by Crystal King
“I told you no. I will not let you marry that slave, and that is that, Thrasius. Do not ask me again!”
I had been in the service of Apicius for fifteen years as a freedman, but despite all my promises, he still did not believe that I would stay if Passia were free. Legally she was old enough, at thirty-nine, and her peculium was more than enough to purchase her freedom, but she could not do so without permission from Apicius. He freed many slaves, but still refused Passia.
I refused to give up. “Apicius, please, listen to me.”
“I said no!” Apicius stormed across the kitchen, knocking over a jug on a counter he passed by.
A flick of the wrist from Timon was all it took to set one of the slaves in motion to clean it up. The rest of the staff quickly moved the breakables out of Apicius’s path.
“Marcus, be reasonable.” Aelia entered the kitchen.
He whirled on her. “Why are you here? You should have sent Helene.” Apicius’s words were harsh. I felt their sting from across the room.
“Helene is ill, husband. That’s why I’m here, for a remedy.”
“I’ll buy you another body-slave. Is that what you want?”
Aelia looked up, her mouth wide with shock. “No! She has a cold. Why would I need another slave? I will not replace Helene!”
“Then stop complaining about her.”
Aelia faltered, then gathered herself and stood up straight. “Why are you being so mean? Not just to me but to Thrasius? He is your friend. Why do you continue to deny him his request to marry Passia?”
“Wife, you know you are out of line.” He pressed his fist to his mouth, his knuckles white.
“My husband, please hear him. And hear me. Passia and Thrasius love each other. I have seen this love in their every action. So few people ever feel Cupid’s arrow. The lady Venus has chosen them to be together. Why do you thwart the gods and keep them apart?”
“They are NOT apart!” he roared, causing Aelia to take a step back. “If I wanted them to be apart that woman would be on the first slave caravan to Egypt. In fact, I think I have been very generous.”
For a moment, I could not catch my breath. The very thought of Apicius selling Passia was unfathomable.
Aelia tried again and I loved her for the effort. “Do it for me, Apicius. I ask you this as a favor to me. If you love me, please, consider his petition. Do it as a gift to me.”
Apicius glared at her. The tension in the room was thick. Finally, he extended his hand toward the door. “Begone, wife! How dare you ask me for favors? This has nothing to do with love. Now go before I strike you and remind you of your place in this household.”
The color drained from Aelia’s face. She gathered up the edges of her stola and fled the kitchen.
“That was cruel,” I said to my former master once she had gone.
“No, that was kind. She needs to know her place.”
I seethed.
He turned back to me. “Thrasius, you need to understand. I have other things to worry about without your petty demands.”
I shut my open mouth and put my knives into the basket on the shelf below the counter. Apicius looked unpredictable.
He slammed his fists down on my table. “Like Sejanus. May Pluto take him soon. My intentions were to work for Caesar, not the damned head of the Praetorian Guard.”
The way that Apicius changed the conversation did not escape my attention. But I knew him. Pushing the issue would only make him more stubborn. Begrudgingly I responded, “If Caesar were involved, the meals would still be the same. The same kings, governors, senators. It might be worse. You’ve heard of Tiberius’s cruelty and debauchery. Be glad he is absent from the meals.”
“Sejanus is not any better.”
There was nothing I could say. I looked down at my hands. They were smeared with pig grease and blood. I waited for his words. He stared at me, then left. I watched him go, sadness welling within me.
• • •
Two days later I took an early-morning walk with Passia and Junius across the Palatine, enjoying the brisk autumn air, fresh after a long rainfall. Our time together was scarce, with all the elaborate cenae Apicius and I planned and Passia’s increasing role as one of Aelia’s body-slaves. Junius spent much of his time in the company of other slave children. At ten, he was still growing faster than asparagus in the spring. Passia looked beautiful that day. My hand entwined with hers as we walked. I tried not to think of the fact that her hand was still devoid of the ring I longed to give her.
Junius walked ahead of us, kicking around a ball I’d made him by drying and inflating a pig bladder from the kitchen. Apicius had spent time with the boy, helping him paint the ball with bright colors.
