My effort at subtlety was futile. The rasping sound stopped and the snake began to move. This time I moved much faster. I pulled the basket off the table and slammed the reed vessel down over the viper one second before it would have sunk its fangs into Apicius’s ankle.
Apicius fell backward, his head narrowly missing the thick acacia-wood legs of the kitchen table. He pushed himself away from the basket, while the creature hissed beneath.
I pointed at the pale boy. “Grab him!” I yelled at Sotas and another burly slave standing behind Pallas. They responded with the same urgency, lunging forward to grip the boy by the wrists and shoulders, preventing his escape. Pallas tried to struggle but gave up after Sotas slapped him across the head.
Vatia was on the floor. Rúan reached her first.
“Vatia, oh, Vatia,” he crooned as he took her in his arms. Tears brimmed in his eyes. She was as white as a freshly bleached toga. Her breathing was heavy and she stared past Rúan.
Balsamea rushed forward with an armful of towels with a swiftness that belied her age. She knelt and wrapped up Vatia’s arm. I watched in horror as the blood soaked the towel in less than a minute. She quickly snatched up another towel and tried again to stanch the flow.
I could not help them. Apicius was still sprawled on the floor. I reached out an arm to help him up. He took my hand and, shaking, got to his feet. Then I turned back to the cluster of slaves standing around watching. “Get that snake out of here, now! Kill it once it’s out of the house. Now!”
Apicius touched me on the arm. “Who is he?”
I looked in the direction of his gaze. Pallas’s head hung low, his dark hair covering his face.
“He’s from the laundry,” I told Apicius. “And I think he knows what happened.”
“Is this true?” Apicius said, moving toward the boy.
Pallas looked up. His mouth formed a wet O, but no sound came out.
Sotas tightened his grip on the boy. “Tell your dominus what you know!”
Pallas fixed his eyes on the ground. “Popilla . . .” he managed.
Apicius gasped.
“Popilla what?” I asked, moving forward to grab the boy by the tunic.
“She, she, she . . .”
“Did you put the snake there?” Apicius asked.
“Yes.” The boy began sobbing. Snot dripped out of his nose and over his thin lips.
“What did she offer you?”
The boy struggled to speak. “One hundred denarii and, and . . .”
“And what?” Apicius’s voice rose.
The boy’s watery eyes were rimmed with red and full of despair. “Safe passage to Cyprus.”
I winced. What a fool. “Safe passage” was more likely his being handed to a slave trader bound for Egypt, where the boy would serve its Roman governor. The one hundred denarii would go right into the trader’s hands in return for silence.
“You’ll get your safe passage.” Apicius flicked a hand at Sotas.
Sotas responded before the boy could, sliding out the knife in his belt and raising it to Pallas’s neck. He was deft, cutting the throat and twisting the boy down to the ground in one movement, directing the gush of blood across the floor. I watched the blood pooling on the tiles around Pallas’s crumpled body. It wasn’t the boy who deserved to die. He would have been as much of a victim if he had refused the task. The person who deserved to die was the woman who had motivated his actions.
Apicius seemed to be of the same mind. “Come, Sotas. And you too, Thrasius. We have another matter to attend to.” He led us out of the kitchen, past Vatia, unconscious in Rúan’s lap with Balsamea and the other slaves trying desperately to stop the furious flow of blood from her arm.
“She won’t live,” Apicius said as he strode through the corridor away from the kitchen. “I once watched Caesar Augustus order a man to die by asp. They tied him to a board and let snakes crawl all over him. After he’d been bitten several times they took the asps away. Then they made shallow cuts all over the man’s body. After the asp bites, a man will no longer hold his blood. Death is swift and painful.”
Sotas and I were silent. I knew Sotas thought very fondly of Vatia. She was a dear friend who always had kind words for him. As for me, I could not imagine Vatia being absent from my kitchen. By the blood of Apollo! Only the day before I had convinced Apicius to give her a raise in her peculium. It was a small increase, but for Vatia it meant she had been that much closer to earning her freedom.
We stopped in front of Popilla’s chambers. Apicius didn’t knock. He pushed on the door but it was locked. He didn’t need to motion to Sotas. Sotas steeled himself, then slammed one shoulder against the door. It gave way on the first try.
Apicius stormed into the room. Popilla sat on the couch in the corner reading a scroll. She looked up at her son. Her slaves took one look at Apicius and rushed out of the room.
“Get up or I’ll have Sotas get you up.”
Popilla’s eyes held concern as she set aside the scroll. “What is wrong, my son?” Her voice was syrupy. “Did you really need to break down my door?”
“Get up!” Apicius roared, causing the veins in his neck and forehead to bulge.
Popilla stood in a hurry. I wondered if she had ever seen her son so angry. I know I hadn’t. I had no idea he was capable of such wrath.
Her voice shook. “What’s wrong?” she asked again, even though it was plain she knew the answer. She looked at me, her eyes pleading. I could only scowl.
“Kneel, you lying, conniving bitch of a woman. Kneel.” Apicius signaled Sotas to come forward.
Popilla dropped to the floor, wincing with the crunch that sounded from one knee as she landed. Sotas moved to stand behind her.
“You have betrayed me, Mother.” Apicius glanced at Sotas, who grasped her by the hair and pulled her head back.
“What do you mean? What have I done?” she wailed.
Apicius looked like a madman. “Tell her,” he said to me, not taking his eyes off his mother, who was raking Sotas’s hands with her fingers.
Looking at this gorgon of a woman, I knew true hatred. I was so angry that for a moment I found it hard to speak. When I did, it was with a vitriol I had never before known. “Vatia is dying from the bite of an asp. You meant for that snake to kill me. And now a boy, the slave Pallas, has died for helping you make the attempt. You promised him freedom, but you gave him only lies.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about!”
“You were named by the boy,” Apicius said simply.
“What boy? I have not spoken to any boy.”
Apicius paused. Then I noticed a small box under Popilla’s couch. I crossed the room to retrieve it.
The box had air holes like those one would buy at the market for snake offerings to the god of healing, Asclepius. Inside was a rolled-up scroll. I handed it to Apicius.
“My son, you must listen to me,” Popilla spluttered. Her hands pulled on the arm by which Sotas held her hair.
My master unrolled the scroll and read it. A vein on his neck began to pulse. He handed it to me. “It’s a curse. Make sure this is destroyed.”