by Crystal King
“Will you ride the whole way?” I asked.
“For some of it. I suspect Tiberius or Caesar will have me ride with them for at least a few legs. But otherwise, yes, a long ride ahead.”
Passia shifted against me. She, wisely, had remained silent so far and would likely not speak unless directly asked a question. To do so would be to face Apicius’s wrath later. Even when I was a slave and his favorite, I dined on the couch only as a shadow, never reclining like nobility. He tolerated her presence only for Apicata.
Apicius leaned forward on the couch. “How is Caesar’s health?”
Sejanus threw back his head and laughed. “Dear father-in-law, you are too transparent.”
“I know not what you mean, son.” Apicius was doing a good job of looking wounded but I knew the anger that seethed within his breast at the insult.
Sejanus grew serious. “Fear not, good Apicius. I have not forgotten. Your turn will come! But time, my friend . . . It takes time. Even if Caesar dies tomorrow, I still have Livia to contend with.”
“I did not mean—”
Sejanus cut Apicius off. “No offense taken, Father. But know this is an issue near to my heart. Publius Octavius is a pompous bastard and, unlike you, I do not consider him a friend.”
Apicius smiled but the twitch of his nostrils gave him away to me. He was angry and struggling to contain himself. He was not accustomed to such rudeness from anyone.
Apicata, wise child that she was, saved her father from saying something embarrassing by changing the subject. “Thrasius, tell us about the rest of the meal. I know you must have something delicious planned next.”
Apicius directed his attention at me. “Yes, Thrasius. In lieu of the red mullet, what are we eating tonight?”
The tone of his voice wasn’t lost on anyone. I ignored the implications. “Instead of the mullet, I purchased a sow that had just given birth. I think you will be pleased. First you will savor the vulva, in the peak of perfection, seasoned with pepper, liquamen, and some spiced wine.”
“Oh, it sounds divine!” Aelia exclaimed.
“I’m impressed.” Sejanus nodded in approval. “I’ve had the delicacy once before, many years ago.”
I noted Apicius’s expression was beginning to soften into approval. “Then the udder, first stuffed with salted sea urchins ground with pepper and caraway, then boiled and served in a mustard sauce. To finish off the main course, its stomach, stuffed with the pig’s own meat and brains, pounded and mixed with eggs, pine nuts, pepper, anise, ginger, and a pinch of silphium before boiling. I’ve asked Timon to serve that with olive oil, liquamen, and a sprinkling of lovage.”
“Much better than any old red mullet!” Seeing Apicius smile lifted a weight off my chest.
Sejanus chuckled. “Apicata tells me mullet is one of your favorites. Is that true?”
“Yes. There is something divine about a red mullet cooked tenderly in its own juices. Next time you dine with us, Thrasius will make sure we have mullet.”
He winked at me and I thanked the gods my transgression seemed to be forgiven.
• • •
Mostly forgiven. “You courted the favor of the gods today,” he said to me after we escorted Apicata and Sejanus to their litter. “You prepared an excellent meal tonight. But, Thrasius . . .”
I looked at him. His face was grave. “Yes?”
“Never put me in such a position again. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.”
“Good.” He took Aelia by the arm and led her away, Sotas in tow. I bored a hole in his back with my eyes until the corridor swallowed them up.
• • •
Glycon’s prediction came true. A week and a half later, Caesar died at the family villa in Nola where his father had died years before. Augustus was seventy-six, dying a month short of his birthday. He had reigned over the Empire for nearly forty-one years. His body was carried to Rome on the shoulders of senators and soldiers from the area. Tiberius was named his heir and businesses closed for the day of his funeral.
We went to the funeral along with almost all of Rome. The procession was magnificent. First, the trumpets playing dark dirges, then the slaves freed in Caesar’s will, sporting their new freedman caps.
