by Crystal King
The villa proved to need supplies and Apicius wanted to purchase more slaves, so we returned to Rome. Apicata greeted us at the gate. She had remained in Rome over the last year to stay close to her boys, even if they could not live with her. Sejanus never forced her to remarry, and for that I think she was glad. He, on the other hand, had tried to marry Livilla after sufficient time had passed from his divorce and from Drusus’s death. It was said that Tiberius had thrown a glass at Sejanus and told him not to under any circumstances, and that Sejanus had overstepped his bounds. While I held little respect for Caesar Tiberius, I liked him more after I heard the story.
Nine-year-old Junilla pulled back the curtain of the litter and jumped out. She ran to Apicius and hugged him, then threw her arms around my waist, seemingly not aware of the road grime that coated my clothes and skin. I patted her head and hugged her tightly. “It is good to see you, Junilla. Do you bring your brothers?”
She shook her head, which was not unexpected. Sejanus eventually let Junilla live with her mother but Sejanus rarely let his sons out of his sight, save for short, occasional supervised visits with Apicata.
“No, they are with Father. But look what Strabo gave me!” She held up a straw doll complete with a tiny tunica and a flower tucked into her straw hair. She was almost too old for dolls, but was clearly pleased to have a gift from her brother.
I smiled. “Strabo loves you very much, I suspect.”
“He does,” Apicata said as she neared. My heart caught in my chest. I could have been looking at her mother’s shade.
Apicius hugged her close and praised her beauty. I kissed her cheek but did not hug her for fear of leaving dirt on her stola. “We came to pick up some supplies and I missed Passia and Junius,” I said.
“We’ll be here for just a few days,” Apicius said.
We walked up the path to the villa, Junilla running ahead to find Junius, whom she admired. I watched her race up the walk.
“When you return, I think we should come with you to Herculaneum. It might be a good idea,” Apicata said.
“What do you mean, it might be a good idea?” I asked.
She looked at me, an incredulous look in her dark eyes. “By the gods, you haven’t heard the news?”
“What news?” Apicius asked.
“Livia is dead.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Dead?”
“Finally? You are sure?” Apicius was equally incredulous. Livia had been ill more than once over the last decade and there were many times she had almost died.
“Yes. She died on the ides. I’ve seen the body. When I left, the Senate was still waiting for Tiberius to come for the funeral, but he says he cannot, that he is otherwise occupied.”
Five days had passed since the ides. I couldn’t imagine what state her body would be in when Tiberius returned.
“I don’t understand. Why would her death make you want to leave . . . ?” It dawned on me then. Without Livia, Sejanus would run unchecked.
“He rules Rome by striking terror into all. I fear him. And now that the boys are older, he lets me see them less and less.”
My chest tightened.
“Yes, yes, daughter, you must come with us to Herculaneum,” Apicius agreed. “We’ll gather supplies tomorrow and leave the day after.”
“Let us go find Passia.” I took her arm and wrapped it around mine. Apicius fell in step on her other side.
Apicata squeezed my arm. “Tell me about the cookbook! I heard all the senators have bought a copy!”
“I sent three copies to the library in Alexandria and two more to the library in Athens.” I was proud of this fact for it meant our book would be part of the historical collections.
She chuckled. “The rumor is that after they bought your book, three of the new senators hired tutors to teach their cooks how to read!”
“That is good news!” Apicius said. “Now, if only we could convince the rest of the senators to do the same!”
• • •
We found Junilla and Junius in the atrium playing ball around the burbling fountain. Junius tackled me when he saw me, which sent both Apicata and Junilla into peals of laughter.
Apicius and I played with them while one of the slaves went to fetch Passia. Apicius stood in one place and threw the ball, not very well, and the rest of us teased him when we had to run after his errant throws.
When Passia emerged from the interior of the house I thought my heart might burst with the happiness of seeing her. Oh, how I hated being away from my beloved wife.
