Apicata’s flammeum, the traditional flame-colored veil, which matched her shoes, fell over her hair and down her shoulders. Her lips were stained red and dark kohl lined her eyes in the Egyptian style popular with Roman women. Her white flannel gown was held in place by a golden girdle, knotted at the waist. Later Sejanus would untie that knot.
Aelia led her daughter across the grass to where Sejanus stood near the central pool, surrounded by all the wedding guests. Apicata carried a basket that held her childhood toys and the carefully folded gown of her girlhood. Apicius stepped forward to greet his daughter.
Apicata handed him the basket, her face devoid of emotion. “Father, I give you the toys and clothes of my youth. I need them no longer as I become a woman today.”
Apicius accepted the basket. Unlike his daughter, sadness reflected in his eyes. “I hold your childhood treasures in my hands and commit them to memory. May Juno bless you as you walk forward into womanhood.”
Aelia guided her daughter to Sejanus and placed Apicata’s hand in his. Apicius handed the basket to a slave for safekeeping, and together, he and Gallus took their place in front of the couple. Apicata and Sejanus bowed their heads in reverence to their fathers. Apicius and Gallus stepped aside to let the augur stand between them for the ceremony.
I surveyed the crowd. Several guests had arrived late, including Fannia, who stood to the left of the couple. Her black wig was in a straight Egyptian style adorned with gold beads. She watched the ceremony, her face passive. She had no love for Sejanus.
Publius Octavius had also arrived late, likely invited by Sejanus. There were two men with him whom I didn’t recognize. The folds under his neck jiggled as he talked.
Passia appeared next to me. She looped her arm into mine and clutched my elbow tightly with her other hand. We watched the ritual unfold.
Sejanus and Apicata faced each other and held hands. They stood in that position for a moment longer than was comfortable. Apicata seemed frozen, her eyes locked somewhere in the distance beyond Sejanus. Finally, she seemed to realize her place and she said the traditional words. “Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.”
Sejanus smiled at the words. “Where you are Gaia, I am Gaius.”
The augur gestured for one of the slaves to bring forth a white sow for their sacrifice to Juno. The couple watched as the augur said a few words and, in a frighteningly quick motion, slit the animal’s throat with a jeweled dagger. Blood flowed across the garden tiles. The slaves took it away and the augur circulated through the crowd to collect the appropriate number of witness signatures for the wedding contract. It was an extra blow to know Apicata’s wedding contract would bear the signature of Publius Octavius.
? ? ?
The wedding prandium was an all-morning affair. The guests retired to couches in the atrium to eat the most elaborate breakfast I had ever devised. I couldn’t bear to sit with the crowd and instead helped Timon deliver course after course of dormice in honey, more spiced fritters, platter upon platter of fried anchovies, flatbreads with goat cheese and pepper, medallions of wild boar, and individual bowls of hazelnut custard. Each dish was served on a golden tray. The guests were given gold spoons and napkins dyed in Tyrian purple—lavish gifts they could take home. In between each course, barely clad serving girls showered the guests with rose petals and helped them wash their hands.
It took three hours. I paid no attention to any conversation. Apicius was out of sorts as well, barking orders at me as though I were still his slave. I was grateful—I did not want a seat on the couches. I think Apicius was himself jealous that he could not join me in hiding in the heat of the kitchen.
Apicata was stoic. The times when I glanced over to where she reclined she seemed neither happy nor sad. She offered up no conversation but politely responded when spoken to. She laughed in all the right places. I wished I could have whisked her away to Minturnae, turning back the clock to times when she was full of laughter, playing in the sand with her dog.
Perseus rested on the floor near her feet. He was old now and walked with a limp. He would be heartbroken when he discovered he could not follow his mistress to her new home.
The time came, all too soon. Sejanus and three of his friends, soldiers by the hardened looks of them, slipped out of the atrium and into the hall. I thought I recognized one of them from that day in the market so long ago. As they disappeared, three boys entered, nephews of Fannia’s, who would escort Apicata to her new home. They wore white togas belted with a red sash and, like the other guests, wreaths of laurel and marjoram. It was the part of the day I dreaded most of all—the traditional reenactment of the stealing of the Sabine brides.
Sotas emerged from the house. In his hands was the spina alba, a torch that had been lit at the villa’s hearth and would be carried to Apicata’s new home. Sotas handed it to the tallest of the boys.
At most weddings the procession was the most celebrated part of the event—everyone joined in the fun. I had no desire to do so at this wedding.
The boys moved away from the door in time for Sejanus and his friends to return to the atrium in a loud rush, yelling and screaming war cries.
Sejanus ran to the bridal couch and made to pull Apicata off the cushions and drag her away. Apicius and Aelia immediately locked their arms around their daughter to prevent the “kidnapping.” Apicata screamed.
“Don’t take my daughter from me! Please, sir, don’t take my daughter!” Aelia shouted. The guests thought she was teasing, as she was supposed to be feigning resistance. It broke my heart to watch. Apicius joined in, “You can’t have her!” He had a mad look in his eye and there was a note of anger in his voice. Apicata stared at him in alarm, seemingly recognizing that perhaps her father did have misgivings. Sejanus’s friends pulled her parents away and then Apicata was in Sejanus’s arms.
“No, don’t make me!” Apicata’s screams were shrill.
The guests laughed. Everyone thought it was part of the play but I knew Apicata wasn’t playing.
“Let go of me, you oaf!” She pushed Sejanus away and unwittingly fell into the arms of his friend, who offered her up to Sejanus. He snatched her up by the waist and picked her up. She beat her hands on his chest, hard enough that I could see his face contort with annoyance that she seemed to be taking the play act too far.