The body was laid out in a golden coffin on a bier of ivory and gold, covered in the deep Imperial purple. Slaves carried gold statues of Caesar and his ancestors. The family walked behind, led by Livia in a long black stola and shawl, with a sash of purple. All the senators followed and then the Praetorian Guard, led by Sejanus on a lone, ink-black horse.
Tiberius and his son Drusus gave the eulogy, a stirring speech proclaiming Augustus’s place among the pantheon of Roman gods. Their words left Aelia in a mess of tears. Helene had to wipe her eyes lest the kohl run onto her pale cheeks.
The procession wound through the streets to the Campus Martius, where, years earlier, Caesar had built a magnificent mausoleum for his ashes to rest. They lit the funeral pyre in the field before the entrance. The pyre, like the mausoleum and as befitting the deified Augustus, was larger than any I had ever seen or imagined. The flames rose toward the skies and perfumes were thrown onto the pyre. An eagle flew up when the flames were at their peak and the entire crowd murmured that they could see the spirit of our dead leader follow.
A team of gladiators fought alongside the flames. Their blood would feed the ghosts hungering for tribute. “It’s beautiful, and terrible,” Aelia said through the shawl held over her nose to mask the smell of fire and flesh. Apicius pulled her close.
“It is far more beautiful than terrible, I think.” Apicius seemed to glow in the light, the flames dancing in his eyes. “His death marks a new beginning.”
“I find it sad that Apicius revels in the death of one who will become a god,” Passia whispered to me.
“I too. But if he becomes a god, won’t he know?” Even I knew better than to anger the gods with the blasphemy Apicius courted with his delight that Caesar had passed this life.
“What harms Apicius may harm us.” She linked her arm around my waist and I clasped her tight.
“I know, dear one. I know.”
The wind began to blow and ashes kissed my skin. At home that night we would wash them out of our hair.
PART VIII
18 C.E. to 20 C.E.
DORMICE
Stuff the dormice with pork forcemeat and also with all the flesh from all the parts of the dormouse, pounded with pepper, pine nuts, silphium, and liquamen. Sew them up and arrange them on a tile and put them into the oven or cook them, stuffed, in a covered pot.
—Book 8.9, Quadrupeds
On Cookery, Apicius
CHAPTER 22
“Glycon says that it’s time Sejanus fulfilled his promise. Good thing, because I’m tired of waiting,” Apicius said to me as he climbed into his litter. In the years that followed Glycon’s prediction of Caesar’s death, Apicius had become more and more concerned about signs and prophecies, much to my chagrin. I was very much his most trusted adviser, and as a result, I spent far less time in the kitchen and teaching. I missed the feel of knives in my hands and dough under my fingernails. Instead I was both sounding board and verbal punching bag for my former master. Apicius expected me to follow him everywhere, in the event he wanted council.
That day it was to Sejanus’s villa on the other side of the Palatine, a short distance from Tiberius’s Imperial domus.
The “promise” he spoke of was that of Apicius becoming Caesar’s gastronomic adviser. When Augustus died, Apicius continued to ask Sejanus to work his wiles on Tiberius Caesar, including sidestepping any of Livia’s concerns. Sejanus had ever-growing favor with Caesar and it galled my former master to no end that he was not using his politics to benefit Apicius.
Apicius didn’t invite me to ride with him in the litter as he was often wont to do. I was glad. It was a short walk and Sotas was always better company.
“I fear he may do something rash,” I said to Sotas.
Sotas chuckled. “And that would be unusual, how?”
“I know. But if it angers Sejanus, it may be bad for Apicata.”
“What recourse does Dominus have if Sejanus can’t make him gastronomic adviser?”
I shrugged. “I imagine Apicius will stop funneling money to him. Apicata’s dowry will likely shrink.”
“Is that wise? To cross the new prefect?”
It was my turn to laugh, though it was bitter. “I thought we already established that Apicius was apt to do something rash.”
• • •
I had sent a messenger ahead about our arrival, and when we reached Sejanus’s villa, Apicata, flanked by a Thracian body-slave, was at the door waiting for us. She held her son, Aelius Strabo, who was nearly three, by the hand. She was pregnant again and her belly rounded the folds of her stola.
