“True. She enjoys tormenting me too much.” Fannia resumed her pacing. “Let’s see. . . . Well, I know she wants me to leave Rome.” The late-afternoon sun was starting to disappear and the atrium was losing its light. She waved a hand and her slaves rushed to light the lamps.
“Does she have any way to force you to move?”
“No. She knows I hate my husband—which I’m sure gives her great pleasure. I have no child so she cannot threaten my family. Blackmail will not work; I have lived my life in the public eye as truth. She could not pin me with scandal before, nor could she now.”
They continued to discuss scenarios that would explain Livia’s intent, but when the door slave came to announce the guests’ arrival (and to whisk away the absinthe), they were no closer to understanding. Fannia and Apicius hurriedly popped mint and anise seeds into their mouths, chewed to mask the smell of alcohol, and spat the seeds into a nearby planter moments before Corvinus and Octavius escorted Livia Drusilla Caesar into the triclinium.
Time seemed to stop when Livia entered the room. I’d never imagined that one day I would be in the presence of the most powerful woman in the world. Caesar’s wife was as the rumors said—radiant with strong features, clear skin, and ocean-blue eyes. Her graying hair was threaded with tiny glass beads and piled high upon her head, with two curled ringlets falling to each side, cradling her high cheeks. She wore a stola of yellow, pinned by two simple small ruby and amber brooches in the shape of lions. Her arm was linked in Corvinus’s arm. Octavius followed. I thought he was a pig in comparison to the empress, with a protruding belly and tufts of hair growing from his ears.
“Livia! Corvinus! Octavius! What a pleasure to have you dine with me tonight!” Fannia stepped forward to greet them, the jewels adorning her stola tinkling with the movement.
“You look lovely as always, Fannia.” Corvinus kissed each cheek.
“Cousin, thank you for inviting me.” Livia politely bestowed a kiss on Fannia, and then looked in askance at Apicius, who stood a few feet behind his hostess.
“And this must be Gavius Apicius? I have heard much about you.”
Apicius bent to kiss the delicate gold ring on Livia’s hand. “I hope they are songs of praise!”
Octavius reached out and shook hands with Apicius. “Rest assured, old friend, our ears have merely been tantalized with stories of your provincial feasts.”
“I am flattered.” Apicius ignored the insult. “I hope one day, Empress, you will join me and judge for yourself.”
I was beginning to understand the intent behind Octavius’s visit—to put Apicius in his place.
Fannia led the group to the Lares shrine, where she gave each of the guests a cluster of grapes to sacrifice to the gods of the house. Sotas and I followed behind with the other slaves. Fannia passed a vial of wine to Livia and let her pour the libations to Edesia and Bibesia, goddesses of feast and of drink. We knelt in prayer and I silently asked for an extra boon of protection. Fannia sprinkled some wine on the ground for the spirits of the ancestral dead, the Lemures, who took their sacrifice off the floor of the dining area. When food fell to the ground, the Lemures expected it to remain. The slave who was responsible for cleaning the floor in Apicius’s Baiae villa and burning the remains on the Lares shrine was an unlucky girl, always falling, breaking dishes, or having some other form of bad luck for thwarting the Lemures from their sacrifices. No slave wanted to be the one to clean the floor in a triclinium.
When the guests had settled onto the couches and the first course of eggs, olives, fig tarts, whole bread, and fried oysters had arrived, the conversation became more interesting.
“Fannia, where is your husband tonight? It’s been so long since I’ve seen him,” Livia asked before she slipped an oyster between her reddened lips.
“Thank you for asking, cousin.” From her tone one would never know how much Fannia hated her husband. “He is in Gaul right now, negotiating for transport of the slaves from the armies in the region. He handles the transactions and takes a small portion of the profit from the soldiers who capture the slaves. I am fortunate to have a husband in such a lucrative trade.”
Livia appeared amused. Fannia was always clever when it came to subtle retorts.
Corvinus seemed anxious to change the subject. “Apicius, I understand that Officer Sejanus is related to your wife?”
Apicius’s nostrils flared. I wondered why the name Sejanus bothered him. He plucked an olive from the plate in front of him and considered it as he spoke. “Why, yes, Corvinus, they are cousins. I imagine you know a few of my wife’s relatives. Her father, Lucius Aelius Lamia, is one of Caesar’s cavalry officers.”
“I do know Lamia. He’s a good man who will go far. He has found much favor with Caesar,” said Corvinus. “And Sejanus seems to show promise as well.”
Fannia diverted the topic by motioning for the gustatio to begin. The slaves brought goblets of pomegranate juice mixed with honey, and platters of boiled eggs, as well as lentils, onions, and mustard beans.
It was a quiet dinner with only a flutist for accompaniment. Fannia likely wanted to be hospitable but not offer up any reason for the meal to go on longer than necessary.
I was alarmed to see that Octavius remembered me. He kept moving his eyes in my direction. Why would he care if I were there? Sotas noticed as well, nudging me with his elbow after one prolonged look. I wished I could have disappeared, the stare disarmed me so.
What did Livia and Corvinus want? We were all still waiting to know.
When the main course arrived, the conversation turned toward food and drink. Apicius, once more in his element, did not hesitate to talk about his culinary loves. He described a recent trip to Sicily, where he’d discovered a special recipe for olive relish. He promised to have it sent to Livia. Octavius, rising to the occasion, had a story to rival each of Apicius’s tales. To counter the relish, Octavius offered to send Livia honey from Spain. When Apicius said he thought the best cheeses were from Gaul, Octavius disagreed, saying that aged cheese from Bithynia was the best. Livia nodded politely, not seeming to care much about the topic of conversation.
“How is your son, Tiberius?” Fannia asked Livia, being careful to distinguish between Livia’s son and her ex-husband, who shared the same name. She seemed to be trying to steer the conversation away from the increasing rivalry between Octavius and Apicius, though it was another jab. Tiberius’s withdrawal from politics was rumored to be an embarrassment to both Livia and Caesar.
Livia didn’t give in to the bait. “He is well, cousin. I visit him often. The isle of Rhodes is a beautiful place and his villa has astonishing views of the ocean.”