Passia waved at one of the slaves from the villa who was returning from the market with a basket of fruit on her head. “Glycon has been making dire predictions to Aelia,” she said.
“All his predictions of late have been dire. Rarely does he say the stars are aligned. I get the sense he doesn’t really tell us the worst of it.”
She looked at me, her eyes dark. “You feel that way too?”
“I do. And you know I don’t like to believe the tales he spins. What did he say about Aelia?”
“He told her the end of her marriage is near.” Passia slowed her pace.
“By the gods! He told her that was in the stars? Why on earth would he say that to her?”
She slowed her pace so Junius couldn’t hear. “She’s distraught. He couldn’t tell her more; he says the stars don’t give—”
“Details, I know. When was this? Does Apicius know?”
“Yesterday. She doesn’t want to tell Apicius. She wants to change things. Today she is going to the temple of Juno Viriplaca, hoping the goddess of marital strife will show her favor.”
“I realize he’s not very nice to her these days, but Apicius won’t divorce her. He has no other. He doesn’t even go near the slaves anymore. His mind is consumed with food and power. What sort of nonsense is Glycon filling her mind with?”
She stopped me. “You can’t tell Apicius.”
“Why not? Apicius deserves to know his astrologer is lying to his wife.”
Passia picked up the pace, not saying anything for a moment. I walked with her, accustomed to these silences, knowing she was thinking.
“What if he’s right?” Passia asked.
“Ridiculous.” A lone raindrop hit me on the nose.
“He was right about Junius. And he predicted a good feast for Tiberius last year. And that we’d have good crops on the farms this summer. He’s been right about a lot of things. What if he knows something is going to happen?”
“I don’t believe it.”
The rain started to fall in a rush, soaking our tunics and spattering mud up against our ankles. Junius laughed as he ran by us on the race back to the domus. Passia and I followed him, holding hands like children.
• • •
A week later, I was preserving the last of the apples for the winter ahead when I heard the clamor of horns—fire horns—in the distance. I did not think much about this until later, when I could hear Passia’s screams ringing through the house.
“They’re dead! They’re dead!” It took me a moment to register her words and realize the implications. My heart caught in my throat. Passia had accompanied Fannia and Aelia to the market that day.
I flew through the corridors, not caring what I knocked over or who I bumped into. I arrived in the atrium to find Passia on her knees, keening, her hair loose and flowing across her shoulders and face, with strands in her mouth.
I fell to the tiles and gathered her in my arms. She sobbed and I stroked her hair. “Shhh, you’re all right, my sweet Passia.”
Apicius and Sotas arrived, as did all the other slaves in the house. Apicius dropped to his knees alongside me. He grabbed Passia by the shoulders. “Who? Who is dead? Tell me, woman, tell me!”
Passia looked through the veil of her hair and tears a
t Apicius. I could almost see the words clumping up into sobs in her throat. Apicius slapped her.
“Tell me, slave! Where is Aelia? Where is Fannia?”
“Dead!” She started wailing again.
Apicius shook her. “What do you mean? How?”
“Fire . . . locked in a shop . . . I couldn’t get to them!”
Passia closed her eyes and wailed at the sky. Apicius let her go and she fell against me. I wrapped my arms around her.
Sotas instructed the guards to go find out about the fire. Apicius had curled into a ball on the floor, eyes staring ahead blankly but tears flowing across his face to the tiles.
Sotas broke in and took Passia from me, pulling her up off the floor and half carrying her to a nearby chair. He sat her in it and pushed the hair from her face.
“You have to tell us what happened!”
I moved over to Apicius and helped him sit up. I held him as I would a child, my arms around him, hugging him. He buried his head in my shoulder. “I don’t want to hear.” He sobbed so softly it reached only my ears. His sorrow mingled with my own and I could not keep the tears from my eyes.
A nearby slave brought Passia a glass of wine, which she drank in big gulps. Sotas sat next to her and stroked her hand till she was able to slow her tears. “My little friend, please tell us.”
