There was something he wasn’t telling me. “How so?”
He slowed his pace and paused as if trying to formulate what he wanted to say. “Augustus is old. When he dies, I want to be aligned with the right person who will show me favor. Someone who will help me rise to favor with Tiberius.”
I leaned against the frescoed wall, the weight of his words driving into me. Did he really think Sejanus would have the ability to change the influence Publius Octavius had within Caesar’s kitchen? More so, did he actually trust Sejanus to help him?
“That’s only part of it. This is about the evidence that Sejanus has against you, isn’t it?” I asked, daring to be bold.
Apicius stared at me.
“You’ve spoken about it in front of me before. I put the pieces together,” I said, not wanting to implicate Sotas.
“If you know, you understand that I have no choice in this matter. To deny him would be to kill us all. And that might even mean you.”
I had not considered that possibility. I thought of Passia and my blood ran cold.
“Understood. But how will you tell Apicata she’s not going to marry her love, but instead will be marrying someone she hates? It could destroy what love she has for you. If you give Apicata to Sejanus, you’ll be handing her over to a monster. Worst of all, you are going to break her heart.” Even though I tried to be gentle, it came out cruel.
Apicius’s eyes narrowed and his cheeks reddened.
He growled at me. “No, you will be the one to break her heart. You will tell her she is to marry Sejanus in June when he returns from accompanying Caesar to Greece.”
I could not tell how much of this was true fear about the murder or desire to become gastronomic adviser to Caesar. I imagined that inside his mind Apicius warred with both of those ideas. I kept my face passive. “It doesn’t change anything. She’ll know who is taking Casca from her.”
Before Apicius could respond, Sotas poked his head around the corner of the hallway and indicated we should return. Apicius gave me one last withering look, then stomped away toward the dining room.
Piso and Lucasta stood together next to the triclinium couch. Lucasta’s eyes were red but her cheeks were dry. Piso held an arm around her shoulders.
Apicius approached them with open arms. I hung back by the door with Sotas. Anger roiled my stomach.
“Come now, tell me what you are thinking. It pains me that I have hurt you.” Apicius placed a hand on their shoulders.
Piso nodded. “I accept your offer, Apicius. We appreciate your generosity. Most men would not bring honor to a broken promise and you have our thanks.” He let go of his wife and shook hands with Apicius.
“Good, good. I am glad to hear we have made amends. We still have two more courses, my friends! Please tell me you will stay and it will not go to waste.”
Piso turned to his wife. After a moment Lucasta said, “We’ll stay.”
“Excellent!” Apicius led them back toward the couch, then glared at me. “Thrasius has other matters to attend to so he will say his good-byes now.”
I came forward to kiss them on each cheek, both angry and grateful for the dismissal. On the way out Apicius called to me in the same tone he would his lowest slave.
“Fetch the kitchen boys for the next course, Thrasius. And make sure nothing is cold.”
I didn’t reply. Nor did I intend to honor his command. I eyed Sotas as I left. He understood me.
? ? ?
I wandered through the gardens for a time, needing to be alone with my thoughts. Passia was likely with Apicata so I dared not go find her. I couldn’t bear facing our little bird. Oh gods, how was I to share such horrific news? In the corner of the garden I fell to my knees before a gilded statue of Mars and prayed to the god for strength and for some sign he would wreak revenge on Sejanus.
The grass was cold around my legs. The moonlight filtered through the umbrella pines and made the stones of the garden paths shine. It was silent, eerily silent, with only the brief sounds of a clanking pot from the kitchen in the distance beyond the garden. I gazed up at Mars and thought I saw his painted eyes blink. I heard and felt the whoosh of wings near my head as a giant owl swooped by me and came to land on Mars’s outstretched sword.
I was empty, devoid of all thought but the glorious, menacing owl. Then dread filled my chest, pressing on my ribs and that space between my heart and my breast.
It was a sign, a dire sign. I knew not what it meant. An owl signified disaster, far-reaching disaster. And it was perched on the sword! Would blood be shed?
I fled the garden, terrified of those golden eyes burning into me.
Sotas was waiting for me in the kitchen when I returned, breathing hard from my run across the garden. He was talking with Timon and eating the remains of his dinner.
He dropped his chicken leg on the terra-cotta plate as I approached. “What’s wrong? You look like you have seen a spirit!”
Still catching my breath, I gestured to him that we should speak outside, away from the prying ears and eyes of the other slaves. Timon, who was always understanding, tossed Sotas an apple and the big man followed me back out into the garden.
We didn’t go far. I was too nervous that the owl would be waiting for me, swooping overhead in the night. Instead we sat on benches near the kitchen where the staff often rested when the ovens were too hot.
“All right, Thrasius, tell me what spooked you,” Sotas pressed me. I told him, although it seemed silly that I’d reacted as I had, with such fear. Sotas wouldn’t have run; he probably would have shrugged his shoulders and walked off.
But Sotas did not belittle my response. “A serpent crossed my path yesterday when we were at the Forum. I felt the same as you, full of foreboding.”
“Tell me what Sejanus said to Apicius.” I was desperate to know what was promised in exchange for Apicata’s hand in marriage.
Sotas shook his head. “I know not. Against my recommendation, Apicius barred the door and bade me wait outside.”
I was horrified. “What? You left them alone? Sejanus could have murdered him!”
“I tried to convey my concern but he made it clear that if I didn’t obey immediately there would be consequences. I tried to listen at the doors but you know how thick they are.” Sotas took a bite of his apple, spat it out, and tossed it far across the garden. I hoped it hit the owl.
I cursed. It was I who had suggested the heavy doors, to prevent slaves from stealing our recipes when we worked on the cookbook.
“He forced his hand. It’s the only reason that Apicius would turn Casca aside.”