trusted adviser to Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, who died twenty years past, but was once Caesar’s most honored military general and Tiberius’s father-in-law. Piso had money, but also the ear of many senators and patricians. Piso’s brother had once been consul and state augur and still held great influence.
Piso was a frequent guest to Apicius’s triclinium, and in recent months he began bringing Casca along as a shadow. The boy was hardly much of a boy anymore, having donned his manly toga several years before, but he still had a rosy-cheeked look about him that made him seem younger than his eighteen years. He wore his hair closely cropped in the style of Augustus. It made his features all the more prominent; dark brown eyes, chiseled nose, and a slight pout in his lips that rounded out his Adonis-like visage. His father, on the other hand, sported a poorly made black wig that only served to make his lack of hair all the more obvious. Fortunately, what Piso lacked in looks he made up for in smarts—his skills in the courtroom were admired all over Rome.
I first saw the spark between Apicata and Casca at a small gathering held not long after the Lupercalia festival in February. Apicius had invited Trio and Celera, as well as Piso, his wife, and young Casca. The seating arrangement turned out to be advantageous for the youth. Apicata lay next to her parents at the end of one side of the couch, diagonally across from where Casca reclined behind his mother and Piso on the adjacent couch. This afforded Trio, Celera, and me an excellent view of their flirting while their parents remained unaware.
It was a quiet evening, full of gossip and good cheer. There was much talk of the early days of Caesar, when he was still known as Octavian, when Antony was still alive and involved with the great Egyptian queen, Cleopatra. I had heard many of the stories before but never from someone who had spent so much time at Caesar’s side. Piso had been with Caesar when he ordered the vestal virgins to hand over Marc Antony’s secret will, imagine! He was one of the first to know of the full extent of Antony’s treachery!
I was so caught up in the discussion that I almost didn’t notice Apicata sneaking shy glances at young Casca. Celera had, however, and was watching with amusement. She winked at me when she saw I had also noticed their interest. As Casca mouthed a sweet nothing to Apicata, Celera seized the moment.
“Apicata, I understand you have begun reading the Histories of Herodotus. Tell me, how do you like them?”
She almost choked on her honey water, not expecting to be addressed. Casca averted his eyes when he saw me looking in his direction and both of them turned as red as the cushions upon which we were seated.
Apicata recovered quickly. “I’ve almost finished them. Father was entertaining Annaeus Seneca and when he heard I had not yet read it, he sent me a copy.”
“Have you reached the part about how the Ethiopians bury their dead in crystal coffins?” Casca asked, turning his body to rest his chin on both hands and stare at her directly.
“Oh, yes, I’m long past that! I’m reading about how Xerxes had the waters of Hellespont whipped for not obeying him.” Her eyes sparkled.
“Wait till you reach the Battle of Thermopylae. What a heroic story!”
The exchange continued for a few more minutes with additional commentary from the others, who were oblivious to the undercurrent between the youths. I was reminded of the early years of my love for Passia and a pang of anger bit into the memory. It was hard to watch Apicius negotiating the marriage of his daughter when he still denied me my own union.
“They would be handsome together, wouldn’t they?” Celera said to me, jolting me out of my thoughts.
“Yes, but I believe that Apicius has his sights on other prospects.”
“Much can change in the matter of a few months, no?” Celera purred.
I agreed but at the time I did not believe her.
• • •
There were other banquets where Apicata and Casca had the opportunity to speak. I kept a close eye on them when I could and always sent a slave after Apicata when I saw her looking as though she were going to sneak off into some dark corner with the boy. My efforts were for naught.
Passia first found out about their clandestine meetings when she stumbled upon a crumpled piece of papyrus in a corner of Apicata’s quarters. The meetings were during the day—with slaves sleeping against Apicata’s door at night and guards patrolling the gardens it would have been impossible for her to leave without someone knowing. But during the day she had more freedom, especially if Passia was busy helping Helene when Aelia entertained friends.
“She is already in love with him.” Passia and I were lying in bed at my apartment at the school when she told me she had confronted Apicata about the note. “They meet in the gardens down the street. She charmed one of your kitchen girls into sending him messages and helping her get in and out through the servants’ entrance.”
“Which girl?” I growled, vowing to make sure it didn’t happen again.
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
Of course not. I sighed and ran my fingers through Passia’s hair. “Did she promise to stop seeing him?”
She pressed her cheek into my shoulder, her breath soft against my skin. “I agreed I would be silent if I went with her.”
“Passia!” I couldn’t believe she would assent to such an arrangement.
“Thrasius, she is at the age where I can no longer say no to her. I am, after all, her slave. If I say no to her demands she might turn on me to get what she wants. At least this way she might take my advice and counsel.”
I pressed her tighter against me, concerned at this turn of events. “Apicius will not be kind if he finds out you are helping her. He would probably whip you till you had barely a breath in your body. I could not bear to see you bleeding on the tiles at the hands of Sotas. Passia, you can’t do this.”
She pulled away. “Don’t tell me what to do, Thrasius. You’re the one person I trust not to order me about.”
We stared at the ceiling in silence, the candlelight creating flickering shadows against the frescoed walls of the room. I remembered our days when we used to sleep on my pallet in my tiny cubicle near the kitchen. Now the room was large and sumptuous, a room I had once only dreamed of having.
“She wants you to convince Apicius to let her marry Casca.”
I wasn’t surprised. “Apicius has other suitors in mind. Consul Publius Cornelius Dolabella and Appius Marius Narses are at the top of his list.”
“They’re old enough to be her grandfather. Besides, Casca would be a good match. He has connections and his father is well liked in the Senate—he could sway any votes Apicius takes an interest in. It might be possible.”
While I was not pleased with the idea of championing Casca for Apicata, I did want the girl to be happy. It was rare when patrician marriages had love. I wanted her to fee
l that same fluttering sensation in her stomach when her love walked into a room. I wanted her to feel the comfort of strong arms around her, keeping her safe. I wanted her to know the feeling that I had every day with Passia. While I wasn’t sure how I could convince Apicius, at least there was a slim chance—thank the gods Apicata had the sense to love a man who had status.
“I will try but only under one condition.”
She ran her slender fingers along my jaw. “What’s that?”
“That she does not see Casca again until I have asked Apicius and we know the answer. I don’t care if they exchange notes but I do not want to see you in the middle. I will meet Casca to talk of this arrangement. Apicius is loath to discipline me, as you know. But he would not hesitate to strip your skin bare, despite my influence on him.”
Her index finger traced my lip. “Brilliant idea! I, however, would love to have you strip me bare.”
I chuckled. “You’re already bare, my love.”
“I could dress again and you could strip me . . .”
I grasped her shoulders and rolled her on top of me. “Let’s move on to the best part, why don’t we?”
She laughed and slid her hips over mine.
• • •
The next morning, after attending clients at the salutatio, I walked with Passia to Apicata’s chambers. The Roman summer was around the corner and although it was still spring, the cicadas had already begun their song. I was anxious at the thought of making such a bargain with Apicata, knowing it would be against her father’s wishes. But when her door slave opened the chamber up to us and I saw Apicata at her writing desk, I knew why I was there. Because our little bird was in love.
Apicata jumped up and ran to us when she saw us enter, flinging her arms around my neck, almost knocking me over. “You’ll help me, won’t you? Oh, Thrasius, I knew you would!” Her voice was loud in my ear. I pulled back and brushed her hair out of her eyes.
“There is something you need to promise me.”