Apicata gave the child to her slave, threw her arms around her father, then me, and, despite what decorum dictated, even Sotas. “I’m delighted to see you. Please come in.”
It had been months since we talked. Aelia visited with Apicata often but she rarely came to our villa anymore, despite the proximity. There were dark circles under her eyes. She seemed far older than twenty-one, with barely any trace of the child I had once known visible in the features of her face.
“Sejanus is waiting for you in the library. Be warned, he’s in a foul temper.”
Her father’s smile only widened. “What I have to say may sweeten his demeanor.”
Apicata’s eyes narrowed. She looked at me and I shrugged. Rash indeed!
She left the babe with the slave and led us through the corridors of the villa. We didn’t speak much along the way; Apicata seemed nervous and Apicius was never good at small talk. The house was smaller than Apicius’s abode but as sumptuously decorated, with brightly colored, highly detailed frescoes on every wall. At the doors to the library two guards prevented anyone from disturbing the occupant within. “Announce to Sejanus that his guest has arrived,” Apicata said to the taller of the guards. He knocked and ducked inside.
“I must go. I’ll wait for you in the atrium to see you before you depart.” Apicata kissed her father on the cheek and left.
In a moment the guard returned and ushered us in. Sejanus’s library looked like a war room. Maps covered the tables, some littered with colored soldiers carved of wood. Imperial banners decorated the walls. The only scrolls in sight appeared to be letters, not books. Sejanus’s body-slave sat on a stool near the door. He was a thin, bald man. His bronze slave plaque gleamed around his neck. Sotas and I took standing positions to one side of him.
Sejanus reclined in a chair in the corner of the room. A small jug of wine was propped up on the table next to him. He wore a red tunic belted with a finely woven white cord and his sandals looked shabby in comparison. It was the first time I had seen him dressed in anything other than his guard uniform. All of our previous meetings had been at state affairs and at formal parties.
“You surprise me with a visit today, Apicius.” He did not rise from his chair nor did he offer Apicius a seat. “Let me guess. You think I have forgotten our deal.”
“No,” Apicius began. “I wanted . . .”
Sejanus cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Patience! You must be patient!” He stood and slammed his hand down on the table next to him.”
Apicius did not back down. “I have been patient long enough.”
The silence was awkward and uncomfortable.
“Did you forget that I can do you more harm than good, father-in-law?”
Apicius ignored the threat. He walked across the room and seated himself in one of the ornately carved chairs across from where Sejanus stood. “You have been married to my daughter for seven years. I gave her to you under an agreement that the gods were witness to. I came to have you honor this agreement.”
“The gods be damned!”
My heart raced and I fought to keep my features impassive. I could not dismiss the gods like he could and I sent my prayers to them now for protection. The only thing I wanted at that moment was to leave that chamber alive.
“I came to discuss the arrangement.”
Sejanus paced across the library and looked out the window. “What do you intend? To rethink your daughter’s dowry? I warn you, Apicius, that may not be a decision you want to make,” he growled.
“On the contrary, my son. I intend to increase it. Not only that, but you need to bring new life to Caesar’s couches. What I offer will be highly beneficial for all your business arrangements. You know that Octavius does not hold the culinary imagination like I do.”
Sejanus turned away from the window. “Is that so?”
“Yes. But you know what I require.”
Sejanus crossed his arms. “How much is the increase you speak of?”
“Sixteen thousand sestertii a year.”
Rash wasn’t the word for it, I decided. Stupid was more accurate. Sixteen thousand sestertii was likely more than Apicius would receive in salary from Caesar if he got the post.
Sejanus looked past us to the body-slave at the door. “Take these men to the atrium to await their master.” He pointed at Sotas and me.
Sotas protested in a hesitant whisper. “Dominus, I don’t think that is wise.”
