Feast of Sorrow

by Crystal King

  When the first course was being cleared, Glycon strolled in casually as though he had lived in the villa forever and need not attend the dining table unless it suited him. He lay down on the couch next to me and took up a strand of grapes in one hand. “Don’t let me interrupt the conversation, please,” he said with a wave of his hand. The mood of the table immediately soured.

  Apicius was even more irritated than Aelia and I were. “Need I remind you, Glycon, that you are under my pay, under my roof, eating my food, and subject to my rules and invitations? And I do not recall extending an invitation to you for dinner tonight, or for last night, or for the night before. At least, if you have the audacity to crash my dinners, you do so on time.”

  Glycon’s mouth opened in shock. Clearly he thought he held the upper hand. He set the grapes down. “My apologies, Apicius. I did not mean to be late.”

  “I’m starting to tire of his nonchalance, husband.” Aelia’s voice was as cold as water in winter.

  Apicius picked up his glass of absinthe, fresh from a batch I had made the previous weekend. “Tell me, Glycon, what do the stars tell you today? Make yourself useful if you plan on being here tonight.”

  Aelia and I exchanged a glance. I suspected she was fuming as much as I was—Apicius was never so lenient with slaves, clients, or his freedmen. If I had strolled in late for cena he would have kicked me out of the room in a heartbeat, and I was one of the closest people to him.

  “It’s good you asked, Apicius. It’s why I was tardy this evening, in fact.” Glycon picked up the grapes again, his confidence visibly returning.

  Oh, he knew how to make a good recovery.

  “Explain,” Apicius said loudly, to be heard over the clanking of dishes as the next course was served to us.

  “The stars were particularly clear tonight. The moon is in Gemini, which is good for your ambition. You will need to have patience. If you do, I see things changing for you. As you know, Caesar is ailing—I checked his stars and I do not see his health lasting for more than a year or two—and Tiberius may take his place soon. Then there will be opportunity for you. And with the star Cynosura controlling your fortune over the next five years . . .”

  “Five?” Apicius said, aghast.

  “Yes, do not worry! It is good. It means you will have the opportunity for great success over the next five years as Cynosura moves through this portion of sky. If Caesar does not last beyond the next year, you will have the chance to make your move when his household staff changes.”

  “Excellent.” Apicius drained his wineglass. “Thank you. I’ll send for you tomorrow.”

  Glycon stopped chewing the morsel of lamb he had popped into his mouth. He swallowed the meat, gathered up his robe, and stood. “Yes, Apicius.”

  Before he had the chance to leave I stopped him with a touch to his arm. I decided to take a chance. “You look familiar, Glycon, and it just occurred to me why. You remind me of someone I used to see when I would visit the temple of Fides every year for the goddess’s October festival.”

  Glycon smiled despite his abrupt dismissal. “Ah, yes. I was a priest there for many years. You have a good memory.” He turned back to Apicius. “Good night.”

  Good night, indeed.

  CHAPTER 21

  My son, Junius, was born on the ides of Junius, after Passia endured a short labor with no complications. I had prayed heavily to the goddess of childbirth, Juno Lucina, for the safety of my lover, and praised the goddess that she answered my pleas! I repaid my debt by naming my son after her. Everything about Junius was perfect. All his fingers and toes intact, his dark eyes shining, the wail healthy and strong. I did not know how I could be filled with more pride, save if my son had been born free.

  Apicius showered me with gifts when the boy was born. He took an instant liking to the child and seemed to delight in playing with him, trying to make him smile. It surprised us all—I had never imagined Apicius being friendly with any child save Apicata, and certainly not a tiny babe. Aelia told me wistfully once that he was not even so loving to Apicata when she was that age.

  From the beginning Junius seemed to be a talker, making all sorts of gurgling and cooing sounds. By the time he was two months old, I was convinced he was trying to emulate our words, although Passia assured me it was my wishful thinking.

  “Perhaps he’ll be a famous orator, or a poet like Virgil,” I mused to Passia one morning as we lay in bed cuddling while she suckled the babe at her breast.

