by Crystal King
The day’s courses dragged as the salutatio had. I taught a class on sauces, one on banquet preparations, and lectured on the importance of spices in modern cuisine. I was so distracted I even burned my hand on a pot—thank the gods it was minor. A snicker from the back of the class pained my ego more than the fire pained my skin.
That night for dinner, I discovered that Apicius had invited Antius Piso and his wife, Lucasta. I thought it odd. We were supposed to dine with them on the following night, so seeing them there was unexpected.
My elevated freedman status allowed me to dine with the family, but when I saw them there, I hesitated until Apicius waved a hand at me to sit. I took up my spot on the opposite couch, thinking it was odd that Casca and Apicata were not present.
For gustatio, the slaves brought out an endive salad with honey and vinegar dressing, a platter of spicy fried pheasant meatballs, and sliced blood and womb sausages. I was pleased to see Timon had already mastered my recipes. Over the meal we made small talk about the Lex Sumptuaria. It was polite that Apicius talk of the engagement first but he seemed reluctant to do so. So instead we ate and talked politics. The guests reveled in the tastes, and while Aelia and I were pleased with their response to the food, Apicius appeared distracted.
His glass even shook when he talked, a fact it seemed I was the only one to notice. He also ate little, which was unlike him.
Finally, Apicius spoke. “Sotas, please clear the room and pour us some wine.” The rest of us watched with some measure of alarm as he ushered the slaves out and shut the doors to the triclinium. Whatever Apicius intended to say, it seemed he didn’t want the slaves gossiping about it. I wondered about the wine—it was unusual to serve wine during a meal unless the discussion was grave. Sotas poured out a measure of wine for each of us, watered it down, and returned to his post near the door.
Apicius raised his glass. “Piso, I have delighted in your company over the years and it’s my hope our friendship will continue to strengthen over the years ahead.”
Piso smiled and his wife patted him on the shoulder from her position on the couch next to him. “This union pleases us too,” he said, clasping his wife’s hand and squeezing it.
For a brief moment I saw a familiar look in my former master’s eyes—the look he had when the haruspex had given him his fortune all those years past, and when Livia intended to purchase me. It was a mixture of nervousness, anxiety, and determination. Apicius took a long swallow of wine.
“The union between you and me is one I plan to make strong. Hear me out, for while that is my intention, I regret to tell you I have changed my mind about the marriage between your son and my daughter.”
Aelia looked like she might die of embarrassment. The color rose in Piso’s cheeks as he considered the weight of Apicius’s words. Piso’s wife stared downward in openmouthed shock. My appetite transformed into a ball of anger when I realized who Apicius had promised our little bird to—the very man who would, I knew deep in the core of me, destroy her soul.
Piso’s jowls shook when he spoke. “Explain yourself. Why send word to us last night that you had chosen my son, then bring us here today to rescind your offer?”
Apicius fiddled with the purple edges of his toga. I was glad he was nervous. I hoped this decision gave him pause.
But when Apicius spoke he didn’t seem nervous. Quite the opposite. I hated how he was able to rally under pressure. “I won’t lie to you, Piso, or make excuses. I have been offered a more advantageous match.”
“You dishonor us!” Piso’s wife sat up, tears flowing down her cheeks, creating thin tracks in her pale leaden makeup. She jumped off the couch and stood there, balling up her fists in anger. Piso pulled himself off the couch and gathered his wife into his arms.
Apicius stood as well. “Please, I assure you my intent is not to dishonor anyone. By dishonoring you I dishonor myself. I have a proposal for you, to make up for my lack of decorum.”
For a moment, I thought that Piso might reach across the couch and strangle Apicius. “I’m not sure what you can do to fix this,” he snarled.
Apicius looked pained. “Please, my friend, hear me out.”
“Speak and be quick. I have no desire to dine with you tonight.”
