I gaped. “This rivals anything Caesar could imagine!”
“Shhh, you might insult Publius Octavius!” Apicius chuckled.
“I don’t know what to say, Dominus. It is truly magnificent.” I ran my fingers along the door frame. The plaster was intricately shaped with small birds carrying grapes and berries in their beaks.
“Say nothing. Instead, start planning for your first class.” Apicius motioned for the slaves to close the banquet door. He turned to leave.
I started after him. “Dominus, when will the first class be? How will people know? What should I charge?” The words came out in a rush.
All trace of amusement was gone from his eyes. “Next week. We will tell our clients first and they will help us build a following. You will charge each student ten denarii for four classes a week.”
“Ten denarii?” I stammered, unable to believe the paltry cost Apicius was asking. “Dominus, I mean no disrespect, but how can we recoup the building costs if we don’t charge higher fees?”
“That is of no consequence,” Apicius muttered. “What we want, Thrasius, is students, as many students as possible. I want households all over Rome cooking my food.” His pace quickened and I had to jog to keep up with him. Apicius stopped when he reached the door to the front gardens, where Sotas waited.
“You’ll find a furnished apartment on the second floor if you should choose to stay here some nights.” He nodded at Sotas, who pulled a thick bronze ring with a short extruding key off his finger and handed it to me.
“I still want you to advise me on affairs at the domus, however,” Apicius continued. “I expect to see you every morning and for you to be there on days when you do not have classes. Come to me in two days with your plan for the school and together we will inform my clients.”
I couldn’t speak. The smile returned to his face and Apicius clapped me on the back. “Familiarize yourself with the school now but I expect to see you at the domus for tonight’s celebration. This is a glorious day, Thrasius! The gods are smiling on me!”
“Yes, Dominus. Thank you. I will be there.” I hoped I sounded sincere. Sotas smirked at me. He knew my mind. I slipped the key ring onto my ring finger but it was too big. I tried my thumb and it fit, but barely. I would have to find a cord to wear it around my neck or with which to tie it to my belt.
“Good! I will see you tonight.” Apicius waved to Sotas and turned to leave.
I watched the door slaves close the doors after my master left. I put my hands down on the gorgeous, cool red counter. I wanted to laugh nearly as much as I wanted to cry. Running a kitchen was one thing, but, oh dear gods, a cooking school? The students, the lesson planning, the ordering of ingredients, the promotion of the school to the world. The amount of work ahead of me was more than I wanted to think about.
? ? ?
The school was initially successful. I decided I would start with a series of classes on sauces, on preparing fowl, and on planning and organizing small cenae. They filled instantly. Apicius’s clients were desperate to have their slaves learn how to serve such incredible food. We turned many hopefuls away at the door the first month. I had several stops and starts, but after the first week I started to settle into a comfortable pace.
We also decided to hold a few large banquets to help teach students how to run them successfully. Initially, I tried to staff these events using only students from the cooking school, but it took only one disastrous banquet for that to change.
It was the third feast we hosted at the school. The first two banquets were well attended by many of Rome’s most prominent families, despite caveats that the cenae were for teaching purposes and ensuring quality and service would be near impossible, especially on the level some of the attendees were accustomed to.
On that night, Herod Agrippa, the future king of the Jews, and a friend to Tiberius’s son, Drusus, was in attendance. I had not been informed that he would be a guest, and the majority of the food that was served he couldn’t eat.
Tycho brought the first dish back to me, a platter of pork meatballs. “Herod Agrippa can’t eat this, Coquus.” One of the other boys appeared behind him with a bowl of pork stew.
“Or this,” he added, setting the bowl down with the other dirty dishes.
“What can he eat?” Tycho asked me. Over the last few years, he had gone from being a simple serving boy to my trusted attendant. At seventeen, he was no longer the cherub who used to flit about Apicius’s courtyard. Now he had a scruff of beard and dark curls framing his golden face.
I thought about the menu. “He should be able to have the Numidian chicken. And maybe the beets. Make sure they are brought out to him right away.”
A short time later, one of the serving girls came running into the kitchen, tears streaming down her face.
“What is wrong, girl?” I asked after she had collapsed onto a stool in the corner of the kitchen, cradling her face in her hands. She sobbed, choking on her words. “I spilled wine on Prince Herod.” Blood ran from a split lip, hindering her speech even further. “Drusus was angry and hit me.”
I swore. I left the girl there and rushed out to the triclinium with a fresh carafe of wine and a clean towel.
I bowed when I drew near. “Prince Herod, I heard what happened. I have brought you a towel and fresh wine.”
The prince smiled at me, his dark eyes shining. “Thank you,” he said, taking the towel. I poured the wine, careful not to spill a drop. He had the smallest circle of wetness on his sleeve.
“Are you the coquus?” Drusus asked me.
I bowed. “I am.”
“Your cenae are renowned through Italy. What went wrong tonight? I have been humiliated in front of my friend.” His voice held a dark warning in its tone. Drusus was long rumored to have a terrible temper.
“I give you my deepest apologies. This is a school, Dominus. Many of our students are still learning how to serve with the finesse that someone of your illustrious stature deserves.” I prayed to Pax that my flattery would keep him calm.
Herod put a hand on Drusus’s arm to still him. “Now I understand, my friend. We should be patient with these slaves. They will learn from their mistakes if we school them on how to improve.”
Color had risen to Drusus’s cheeks. He was furious. I spoke before he could.
“Thank you for the kindness. I am having some chicken sent out to the table in a few minutes.”
Herod nodded his approval, then abruptly changed the topic of conversation with Drusus, asking him about one of our Roman customs. I backed away from the table. When I reached the kitchen, I saw that the Numidian chicken was ready to be delivered.