“You surprise me with a visit today, Apicius.” He did not rise from his chair nor did he offer Apicius a seat. “Let me guess. You think I have forgotten our deal.”
“No,” Apicius began. “I wanted . . .”
Sejanus cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Patience! You must be patient!” He stood and slammed his hand down on the table next to him.”
Apicius did not back down. “I have been patient long enough.”
The silence was awkward and uncomfortable.
“Did you forget that I can do you more harm than good, father-in-law?”
Apicius ignored the threat. He walked across the room and seated himself in one of the ornately carved chairs across from where Sejanus stood. “You have been married to my daughter for seven years. I gave her to you under an agreement that the gods were witness to. I came to have you honor this agreement.”
“The gods be damned!”
My heart raced and I fought to keep my features impassive. I could not dismiss the gods like he could and I sent my prayers to them now for protection. The only thing I wanted at that moment was to leave that chamber alive.
“I came to discuss the arrangement.”
Sejanus paced across the library and looked out the window. “What do you intend? To rethink your daughter’s dowry? I warn you, Apicius, that may not be a decision you want to make,” he growled.
“On the contrary, my son. I intend to increase it. Not only that, but you need to bring new life to Caesar’s couches. What I offer will be highly beneficial for all your business arrangements. You know that Octavius does not hold the culinary imagination like I do.”
Sejanus turned away from the window. “Is that so?”
“Yes. But you know what I require.”
Sejanus crossed his arms. “How much is the increase you speak of?”
“Sixteen thousand sestertii a year.”
Rash wasn’t the word for it, I decided. Stupid was more accurate. Sixteen thousand sestertii was likely more than Apicius would receive in salary from Caesar if he got the post.
Sejanus looked past us to the body-slave at the door. “Take these men to the atrium to await their master.” He pointed at Sotas and me.
Sotas protested in a hesitant whisper. “Dominus, I don’t think that is wise.”
“Go, Sotas,” Apicius said calmly, without emotion.
The slave ushered us out the door. Apicata was waiting to see us in the atrium. She led us to a cozy corner with benches covered in cushions the color of rubies. Sotas waited near the door, anxious about leaving his master alone.
“I cannot tell you how much I have missed you,” Apicata said, her eyes full of emotion.
I took her hands in mine. “Please, Apicata, tell me he treats you well.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and I realized she was trying to muster courage. “He mostly ignores me, save when he decides he has an obligation to try to beget a child, when he is tired of bedding the slaves, or when he is feeling cruel. Then I am often the target of his wrath.”
“He beats you?” Sotas asked. I had never heard such anger in Sotas’s voice, low as it was. He paced the tiles, not looking at any of us.
“Sometimes.”
I rubbed her hand. I didn’t know what to say to give her comfort. Anger swelled beneath my breast. Why hadn’t the curse on Sejanus worked?
“He won’t let me visit friends. I have only one slave I trust, Niobe.” She gestured toward the slave who played with Strabo in the corner of the atrium. “I think he sees other women. I don’t mean the slaves, although he has slept with all the ones we own.”
“What do you mean, other women?” I asked.
“Sometimes messages will come to the house. An envelope with the scent of perfume or script that looks womanly. The slaves have been instructed to keep them from me but Niobe has shown me a few.”
“Who are these women?”
“There are several. But I worry most about Livilla.”
“Oh, dear gods!” What good could come out of that? Livilla was Tiberius’s niece and daughter-in-law, married to his son Drusus! By Jove, I was at their wedding!
“You think he’s seeing Livilla?”
She brushed away a tear. “I do.”
I swore. If Sejanus was having an affair with Caesar’s daughter-in-law, he was playing a very dangerous game indeed.
Sotas broke in. “Will he let you have friends visit?”
“No, he doesn’t even like me leaving the house. Even having Mother visit vexes him greatly. He puts up with it only because he doesn’t want the gossip.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
Sotas did. “Control.”
“Oh, my dear little bird.” I leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I wish I could take you from all this.”
“Little bird!” Her face brightened. “I have not heard that in years!”
Sotas hissed at us. “He comes!”
“I must go. It will be better if he does not see me with you.” She gave me a fast hug. I did not want to let her go, but she slipped away just before Sejanus and Apicius arrived in the atrium.
Apicius said his good-byes, then whisked us out of the villa. Like the way there, he chose to ride in his litter alone, leaving me ignorant of what had happened in the library after we left. In the days ahead Apicius said nothing to me of how the visit had ended, but instructed me to have his secretary increase the stipend sent to Apicata every month. Although I wondered why it was only half as much as he had promised to Sejanus, I said nothing.
? ? ?
Three weeks after the visit to Sejanus we were in the kitchen working on a recipe for a new cookbook on delicacies. I had stuffed dates with a mixture of crushed pine nuts in pepper and Apicius was helping me roll the dates in salt. We were ready to fry them in honey when one of the door slaves burst into the room, scroll in hand.
Apicius took the scroll and unrolled it. He read it silently, smiled, then set the scroll into the flames beneath the pan of honey.
“It’s done.” He picked up a date and dropped it into the salt.
“Pardon?” I moved the pan of honey off the fire before it took on any of the flavor of the burning parchment. I set the pan on a rock slab I kept on the table to hold hot items.
Apicius picked up a few of the dates and tossed them in the pan. They sizzled and we leaned back to avoid the splatter.
“It won’t be long before there is a new gastronomic adviser to Tiberius.”
I remained silent.
He said no more, leaving me alone to finish the dates and wonder at his words.
? ? ?
That night after the cena, Rúan appeared in the garden where I sat drinking a much-needed glass of wine. He hadn’t stopped by in a few weeks and I was glad to see him.
He deposited himself onto the bench across from me. “Publius Octavius is dead.”
For a moment, I was dumbfounded. Then it all fell together. “Of course.”
Rúan squinted at me. “You already know?”
I took a sip of wine and passed it to Rúan. “No, I didn’t. Tell me how.”
He drank of the wine. “He fell ill more than two weeks ago. He succumbed to the sickness this morning.”