I went through all the motions of the meal, sending out the slaves with the food when the courses dictated. I sent the entertainment in—flutists, harpists, and singers. I sent the girls, the boys, all dressed in ever-amazing costumes, some like birds and animals, some like monsters, some like heroes, and some like nymphs.
And oh, the food was magnificent! I had re-created all the old stories of the gods. Venus carved from a gourd, emerging from her shell. Fantastic Roman triremes made from hollowed cucumbers and holding tiny white carrot men fought battles across an ocean of cold beet soup. A platter of cheese and figs shaped into Cerberus and his double heads. And the dishes! Only the finest delicacies were served, with the pinnacle of each course flavored with the few dried sprigs of silphium I had been hoarding for a year—there was no fresh silphium to be had. Plate after plate of marinated mushrooms, Baian beans in mustard sauce, pork meatballs, honey melons, stuffed boiled eggs, fried veal slices, crunchy duck and flamingo tongues, pork pastries stuffed with figs, pear patinae, steamed lamb, soufflés of little fishes . . . even now my mouth salivates thinking back to that meal. I hope Apicius found great pleasure in those dishes.
I couldn’t bear to sit with him while he ate. Instead I remained in the kitchen, tasting only ash and tears.
I wished Rúan had been there to help me when I faltered, because falter was all I seemed to do. I had to send Passia away—her keening was more than I could bear. I put the fear of the gods in the slaves, telling them that if they did not perform their best for Apicius that night I would have them put to death. At one point Tycho took my new knives from me, afraid I would follow through on my threats, or hurt myself.
After the final course went out, one of the boys returned with a message that Apicius was asking for me. He wanted me to bring the finest wine in the cellar.
I walked that long hallway with the heaviest of feet. I had never before known such dread and sorrow mixed together as they were those two hundred steps.
Sotas was not at the door when I arrived. I drew upon all my courage, determined to control my emotions. I pushed the door open and saw Sotas standing behind his master. His eyes were red but there were no tears on his cheeks.
Apicius lay back on the pillows, rubbing his bulging stomach. “Ahh, here he is! Thrasius, come with my best wine!”
I held up the small pitcher, the last of Apicius’s favorite Falernian vintage, seventy-five years old. “I mixed it for you too.” I was surprised that I could speak, but the words fell off my tongue, my resolve holding.
He motioned for me to sit and he waved Sotas to sit on his other side. “Have a glass with me, you and Sotas.”
My shaking hands poured the wine into goblets that should have been for other guests. I handed one to Apicius and one to Sotas.
Apicius reached into the fold of his toga and pulled out a tiny green glass flask. He unstopped it and poured a muddy liquid into the glass. “A very strong dose of opium and hemlock,” he explained. “As you know, I’m not one for pain.”
I watched him stir the liquid into the wine with the long handle of his spoon. I suddenly chuckled, surprising myself.
Apicius looked at me, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “What’s so funny, Thrasius?”
“You are right; you never were one for pain! I remember you stubbing your toe on a rock on the beach at Baiae once. You made us carry you back to the villa!” I couldn’t stop laughing and soon both Apicius and Sotas were laughing as well.
“You mean, I carried him back to the villa!” Sotas snorted.
“Well, you’re a beast! Why should they have expended energy when you could practically pick me up in one hand?” Apicius was crying tears of laughter.
“He can’t do that anymore,” I managed, wheezing.
“That’s your fault, Thrasius,” Apicius said. “All those damn milk-fed snails you addicted me to!”
“I don’t think it was just the snails.” Sotas chuckled.
Apicius did not wait for our laughter to fade. He lifted the glass. “To you, my friends.”
“No, Apicius, we raise our glasses to you,” Sotas said solemnly.
Apicius laughed again. It was the last time I would hear that bright sound. “Let us raise our glasses—to us!” He knocked back the glass. We followed suit. Sotas drained the contents of his goblet and set it down on the table next to him.
“Oh, my, what a wonderful vintage this is!” Apicius lifted the glass again and downed all that was left. He fell back on the pillows.
“Sit with me, my friends. Tell me stories about the best meals we have ever eaten.” He reached out a hand to me and one to Sotas. His grip was tight. He closed his eyes.
Sotas drew a deep breath, and for a moment I thought he would not be able to speak. “I remember the first time you let me try a fried dormouse.” He too had closed his eyes in memory. “I was fifteen and Fannia was giving a party. You snuck one out to me as a reward for not telling your father you had been the one to graffiti the wall of the barn. I remember how the bones crunched, how the skin crackled, and the way the juices ran across my mouth. I think it tasted even better because I wasn’t supposed to have it and because I had pleased you.”
Apicius gave a small grunt of pleasure but said nothing, his eyes still closed.
His grip was starting to slacken in my hand. “I remember the first apricots we had a few years ago,” I said. “Oh, what a new taste it was for both of us! Who would have thought the gods could give us something so lush, so full of honey and sunlight. And you were right, Apicius, they did make the most amazing patina, didn’t they? I think I will make one for you tomorrow, in fact.”
No sound from Apicius. His grip had weakened as I spoke and soon it was me gripping his hand, not him gripping mine.
I moved my hand to his wrist, clasping it, feeling his pulse weaken. The tears came unbidden. Sotas and I sat with him, crying until his pulse was no more.
I pulled three coins from the pouch at my belt. I placed one on each eye and gently opened his mouth to place the coin on his tongue, which would guarantee that Charon took him across the River Styx to the Underworld.
I didn’t notice that Sotas had retrieved his sword until he knelt with it in front of him.
“Oh, my friend, no, not you too . . .”
“It’s how it was meant to be,” he said. “My lady Fides pledged me to Apicius in my youth. My pledge is complete and now she will take me to Elysium.”
“No, no, it’s not like that.”
He smiled a little. “Yes it is. Good-bye, Thrasius. You were a friend indeed, to both my master and me. The gods will reward you richly, of that I’m sure.”
Sotas plunged forward suddenly, falling on the point of his sword so hard it emerged through his back in a spurt of bright blood. He did not cry out.
“No!” I moved forward, knowing that nothing I did would matter. I reached him as he slumped forward, dead.
I screamed my sorrow to the gods until all the slaves came running.
EPILOGUE
Seven Years Later