by Crystal King
“So, my future?” I was already tired of the exchange.
“I will need to read more of the stars before I can tell you much, I fear. But I know you will soon have a child, born under the sign of Taurus or Gemini.”
The world seemed to slow. I gripped the edge of the couch. When I felt Passia’s hand tighten on my ankle, the world began to right itself.
Passia and I had long differed on our position about children. She wanted them, as did I, but I did not want to bring a life into a world of slavery. Until Passia was free, any child she bore would be owned by Apicius. And as judicious as he was toward me, he was not so about Passia. He saw her as the key to keeping me here. And if we had children? None of us would ever be free. To that end, I paid dearly for the concoction of wild carrot and artemisia Passia took to prevent pregnancy. I even took a great risk in “borrowing” a tiny pinch of silphium from Apicius every so often to infuse a jar of water for her to sip from each month. How had she conceived? She was also not young, at twenty-nine, which was worrisome. I had heard of women giving birth in their thirties, but they often did not make it through the pregnancy. I pushed the thought away.
Apicius was the first to speak. “Passia, is this true?”
She hesitated. Her eyes said everything—the truth, her fear, her hope. A surge of love for her pushed through me.
She drew a breath, her words slow and careful. “Yes, Dominus, it is. It is likely the child will be born in June.”
Apicius didn’t congratulate either of us. He was too taken in by the accuracy of his new astrologer. “Well done, Glycon, well done! Now tell me, what is my fate?”
I was elated, scared, and disappointed at the same time. Why hadn’t Passia told me?
My lover trembled next to me and worry filled her dark eyes. My resistance melted. I could not be angry with her. Passia’s hand rested on my leg and I reached down to squeeze her fingers in mine. Damn this astrologer! This was news that should have been shared between us, in private.
Glycon started coughing, tearing my attention away from Passia.
“Excuse me. In the winter I tend to congest with phlegm.”
“You have had too much water,” Apicius admonished. “You need to dry that humor out. I’ll send a slave with a tincture later. Now tell me, what do you see for me?”
Glycon smiled. “Marcus Gavius Apicius, I see the stars aligning for you within the next three years. It will be a time of great prosperity. However, it appears—”
Apicius cut him off. “What sort of prosperity?”
I sighed. Apicius never wanted to hear what came after “however.”
“The stars are never specific, but I see wealth and recognition heaped upon you. But I must warn you, there will also be as much sadness as there is success.”
“I am prepared for that,” Apicius remarked, taking a sip of wine. He had heard it before—the warning—in one form or another.
“Do you see any ghosts around me? My mother, perhaps?”
I was surprised to learn that Apicius still worried about Popilla. It had been years since her death.
Glycon raised an eyebrow. “I am not a priest of Pluto.”
Apicius waved a hand at him. “Yes, yes, I know, but surely the stars can tell if there are any ghosts who may hinder me?”
The astrologer nodded. “Ahh. I understand. No. I do not see any influence of that sort. I think you are free of her.”
Visible relief passed through Apicius.
A commotion at the door caused us all to look in that direction. One of the door slaves was whispering to Sotas.
“Gallus is here, Dominus. He says he has a shipment for you from Iberia. He is awaiting payment.”
The almonds and honey we’d ordered last month had arrived. Apicius jumped up from his place on the couch. Most men of his stature would leave the receiving of goods to the housekeeper, but not Apicius. He was obsessed with looking over each order himself. I rose to follow but he waved at me to sit back down.
“Finish up with Glycon, then attend me for inspection.” He departed, leaving Passia and me with the strange old man.
I seized the brief moment, feeling suddenly compelled. If he was right about Passia, perhaps there was some merit to the man. “What do you see about Apicata?” We saw her rarely. When she visited she was reserved, and often I thought I saw bruises under the edges of her stola. She spoke little of her life with Sejanus, instead turning the conversation toward Apicius’s trips or food, or toward Aelia’s excursions to the market or temple visits. I wanted to ask Glycon about Sejanus but it was too dangerous; the man was becoming more powerful all the time and I knew not where the astrologer’s loyalties lay.
