by Crystal King
“He’s a lecher, a filthy man! He hates us. He hurt you, Mother! He hurt you! Please don’t make me marry him. He will ruin everything,” she wailed. “I hate him! I wish he would die!”
Aelia put on the mask of a true Roman matron, her face as cold as a barrel of snow, and slapped her daughter hard. Apicata raised her hand to her tear-stained cheek, now reddened with Aelia’s handprint. In all my time in the Gavia household I had never seen Aelia slap her daughter for anything.
“Casca has nothing but his family name. Sejanus has the power and the favor of Caesar. That means he can destroy us all with a single word. Now pull yourself together and say a prayer to Cupid to rip that arrow from your breast. You have to harden your heart, lock away all your tears, and be the perfect Roman wife. It is your duty.”
Apicata was stunned into silence. Her mouth was still open in a little o and while she continued to cry she said nothing. She left, dragging Passia with her by the hand. I was shocked at Aelia’s response.
I started to follow but Aelia’s voice stopped me. “Wait.”
Her eyes were wet. I felt better seeing the emotion on her face—to be so harsh to her daughter was out of character.
“Did Apicius ask you to tell her?” she asked me.
“Yes, my lady, he did.”
“Ah.” She fell into the chair next to her, as if exhausted. A long curl came undone from her wig and fell across her shoulder.
“It should have been me,” she murmured.
“I believe it was my punishment,” I said, wishing as I did that I could shove the words back into my mouth.
Her eyes were wet with the glisten of tears. “What do you mean?”
“I told Apicius I didn’t agree with his decision.”
Aelia wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I see.”
“I cannot imagine her married to that monster. I truly wished that Apicata might marry for love,” I said.
She stood and came over to me and put one hand on my cheek. Her eyes were full of sadness. “Oh, my dear Thrasius, only slaves and plebs are lucky enough to marry for love.” She dropped her hand and turned away.
As I left the chamber, I heard a sob escape Aelia’s lips. I could not bear to look back so I kept walking.
CHAPTER 19
Apicata punished us all by trying to starve herself to death. She shut herself in her room and refused food. Apicius was too ashamed to visit and that only intensified her sorrow. Aelia and Passia managed to get her to eat part of an apple every day and to drink some water but we knew it would not sustain her for long.
Her once budding figure became gaunt. Her cheeks hollowed and her skin was sallow. She was dangerously weak and kept to her bed.
I didn’t talk much to Apicius. He refused my company at the salutatio and only begrudgingly consulted me about some banquets that had long been planned. I was polite but both of us had only one desire—to quickly depart each other’s company.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. Apicata’s stubbornness had left her dangerously ill. I burst into Apicius’s library one afternoon, pushing past Sotas before he could stop me.
“How dare you?”
Startled, Apicius dropped the scroll he was holding. I didn’t give him time to answer. “First you crush your daughter’s spirit and now you have left her to die. What favor will you find in Caesar’s villa if your one connection there is dead?”
He blanched. His mouth worked as though trying to find the words to say. I didn’t stop.
“Your daughter loves you above all. You insulted her by not giving her the news yourself. And now you refuse to talk to her on her deathbed. I hope her shade haunts you to the end of your days, you fool. I won’t know because I’ll leave.”
I was shaking. I had never talked to a patrician in such a manner. Such disrespect could mean banishment from the household, or worse, he could arrange for my ejection from the city. I turned to leave.
“Wait.” Apicius’s voice quavered.
I braced myself for an onslaught of his anger. I was surprised to see defeat in his eyes.
“Tell me what to do.”
I realized then that the tide of our relationship had truly turned. Over the years Apicius had always been the one to give orders and now it was he asking me for advice. I did my best to temper my frustration. “Come with me now. We’ll bring her food and you will tell her you don’t want her to die. You’ll feed her and let her know she will always be in your heart.”
Apicius hesitated. “Why can’t you feed her?”
I threw my hands in the air. “Don’t you think I have tried? Every day I have tried. She wants nothing to do with me.”
“But what if . . . ?”