  “As long as he doesn’t become an actor!” Passia joked.

  “No!” I was horrified at the thought. Actors were base and full of vice. “We will raise him better than that.”

  I rubbed my boy’s little toes, marveling at their perfection. “Did you hear about Glycon’s latest prediction?”

  Passia stroked Junius’s head, already growing thick with dark hair. “What now?”

  “Do you remember how Caesar Augustus saw the eagle at the census ceremony at the Pantheon last week?”

  “Yes. How the eagle landed in the A of Agrippa’s name?”

  “Right. He was terrified of the import and Tiberius finished the ritual for him. Well, it seems Glycon took it as a sign too. Last night at the cena he predicted Caesar would die within the month.”

  Passia snorted. “That’s not much of a prediction! Anyone can tell Caesar has not long to live. Before Junius was born, when we were at the games for Apollo, I remember thinking it was a miracle of the gods he was able to stand on his own two feet!”

  Together we laughed until Junius was smiling along with us.

  • • •

  One day, a few months after Junius’s birth, I began my morning by heading to the Forum Piscarium to see what fish I could feature as the centerpiece for the evening cena. Apicius had invited Sejanus and Apicata, and everything needed to be as impressive as possible. As he was wont to do, Apicius planned on haranguing Sejanus about making the right connections with the Imperial palace. I was dreading the evening as much as I looked forward to it. I wanted to see Apicata desperately. We saw little of her despite the fact that she lived only a short walk away. Aelia visited her frequently but it would not be seemly for me to try to visit. Seeing her healthy would calm my soul.

  The market was busier than usual. Several ships had docked at the same time, their sails making the Tiber seem like it was swarming with butterflies. The stink of fish was heavy in the air and the market was loud with men yelling out the prices of their catch. Colorful awnings kept the sun off the marble-topped tables where the fish were laid out on display. Some fish were still alive in big jars of seawater sitting alongside the tables. Occasionally a fish would jump up and create a splash or would tumble off the side of the jar onto the pavement, where it would flap wildly until the fishmonger swooped it up and threw it back into the jar.

  At the far end of the market two dozen soldiers had gathered around a merchant’s booth where some of the larger fish were sold. As I came closer I realized they were bodyguards for the tall man who looked over the fish on the table. It took me a moment to realize it was Tiberius. I hadn’t seen him in nearly ten years, since Drusus and Livilla’s wedding. He had been away for so long, and when he was home he preferred to stay out of the public eye.

  Caesar’s heir stood taller than most of the crowd. He had broad shoulders and handsome features, with short-cropped dark hair starting to show hints of gray. He wore the traditional garb of a Roman general and his sword hung against his thigh. One of his men carried his red feathered helmet. Why was he at the market?

  When I neared and could hear the conversation, it made more sense. Tiberius seemed to be checking on permits. There was always corruption among the stall owners, who often rented out their tables for a profit and failed to give the proper tax to the Empire. Every few months Caesar would send his men to enforce what was due. Tiberius probably came to help put the fear of Augustus into them all.

  I edged closer until I could see the fishmonger and the swath of
fish on the table in front of him. He was a small man, of slender frame and dark eyes. He wore a thick apron and a broad hat to keep out the sun.

  “Glad to see everything is in order.”

  I recognized that voice. Sejanus.

  Sure enough, as I pushed closer to see, he moved into view. He shook the fishmonger’s hand and walked the length of the stall, Tiberius at his side.

  “What a beautiful catch this morning,” Tiberius remarked. He paused to look over the fish. “And look at that fat red mullet! Someone will be happy tonight. I’ll eat my hat if that mullet isn’t bought by Apicius or Publius Octavius!”

  “It’s a very fine mullet.” The fishmonger held it up for better viewing. “It’s the largest you will find, at four and a half pounds.”

  Tiberius nodded his approval.

  As Sejanus turned to look at the mullet he caught my eye in the crowd.

  “Look, here’s Apicius’s man now!” He waved me forward.

  I came close, my heart pounding. I had never been surrounded by so many soldiers before nor had I ever been so close to Tiberius, the man destined to be the next Caesar.

