Sotas fingered the blue silk rope of his tunica, an expensive accessory that in recent years Apicius began insisting his house slaves wear. “Perhaps, but that seems too simple. Sejanus is cunning. I think he would play with Apicius’s desires first. He doesn’t need to be forceful. I bet Sejanus is dangling some opportunity with Caesar in front of his nose.”
I was skeptical. “But Publius Octavius is there. There is no opportunity for Apicius to do anything at Caesar’s villa.”
“Maybe it’s not here on the Palatine?” Sotas conjectured. “Maybe he wants him to entertain foreign dignitaries? But maybe not.”
It didn’t make sense to me either. “Besides, Sejanus has returned from the war in Germania. He’s been prefect for six months. What kind of pull can he have? Everyone knows he’s Tiberius’s man, not Augustus’s.”
“Maybe he promised Apicius that he would push Publius Octavius out when Tiberius comes into power?” Sotas suggested.
“I think—” I started to say, but was interrupted by a movement in the trees to my left. As I turned my head to look, the owl swooped down and landed in the dirt a few feet from where we sat. It regarded us for a second, blinked, then lifted its wings and took off into the darkness.
“By the gods,” Sotas breathed.
We sat in silence, unnerved, until Passia emerged from the kitchen, her light shawl blowing in the evening breeze. She was beautiful, her body silhouetted by the light from the door.
“Come, sit, my love.” She came to sit beside me and I put my arm around her.
“I asked Tycho to bring us some of your wine,” she said. I had several amphorae in the cellars that Apicius had declared mine.
“Good thinking,” Sotas said, clapping a hand down on the bench beside him. “We are men in desperate need of wine.”
She reached around to caress the small of my back as she often did when we sat together.
I let out a deep breath. “Tomorrow Apicata will learn that she is not marrying Casca.”
She pulled away to look at me better. “What do you mean? I thought it was all arranged! And Piso was here tonight!”
The clink of glasses marked Tycho’s arrival. We sat in silence as he doled the wine out, not watered down, I noted. He left the jug on the table between us. As soon as he was gone Passia began her questions anew. I rubbed her shoulder with my free hand, feeling her tension.
“Who is she marrying, if not Casca? Dolabella? That old man Narses?”
“You will not like the answer,” Sotas said.
“The only answer I will like is Casca. If not the son of Piso, who?” I saw the realization dawn across her lovely face. “Oh, please, tell me no . . .”
“We should have killed him.” The words tumbled from my mouth.
“Hush!” Passia clapped her hand against my lips. “Do not say those words where others might hear!”
I pulled away and took another drink. Sotas did too.
Passia stood up and started to pace in front of us. “When is Apicius telling her? Tomorrow?”
“Ha!” Sotas guffawed. “You think he has the guts to tell her himself?”
She stopped her pacing and considered me. “Oh, no, Thrasius. He didn’t?”
“He did.” The words were bitter on my tongue.
She came back to me and put her arms around me. “We’ll tell her together.”
It didn’t make me feel better.
? ? ?
Telling Apicata was even worse than I’d imagined. I gave her the news in the breakfast triclinium, where, ironically, Apicius had, two days before, told Casca he could marry his daughter.
“Your father asked me to talk to you,” I said, choosing to remain standing, despite her invitation to sit. Passia took a spot on the couch next to Apicata.
She turned her gaze on me, waiting for me to speak.
“It’s about your marriage.”
“Is something wrong with Casca?” she asked, worry crossing her face as she put aside the scroll she was reading.
Passia patted her knee. “No, everything is fine with Casca.”
I decided to just spit it out. “You aren’t marrying Casca. Your father has arranged for you to marry Lucius Aelius Sejanus.”
I had scarcely got the words out of my mouth when she dropped to the floor and began wailing as though someone had died. After a few minutes of trying to console her she sprang up from where she lay pooled in the silks of her robe and ran to Aelia’s rooms. Passia and I followed.
Aelia was finishing up her morning repertoire. Helene waited by the door and two slaves stood next to where Aelia sat on a plush red-cushioned chair, putting the final touches on her hair and makeup, pinning the curls of a blond wig to best frame her face. They stepped back as Apicata entered, crying. She rushed across the room, fell at her mother’s feet, and clasped her around the legs. Aelia dismissed her dressing slaves, then pulled Apicata off the ground. Apicata began her complaints about marrying Sejanus anew, tears staining the front of her tunica.
“He’s a lecher, a filthy man! He hates us. He hurt you, Mother! He hurt you! Please don’t make me marry him. He will ruin everything,” she wailed. “I hate him! I wish he would die!”
Aelia put on the mask of a true Roman matron, her face as cold as a barrel of snow, and slapped her daughter hard. Apicata raised her hand to her tear-stained cheek, now reddened with Aelia’s handprint. In all my time in the Gavia household I had never seen Aelia slap her daughter for anything.
“Casca has nothing but his family name. Sejanus has the power and the favor of Caesar. That means he can destroy us all with a single word. Now pull yourself together and say a prayer to Cupid to rip that arrow from your breast. You have to harden your heart, lock away all your tears, and be the perfect Roman wife. It is your duty.”
Apicata was stunned into silence. Her mouth was still open in a little o and while she continued to cry she said nothing. She left, dragging Passia with her by the hand. I was shocked at Aelia’s response.
I started to follow but Aelia’s voice stopped me. “Wait.”
Her eyes were wet. I felt better seeing the emotion on her face—to be so harsh to her daughter was out of character.
“Did Apicius ask you to tell her?” she asked me.
“Yes, my lady, he did.”
“Ah.” She fell into the chair next to her, as if exhausted. A long curl came undone from her wig and fell across her shoulder.
“It should have been me,” she murmured.
“I believe it was my punishment,” I said, wishing as I did that I could shove the words back into my mouth.
Her eyes were wet with the glisten of tears. “What do you mean?”
“I told Apicius I didn’t agree with his decision.”
Aelia wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I see.”
“I cannot imagine her married to that monster. I truly wished that Apicata might marry for love,” I said.
She stood and came over to me and put one hand on my cheek. Her eyes were full of sadness. “Oh, my dear Thrasius, only slaves and plebs are lucky enough to marry for love.” She dropped her hand and turned away.
As I left the chamber, I heard a sob escape Aelia’s lips. I could not bear to look back so I kept walking.
CHAPTER 19