I smiled at Rúan, even though there was a deep sadness reverberating within me at the words I was expected to say. When I came to the Gavia household nine years ago I never thought I would be in such a position.
Rúan knelt. One knee slid a little on an errant parsnip peel when he kissed Apicius’s sandaled foot but he didn’t show any discomfort. “Thank you, Master Apicius. I will serve you well as coquus.”
Apicius put a hand on Rúan’s shoulder, gesturing him to stand. He looked out on the kitchen again, raising his voice in command. “Make no mistake. Thrasius will remain superior in this kitchen and in all my households. You will heed his words when in his presence.”
I leaned against the nearby table, hoping for an anchor to steady me. I loved that kitchen. Those people, huddled around stoves as hot as the fires of Vulcan, were my family. The thought of not seeing them every day saddened me more than I ever anticipated it would.
Apicius seemed infused with the light of the gods. I had seen him this happy only on a few occasions, usually at the height of a cena going particularly well.
My master waved an arm grandly as he spoke. “Tonight we will celebrate such a glorious day! All of us! Rúan, cook us a grand feast and the entire household will partake together this evening. Cook whatever you want. I’ll even let you open a barrel of Falernian wine for the slaves. What do you say?”
Rúan grinned, plainly excited at the prospect. Normally the staff was relegated to eating simple foods in the kitchen between the meals the Gavia family was served. What Apicius suggested was a pleasure usually reserved for Saturnalia.
“Yes, Dominus. With pleasure!”
Then Rúan noticed I was standing there in a daze. He gave me a light cuff on the shoulder. “You will be an excellent teacher. You have taught me well all these years. And all of them too.” He waved an arm at the servants. They cheered and clapped.
Balsamea came to me and threw her bony arms around me. “I am so proud of you, Thrasius,” she said in my ear.
The blood rose to my cheeks as the cheering in the kitchen grew to thunderous levels. Apicius often praised my work but my servants never did; they did their work, they seemed to respect me, and they never talked back. It had never occurred to me to consider how I affected the people I worked with every day. A curious mixture of happiness and sorrow blended within me. I was proud to have become more than a cook, but leaving the kitchen behind, even if not completely, would be difficult for me to do.
A few minutes later, I stood with Apicius and Sotas in front of the high-gated wall I had passed countless times on my way to market. It was the same gate from which the guards had always turned me away. Apicius posted the guards to watch the school after the second episode of graffiti. Someone (both Apicius and I suspected Publius Octavius was involved) had been marring the walls with profanity and images of fat, gluttonous men and women eating mountains of food or doing lewd things to one another. You couldn’t trust slaves for such a job so Apicius had been forced to hire a private guard. The first time I saw the monthly fee written in Apicius’s account books, I almost choked on my wine.
? ? ?
The door he led me to was no longer the drab wooden door I had passed by each week. Instead it was newly painted in red and bright yellow with the Latin words Apicius School of Cooking carved in careful letters. It was impressive.
“Well?” Apicius asked, his voice gleeful. I was reminded of Apicata after she had built houses of sand on the beach at the Baiae villa and was waiting for approval. Was Apicius looking to me for reassurance?
“I have not seen inside, Dominus.” I wasn’t sure what to say, or how to react. My stomach felt like the gods were playing marbles with my innards. I did not want to admit to my master how excited I felt about the school.
Apicius didn’t notice my discomfort. “Come!” He placed the key in the door. It swung inward to reveal a wide courtyard filled with a number of fountains and several mosaic platforms where dining couches could easily be erected. Garden slaves were hard at work tending to the pathways and watering the many plants. To one side a small amphitheater was nestled between two small stands of trees. At the opposite end of the courtyard, marble columns rose in front of a long reflecting pool. Apicius pointed at the door standing between the central columns.
“See that door?”
I nodded, still reeling from the idea that my dominus intended me to run the school. I suspected that not only would I be teaching but I would still be putting on elaborate cenae.
Apicius was still pointing at the door. “That, dear Thrasius, is the door to your future.” He strode off toward the building.
The gardens, extravagant as they were, were nothing compared to the interior of the new school.
The first thing I noticed was the floor, a mosaic of various gods eating foods from the histories. “The staircases go up to the classrooms and the slave living quarters.” Apicius gestured to steps on each side of the hallway. At the end of the hall, he swung open the door with a flourish and stood aside to let me pass. He told Sotas to wait there and stand guard.
“What do you think?”
When the next door opened, I took in the scene with hungry eyes. It was the largest kitchen I had ever seen. Or kitchens, for what lay before me was not one large kitchen but half a dozen stations, each complete with a hearth, a trough with flowing water, and a large cabinet for pots and pans. Additionally, each work space had a vent in the ceiling to filter the oven smoke upward. Slaves, none of whom I recognized, bustled about the kitchen or waited along the walls for commands. There were more slaves here than I had in my entire kitchen.
But it was the counters that made me gasp. They were made of high-grade porphyry that glistened with a red shine. Seeing the precious stone made me stop in my tracks. How much would the cooking classes have to cost in order to make a difference in paying for building the school? Would they be able to? I didn’t think they would.
“Well? Do you like what you see?” Apicius asked me again.
“Yes,” I said, but I was torn between glee and despair. What would happen if I could not make it viable? What sort of new trick had the gods played on me?
I walked to the first station and placed my hand flat upon the surface of the shiny stone.
“Look.” Apicius moved past me to a series of shelves on the wall. He pulled down a basket of knives, spoons, and other kitchen utensils. “And look over there.” He waved a hand at another row of shelves.
I still didn’t know what to say so instead I walked across the tiled floor to reach the shelves. Three slaves rushed to help me reach the higher shelves, upon which were dozens of sets of serving ware, silver platters, glasses, and plates.
Apicius let me look only briefly before ushering me toward a central door along the side of the kitchen. He opened it to reveal a massive banquet hall with a multitude of dining couches, some for seating as many as eighteen people.