I had lost patience. “What if she dies?”
Apicius made a strangled sound.
“She thinks all the men in her life have betrayed her, and you most of all. It’s your duty to make amends. Talk to her. Tell her you are sorry.”
He was silent. I propelled him out the door, and Sotas followed.
• • •
We walked through the corridors in awkward silence until we reached the door to Apicata’s chamber. The door slaves moved out of the way as we approached. I instructed one of them to fetch me broth from the kitchen.
Apicata was even paler than when I’d seen her that morning. Her hair lay in greasy tangles around her face. Her cheekbones were pronounced, making her look haunted.
Apicius hurried to her side. I motioned all the slaves out of the room. Passia came to stand with me and Sotas.
“Where is Aelia?” I asked.
Passia didn’t take her eyes off Apicius. “I urged her to go rest. She is becoming ill with worry.”
Apicius sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his daughter’s hair. Apicata stirred and opened her eyes.
“Father?” Her voice was weak.
“Oh, my little one, I am here. I am sorry I have not come to you. You and I are truly bred from the same stock—forever willful and stubborn.” I couldn’t see his face but it sounded like he was in tears.
“Why do I have to marry him?” She could barely keep her eyes open.
“Sejanus has powerful friends.” He continued to stroke her hair. “If I ignore his request to marry you, I fear how that choice would negatively affect our family. Or your beloved Casca.”
Her eyes opened wide, the blood suddenly returning to her face. “What do you mean? He would hurt Casca?”
Apicius took her hand. “He might. I think that if Sejanus doesn’t get what he wants, he can be very dangerous.”
I wondered at Apicius’s words. Was he lying? Or had he made a bargain with Sejanus?
Tears fell across her pale cheek, glistening in the afternoon sunlight. “If he is so dangerous, why do I have to marry him?”
“He is not dangerous to those he loves,” Apicius said quickly. I marveled at how easily the lie slipped from his lips. “And he loves you beyond measure. He was quite in earnest.”
I’ll bet he was. I doubted that love was something Sejanus was even capable of.
Apicata knew better. “He does not love me.”
“Worry not, daughter. Instead, consider your duty.” His tone attempted to inspire. “Marrying Sejanus will make you important to Caesar Augustus and to his adopted son, Tiberius. Your sons will inherit great things and have unprecedented opportunities in life. And you will be secure knowing that the people you love most—your family and Casca—will be safe because of your actions. I wish it were otherwise, but Sejanus has powerful influence, little one. It is you who will determine whether he uses it for good or not.”
My jaw hurt from clenching my teeth. I couldn’t believe Apicius was putting such an onus on his daughter, using guilt to gain her acquiescence in an unbearable situation.
“But he is an equestrian . . . ,” Apicata murmured, one last, final plea.
“Yes, but he is a prestigious and influential self-made man,” Apicius countered. “The world is changing, m
y dear, and those with the wherewithal to create their own destinies will be the ones who anchor their stars in the heavens.”
I looked at my friends. Passia shook her head and Sotas shrugged. Apicius did not care for self-made men—like the famous orator Cicero, or Gaius Marius, who was consul six times in Julius Caesar’s reign. He thought them cheats, unworthy of such status.
Apicius turned to me, seeking what to do next. Balsamea had arrived with the broth and I indicated she should give Apicius the bowl.
He took it from her and spooned up a small measure. “Please, Apicata, take of this broth. The Gavia household depends on your strength.”
Apicata eyed the bowl. “I’m not hungry.”
“Please, Apicata, eat something. We need your strength. Please, daughter.”
She turned her head toward the opposite wall.
“Apicata, do it for Casca. To keep him safe.”
At the mention of Casca’s name, Apicata gave a nod. “Fine. I’ll eat. For Casca, who is lost to me.”
Apicius gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, daughter. Thank you.” Passia rushed forward to help feed her.
“In the future,” he said as he stood to let Passia take his place, “our family will be proud of how your courage and fidelity helped build the Gavia name.”
Pretty words but I doubted them. Sejanus was likely to choke the soul right out of her.