“We went to the Caelian Hill,” she began to say.
“Why did you go there? The market isn’t on the Caelian!” I burst out.
Passia started crying again and Sotas glared at me. I nodded my head, chastened. He stroked her hand again until she quieted. “Tell us.”
“Fannia came to visit this morning and Domina Aelia came out to greet her when she was getting out of her litter. A boy ran up to them saying that he had a message for Dominus Apicius. Fannia snatched it—you know how nosy she is—read it, and discovered that it was a note about some silphium for sale by a man at the bottom of the Caelian Hill, not far from the cooking school. Fannia had the idea to surprise Dominus. She told Aelia that it would be a gift that would make Dominus love her all the more. She asked me to accompany them.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with her hand. “When we arrived at the house a man answered and told us to come inside. He said he had bags full of silphium. I was going to follow them into the house but Aelia told me to go back to a market stall we had passed and get some pretty jars to put the silphium in.”
Sotas continued to stroke her hand. “Did he seem dangerous?”
“No . . . he looked nice.” She hesitated and sniffed. “I remember thinking he was dressed too well for where he lived.”
“Then what happened?”
The words caught in her throat and she took another sip of the wine before continuing. “I bought the jars and returned to the man’s house. When I got there . . . Oh, dear Hera! The man was locking the door behind him, and then he ran off. I could smell smoke.”
As she spoke, I realized I too could smell smoke wafting in from a distance. Apicius buried his head into my shoulder. “Dear gods, he locked them in . . .”
Sotas was as patient as ever. “Keep going, Passia.”
“I yelled at him but he ran away. I tried to open the door but I couldn’t. I could hear them screaming inside. Smoke was pouring out from under the door. I ran around to the side to see if I could get in a window but all the windows were boarded up.” Passia began her sobbing anew. “I couldn’t get to them! Oh, dear gods! The flames were so strong. I kept yelling but no one would help me!”
“There were no vigiles?” I asked.
“Not until the whole building and the one next door were both on fire. They could do nothing. Nothing! Oh, dear Hera, they didn’t have enough water to put anything out. Even when they used their hooks to pull down the buildings it did nothing but spread the fire. Oh, gods, Aelia! Fannia! They are gone.” She put her head in her hands and let the sobs wrack her body.
Thank the gods for Sotas that day. He was the calm in the middle of the tempest. He immediately sent guards out to determine who owned that building and to find out about the messenger who had delivered the message. But I knew. It could only have been Livia.
Then I saw Glycon hovering in the crowd of slaves standing along the edges of the atrium. Rage rose up inside my breast and my face reddened with the heat of my ire. “You!” I yelled and pointed. Apicius sat up to see who I was gesturing toward.
All eyes in the room swiveled in Glycon’s direction. “Yes, you! This is your fault!”
Glycon looked at me, gaping and startled. He gathered his robes around him and stepped backward a pace.
“What is? I don’t understand!”
“You told Aelia her marriage was at an end! You sent her to her death!”
“What do you mean?” Apicius choked, his eyes rimmed in red.
“Yes, what do you mean?” Glycon’s voice shook.
Passia pulled herself out of the chair and stormed toward him. She pushed a finger into the old man’s chest. “Aelia went to buy silphium to please Apicius—because she thought her marriage was ending.” Tears made tracks in the soot on her face. “You told her that her marriage was dead! This is your fault! You should have been the one in the fire!”
The front doors opened and one of the guards burst in. The smell of smoke entered with him, strong and ominous. “The Caelian Hill, Master Apicius! Much of it is on fire. They are sending vigiles from all the hills to try to contain it.”
Sotas thanked him and returned him to his post. When I looked back to Glycon, he was gone.
Apicius had also noticed. “Sotas, send guards to find the astrologer. If he is still in the house, they have my permission to kill him on sight.” Then he collapsed on the couch.