  “Apicius will be glad of that fish for his supper, I expect!” Tiberius gave me a grin and nod of the head.

  “In truth, I’ll be glad of that mullet tonight.” Sejanus laughed. “Considering I’ll be dining on his couch!”

  “Well, in that case”—Tiberius waggled a finger at the fishmonger—“sell this man your mullet!”

  The fish was bigger than any mullet I had ever seen by at least two hands. It glistened red, its scales reflecting the light. Its gray eye was wide and dull but somehow seemed to be looking right at me.

  “How much?” I hoped my nervousness didn’t show.

  “Fifteen sestertii.” The fishmonger grinned.

  No wonder he was smiling. It was an exorbitant price despite the fish’s size.

  I started to say “Fine,” but was cut off.

  “I’ll give you twenty-five sestertii.” The voice, stern and deep, came from somewhere behind my right ear.

  I looked over my shoulder. A man had pushed himself through the guard and now he came to stand by my side. Buccio. Why did he have to show up now?

  Sejanus called out over the crowd, “And here’s Octavius’s man!”

  “Ha! What are the chances?” Tiberius chuckled.

  I couldn’t let Buccio outbid me or Apicius would have my head. “One hundred sestertii.” It was six times what I would normally have paid for a fish of that size.

  “Two hundred fifty sestertii.” Buccio looked smug.

  My nervousness was turning to anger. I could not justify spending so much on a damn fish! “Four hundred fifty sestertii.” I barely managed to push the words past my lips.

  “Eight hundred sestertii.”

  A crowd had begun to gather, both to gawk at Tiberius and to see what bidding madness was taking place.

  I hoped that if I greatly upped the price Buccio would stop bidding. “Two thousand sestertii.” The crowd went wild. My stomach was churning. I’d paid that much for a pair of new donkeys last week.

  It didn’t work. He smiled at me sweetly, as a man would at a child.

  “Five thousand sestertii.”

  I looked at Tiberius and Sejanus, dumbfounded. Slaves often sold for less. Both seemed to be waiting to see what I would do next. If I walked away, what would be the outcome? Would Tiberius appreciate my sensibility or would he be displeased? What would Sejanus say to Apicius at dinner if I failed to bring home the fish?

  The fish had huge smooth pink-red scales. It had been sitting in the open air longer than I cared to think about. The eye gleamed at me.

  “I concede. I cannot be such a fool to pay so much for a fish.” It came out bitterly but I did not appreciate being humiliated.

  Buccio flashed his teeth at me. “Caesar won’t think Publius Octavius a fool when he is dining on such a catch tonight, I assure you.” He handed the fishmonger a pouch.

  The merchant beamed, looking like a boy on Saturnalia morn opening presents. Five thousand sestertii was as much as he was likely to make in a year.

  “May Roma leave her blessing upon you,” I said formally to Tiberius and Sejanus with a deep nod. I made to leave.

  “I will be sad not to dine on that fish,” Sejanus said.

  I looked back and responded, mostly for Tiberius’s benefit, “I promise you a meal far superior, sir.”

  Tiberius and Sejanus chuckled as I walked away.

  I vowed there would be no fish at all that night. Instead I headed for the Forum Suarium. Nothing but the finest pig would fill our bellies.

  • • •

  On the way to my room I ran into Glycon. “How was your day?” He looked at me as though he already knew the answer.

  “It has been bad but I intend to make it good.” Maybe if I was as cryptic as he was he would leave me alone.

  “As the stars said.” He gave me a slight, sage smile and walked on.

  I stayed in my cubicle as long as I dared. I hated being in the same room with Sejanus, and facing both him and Apicius was doubly bad. When Sejanus visited, Apicius became cruel and said biting things to the slaves and sometimes to Aelia. He was like a two-headed Janus, showing one face to Sejanus, and the other, uglier one to the rest of us.

  When I heard the slaves announce Sejanus’s arrival I couldn’t dally any longer. I ran down the corridors to the atrium, arriving when Apicius did, Sotas in tow.

  “I am pleased you and Apicata could join us tonight,” Apicius said.

