A murmur of excitement reverberated among the slaves who had quieted to hear the conversation. Many masters did not afford their slaves holidays. Thankfully, the words of the mighty philosophers such as Cato the Elder touted the need to give hardworking slaves regular days off from work, swaying many slave owners who wanted to moderate unruly slaves.
“Thank you, Dominus, that is generous of you.”
Apicius glared at me. “Don’t thank me yet. If you fail, each of you will lose two holidays this month.”
The kitchen was silent, then erupted into a sudden clamor of knives beginning their chop, logs being thrown onto the fire, and the slaves rushing back to their tasks.
I spoke up, taking a chance at my master’s wrath. “Dominus, I too saw the birds fly this morning when you prayed to Fortuna. I believe they were a sign—”
“It had better be a good sign,” Apicius cut me off. “Remember, make no mistake this evening. You will not tarnish my reputation as a host.”
Sotas dipped his chin at me and followed after our Dominus.
“Coquus?” Vatia waved at me to come to her table. Rúan stood next to her. He ran a hand along her arm as he made to return to his own station, a casual but intimate gesture. I made a mental note; sometimes romance in the kitchen was a lucky thing but sometimes it only hindered work at hand.
“What is it?” I was irritated, assuming that she had been distracted. “You are only now rolling out the dough?” I bit my tongue so she could explain, reminding myself that anger would not be helpful under such circumstances, despite Apicius’s dire warning about Octavius’s expectations.
“My apologies, Coquus, but dough holds its shape better if given time to chill.” Her voice shook and she stared at me with wide brown eyes. I realized she could not be much older than Rúan.
“Chill?” I asked, wondering how anything could be cooled in the blistering summer heat, much less with the heat the ovens generated.
“Under the domus there is a snow chamber,” she said. “You will never want for cold in this kitchen. We had a shipment this morning.”
When I worked for Maximus, I’d ordered snow to be delivered only a handful of times. I couldn’t help but stare in amazement whenever I saw the hard-packed ice chunks, usually delivered in thick, straw-padded barrels buried under a wagon full of hay. The barrels, harvested from the hills of Mons Gaurus, west of Rome, each cost a small fortune.
Vatia was no longer looking at me; she was rolling a round of dough around one of the hams, which had been scored, smeared with honey, and stuffed with figs. Her method was precise and the dough formed perfectly around the meat in a way I had never been able to achieve before.
“I see what you mean about chilling the dough,” I said, amazed.
“This is what I wanted to show you.” She directed my gaze toward a few strangely cut pieces of dough in front of her.
“I don’t understand.”
“Watch.” She picked up the pieces and attached them to the pastry-wrapped ham, her thin fingers carefully sealing the pieces of dough to the ham by dipping them in water. In a few moments she sat back.
“It’s a pig!” I exclaimed, pleased with the ears and snout she had added to the ham.
“I hoped you would like it,” she said, her voice filling with pride. “I had the idea when you first told me what we were doing. I had a pig pictured in my mind and thought it might be pleasing to guests if I could re-create it.”
“Do you think they will bake without issue?” I asked, worried.
“They should. Also, I thought I would brush them with egg so they are shiny when they come out of the oven.”
“Please do.” I could not take my eyes off the little pig. It was brilliant and I wished I had thought of it. I patted her on the shoulder. “The gods are smiling on you! Show me the secret. I’ll help you finish.” I let her demonstrate how to cut the proper shapes out of the dough, thanking Fortuna for sending me someone like Vatia to make my first meal extraordinary. This attention to detail was what truly made my heart sing, and to find someone else who had such an eye felt like a relief amid the chaos.
? ? ?
When I surveyed Rúan’s work during the final meal preparations, I asked why Apicius hadn’t let him run the kitchen. He seemed to be both capable and willing to learn.
“I’m only sixteen. Plus, it wouldn’t be good luck for Dominus.” He smirked, shaking his head of wild red hair. I should have realized that Apicius would never let a barbarian run his kitchen.
I probed a little further. “Sotas told me that our Dominus wants to be gastronomic adviser to Caesar. Do you know why?”
“Aye. He wants fame. He wants the world to know who he is. The thing is, he has no talent for anything. He’d make a terrible senator, orator, or lawyer. He thinks too much of himself to go into the merchant trade. So he needs to tie his star to Caesar. The only thing he knows how to do well is eat and, to some extent, marry flavors together. That’s where you come in—your job is to make him famous.”
I thought back to my purchase. The slave trader had seemed to know that about my new master. “The boy will make you famous,” he had said. He had said a few other things as well, but it was that word—famous—that had caused Apicius to spend so much money on my purchase.
? ? ?
A little before sundown, an hour before the cena was to start, someone called my name. I looked up from the final preparations of the hams and found myself staring into the green eyes of a young woman with plain features who stood on the other side of the worktable. She wore a rich red silk tunica layered with a patterned red and yellow stola. Her chestnut-colored hair was piled high atop her head, leaving dozens of curls to frame her face. Around her neck rested a shiny golden necklace with inlaid garnets and pearls. The matron of the house.
I was covered in flour, with smears of wine and honey wiped haphazardly across my kitchen tunic. Embarrassed, I bobbed my head in greeting, keeping my eyes low.
“No, please do not look away. I’m Aelia,” she said. I looked up, surprised by her jovial tone. “I wanted to greet you personally. Marcus was in a mood today and I fear he may have been unduly harsh with you about his expectations for tonight’s meal. Normally he’s quite involved with dinner preparations but I thought it might be best to keep him out of your way on your first day with us.”