• • •
Apicius made us go to the Caelian Hill. We didn’t take the litter—with the fire the crowds were too thick and it would have been dangerous. Instead, flanked by a few guardsmen, Sotas, Passia, and I walked, and sometimes ran, with him, tears streaming down our faces. We couldn’t get close to the house where Passia indicated the tragedy had struck. We were stopped a block away from our school, which I could see was ablaze as well, flames licking the sides of the upper floor. I watched in horror, thanking the gods I had been in the habit of bringing my cookbook notes and knives home with me every night.
I felt mixed emotions. I had long since tired of teaching, but oh, how the school had changed my life. A part of me died when I saw the roof cave in and half the school burst into flames. Later I would sacrifice a white sow to Jupiter for sparing the slaves who had been living there, all twenty of them.
A row of soot-covered vigiles kept us from going farther up the hill. Sotas tried to steer us home but Apicius kept repeating, “Please, take me where I can see.” We led him to an outcropping on the Palatine that held a good view of the Caelian, barely visible through the darkness and thick smoke. Apicius fell to his knees, threw his arms over the low stone wall, and wept. Sotas, Passia, and I huddled and wrapped our arms around Apicius. The hurt that reverberated in my chest was echoed in those arms and limbs, in the tears that wet our skin, in the ashes that filled our hair.
It took two days for the fire to die down and it destroyed the lower half of the Caelian Hill. There was nothing left of the school but rubble. The head of Apicius’s guard was able to recover some ashes from the shop where Fannia and Aelia died and he brought them back in small terra-cotta jars wrapped in swaths of black cloth. I had my doubts about how they could be other than pieces of wood from the wreckage but said nothing. Apicius seemed comforted to have the jars even if we had to pry them from his hands after another long jag of tears.
A few hours after the ashes were recovered I took a walk with Sotas in the garden to the far end where we wouldn’t be overheard. Sotas’s voice was grave. “The vigiles reported that the shop was owned by one of Livia’s freedmen.”
“I knew it.” I threw my hands up to the sky. “Apollo! Let your arrows fly to that woman’s breast and make her pay for all the tea
rs we have shed.”
“Homer,” Sotas recognized. “It’s apt.”
I wanted to weep in frustration. “We can’t tell anyone about this, can we?”
Sotas shook his head. “No. Even the vigiles told me they were not going to make a report. We can’t accuse Caesar’s mother.”
“She killed dozens.”
“I know. But if we make a fuss it will only end in more death. Likely our deaths.” He rested his hand reassuringly on my shoulder.
I kicked the nearby fence with my foot. “At the first banquet for Caesar, Livia told Fannia her time was running out. And that she and Apicius had insulted her for the last time.”
“Fannia was ever taking risks with her cousin. And Apicius crossed the line by not selling you and later by freeing you.”
I ran through all the scenarios in my mind—all the ways I could poison the witch. In her soup, in her drink, in a delicate sauce over her fish. Damn all her tasters!
“I know what you are thinking,” he warned me. “Revenge is not an answer. You have a woman and child to consider. Leave Livia’s fate to the gods. And don’t tell Apicius. He would do something stupid that could likely get us all killed. Nor Apicata—do not burden her further.”
I could say nothing. Sotas was right. I could no longer hold it all in and I broke down weeping. The big slave held me and comforted me like a brother.
• • •
The funeral was a short affair. As there were no bodies, we could not make the wax death masks or have an elaborate funeral fitting of Fannia and Aelia’s station. There would be no procession to take the bodies through the Roman Forum. There would be no eulogy. Aelia’s father had been recently appointed a new governorship, of Pannonia, and would likely not receive word of her death for weeks.
Claudius Pulcher, Fannia’s husband, sent his regrets that he would not be able to attend the funeral nor did he plan on burying her in the family tomb. Instead, we held a gathering at home for both Aelia and Fannia with a small group of relatives, which, unfortunately, included Sejanus and Livia.
“I don’t know if I can bear to look at her,” I told Passia and Sotas the hour before the ceremony began and the guests arrived, “much less keep my mouth shut or my hands to myself. I want to kill her where she stands.”