He glanced down at the tablet where he had scrawled her birth date. “I need to consult my charts. I am unprepared to tell you anything other than the general qualities for her sign. Let me compare her moon sign and I will let you know what I find.”
I motioned to Tycho, who had been lingering in the hallway with the serving slaves. “Please make sure this man is taken care of. Bring food to his chamber and show him the roof as we discussed.” Tycho bowed and departed.
• • •
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked Passia as soon as we were alone.
“I was nervous. I didn’t know if you would be angry with me.” She kept her eyes averted.
I cupped her chin in my hand, turning her face to look upward at me. “My treasure, you should never fear me.”
“I know we shouldn’t have a child. But it seems the Fates have another plan for us.” Tears caught at the corners of her dark eyes. I brushed them away with my thumbs.
“We’ll have to figure out a better plan to buy your freedom.” I took her bronze neck plate in my hand. “And when we do, we’ll melt this down and make it into an amulet for the babe.” I smiled.
“I do not think Dominus will ever let me go. He fears losing you too much.”
I pulled her close and kissed her softly. “Then we’ll have to figure out what he might fear more.”
• • •
In the morning I went to the school as I always did. I was exhausted. Passia and I had lain awake late, talking, making love, and planning for the child to come. It was a night of deep emotion that felt right at the time, but as I walked to the school, I began to regret staying up all night. Even worse, as the hours of the day wore on, my attention started to drift. I found myself staring out the window when the students practiced how to wrap pork in a pastry crust, now a dish I was known for. I struggled to keep my eyes open when I realized the room had gone silent.
Someone behind me cleared his throat.
I jumped, not expecting to be interrupted from my reverie. A burst of energy rushed through me when I realized it was Apicius who stood before me.
“Master Apicius!” I realized as soon as I said the words that the title was unnecessary, a habit of the past. My face grew hot at the mistake, knowing the students were watching us intently.
“Continue!” Apicius waved a hand at the class. Reluctantly everyone turned back to their dough.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I said, hoping my voice didn’t reveal my nervousness. Apicius hadn’t come to the school in more than a year, trusting me to manage it entirely.
“Let’s step into your private rooms and talk.” He looked serious, his brow wrinkled, as if he were pondering a difficult problem.
I left the class in Tycho’s trusted hands. I followed Apicius out of the kitchen and down the hall to my room, where I worked on the cookbooks and wrote out the recipes I had tested in the kitchen.
Apicius walked over to my desk and picked up one of the wax tablets with one of the latest recipes for our cookbook on meats. He scanned the words, put the tablet down, and leaned against the desk.
“It’s time, Thrasius.” Apicius looked at me gravely, fingering the purple edge of his toga.
“Time for what, sir?” The end of my employment? To sell Passia? To take a trip? Expand t
he school? What on earth could warrant this visit?
He reached into the folds of his toga and pulled out a small papyrus scroll. The red wax seal indicated it was a legal document. My heart leaped so high I thought it would escape my body and soar toward the sky. Oh, Jupiter! Was he going to give Passia to me?
Apicius handed me the scroll with a broad smile. I rarely saw joy in him anymore. He spent much of his time and energy on how to convince Sejanus to come through on his promise to lessen Publius Octavius’s influence in Caesar’s villa, especially now that Caesar’s health was failing.
“Open it!” he urged. I was reminded of Apicata as a child, wanting me to read her a poem.
I unrolled the scroll. It took me a moment to register the contents. When I did, a bolt of disappointment as wide as the hand of Jupiter slapped me to earth.
It was the deed to the school.
“Well?”
“I don’t know what to say, sir.”
Apicius took my surprise for pleasure. “There are two caveats.”
