He had. I still had in my mind the image of him wandering the Baiae domus at midnight this past May, his voice low and dark. He tossed black beans into every corner of the house as he chanted, “I send these; with these beans I redeem me and mine.” He walked the length of the domus nine times. When he was done, all the slaves erupted in a cacophony of noise as we crashed bronze pots together and sang, over and over, “Ghosts of my fathers and ancestors, be gone!” nine times. If that racket hadn’t scared off the ghost of Popilla, I’m not sure anything could. But Apicius didn’t look convinced.
The slave with the gossamer gown entered from the door across the peristylium, this time leading a couple into the garden. Fannia patted Apicius’s shoulder and told him not to worry about Popilla. He nodded and straightened to meet the guests, Trio and his wife, Celera. The party had begun. I rushed to the kitchen, chastising myself for being pulled into such ridiculous intrigue. I was worse than Balsamea, listening to conversations that were not my own.
? ? ?
Back in the kitchen, Rúan presented me with a large square of framed wax and a wooden stylus. The tablet had been my idea. Finding a way to explain the dishes was important given the unusual manner of presenting food during the commissatio. Apicius had arranged couches for those who preferred a more formal presentation, but guests could also mingle and partake from slaves who wandered among them, offering up morsels on silver trays. The wax tablet, which would describe the menu, was to be placed on a table at the entry to the peristylium.
I inscribed the names of the dishes onto the tablet. Fried hyacinth bulbs, sow’s udder, Lucanian sausage, hard egg mice, fried hare livers, oiled cabbage, fried carrots, milk-fed snails, honey ricotta sliced bread, apples, mussels, and peppered truffles.
“Are you sure about this?” Rúan asked me. “There is no surprise for the guests.”
In truth it was an experiment, but I thought it a good one. “I think that guests might appreciate a choice.”
“Mayhap, but it seems odd to show people what we’re serving.”
I was about to respond when Tycho, who had become one of my most prized serving boys, piped up behind me. “Will Dominus be pleased?”
He waited with four other serving boys, ranging in age from eight to twelve. They were dressed in silver tunics with tiny feathered wings strapped to their backs. Their hair shone with silver flecks, a trick Passia had come up with—how she managed the effect, I hadn’t asked. The boys’ lips were reddened with the finest colors from Egypt, purchased that morning from the peddler who brought cosmetics to Aelia.
“Oh, yes, Dominus will be very pleased.” They were so charming, I was sure each of them would be lent out before the evening was finished. I tried not to think about that aspect of their duties. I kissed each of them on the head and bade them to go make their evening offerings to Vesta before the party started.
Not long after the serving boys returned from their prayers, I was helping Balsamea carefully plate the last of the hard-boiled mice—clove eyes, chive tails, and almond-slivered ears—when Rúan came to inform me more guests had arrived. “I served them honey water, but Dominus requested that we bring out the food,” he said.
“The plates are ready to go, as are the boys.” I waved to Tycho to bring his troupe over to start gathering serving trays.
Passia entered the kitchen, sweeping past Rúan and dragging Apicata with her. The girl held her new puppy, a thin gray creature, one of the smaller hound breeds. It held its tail between its legs as though it had just been whipped.
“Maybe you can talk some sense into her,” Passia said, her brow wrinkled with exasperation. I wanted to reach out and hug her worries away. Our little mistress had recently begun to assert her independence more frequently and Passia had often been frustrated. Apicata behaved as a perfect angel when Aelia was anywhere near, but as soon as she was sent back into Passia’s care, the girl turned into a baby Hydra. You never knew which head you were going to get when dealing with Apicata.
“What’s wrong now?” I knelt down to be on her level.
“I want to show Perseus to Father’s friends!”
“Apicata, I’m not sure a party would be the best place for Perseus. He might be frightened with so many people milling about.”
“He wasn’t afraid when we went to the market the other day.”
I stifled a deep sigh and tried another angle. “Have you asked your mother or father?”
She pushed her sandal along the tiles, moving a fallen piece of carrot around with her toe. “I can’t. They are already with their friends. That’s why I want to go show them!”
I pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked at me with wide hopeful eyes.
“How about we do this? Let’s go to the peristylium. Passia will escort you to your parents and I’ll stand by the door with Perseus. Ask your father what he thinks, and if he is happy to let your dog play with his guests, have him give me a thumbs-up. If he’s not, you give me a thumbs-down and I’ll take Perseus back to your room.”
Apicata didn’t look happy with the suggestion but she nodded. Looking over her shoulders, I saw her ball up her thumb between her fingers behind her back in the sign of the fig. I tried hard not to smile. Many young children used it as a lucky sign, not knowing the gesture had sexual implications. I put my hand on her shoulder, happy we were able to come to a compromise. Together we walked to the peristylium, the squirming puppy in my arms.
When we reached the wide-open doors, I saw many guests had arrived, far more than we had anticipated at such an early hour. The women in their silk stolae made a colorful contrast to the men in their white togas. They stood around, talking and sampling food from the trays the slave cherubs held in their young hands.
I waited at the door while Passia brought Apicata to the couch where her parents sat. My view was blocked by Passia, so I watched carefully to see who would give me the agreed-upon wave of the hand. Several moments passed as the conversation turned toward Apicata. I strained to hear but the nearby fountain burbled too much for me to make out any words.
Suddenly the sea of people parted. Passia moved to the side and I saw Apicata with her arms outstretched, waiting for me to release Perseus. Apicius gave me the thumbs-up and as I set down the hound and released it, I realized Apicata stood in front of a man in his midtwenties. His hands were on her shoulders, and his face was twisted into a conniving smile.
I thought my heart might stop.
The man holding Apicata was the same man we saw at the market that morning in Baiae five months ago. Then I understood, all the pieces coming together in a mad rush. The man had to be Sejanus.
He saw me and recognition flickered in his eyes. He gave me a two-fingered wave and smiled down on Apicata, who was ruffling her pup’s ears.
? ? ?
When I returned to the kitchen I could hardly focus. I left Rúan in charge of the next course and went to seek out Sotas in the shadows of the peristylium.