What was Fannia doing? I suspected that the wine had made her tongue loose.
Livia’s nostrils flared at Fannia’s suggestion. She turned her attention back to the drinkers. Her head lifted slightly as the men tipped their heads back to down the next glass of wine. She closed her eyes as though savoring the idea of the wine. Her voice was soft, but clear. “Fannia, you are a stupid cow. Pluto will visit Apicius in the Underworld before your friend ever steps foot in Augustus’s home as an adviser. Why you think I would help anyone connected to you is beyond me.”
Fannia did not have time to reply. Livia called to Livilla and strode off before the new bride could even say her good-byes to Aelia.
When she was gone, Fannia warned me and Sotas, “Tell Apicius nothing of this. Swear to me. Swear by the gods!” We swore.
“Good. Good.” Fannia turned her attention to the game but her brow was wrinkled deep with worry.
I glanced at Sotas, hoping for some word or look of comfort to combat the churning in my stomach, but his face was a mask of stone as he stared ahead, eyes on his master.
On the drinking couches, the twenty patricians were readying themselves for glass number three. I was sure that Apicius could keep up for at least eight or nine glasses, but I didn’t know how he would manage the last few. We watched as the Magister of Revels cut the wine with water and the slaves once more went to fill the glasses. At first I worried Livia might try to poison him, but when I saw the wine was directly from the lot of unopened amphorae along the garden wall, I relaxed.
The poet Ovid appeared beside Fannia, leaning over to kiss her cheek in greeting.
“What a delight to see you here!” She beamed.
Aelia held out her hand in greeting and blushed to her toes when he kissed her cheek in welcome.
“Why aren’t you participating?” Fannia asked.
“I’d never make it through the fourth drink!” He tipped his wineglass toward us in a mock toast.
As I suspected, glasses three through five were no problem for Apicius to drink down in one long slow draft, as was required by the rules of the game. Other rules included no burping, no falling off the bench, no declining a drink. None of the participants wanted to be disgraced in front of Caesar. At glass five, one of the city’s more prominent lawyers—and one who had begun drinking long before the party started—fell off his bench. The crowd laughed heartily. Caesar didn’t smile. A wave of his hand brought two burly men over to pick up the drunkard and carry him unceremoniously out of the garden, his worried wife in tow.
Everything went sour after that. Octavius stood with the Imperial couple, talking with Livia while Caesar was occupied with Tiberius and other patricians. Octavius and Livia held their eyes on Apicius. Then Livia said something to her body-slave, who dutifully trotted over to the slaves serving the wine. Subsequently, on the sixth glass I could see that they had stopped watering down Apicius’s glass. And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Apicius tipped the glass, and as the drink touched his lips he almost sputtered, but he caught himself before he breached etiquette. As he realized the wine was undiluted, I could almost hear his internal dialogue of worry.
I stepped forward to let Aelia and Fannia know. Aelia let out a small cry that Fannia stopped with a tight grip on her arm.
I knew my master struggled on the bench. Apicius could barely keep the alarm from showing on his face when the seventh goblet arrived and he discovered it too was undiluted. He stared at Aelia, to give him focus, I suspected. Why on the Seven Hills hadn’t anyone else noticed?
My master hesitated at the eighth glass, likely unsure of how he was going to keep the thick spiced wine in his stomach. He drank it as slowly as he could manage without breaking the rules. Drusus leaned over to him, and they had a short conversation that culminated in Apicius nodding his head vigorously. Whatever was said, it appeared to give my dominus resolve. But when Apicius passed the glass to the servant, he almost moved forward too much—at this point the slaves had been instructed to stand farther away as a challenge for the drunken men, to see who might fall off the bench. Apicius wavered at the edge, and then finally held the glass to the slave.
“We’ve got to get him out of here,” Aelia said to Fannia. “I fear what Marcus might do if he humiliates himself in front of Caesar. It would ruin all his plans.”
Fannia lifted the fan in front of her lips. “Agreed. It won’t be long before he won’t be able to walk out on his own two feet. You’re going to have to play sick. Stagger forward a bit and faint. I’ll do the rest. Try to fall convincingly and don’t move, don’t blink, until I nudge you. Can you do that?”
“I’ll try.” She looked at her husband. Apicius was starting to turn a bright shade of pink. His wreath hung crookedly on his head and the look in his eyes was imploring. Drusus was sitting closer to him, seemingly bolstering him. I thought I saw him jostle Apicius a few times in such a manner that would keep my master from falling from the bench. Perhaps he realized that Apicius’s wine was undiluted as well?
“Sotas, Thrasius, attempt to help but let us manage the situation until it is clear you need to step in.”
“Yes, Domina,” we said in response.
“Ovid, dear heart,” Fannia said in a low tone. “I’m going to need your help. I’ll take care of Aelia, you take care of Apicius. Help him when the time is right. I’ll explain later. And I promise you, it will be worth your while.” She trailed one finger along his bare arm. The poet nodded and smiled without question.
“Now.” Fannia nudged Aelia as a slave placed the ninth glass in Apicius’s hands.
Aelia stumbled toward the long line of patricians on the bench, clutching the fabric of her stola as though her chest hurt. After she’d taken a few steps and a hush fell over the crowd, she “tripped” and with a cry pitched forward. Fannia and Apicius called her name as she fell. Her body landed on the soft grass, her eyes closed and a blank look upon her face. Sotas and I tried to reach her as did many others in the crowd. Fannia reached her first but it was Livilla’s voice that rose above the others, shouting for her slaves to attend Aelia.