“Go, Sotas,” Apicius said calmly, without emotion.
The slave ushered us out the door. Apicata was waiting to see us in the atrium. She led us to a cozy corner with benches covered in cushions the color of rubies. Sotas waited near the door, anxious about leaving his master alone.
“I cannot tell you how much I have missed you,” Apicata said, her eyes full of emotion.
I took her hands in mine. “Please, Apicata, tell me he treats you well.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and I realized she was trying to muster courage. “He mostly ignores me, save when he decides he has an obligation to try to beget a child, when he is tired of bedding the slaves, or when he is feeling cruel. Then I am often the target of his wrath.”
“He beats you?” Sotas asked. I had never heard such anger in Sotas’s voice, low as it was. He paced the tiles, not looking at any of us.
“Sometimes.”
I rubbed her hand. I didn’t know what to say to give her comfort. Anger swelled beneath my breast. Why hadn’t the curse on Sejanus worked?
“He won’t let me visit friends. I have only one slave I trust, Niobe.” She gestured toward the slave who played with Strabo in the corner of the atrium. “I think he sees other women. I don’t mean the slaves, although he has slept with all the ones we own.”
“What do you mean, other women?” I asked.
“Sometimes messages will come to the house. An envelope with the scent of perfume or script that looks womanly. The slaves have been instructed to keep them from me but Niobe has shown me a few.”
“Who are these women?”
“There are several. But I worry most about Livilla.”
“Oh, dear gods!” What good could come out of that? Livilla was Tiberius’s niece and daughter-in-law, married to his son Drusus! By Jove, I was at their wedding!
“You think he’s seeing Livilla?”
She brushed away a tear. “I do.”
I swore. If Sejanus was having an affair with Caesar’s daughter-in-law, he was playing a very dangerous game indeed.
Sotas broke in. “Will he let you have friends visit?”
“No, he doesn’t even like me leaving the house. Even having Mother visit vexes him greatly. He puts up with it only because he doesn’t want the gossip.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
Sotas did. “Control.”
“Oh, my dear little bird.” I leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I wish I could take you from all this.”
“Little bird!” Her face brightened. “I have not heard that in years!”
Sotas hissed at us. “He comes!”
“I must go. It will be better if he does not see me with you.
” She gave me a fast hug. I did not want to let her go, but she slipped away just before Sejanus and Apicius arrived in the atrium.
Apicius said his good-byes, then whisked us out of the villa. Like the way there, he chose to ride in his litter alone, leaving me ignorant of what had happened in the library after we left. In the days ahead Apicius said nothing to me of how the visit had ended, but instructed me to have his secretary increase the stipend sent to Apicata every month. Although I wondered why it was only half as much as he had promised to Sejanus, I said nothing.
• • •
Three weeks after the visit to Sejanus we were in the kitchen working on a recipe for a new cookbook on delicacies. I had stuffed dates with a mixture of crushed pine nuts in pepper and Apicius was helping me roll the dates in salt. We were ready to fry them in honey when one of the door slaves burst into the room, scroll in hand.
Apicius took the scroll and unrolled it. He read it silently, smiled, then set the scroll into the flames beneath the pan of honey.
“It’s done.” He picked up a date and dropped it into the salt.
“Pardon?” I moved the pan of honey off the fire before it took on any of the flavor of the burning parchment. I set the pan on a rock slab I kept on the table to hold hot items.
Apicius picked up a few of the dates and tossed them in the pan. They sizzled and we leaned back to avoid the splatter.
“It won’t be long before there is a new gastronomic adviser to Tiberius.”
I remained silent.
He said no more, leaving me alone to finish the dates and wonder at his words.
• • •
That night after the cena, Rúan appeared in the garden where I sat drinking a much-needed glass of wine. He hadn’t stopped by in a few weeks and I was glad to see him.
He deposited himself onto the bench across from me. “Publius Octavius is dead.”
For a moment, I was dumbfounded. Then it all fell together. “Of course.”