“And they are?” I squeaked, still staring at the scroll. I scanned the page for the fine print, which I found as he spoke his next words.
“The school keeps my name and I continue to receive ten percent of the proceeds.”
It took everything I had not to burst out laughing. The school barely broke even! My heart sank. How on earth was I going to manage the costs of the school on my own?
I didn’t have the heart to show him how disappointed I was. “Thank you. I am without words to express my gratitude at this gesture.” I forced a smile.
“Good!” He clapped his hands on my shoulders and pulled me in for a rare hug. “You deserve this more than anyone I know.”
Indeed. But why did this seem more like a punishment than a reward?
Then I understood. “Did Glycon put you up to this?” I asked.
Apicius chuckled. He squeezed my shoulder again. “Only partly. He suggested I take a look at my investments—that some would be better in another’s hands than in mine.”
How gullible could he be? Of course Glycon would want a say in Apicius’s investments! I started coughing to hide my dismay.
“Careful there,” Apicius admonished, clapping me on the back.
• • •
That evening Apicius and Aelia were away, dining at Trio and Celera’s villa down the street. To my dismay, Glycon was holding court in the atrium when I arrived. He was lounging on a chaise, eating a bowl of grapes and entertaining questions from Passia and a handful of other slaves. A curtain of irritation fell across my mood.
I sat down next to Passia. “Leave us,” I said with a wave to the other slaves, who immediately scurried away.
“He’s a trickster,” Balsamea hissed as she shuffled by. Her health had been failing and it pained me to see how slowly she moved. “He is bad news, bad news,” she muttered as she left the room, leaning on her cane.
Glycon never heard a word. “Thrasius! I hear you are a lucky man today!” He waggled a jeweled finger at me.
“Apicius gave me the school,” I explained to Passia. There was no joy in the admission.
She, however, thought it was wonderful. “That’s fantastic, Thrasius!”
Tycho entered, bringing me a glass of wine from my stores. I took it, grateful that he was so intuitive. I sipped the wine, willing myself to stay calm. Glycon had turned my life upside down and I wasn’t happy about it.
The astrologer seemed to recognize my discontent and changed the subject. “You asked about Mistress Apicata?”
Passia perked up beside me. “Please, tell us what you know of her stars.”
As the words slipped from her mouth I realized there was a part of me that did not want to know.
“Her stars are tangled. They darken and shade the planets. She will have more babes but I fear they may not live to see the age of their grandfather Apicius.”
“What do you mean? They will be stillborn?” Passia placed a hand protectively on her stomach.
“No, my lady. They will grow, but, alas, I do not see how their paths will lengthen as she becomes older.”
My patience had run out. “Stop being cryptic, old man. Be frank. You might want to sugarcoat it for Apicius but don’t for me.”
Glycon stared at me, saying nothing, just stroking his damn beard. I did not break the stare. Eventually, he nodded. “Apicata leads a troubled life. I see a difficult marriage for her. She will have two more children but I cannot see their stars in Apicata’s future. This could mean several things. It could mean they will die. It could mean they will be sent away, or it could merely mean they will be insignificant. The stars are not precise.”
Oh, Jupiter! I prayed that my first impressions and Balsamea were right, and the astrologer was a sham, but it was hard to have conviction. He knew about our babe and he knew something that had disarmed Sotas.
Unease crept over me. I suspected it would be a long while before it departed.
• • •
Over the next few weeks, Glycon began spending every midday meal with Apicius and sometimes in the evening he would be invited to dine on our couch. I took on extra students to help raise more revenue to keep the school afloat, so when I wasn’t helping Apicius manage his clients or working with Timon on plans for a banquet, I was at the school teaching. I had two motives: to stay as far away from Glycon as I could, and to raise enough money to purchase Passia.
One morning after the salutatio, Sotas—who had a rare day off—walked with me to the market even though the brothel was his ultimate destination.
