“I don’t understand.”
He shook his head. “Not here,” he whispered. “Come.”
? ? ?
Once we were back in the kitchen, Rúan handed me a basket and told me that he wanted to show me where everything was located, then led me past the other slaves to a storage room adjacent to the kitchen. I was shocked at the display on the shelves, momentarily forgetting the bruise rising on my cheek. I gaped at the beautifully wrought glass goblets of all shades and sizes, stacks of dishes imported from many parts of the world, trays full of spoons with pointed handles, and sets of woven napkins. I had never seen so much wealth gathered in one place.
“Napkins and spoons?” In most houses a guest brought his own to dinner.
“Apicius spares no expense.”
“I see.” The throbbing had begun anew. “Why did Apicius’s mother hit me?”
Rúan curled up his lip in disgust. “Because she can. Expect her to abuse you regularly. You have the attention of Dominus and she will despise you for it. She hated the last cook too. I am certain she drove him to his death.”
I stopped myself from cursing aloud. Of all the people I had to worry about, it would have to be Apicius’s mother. It made me wonder again about what Apicius had said before he left me in the kitchen. “Dominus warned me not to eat anything I hadn’t prepared with my own hand. Do you know why?”
Rúan grimaced. He glanced toward the small barred window in the back of the room where the sea breeze occasionally gusted inward. “Probably because Dominus doesn’t want you to die.”
Goose bumps surfaced on my arms. “So that’s what happened to the other cook.”
“Aye. Most of us think Popilla had him killed. She hated Paetas. Stay away from her.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Two months ago, Dominus Apicius was visiting his villa in Minturnae and Domina Aelia was on the other side of Baiae taking care of a sick friend. With both of them gone, Popilla had dinner alone in her room. She complained about her soup and demanded Paetas try it and tell her what he thought. He tried the soup and agreed that it shouldn’t taste so.”
Rúan’s eyes darkened with the memory. “Paetas went back to the kitchen, dumped the soup, and sent a fresh bowl to Popilla, which she ate with no complaint. By the time she went to bed, Paetas was complaining of dizziness and that his heart was beating too fast. His face turned red and he started vomiting. Soon he was gasping for air, and before morning arrived, he was gone.” Rúan shuddered.
I wondered if any of the slaves felt loyalty toward Popilla. I endeavored to keep my face devoid of emotion in front of my new second-in-command. “Why would she have wanted to hurt Paetas, or me, for that matter?”
“Nothing she does makes any sense.”
“Did anyone accuse her of Paetas’s death?”
Rúan shook his head. “How could we? Fortunately, Domina Aelia had returned. She stayed with us through the night. We waited with Paetas until he died, promising him we would send his ashes to the sea. Balsamea thinks it was yew powder because it takes a while to work. Paetas didn’t feel ill until Popilla had long since retired and the soup had been thrown out, so we couldn’t test it on one of the chickens.
“Domina believed us but what could she do? Popilla is her husband’s mother. The only thing she could do to punish Popilla was to tell her that without the cook, the staff couldn’t be trusted to make anything besides barley soup. We served soup and apples until Apicius returned a month later.” He lowered his voice and looked toward the door to make sure no one would hear. “Popilla is so stupid she never realized Domina let us eat normal meals when Popilla took her bath or left the villa to eat with friends, which, after the first few days, was nearly every night. Popilla hates barley soup.”
“What does Apicius think of his mother?” I asked.
“He barely puts up with her. He avoids her when they are both at home. I once asked Sotas why Dominus doesn’t send her away. He told me Apicius had promised his father he would take care of her. When Gavius Rutilus died, he gave Apicius everything and Popilla nothing. I’ve heard it was well over one hundred million sestertii! I think that makes it clear what he thought of his crazy wife. Apicius would love to find her a husband. I hear her dowry is huge, so someone will probably take the old sow off his hands soon.”
The conversation was beginning to run long and I started to worry about the meal. I surveyed the glassware and cutlery before me. I took the basket from Rúan and motioned at the shelves.
“Those glasses that Pallas broke, did Apicius pick them out especially for tonight?”
Rúan shrugged. “I don’t know. They were delivered earlier today. They could have been a gift from a client, or Dominus could have had them ordered. If something new arrives we usually use it the same day.”
“Let’s hope they were a random gift.” In their place we put aside a set of glass cups colorfully painted with vivid pictures of powerful animals—bulls, cheetahs, and horses. If Apicius asked, I would explain the broken glasses, but in looking at the collection before me, I had a feeling he wouldn’t miss them.
We finished packing the basket. When we emerged, I found myself coughing as kitchen smoke filled my lungs. I had never been in a kitchen with so many ovens—three of them along one wall. Dozens of amphorae of oil and wine lined another wall, while shelves filled with bronze pots and baskets of vegetables took up space along the wall closest to the door.
I barely had time to set the basket down before Apicius burst into the kitchen, Sotas trailing behind. Apicius was already dressed for dinner in an off-white toga. His leather shoes were dyed red, another symbol of his patrician status. They set him apart from other rich, noble citizens, equestrians, who did not have the family ancestry that marked them as elite.
He didn’t notice me. “Thrasius!” he bellowed across the kitchen.
“Yes, Dominus?” I moved around the table past Balsamea. He fixed his gaze on me.
“I received word Publius Octavius will be joining us tonight. He will be critical of every aspect of this evening’s cena. Octavius is a man who believes his cook to be the best in the Empire. You will prove him wrong. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dominus.” I tried to keep the fear from my voice.
I opened my mouth to ask him more about Octavius but Sotas shook his head in warning. I took the hint—Apicius’s foul mood would only find fuel with my words.
“If you are successful, I will give everyone in your kitchen an extra holiday this month.”