• • •
Apicata took her father’s explanation to heart, shoring up her emotions and recovering from her self-imposed illness in less than a week. She emerged from her chambers much changed. Gone was the happy girl who’d made the house sparkle with laughter. In her place was a quieter girl who did as she was asked.
When she was well, Passia took Apicata to the temple of Juno, where they stayed for two days of ritual cleansing and special preparations for her marriage. Aelia bade them to bring five white sows as sacrifice—an exorbitant offering. As the ceremony was for women only, Passia would not tell me what went on in the temple, and as it was not a common rite, there was no general knowledge among the slaves that I could draw upon. But when Apicata returned she was truly a new woman. There was no sparkle in her eyes but the sadness was gone. She was cold, efficient, and polite, the perfect model for how a Roman matron should behave.
“It is as though she were lost to us,” I said to Passia the evening they returned. “The fire in her is gone.”
Passia was matter-of-fact. “She is lost to us. Sejanus will probably be the death of her.”
“You don’t know that.” But as I said the words, I knew that she was right.
She took a sip of wine. “I do. Somehow, she is marked. But do not worry.” Passia reached across the table and stroked my hand. “The goddess will protect her soul in life or in death.”
I wished I felt assured.
• • •
The wedding took place in June, the most auspicious time of year for marriages. We gathered first in Apicius’s villa for the beginning of the ritual that would proceed to Sejanus’s house and Apicata’s new home.
Early that morning, before the guests arrived, I asked Passia if I could be the one to bring Apicata breakfast. Apicata was pleased to see me. I put the breakfast tray down on the side table.
She took my hands in hers. “I am glad to see you this morning.”
She sounded like her mother. Elegant. Adult. “I wanted to tell you how much I am going to miss you.” I had such love for Apicata—she was the daughter I didn’t have.
“It will be hard to leave you and Passia. You taught me there is love and laughter in this world. And good food!” She squeezed my hands and a broad grin lit up her face in a way I had not seen in months. “Oh, Thrasius, I shall miss your radish flowers and the mice you made for me out of eggs! Promise me that when I visit, you will make them for me.”
I laughed. Out of all the things I had made for her to eat over the years it was the finishing touches she loved best. It made my heart sing. “I promise, little bird.”
A cloud darkened her eyes and the smile slid away. “I want to tell you how much I appreciated what you tried to do for me and Casca. I will always remember that kindness.”
My mouth went dry. I had no adequate words.
“Oh, I have something for you.” She went to one of the chests along the wall that were packed with her belongings. When she returned she held the wind-up bird that Prokopton had given her in the market on the fateful day we met Sejanus. “It will be freer with you.” She gave me the toy and hugged me tight.
• • •
The wedding activities commenced in late morning. Passia and Aelia assisted Apicata in her mother’s chambers, waiting for the signal from the slaves that Sejanus was ready to take her as his bride. I stood in the gardens with the hateful groom, Apicius, family members, clients, and assorted invited guests. The sun was well on its pass upward through the sky. Slaves wandered through the crowds with glasses of honey wine and pastries to help tide people over until the wedding breakfast, which would take place after the ceremony.
One of the door slaves called out from his place. The augur had come to determine if the wedding would be propitious. I said a silent prayer to Jupiter that a flock of dark ravens would come to roost on the roof overlooking the garden. Surely that would be a sign worthy enough to call off the union! But I had no faith, and my worry overcame my hope.
The augur strode across the courtyard, and after speaking briefly to Apicius and Sejanus, he took his curled wand and drew the quadrants in the sky; a bright, cloudless patch over the Forum. Then we waited. And waited. The longer we waited, the more elated I became. I was filled with hope at the thought that the birds might fail to fly at all. It meant, at minimum, that the wedding would be on hold till more auspicious times.
I looked over at Sejanus. His toga was bright in the sunlight, his red Praetorian tunic underneath edged with gold trim for the occasion. He stood next to his father, Aelius Gallus, and Gallus’s brother and Aelia’s father, Lucius Aelius Lamia. The two older men seemed anxious about the lack of birds. Sejanus, however, exhibited none of the worry that the rest of the wedding party did. He gazed calmly over the garden walls where the augur had marked the right quadrant. As I watched, the slight smile on his lips transformed into a broad grin.