“What did Glycon mean when he said you were marked by a golden goddess?” I asked. It had been bothering me since that first day when the astrologer had become ensconced in the household.
Sotas looked at me, eyes wide, which prevented him from seeing the branch in his path. He stumbled. I caught him by the arm to steady him. “It’s the biggest ones who fall the hardest.”
That earned a hearty guffaw from Sotas. He became more serious. “You took me by surprise, that’s all.”
Few ever took Sotas by surprise. “He was right?” I asked.
“The astrologer was referring to something no one knows about,” Sotas said in a voice unusually quiet for him.
Curiosity overrode my decorum. “Something from your childhood?”
Sotas hesitated, which filled me with shame. If he had never discussed it before, why assume he would share the secret with me?
“I was fourteen.” Sotas kicked a stone with his sandal and it skittered ahead. “Marcus Gavius Rutilus had just purchased me for Apicius. On the second day of my new service Rutilus took me to the temple of Fides on the Capitoline. When we arrived we first went to make a sacrifice, but as we knelt at the altar, a priest tapped me on the shoulder. He told me the goddess wanted to speak to me.”
I almost laughed aloud but saw how solemn Sotas was and bit my tongue.
“I followed him and he brought me to the goddess’s chamber and told me to wait. I knelt on the mat in the center of the room. I have never known such fear as I did that day.”
“I can imagine,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere.
Sotas slowed his pace. We were nearing the stairs that led down toward the Forum Boarium at the base of the Palatine Hill. I could hear the lowing of cattle and the sounds of the auctioneers rattling off the prices of the livestock.
He kept his eyes averted as he continued, instead looking out over the market below. “I waited for a long time. When I thought I could wait no longer, a bright light appeared at the top of the stairs behind the throne of the goddess at the far end of the chamber. A door opened and sunlight poured in, temporarily blinding me. When I could see again, the figure of a woman was coming down the stairs and across the chamber toward me. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, even more beautiful than my mother. She seemed to shine like gold in the sunlight coming from the doorway and the tiny windows around the room.”
I knew what was comi
ng. Stories like this were common, yet Sotas was so wrapped in this memory, so full of reverence, I dared not burst his bubble.
“She came to me and blessed me with a kiss to my lips. I thought I would faint. She told me I had one task in life—that she had gifted my life in service to Master Apicius, and if I served him well in my life I would be rewarded richly when I went to Elysium.”
Inwardly, I sighed. It wasn’t a common practice so it didn’t surprise me that Sotas had not discovered the deceit. He was in such earnest I could not tell him that meeting Fides was likely a sham, a result of a contract between Apicius’s father, Gavius Rutilus, and the temple. Sometimes if a slave owner wanted to deeply embed loyalty or fear into a young and impressionable slave, he would pay for one of the priests to appear as the god delivering a message. When Maximus owned me, I once overheard a priest of Juno telling the story of how they performed this service—at great cost—to willing patrons.
It explained a lot to me about Sotas, in particular, why he rarely expressed a negative opinion about Apicius. I had asked him before but he would always divert the conversation. I never understood. Other body-slaves I knew were not so content in the service of their owners. Rutilus was a shrewd man, gifting Apicius with a slave who would be loyal to him until the day he died.
“How did Glycon know?” I wondered aloud.
“Maybe there is more to the stars than we thought.” Sotas began the descent into the market. I followed, musing to myself about the more likely possibility that Glycon knew about the ritual.
• • •
For the first time in many weeks there were no guests at cena. I was pleased; the quiet family meals were the ones I tended to enjoy best. Timon made our favorite dishes, which somehow were always the ones that were most simple. That night it was fig cakes, sweet wine biscuits, Parthian chicken, lamb and almond meatballs, and soft plaited bread made from olive oil and goat milk. Aelia was unusually lively, clearly delighted to have us to herself. Sotas was the only figure missing for me. Instead, another of Apicius’s bodyguards took his place while he enjoyed the night off.