“I’m sorry for that, but let me make this up to you. We have not yet shared the news of the engagement, so we can both avoid public embarrassment. However, I know that does not ease the pain of my actions. To compensate you, I will still honor Casca with a sum equal to Apicata’s dowry. Additionally, as a gift to you, I’d like to give you my villa in the mountains near Alba. I’ll even leave you a retinue of slaves to further show my goodwill. I do not desire an end to our friendship, Piso.”
There was silence for a time. Piso’s wife leaned over and said something indiscernible.
“We’d like a moment to discuss this,” Piso said.
“Stay here, of course,” Apicius said. “Sotas will be right outside the door and can attend to any desire you might have. We’ll wait in the atrium.”
• • •
I followed Aelia and Apicius out of the room and Sotas closed the door behind us. Aelia whirled on her husband.
“How dare you break the heart of your daughter?”
Apicius stared at her, his ears reddening with every word she said.
“Excuse me, wife? Were you questioning me?”
Aelia was not going to play the dutiful matron. “I am. I want to know why you broke off the engagement. Who are you planning to marry Apicata to?”
My mouth went dry when I realized that Aelia must not have known about Sejanus’s visit the day before.
“Your cousin, Sejanus.”
Her mouth dropped open in horror. For a moment it seemed that she was going to say something but then she began to sway. Helene caught her just as she fainted.
Apicius signaled one of the other slaves at the door to assist Helene. “Take her back to her rooms, let her sleep.”
• • •
After they had departed, I could not keep my tongue still.
“Did I understand you? You plan to marry Apicata to Sejanus?”
Behind Apicius, Sotas nodded, his face grave.
Apicius knotted his brow, seemingly surprised I would question him, then softened. “Yes. Sejanus has better long-term prospects than Casca.” He touched my shoulder, propelling me down the hall toward the atrium.
There was something he wasn’t telling me. “How so?”
He slowed his pace and paused as if trying to formulate what he wanted to say. “Augustus is old. When he dies, I want to be aligned with the right person who will show me favor. Someone who will help me rise to favor with Tiberius.”
I leaned against the frescoed wall, the weight of his words driving into me. Did he really think Sejanus would have the ability to change the influence Publius Octavius had within Caesar’s kitchen? More so, did he actually trust Sejanus to help him?
“That’s only part of it. This is about the evidence that Sejanus has against you, isn’t it?” I asked, daring to be bold.
Apicius stared at me.
“You’ve spoken about it in front of me before. I put the pieces together,” I said, not wanting to implicate Sotas.
“If you know, you understand that I have no choice in this matter. To deny him would be to kill us all. And that might even mean you.”
I had not considered that possibility. I thought of Passia and my blood ran cold.
“Understood. But how will you tell Apicata she’s not going to marry her love, but instead will be marrying someone she hates? It could destroy what love she has for you. If you give Apicata to Sejanus, you’ll be handing her over to a monster. Worst of all, you are going to break her heart.” Even though I tried to be gentle, it came out cruel.
Apicius’s eyes narrowed and his cheeks reddened.
He growled at me. “No, you will be the one to break her heart. You will tell her she is to marry Sejanus in June when he returns from accompa
nying Caesar to Greece.”
I could not tell how much of this was true fear about the murder or desire to become gastronomic adviser to Caesar. I imagined that inside his mind Apicius warred with both of those ideas. I kept my face passive. “It doesn’t change anything. She’ll know who is taking Casca from her.”
Before Apicius could respond, Sotas poked his head around the corner of the hallway and indicated we should return. Apicius gave me one last withering look, then stomped away toward the dining room.
Piso and Lucasta stood together next to the triclinium couch. Lucasta’s eyes were red but her cheeks were dry. Piso held an arm around her shoulders.
Apicius approached them with open arms. I hung back by the door with Sotas. Anger roiled my stomach.
“Come now, tell me what you are thinking. It pains me that I have hurt you.” Apicius placed a hand on their shoulders.
Piso nodded. “I accept your offer, Apicius. We appreciate your generosity. Most men would not bring honor to a broken promise and you have our thanks.” He let go of his wife and shook hands with Apicius.
