Apicius placed a hand on my shoulder and led me into the building, Fannia and Sotas following behind. Both Apicius and Fannia kept looking over their shoulders, as if anxious that we were being followed.
The interior of the Curia Julia was both austere and beautiful. Dim winter sunlight slid into the room through large windows high up on the building’s walls. Torches lining the perimeter gave the room further light, flickering off the shiny purple and yellow marble floor and its intricate design of cornucopias and rosettes. At the end of the hall was an altar adorned by a large marble statue of Victoria, goddess of victory, who stood atop a globe. One long arm and delicate hand extended a carved wreath. In front of the altar was a table behind which a magistrate held court. The benches in front of the balding judge were full of people clapping their hands—for what reason I could not discern.
Apicius hurried to the front of the benches. To my surprise, Trio, Celera, and one of their patrician friends, who was familiar to me, already waited there. Fannia and Sotas hurried away to sit next to them, leaving me to stand, confused, with Apicius.
The magistrate’s assistant, the lictor, a strapping young man with unusual sea-blue eyes, came forth and whispered in Apicius’s ear. Apicius’s response was hushed. He withdrew a large money pouch from the folds of his toga and handed it to the man, a bribe to move us to the front of the line. He bade us follow him to our seats near the front of the room. The lictor walked to the table and leaned over and spoke briefly to the magistrate. The magistrate rubbed his bald head with a gnarled hand as he listened.
The crowd in the room was unusual, a mixture of patricians, equestrians, and numerous slaves occupying the benches. Suddenly it dawned on me why we were there. My heart began to pound so loudly I thought Apicius might hear it. I had dreamed of this day my entire life, but never did I expect it to unfold the way it did.
The magistrate beckoned us toward the table. When we reached him, the judge picked up a long smooth stick, the festuca, and handed it to his lictor. My suspicion was confirmed. My knees went weak.
The magistrate indicated that I should face Apicius. I turned toward him, praying to Libertas that my legs would not give out from under me.
The lictor moved into position behind me.
He laid the festuca on my head, pressing the heavy stick against my hair and speaking loud enough for all to hear. “I declare this slave a free man of Rome—vindicatio in libertatem—a citizen who is free to earn a living, own property and slaves, and take a wife under the full spirit of the law of our Caesar, Augustus. What say you, patrician?”
Apicius hesitated. Conflict played across his face. The silence was unbearable.
When he finally spoke, his voice held none of the worry I’d heard in the litter. “I, Marcus Gavius Apicius, declare my slave, Thrasius, vindicatio in libertatem. I also give him his peculium, which he has earned through years of service in my household. It is my desire that he continues to work for me, under salary, within my accommodations, as a loyal freedman.”
He spun me around and said the words that gave my freedom finality: “Hunc hominem liberum volo.” To complete the ritual, he pushed me gently away from him and toward my freedom.
I stepped forward a pace. The magistrate’s voice rang across the Curia. “I declare this man, Marcus Gavius Thrasius, to be registered in the census as a free citizen of Rome.” My skin tingled with the words. I was free! I could now earn my own money, travel, vote, and do nearly anything I wanted. I had never known such wonder to fill my heart.
The lictor tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around. He pointed at the plaque around my neck. “You won’t need that anymore.”
I pulled it off my head and stared at it, hardly believing I would never have to wear the nameplate again. In all my years, save sleep or the bath, it had rarely left my person. The lictor handed me my new pileus, the soft, felted gray, conical cap signifying my status as a free man. I stared at it in wonder.
“Put it on!” Fannia urged from her spot on the bench.
I did. And then I understood why all the people were clapping when we’d come in. This time, the clapping was for me.
? ? ?
It was over before I had any chance to process what had happened. We signed all the paperwork; Trio, Celera, and a friend of theirs had come as witnesses. Apicius paid the court my peculium, thus buying my freedom. Then he whisked Sotas, Fannia, and me into the litter and we hastened toward the villa.
“Thank you, Dominus,” I said as soon as we were settled into the pillows. I was overwhelmed and not sure what else to say.
My former master smiled at me. “You’ll have to break that habit, Thrasius. Call me Apicius!”
Fannia cackled at my discomfort. “What a wonderful Saturnalia present, right, Thrasius?”
“I am honored. It was unexpected . . . Apicius.”
Apicius seemed pensive. “I had always planned to give you your freedom, Thrasius, but I have to admit, not like this.”
Fannia patted my knee twice. “You must know that Apicius is being selfish. Livia can’t buy you if you’re a free man!” Her words were teasing but the truth within them left both Apicius and me feeling awkward. Apicius averted his eyes from mine.
I realized I had the upper hand but I found I had no desire to press it. “I would like to continue working for you, but . . .”
“Of course, of course, I’ll pay you four hundred denarii a month. You’ll also have your apartments at the school, and I’m sure there is a country cottage in my holdings somewhere that would suit you as well.” He gesticulated wildly with his hands while he spoke.
I tried to keep my face impassive. As always, what he suggested was far beyond what was necessary. The salary alone amounted to what Caesar paid his Praetorian guards! I felt guilty accepting such a figure—I knew better than anyone how much he spent versus how much he brought in. But I also delighted in the thought of having so much money. Money I could perhaps contribute to Passia’s peculium.
“Thank you. That is very kind—”
He broke in again, desperation in his tone. “And a monthly amphora of Falernian wine.”
Fannia winked at me. Surely she must have known how outrageous his offer was. “What about his first toga?”
Apicius clapped his hands. “Yes! Your first toga, Thrasius! I will buy you a fine one indeed! Perfect. It’s settled!”
The first night of Saturnalia—and my freedom—was one of the most memorable nights of my time in the Gavia household. Ironically, since I was free, it meant I had to help Apicius, Aelia, and Apicata serve the dishes during the Saturnalia feast. Passia delighted in this new development.
“Slave, my hands are sticky. Come, wash them. Bring the perfumed water.” Passia waved at me with a finger slick with honey. She was radiant, lying on the couch next to Helene. Both were dressed in new stolae that Aelia had gifted them for the holiday.