“I’m not sure,” I confessed. “When I have the courage. I don’t know if he will like the idea of telling the world how to cook in his style.”
She giggled. “Ahh, but his ego will have the better of him. If you write it all down, there will be no doubt of a recipe’s origin. If not, one of Apicius’s clients could tell their cooks to try to copy you. I think that he will be quite pleased with your book.”
Suddenly she reached over and took my hand, squeezing it. “I can’t wait until I can read it all by myself.”
I knew I must be smiling like a fool but did not care. I squeezed her hand back as we walked. “It won’t be long. You are a fast learner.”
She moved closer to me. I put my arm around her, marveling at the smoothness of her skin.
“Thrasius . . .”
“Passia?”
She paused, and I realized that she was gathering her courage to speak. “That night, in your cubiculum, I . . .”
I took her hands and held them together between my own. “It’s all right, Passia. You don’t have to say anything.”
“You surprised me,” she blurted out.
“I surprised myself. It took everything I had not to keep you there with me.”
She leaned forward until our faces were close. “I know.”
There was nothing to do but kiss her, with all the passion I had harbored from the moment when she first appeared in the kitchen on the day of my arrival. Her lips were soft, and sweet like fresh Iberian honey. I ran my hands along her back and up into the tangle of her hair. My thumbs stroked the flesh of her neck and cheeks, and when they pulled away, her lips.
We fell into the sand, twining together our summer-tanned limbs. Our hands roamed up and down the length of each other, slowly removing each article of clothing. I delighted in feeling the way the measure of my passion made my skin tingle with desire from head to toe.
“Apicius always says you are the answer to his prayers. I think he is wrong. I think you are the answer to mine,” she whispered in my ear before I entered her and we both cried aloud. The sound was washed away by the crash of waves beyond us.
? ? ?
The next morning, I woke to Apicata shouting in my ear.
“Thrasius, get up. Get up!”
Something soft and giving slapped me across the back, forcing me to disentangle myself from the blanket. On the next fall of the pillow against my head, I snatched it away from the wielder.
“All right, Apicata! I’m up!” I squinted and saw the six-year-old smiling with satisfaction. Through the window behind her I saw the first peach shades of sunrise breaking apart the blue night. By Jove, she was up early!
Then I noticed Passia standing in the doorway. The memories of the night before came flooding back to me. She had returned with me to my cubiculum and we had made love until deep into the night. When I fell asleep she must have slipped out to return to her pallet at the end of Apicata’s bed. Her smile told me everything I needed to know. It had not been a dream.
“Come on. We don’t have much time. Get up!” Apicata clapped her hands loudly for additional effect. That’s what Passia did to waken her from a nap. “Please, will you take me to the market today? I want to say good-bye to Prokopton!” In my haze it took me a minute to remember we were leaving for Rome that day. “I made sure I got up early. Rúan let me tie up one of the roosters outside my bedroom window.”
I sighed. I had heard the bird. Her alarm worked like a blessed augury, and I remembered thinking to myself I would have that bird roasted at the first opportunity, then I fell back asleep.
“I don’t think we have time,” I protested.
“If you hurry, you will,” Passia said. “I’ll let Aelia know and I’ll tell Rúan he’s in charge of preparing breakfast this morning. But don’t dally. Apicius will want you to help greet clients.”
“All right. We can go to the market,” I told Apicata.
Apicata cheered. “Can we get some honey ice while we’re there?”
“We’ll see.” I hoped she would forget by the time we reached the market. Honey ice would cause her to dawdle.
I took a deep breath and thought about the day ahead. Today was the last day we would have in the beautiful sea-swept Baiae villa for some time and it made my heart ache to think of it. I loved Baiae. I loved the water, the little market, the sound of the bells that tolled when ships entered the harbor. I was excited about the opportunities in Rome but it was hard for me to fathom living there.
As it was unlikely Apicius would return to the villa before next spring, the salutatio would be long. Apicius had many clients and political supporters in Baiae. There were still many who wanted a last audience so they could secure future visiting rights to Apicius’s new domus on the rich and exclusive Palatine Hill. Apicius was likely to be irritable and impatient to be on the road, not to entertain a long line of guests.
? ? ?
The walk to the market filled me with conflicting emotions. So many things had gone well for me since I’d come to Baiae from Maximus’s villa in Pompeii. Apicius increasingly turned to me for advice on his affairs, even outside the kitchen. Aelia and Apicata had become as close as family. The kitchen slaves respected me and worked hard to gain both my favor and Apicius’s. My love for Passia had bloomed in the sun of this festive town. Truly, I thought, I had found a form of Elysium here in Baiae, made all the more sweet by the fact that at any time it could have been swept away—as a slave nothing was guaranteed. I had years before I turned thirty-five, the age at which I could legally receive my freedom. Apicius could die the next day and I could be back on the block again.
Baiae was beautiful, the clay and brick buildings shining in the dawn sunlight. The breeze carried the scents of jasmine and the sea. Apicata raced ahead of me, her dark curls bouncing against the back of her blue tunica. In her fist she carried a handful of violets and periwinkles picked from the side of the path near the villa. She was determined to give Prokopton a gift, and I suspected he would have an even larger one to give back to her.
Prokopton was a merchant who specialized in everything nonedible. Whatever you needed he always seemed to have on hand or, if not, could readily procure. Over the last three years, I had purchased cooking utensils, everyday pottery, silver serving platters, and even furniture from Prokopton. Apicata loved the big bear of a man. He always had small toys to share with the girl, whom he called “little bird.” After we moved to Rome, I kept the pet name for her; it was fitting.
That morning Prokopton gave Apicata a tiny wooden wind-up bird, a gift that shocked me. The bird was most likely quite costly. It was delicate, with wings that moved and legs that carried it forward. Feathers had been carefully painted on in a rainbow of hues. Due to their rareness, wind-ups were not for children. They were entertainment pieces meant for the adult table and could often sell for many thousand denarii.