? ? ?
Apicata took her father’s explanation to heart, shoring up her emotions and recovering from her self-imposed illness in less than a week. She emerged from her chambers much changed. Gone was the happy girl who’d made the house sparkle with laughter. In her place was a quieter girl who did as she was asked.
When she was well, Passia took Apicata to the temple of Juno, where they stayed for two days of ritual cleansing and special preparations for her marriage. Aelia bade them to bring five white sows as sacrifice—an exorbitant offering. As the ceremony was for women only, Passia would not tell me what went on in the temple, and as it was not a common rite, there was no general knowledge among the slaves that I could draw upon. But when Apicata returned she was truly a new woman. There was no sparkle in her eyes but the sadness was gone. She was cold, efficient, and polite, the perfect model for how a Roman matron should behave.
“It is as though she were lost to us,” I said to Passia the evening they returned. “The fire in her is gone.”
Passia was matter-of-fact. “She is lost to us. Sejanus will probably be the death of her.”
“You don’t know that.” But as I said the words, I knew that she was right.
She took a sip of wine. “I do. Somehow, she is marked. But do not worry.” Passia reached across the table and stroked my hand. “The goddess will protect her soul in life or in death.”
I wished I felt assured.
? ? ?
The wedding took place in June, the most auspicious time of year for marriages. We gathered first in Apicius’s villa for the beginning of the ritual that would proceed to Sejanus’s house and Apicata’s new home.
Early that morning, before the guests arrived, I asked Passia if I could be the one to bring Apicata breakfast. Apicata was pleased to see me. I put the breakfast tray down on the side table.
She took my hands in hers. “I am glad to see you this morning.”
She sounded like her mother. Elegant. Adult. “I wanted to tell you how much I am going to miss you.” I had such love for Apicata—she was the daughter I didn’t have.
“It will be hard to leave you and Passia. You taught me there is love and laughter in this world. And good food!” She squeezed my hands and a broad grin lit up her face in a way I had not seen in months. “Oh, Thrasius, I shall miss your radish flowers and the mice you made for me out of eggs! Promise me that when I visit, you will make them for me.”
I laughed. Out of all the things I had made for her to eat over the years it was the finishing touches she loved best. It made my heart sing. “I promise, little bird.”
A cloud darkened her eyes and the smile slid away. “I want to tell you how much I appreciated what you tried to do for me and Casca. I will always remember that kindness.”
My mouth went dry. I had no adequate words.
“Oh, I have something for you.” She went to one of the chests along the wall that were packed with her belongings. When she returned she held the wind-up bird that Prokopton had given her in the market on the fateful day we met Sejanus. “It will be freer with you.” She gave me the toy and hugged me tight.
? ? ?
The wedding activities commenced in late morning. Passia and Aelia assisted Apicata in her mother’s chambers, waiting for the signal from the slaves that Sejanus was ready to take her as his bride. I stood in the gardens with the hateful groom, Apicius, family members, clients, and assorted invited guests. The sun was well on its pass upward through the sky. Slaves wandered through the crowds with glasses of honey wine and pastries to help tide people over until the wedding breakfast, which would take place after the ceremony.
One of the door slaves called out from his place. The augur had come to determine if the wedding would be propitious. I said a silent prayer to Jupiter that a flock of dark ravens would come to roost on the roof overlooking the garden. Surely that would be a sign worthy enough to call off the union! But I had no faith, and my worry overcame my hope.
The augur strode across the courtyard, and after speaking briefly to Apicius and Sejanus, he took his curled wand and drew the quadrants in the sky; a bright, cloudless patch over the Forum. Then we waited. And waited. The longer we waited, the more elated I became. I was filled with hope at the thought that the birds might fail to fly at all. It meant, at minimum, that the wedding would be on hold till more auspicious times.
I looked over at Sejanus. His toga was bright in the sunlight, his red Praetorian tunic underneath edged with gold trim for the occasion. He stood next to his father, Aelius Gallus, and Gallus’s brother and Aelia’s father, Lucius Aelius Lamia. The two older men seemed anxious about the lack of birds. Sejanus, however, exhibited none of the worry that the rest of the wedding party did. He gazed calmly over the garden walls where the augur had marked the right quadrant. As I watched, the slight smile on his lips transformed into a broad grin.
“There.” He pointed. My eyes—and the eyes of the crowd—followed the gesture. To my dismay, a flock of white doves exploded into the sky from a point on the ground. There were at least two dozen of the unusual birds. Never had I seen so many white doves together. It stank of fraud, of purpose.
“Highly auspicious!” The augur’s proclamation rang out over the garden. “White, the color of purity, bravery, and goodness. They fly upward from the lower right quadrant to the skies where Sol will warm them with his rays, shining down his power upon them as he will with Sejanus and Apicata. Their numbers signify many children. Good fortune indeed!”
The crowd cheered. Men clapped Sejanus on the back and women lined up to kiss his cheek for luck. They stopped paying attention to the doves. Even the augur had trained his attention to the platters of hot fritters being delivered from the kitchen.
I was the only one still staring at the sky when the owl, defying the light of day, cut through the lower part of the sky, over the villa rooftops, chasing a sparrow behind the flock of doves and snatching it up between its claws.
I thought my heart would stop.
? ? ?
Apicata had the cold beauty of a freshly carved statue when she entered the garden. She wore her dark hair braided in the traditional six locks, woven with golden fillets and fastened on the top of her head with the traditional iron spearhead. I thought about the irony of that spearhead—it was meant to symbolize the first women of Rome, the Sabine brides, taken by force to the city. And now Apicata herself was being taken by force.