After I had lifted Passia off her feet and swung her around, covering her in kisses, she broke free to embrace Apicata. “I know you live close but I wish we saw each other more often.”
“You’ll see more of her now.”
Passia looked to me, then to Apicata. “What do you mean? Is everything all right?”
Apicata patted Passia’s hand reassuringly. “Yes. But with Livia gone, I think I may take Junilla and join my father in Herculaneum.”
“With you and Junius,” I asserted, moving closer to my wife and draping my arm around her shoulder.
She tensed. She knew that if I wanted her to leave Rome it was because I was afraid for my family. For as much as we hated Livia, we knew that she was one of the only reasons Sejanus hadn’t become a real Roman tyrant.
“He leaves me alone because of the children but I fear what he might do to you and Father. Out of sight, out of mind, would be best for all of us,” Apicata urged.
“I can take care of myself, daughter,” Apicius said, although his voice belied the truth.
I never thought I would need to move my family from Rome, but Apicata was right. Sejanus stood to gain a lot if he accused Apicius of treason and demanded his fortune be handed over to Rome—or essentially into coffers he alone had access to. And if Apicata was afraid, it meant we should be doubly careful.
“Will you stay for cena?” Passia asked.
Apicata smiled and shook her head. “My neighbor Gratius Stolo is celebrating his eldest son’s name day. His wife invited me to join. I thought you might accompany me.”
“Is that the son who is campaigning for a Senate post?” Apicius asked.
“It is.”
Apicius waved a hand. “Go and enjoy yourself. Take the Guard with you to accompany you home. Junilla can stay here for dinner and tell her grandfather stories.”
I smiled. “She does love to tell tales! And when she and Junius are telling stories together, Comus himself would fall over laughing,” I said, referring to the god of comedy.
Apicata hugged me. “Thank you, Thrasius! Come, Passia, let’s figure out what you should wear!”
I kissed my wife and Apicius and I watched them scamper off, giggling like young girls. It made me glad to see Apicata smiling. Her smiles were few and far between.
• • •
Much later that night, after I had purchased a score of new slaves for the Herculaneum villa, negotiated for furniture made from dark black pine to be sent, hired several new guardsmen, and shared a light meal with Apicius, I collapsed onto a couch in the garden. I began reading a scroll of the Aeneid Passia had left on a nearby table but it wasn’t long before I passed into sleep. I awoke hours later to a slave shaking me.
“Dominus Thrasius, hurry,” the girl was saying. It was one of Passia’s maidens.
I jolted awake. I tossed the scroll aside and followed her through the house to the bath, where I found Passia and Apicata. Apicata sat on the edge of the bath wrapped in a towel, crying. Passia combed her long hair between comforting hugs. They had sent all the other slaves from the room.
I rushed to their side. “What happened?”
Apicius appeared then, wrapped in a loose robe, Sotas following and taking a place next to the door.
At the sight of her father, Apicata put her face in her hands and began weeping anew. Passia hugged her close. “It’s all right. Tell them what happened.”
She sniffled. I saw she had se
veral bruises on her arms. Fingerprint bruises.
“Who did this to you?” I tried to keep the anger from my voice.
Apicata couldn’t answer. She took in big gulping breaths of air between her sobs.
Passia looked at us, her own eyes wet with emotion. “Sejanus.”
“What? How?” Apicius came to his daughter’s side and put his arm around her.
Apicata wasn’t able to talk so Passia told us what she could. “He came to the party. I don’t think he was invited, but Gratius Stolo didn’t dare turn him away. Livilla was with him. He was high on opium and staggering drunk. He had his Praetorians arrest the one man who dared to comment on his condition.
“I was talking to one of Stolo’s daughters when he came in the door. I saw him first, but by the time I found Apicata so had Sejanus.”
Apicius cursed. I felt as though my blood were thickening in my veins.