  Sejanus held Apicius by the shoulder for a moment, as one would an old friend. I thought I saw Apicius tense up but the moment passed. Sejanus didn’t notice.

  “My wife is more pleased, I suspect. She has been haranguing me to come for a visit.”

  “I imagine your schedule is hectic,” I said, slipping the words in to make my presence known.

  “That is true, especially of late. Thrasius, my man, good to see you for the second time today!”

  I tilted my head and smiled, hoping my loathing for him didn’t show on my face. I was not his man.

  “Second time?” Apicius indicated we should walk with him toward the triclinium.

  “We saw each other at the market this morning,” I responded, hoping Sejanus would leave it at that.

  Fortuna was not smiling down on me.

  “I must say, that red mullet would have been a fine meal tonight. Tell me you have another delicacy for us instead?”

  I cleared my throat, knowing Apicius would have my head later. “I do. I promise it will be pleasing.”

  Apicius glared at me. It was a gaze I did not want to be under. “What was wrong with the mullet?”

  “It was more money than I cared to spend.” I knew it was the wrong thing to say. I should have mentioned how long that fish was out in the sun, but the words were already out of my mouth.

  “Tiberius and I were inspecting the Forum Piscarium this morning and we saw the finest red mullet we had ever seen. Tiberius joked that either you or Octavius would buy it up. Then we saw Thrasius standing next to us! Imagine our delight! Then, just as he would pay for the mullet, one of Octavius’s slaves appeared with a higher bid! The gods were listening to Tiberius!” Sejanus said.

  Apicius was not amused. I could not see his face as he walked in front of me but his tone was dark. “Didn’t you counterbid?”

  “Oh, yes,” Sejanus broke in. “It was a proper bidding war!” He clapped me on the shoulder as though I were a fellow soldier.

  “And why didn’t you win?” Apicius asked.

  Sejanus smirked at me.

  Bastard! Sejanus found the situation amusing! If I had still been a slave, I would have already been whisked away to have my back scarred with the lash.

  “I could have bought three goats for the price of that fish.” I tried to sound assertive, not defensive.

  “Yes, but you know expense is not a concern.”

  In the outdoor t
riclinium Aelia, Apicata, and Passia were already reclining, a small retinue of serving boys fanning them. Sotas took a spot standing nearby in the trees behind the couch.

  “It was brilliant,” Sejanus said as we crossed the threshold. “Driving up the price to stick it to him.”

  I almost stopped in my tracks. Did he really think that? I had merely dropped out of the bidding when I couldn’t, in good conscience, pay that much for a few pounds of flesh from the sea.

  Apicius didn’t say anything else but the warning look he gave me was enough.

  We joined the ladies on the couches and Aelia whispered in Apicius’s ear as he sat down. He took a look at Passia and begrudgingly gave his assent. As a slave, for her to dine on the couch with guests present was generally unacceptable, but Aelia knew he wasn’t going to make a scene in front of Sejanus. I loved her for the kindness. She knew how much spending time with Passia would mean to Apicata.

  The serving boys arrived as soon as we took our seats. They wore halos of gold in honor of Sol, whose holiday was the next day. The plates were Apicius’s best gold, polished to a brilliant shine. The cushions of the couch were an airy white and yellow. I had found some exquisite sun-shaped lanterns in the market that hung from poles in the earth.

  The first trays the boys held were laden with the best of summer’s bounty—melons with pepper, dates stuffed with fine Iberian almonds, sweet flower bulbs, and honeyed plums.

  “You have outdone yourself, Father.” Apicata looked at me and I winked at her.

  “Truly magnificent,” Sejanus agreed, skewering a bulb with the sharp end of his spoon. “A fitting send-off before my long week away.”

  “Where are you going?” Aelia sounded tired. I wasn’t sure why—Helene said she spent much of her time sleeping late into the morning and often retiring again in the afternoon.

  Sejanus finished chewing the bulb. “Tiberius is traveling to Illyricum tomorrow to formally recognize the province as Roman. Caesar is riding with him to Beneventum, and may stop at Nola.”