He carried her out, flanked by Fannia’s nephews holding the hearth fire. The guests followed, filing out of the atrium and out of the house. Passia joined Aelia and Apicius in the procession, carrying the spindle and distaff symbolizing Apicata’s domestic role as Sejanus’s wife, who would keep him clothed. Sotas marched behind, his bald head bobbing above the crowd.
I didn’t follow. I didn’t want to see the procession—how the guests would tease Apicata and Sejanus with lewd remarks as they went down the streets of the Palatine. I didn’t want to watch Apicata rub the doorway of Sejanus’s home with fat and oil, then wreath it in wool to demonstrate her place in the house as a homemaker. It pained me to think of her running that villa, thrust into the violent world. She was just a child!
I didn’t want to see Sejanus carry her over the threshold, to see her touch fire and water, to see Aelia take her into Sejanus’s chamber to pray and undress her and offer sacrifice. I didn’t want to see Aelia leave the room and Sejanus enter. . . .
PART VII
13 C.E. to 14 C.E.
MILK-FED SNAILS
Take the snails, wipe them over with a sponge, take off their membranes so that they can come out (of their shells). Put them in a pot of milk and salt for the first day, and in milk alone for the remaining days, continually removing the waste matter. When they are so well fed that they cannot go back in their shells, pull them out and fry in some oil. Serve in oenogarum. They can also, in a similar way, be fed on porridge.
—Book 7.16.1, Luxury Dishes On Cookery, Apicius
CHAPTER 20
It rained the day Apicius sent me to the immigrant section of Rome, the Trans Tiberim, a crowded part of the city with a mishmash of insulae and middle-class domus tumbled together along the Tiber. It was there, among the loud call of the butchers, bakers, laundries, and stone masons, that I found Glycon, the astrologer whom Fannia had recommended to Apicius.
I waited, peering again over the railing to watch the children. I thought the whole escapade to be foolish. Fannia had been trying to get Apicius to hire Glycon for years and finally she had worn him down. In true Apicius style, and against my recommendation, he was eschewing the occasional visit that Fannia preferred and intended Glycon to live within the villa and be on hand for everyday consultations. I hoped that the astrologer would turn Apicius down. I believed in the stars, as anyone should, but found it hard to believe that someone who was not a devoted priest or priestess of a god could possibly know the path that those gods charted.
Glycon lived on the fifth floor of an insula that couldn’t possibly have met the building codes designed to protect Rome against fire. As I climbed the wet, rickety stairs, I prayed to Neptune to protect me against an earthquake. I found it unlikely the building would stay upright if there were a tremor. I prayed the wood beneath me wouldn’t give way and drop me to my death.
My destination was a door painted on the upper portion with a crude picture of the eye of Horus. A long coiled cobra was painted on the lower half. I pondered the symbols, wondering why Apicius had sent me on this fool’s errand. How he could believe in such nonsense was beyond me. I knocked.
A long moment passed—enough time for me to peer over the edge of the railing. I was afraid to touch it for fear it would fall away. The rain had slowed to a fine mist. Despite the damp weather, several children played with an inflated calfskin ball in the muddy courtyard below.
When the door opened, it was only a crack. “Yes?” said the voice, a woman’s. I couldn’t see anyone. Only a sliver of darkness greeted me through the crack in the door.
“My name is Thrasius. I come on the request of Marcus Gavius Apicius, who requires the services of the astrologer Glycon.” I passed the thin papyrus scroll from Apicius through the crack. The woman snatched it from my hand.
“Wait,” said the voice, and then the door closed.
When the door opened, a tall man stood there, dressed in a traveling robe. He was of such pale countenance, I wondered if he had ever stood in the sun. He wore his silvery hair long, drawn together with a leather thong about halfway down his back. His eyes were dark, with a rim of green that gave him a godlike quality, as if he were touched by Cybele herself. Four men stood behind him, carrying two large trunks between them.
“Thrasius, is it?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. I was surprised to see how straight his teeth were. “Three ravens perched on the roof this morning, heralding the change that would bring me to your master’s house. The stars are aligned. You, my good man, will take me straightaway to Gavius Apicius, where I will guide him as to the wishes of the gods.”
I wondered if it was the three ravens or the three hundred sestertii promised in that letter that had aligned his stars. I led the group down the shaky staircase. I disliked astrologers but had to admit I felt a strangeness following me, heralding change. I couldn’t find it in my heart to believe it would be for the better.
? ? ?
When we reached the villa I instructed Glycon and his attendants to wait in the coolness of the pergola, then sent one slave to fetch Apicius and another to bring honey water to the newcomers. They drank the sweet refreshment as though it were the first water they had ever had.
When Apicius arrived, he clasped hands with Glycon as though they were old friends. It made me angry that Apicius held no reservations about a complete stranger coming to live within his walls.
“Thank you for coming. Sotas will lead you to your rooms and we will talk when you are rested,” Apicius said, motioning to my big friend, who waited by the door.
“Very good. Would you like for me to attend you at dinner?”
Sotas gave me a funny look. This was the first step—the request for a dinner invitation, which would extend to a permanent parasite spot at the foot of the couch, then on to other favors, and eventually, as Glycon realized how easily he could work Apicius into a frenzy, he would be ever present. I wondered how long before the man dictated nearly every step Apicius took.
“Tonight you will meet with me, Aelia, and Thrasius,” Apicius said. “But on most nights you will take your meals in your chambers or elsewhere in Rome, whichever you prefer. I have a full schedule of entertainment and there is not normally room on my couches. However, this evening you may dine with us.”
Glycon seemed surprised at Apicius’s dour tone, but did not comment. “Certainly. And my slaves?”
“There is a cubicle adjoining your chamber where they may stay. They can dine in the kitchen at the specified hours. Timon, who runs the kitchen, can give them the schedule. They are to keep to the slave areas—I don’t want to see them in the living areas of the villa. You have permission to use the rest of the house—the baths, the garden, whatever you need, with the exception of the wing where the library and our private rooms are.”
“Understood. Will I have access to the roof, where I may set up tools to help me better watch the stars?”