“I ducked into the closest room, a huge bedroom. Livilla wasn’t with him; she must have gone to greet Stolo. I heard Sejanus in the corridor talking to Apicata, telling her how much he missed bedding her. Right before he pulled her into the room, I hid under the bed and curled up against the wall so they wouldn’t see me.”
Apicata seemed to regain herself. “I was glad to find that Passia was there. Now someone else will believe me.”
“Did he rape you?” Apicius asked, his voice soft.
She nodded, tears falling off the edge of her golden skin. “It was much like our marriage.”
I clenched my fists and wished I had something—no, someone—to punch.
“But that wasn’t the worst of it.”
“Bloody Apollo, how could it get worse?” Apicius gripped the edge of his robe so tightly that his hand was turning white.
Apicata dried her eyes on the towel. “Tell him, Passia.”
“When he came into the room he sent all the slaves away and told them to bar the door. He had at least ten guards with him. I knew if I tried to help Apicata they would kill us both. I stayed under the bed. It was awful.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. I would have rushed to the river Lethe if its waters could have erased the memory from my wife’s mind.
“Apicata was brave. She didn’t fight him and she didn’t cry. Afterward, when he lay spent, she was very bold and asked him to tell her the truth about Livilla.”
Apicata kicked a foot in the water, making a big splash. “When he drinks heavily he becomes boastful. It was the same then as it was during our marriage. Sure enough, the bastard told me everything. That he slept with her regularly, that he’d divorced me for her, and that he would see Tiberius dead for denying his marriage to her.”
Apicata rarely cursed and it startled me despite the circumstances.
“He told Apicata to tread lightly, that he had killed Drusus and he could kill her too,” Passia said.
I couldn’t believe what I heard. “By the gods! How did they kill him? Poison?”
“Yes.” Apicata wiped her eyes with her fingers. “I told him I didn’t believe him . . .”
“I thought he would strangle her then and there,” Passia added.
“I thought so too, but instead he told me how he and Livilla had done it,” Apicata continued. “They had his cupbearer put something in his drink one night and paid off the doctor to make sure he declared it death from drinking. One moment he was giddy with how brilliant he thought the plan was, and the next minute he was angry Tiberius still thwarted his marriage to Livilla.”
“Why didn’t he kill you after he told you?” Apicius asked what I had been thinking. I couldn’t understand why he would have let her live after spilling such a secret.
“He passed out. I gathered myself together and Passia and I left as quickly as we could. On the way out, to my horror, Livilla stopped me. She had no idea what had happened, thankfully.”
“She was horrible,” Passia said. “She told Apicata that she would never win Sejanus back. That he loved only her.”
“As though I would ever want to be with that monster again. I wanted to tell her that her husband had just had his way with me, and that I knew the truth about Drusus, but Passia pulled me away before I could say something stupid.”
It was terrible news. And more terrible because Apicata knew the truth about how Caesar Tiberius’s son died. If Sejanus remembered that he had told Apicata, he would most certainly have her killed.
Apicata saw the realization in our eyes. “Oh, Father, what should I do?”
I had already been thinking of the answer to her question.
“I have an idea. Get dressed and meet us in the library. Apicius, come with me. I think I know what to do.” I kissed her on the forehead and hauled Apicius to his feet.
We stopped at Tycho’s cubicle to wake him. My slave was an excellent scribe and we would need his help.
When we reached the library, I told Apicius of the plan. He only nodded his head and went to work. I know not how much time passed before Apicata and Passia appeared, but Apicius was dictating the last sentence on the sixth letter when they arrived. He gestured for them to sit.
“What are you planning?” Apicata’s eyes were bloodshot but dry. She wore a thin gray stola and her mother’s favorite sandals, so old and tattered, Aelia had worn them only around the house.
“It’s quite simple.” Apicius brought the letters to the table in front of them and fanned them out.
Apicata gasped. “What if this backfires?”
“I trust each of these men implicitly. It will not backfire.”