“Good, good. I am glad to hear we have made amends. We still have two more courses, my friends! Please tell me you will stay and it will not go to waste.”
Piso turned to his wife. After a moment Lucasta said, “We’ll stay.”
“Excellent!” Apicius led them back toward the couch, then glared at me. “Thrasius has other matters to attend to so he will say his good-byes now.”
I came forward to kiss them on each cheek, both angry and grateful for the dismissal. On the way out Apicius called to me in the same tone he would his lowest slave.
“Fetch the kitchen boys for the next course, Thrasius. And make sure nothing is cold.”
I didn’t reply. Nor did I intend to honor his command. I eyed Sotas as I left. He understood me.
• • •
I wandered through the gardens for a time, needing to be alone with my thoughts. Passia was likely with Apicata so I dared not go find her. I couldn’t bear facing our little bird. Oh gods, how was I to share such horrific news? In the corner of the garden I fell to my knees before a gilded statue of Mars and prayed to the god for strength and for some sign he would wreak revenge on Sejanus.
The grass was cold around my legs. The moonlight filtered through the umbrella pines and made the stones of the garden paths shine. It was silent, eerily silent, with only the brief sounds of a clanking pot from the kitchen in the distance beyond the garden. I gazed up at Mars and thought I saw his painted eyes blink. I heard and felt the whoosh of wings near my head as a giant owl swooped by me and came to land on Mars’s outstretched sword.
I was empty, devoid of all thought but the glorious, menacing owl. Then dread filled my chest, pressing on my ribs and that space between my heart and my breast.
It was a sign, a dire sign. I knew not what it meant. An owl signified disaster, far-reaching disaster. And it was perched on the sword! Would blood be shed?
I fled the garden, terrified of those golden eyes burning into me.
Sotas was waiting for me in the kitchen when I returned, breathing hard from my run across the garden. He was talking with Timon and eating the remains of his dinner.
He dropped his chicken leg on the terra-cotta plate as I approached. “What’s wrong? You look like you have seen a spirit!”
Still catching my breath, I gestured to him that we should speak outside, away from the prying ears and eyes of the other slaves. Timon, who was always understanding, tossed Sotas an apple and the big man followed me back out into the garden.
We didn’t go far. I was too nervous that the owl would be waiting for me, swooping overhead in the night. Instead we sat on benches near the kitchen where the staff often rested when the ovens were too hot.
“All right, Thrasius, tell me what spooked you,” Sotas pressed me. I told him, although it seemed silly that I’d reacted as I had, with such fear. Sotas wouldn’t have run; he probably would have shrugged his shoulders and walked off.
But Sotas did not belittle my response. “A serpent crossed my path yesterday when we were at the Forum. I felt the same as you, full of foreboding.”
“Tell me what Sejanus said to Apicius.” I was desperate to know what was promised in exchange for Apicata’s hand in marriage.
Sotas shook his head. “I know not. Against my recommendation, Apicius barred the door and bade me wait outside.”
I was horrified. “What? You left them alone? Sejanus could have murdered him!”
“I tried to convey my concern but he made it clear that if I didn’t obey immediately there would be consequences. I tried to listen at the doors but you know how thick they are.” Sotas took a bite of his apple, spat it out, and tossed it far across the garden. I hoped it hit the owl.
I cursed. It was I who had suggested the heavy doors, to prevent slaves from stealing our recipes when we worked on the cookbook.
“He forced his hand. It’s the only reason that Apicius would turn Casca aside.”
Sotas fingered the blue silk rope of his tunica, an expensive accessory that in recent years Apicius began insisting his house slaves wear. “Perhaps, but that seems too simple. Sejanus is cunning. I think he would play with Apicius’s desires first. He doesn’t need to be forceful. I bet Sejanus is dangling some opportunity with Caesar in front of his nose.”
I was skeptical. “But Publius Octavius is there. There is no opportunity for Apicius to do anything at Caesar’s villa.”