“There.” He pointed. My eyes—and the eyes of the crowd—followed the gesture. To my dismay, a flock of white doves exploded into the sky from a point on the ground. There were at least two dozen of the unusual birds. Never had I seen so many white doves together. It stank of fraud, of purpose.
“Highly auspicious!” The augur’s proclamation rang out over the garden. “White, the color of purity, bravery, and goodness. They fly upward from the lower right quadrant to the skies where Sol will warm them with his rays, shining down his power upon them as he will with Sejanus and Apicata. Their numbers signify many children. Good fortune indeed!”
The crowd cheered. Men clapped Sejanus on the back and women lined up to kiss his cheek for luck. They stopped paying attention to the doves. Even the augur had trained his attention to the platters of hot fritters being delivered from the kitchen.
I was the only one still staring at the sky when the owl, defying the light of day, cut through the lower part of the sky, over the villa rooftops, chasing a sparrow behind the flock of doves and snatching it up between its claws.
I thought my heart would stop.
• • •
Apicata had the cold beauty of a freshly carved statue when she entered the garden. She wore her dark hair braided in the traditional six locks, woven with golden fillets and fastened on the top of her head with the traditional iron spearhead. I thought about the irony of that spearhead—it was meant to symbolize the first women of Rome, the Sabine brides, taken by force to the city. And now Apicata herself was being taken by force.
Apicata’s flammeum, the traditional flame-colored veil, which matched her shoes, fell over her hair and down her shoulders. Her li
ps were stained red and dark kohl lined her eyes in the Egyptian style popular with Roman women. Her white flannel gown was held in place by a golden girdle, knotted at the waist. Later Sejanus would untie that knot.
Aelia led her daughter across the grass to where Sejanus stood near the central pool, surrounded by all the wedding guests. Apicata carried a basket that held her childhood toys and the carefully folded gown of her girlhood. Apicius stepped forward to greet his daughter.
Apicata handed him the basket, her face devoid of emotion. “Father, I give you the toys and clothes of my youth. I need them no longer as I become a woman today.”
Apicius accepted the basket. Unlike his daughter, sadness reflected in his eyes. “I hold your childhood treasures in my hands and commit them to memory. May Juno bless you as you walk forward into womanhood.”
Aelia guided her daughter to Sejanus and placed Apicata’s hand in his. Apicius handed the basket to a slave for safekeeping, and together, he and Gallus took their place in front of the couple. Apicata and Sejanus bowed their heads in reverence to their fathers. Apicius and Gallus stepped aside to let the augur stand between them for the ceremony.
I surveyed the crowd. Several guests had arrived late, including Fannia, who stood to the left of the couple. Her black wig was in a straight Egyptian style adorned with gold beads. She watched the ceremony, her face passive. She had no love for Sejanus.
Publius Octavius had also arrived late, likely invited by Sejanus. There were two men with him whom I didn’t recognize. The folds under his neck jiggled as he talked.
Passia appeared next to me. She looped her arm into mine and clutched my elbow tightly with her other hand. We watched the ritual unfold.
Sejanus and Apicata faced each other and held hands. They stood in that position for a moment longer than was comfortable. Apicata seemed frozen, her eyes locked somewhere in the distance beyond Sejanus. Finally, she seemed to realize her place and she said the traditional words. “Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.”
Sejanus smiled at the words. “Where you are Gaia, I am Gaius.”
The augur gestured for one of the slaves to bring forth a white sow for their sacrifice to Juno. The couple watched as the augur said a few words and, in a frighteningly quick motion, slit the animal’s throat with a jeweled dagger. Blood flowed across the garden tiles. The slaves took it away and the augur circulated through the crowd to collect the appropriate number of witness signatures for the wedding contract. It was an extra blow to know Apicata’s wedding contract would bear the signature of Publius Octavius.