Tycho chuckled. I smiled, knowing what he was thinking. He had been scribing the letters and knew the contents and to whom they were addressed. “Of course it helps that we know a secret about each of them they would rather not have others know. All those years on Apicius’s couches have paid off.”
Passia looked at me with approval. “Blackmail within blackmail. By Jove, dear husband, I knew you were brilliant but I had no idea how much!”
Apicius gathered the letters up. “When dawn breaks, Apicata, we will send a boy with a note for Sejanus to meet you here. I suspect he will be here faster than you can blink. If he isn’t, it will be because he doesn’t remember any of it.”
“What if he comes here to kill me?”
“He will have to go through me first. And Sotas. Now go, try to sleep. Have Timon make you some poppy juice if you need it. I’ve got to get some messengers on the road.”
• • •
In the morning I had Apicata pen a note to Sejanus, barely hinting at his words the night before, in case his memory was poor. I sent my fastest messenger off to his house.
Sejanus arrived within the half hour. His memory wasn’t poor.
Apicius and I were waiting for him in the atrium. When he arrived, he stormed through the front door, not bothering to wait for the guards to announce him. “Where is she?” he snarled when he stopped in front of us.
“She is resting. I understand she had a bad night,” Apicius said. Behind him, Sotas grunted.
Apicata and Passia were in the nearby cubicle where they could hear.
“What else did she tell you?”
“Enough that I think you should guard your tone with me.” Apicius sounded bold but I knew he was shaking inside. What if my plan wasn’t enough to stop Sejanus?
Sejanus laughed, his golden armor clanking as he threw back his head. He had taken to wearing the formal Imperial armor more often now that Tiberius was ensconced in Capri. Tiberius likely wouldn’t have approved of such ostentation.
“You are the one who should guard your tone with me! Guards!” It was a fatal command, one that left no doubt as to what he intended the guards to do to us. Six burly Praetorian guards drew their swords and moved forward.
“That would not be wise,” Apicius said. His voice projected no fear.
The guards did not stop their advance.
“Go ahead!” he shouted. “Kill me and find out what happens to you! Kill me! Kill me and all of Rome
will know about your treason!” He threw his arms upward as though welcoming their blades. I did the same, as did Sotas, each of us on either side of Apicius. I wondered how long it would take for me to die when the first blade passed through my body.
The words gave Sejanus pause. “Halt.” The guards stopped but did not lower their weapons. I heard the sounds of slaves coming to the atrium to hear what the commotion was about. Several guards broke off to attend them. A few waves of their blade points sent the slaves scurrying into the depths of the villa.
Sejanus advanced until he stood a few inches from Apicius. He pulled a jeweled dagger from the leather sheath strapped to his arm and held it to his throat.
“What could you possibly have to say that would make me reconsider killing you?”
“If you kill me, or Apicata, or harm any member of our families or our households, six letters telling the truth about Drusus will be sent out from different parts of the Empire.”
“Letters? You are bluffing. There are no letters.” The knife bit into his skin and a bright drop of blood surfaced.
“But there are letters. To Tiberius. To the Senate.”
He laughed but it didn’t sound as convincing. “Letters that will never reach their destinations.”
“How can you be sure? You know not where those letters will come from, nor when or how they will arrive.”
The knife bit deeper. “Nothing goes in or out of Capri without me knowing.”
“Ahh, but you, of all people, should know anyone can be bought for the right price. You are not in Capri. How can you be sure?” I gave thanks to Jupiter for his boldness. It seemed to be enough to put some caution into Sejanus. He pulled the knife away and stepped back.
“And if I do nothing to any of you, nothing will happen?”
“Exactly. Leave us in peace. You do nothing and we will do nothing.”
He stepped forward again, waggling the knife. “You cannot be trusted. Your mind is not always clear.”
“I’ve heard the rumors,” Apicius said, deadpan. “But I assure you, I am quite clear about this.”