“Maybe it’s not here on the Palatine?” Sotas conjectured. “Maybe he wants him to entertain foreign dignitaries? But maybe not.”
It didn’t make sense to me either. “Besides, Sejanus has returned from the war in Germania. He’s been prefect for six months. What kind of pull can he have? Everyone knows he’s Tiberius’s man, not Augustus’s.”
“Maybe he promised Apicius that he would push Publius Octavius out when Tiberius comes into power?” Sotas suggested.
“I think—” I started to say, but was interrupted by a movement in the trees to my left. As I turned my head to look, the owl swooped down and landed in the dirt a few feet from where we sat. It regarded us for a second, blinked, then lifted its wings and took off into the darkness.
“By the gods,” Sotas breathed.
We sat in silence, unnerved, until Passia emerged from the kitchen, her light shawl blowing in the evening breeze. She was beautiful, her body silhouetted by the light from the door.
“Come, sit, my love.” She came to sit beside me and I put my arm around her.
“I asked Tycho to bring us some of your wine,” she said. I had several amphorae in the cellars that Apicius had declared mine.
“Good thinking,” Sotas said, clapping a hand down on the bench beside him. “We are men in desperate need of wine.”
She reached around to caress the small of my back as she often did when we sat together.
I let out a deep breath. “Tomorrow Apicata will learn that she is not marrying Casca.”
She pulled away to look at me better. “What do you mean? I thought it was all arranged! And Piso was here tonight!”
The clink of glasses marked Tycho’s arrival. We sat in silence as he doled the wine out, not watered down, I noted. He left the jug on the table between us. As soon as he was gone Passia began her questions anew. I rubbed her shoulder with my free hand, feeling her tension.
“Who is she marrying, if not Casca? Dolabella? That old man Narses?”
“You will not like the answer,” Sotas said.
“The only answer I will like is Casca. If not the son of Piso, who?” I saw the realization dawn across her lovely face. “Oh, please, tell me no . . .”
“We should have killed him.” The words tumbled from my mouth.
“Hush!” Passia clapped her hand against my lips. “Do not say those words where others might hear!”
I pulled away and took another drink. Sotas did too.
Passia stood up and started to pace in
front of us. “When is Apicius telling her? Tomorrow?”
“Ha!” Sotas guffawed. “You think he has the guts to tell her himself?”
She stopped her pacing and considered me. “Oh, no, Thrasius. He didn’t?”
“He did.” The words were bitter on my tongue.
She came back to me and put her arms around me. “We’ll tell her together.”
It didn’t make me feel better.
• • •
Telling Apicata was even worse than I’d imagined. I gave her the news in the breakfast triclinium, where, ironically, Apicius had, two days before, told Casca he could marry his daughter.
“Your father asked me to talk to you,” I said, choosing to remain standing, despite her invitation to sit. Passia took a spot on the couch next to Apicata.
She turned her gaze on me, waiting for me to speak.
“It’s about your marriage.”
“Is something wrong with Casca?” she asked, worry crossing her face as she put aside the scroll she was reading.
Passia patted her knee. “No, everything is fine with Casca.”
I decided to just spit it out. “You aren’t marrying Casca. Your father has arranged for you to marry Lucius Aelius Sejanus.”
I had scarcely got the words out of my mouth when she dropped to the floor and began wailing as though someone had died. After a few minutes of trying to console her she sprang up from where she lay pooled in the silks of her robe and ran to Aelia’s rooms. Passia and I followed.
Aelia was finishing up her morning repertoire. Helene waited by the door and two slaves stood next to where Aelia sat on a plush red-cushioned chair, putting the final touches on her hair and makeup, pinning the curls of a blond wig to best frame her face. They stepped back as Apicata entered, crying. She rushed across the room, fell at her mother’s feet, and clasped her around the legs. Aelia dismissed her dressing slaves, then pulled Apicata off the ground. Apicata began her complaints about marrying Sejanus anew, tears staining the front of her tunica.