Rúan took us to the villa Tiberius was remodeling, a short walk across the Palatine. Tiberius resided primarily in a luxurious villa on the Esquiline, but with so many of his clientele living on the Palatine, he wanted to expand the villa on that hill as well. More slaves than I could count swarmed the exterior, making repairs and adding on to what was once a modest dwelling.
“Be careful.” Rúan gestured for us to step around boards and buckets of wet cement. I had walked by the exterior of the villa many times on my way to the temple of Apollo. The entrance used to be only a single marble arch but now several arches opened up into a broad atrium, which had itself been expanded.
Rúan led us through a twisting maze of corridors, some painted with frescoes, some not, the walls bare and the rooms empty with no doors. He showed us two triclinia and an office Apicius could call his own. The kitchen was much smaller than the kitchen at Apicius’s villa, with half as many slaves. “Is this all?”
Rúan nodded. “Aye, it is. But do not worry. You won’t be expected to do much entertaining here, only when Caesar desires to dine at home with his guests, which is not often. Tomorrow I’ll show you the kitchen on the Esquiline, which is more expansive. For the most part, though, you’ll be expected to arrange entertainment at your own home or the homes of others. Tiberius will send dignitaries and foreign emissaries to you to take care of. You’ll find he won’t attend many meals unless it’s a state dinner or there is something he can’t graciously excuse himself from. He’s not fond of politics.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Apicius seemed disappointed. Being Tiberius’s gastronomic adviser was proving to be more work and less glory than he’d expected.
“You may, on occasion, be asked to accompany Caesar to one of his villas at Rhodes or Capri but it will be rare.”
“What of his tastes? What foods does he appreciate?” I asked. “Is he fussy about his meals?”
“No. He will eat anything as long as there is wine. It’s the wine that he loves. You’ve heard that they call him Biberius Caldius Mero?”
I couldn’t help but snort at the name, which meant “drinker of wine without water,” a phrase that described someone who was rude and acted like a pleb. “I had not, but I’ll make sure there is plenty of wine to satiate him.”
He led us back to the atrium again, where the gardeners bustled about, planting trees and flowers.
“Oh,” Rúan added. “You’re expected to throw a cena publica that announces your new post and demonstrates Caesar’s wisdom in giving it to you.”
“Of course.” We knew such a banquet would be expected and had talked about it over breakfast that morning.
“I’ll secure the guest list for you. Thrasius, send me any instructions you like, any lists of food for purchase. I am at your service.”
“It’s good to work with you again, old friend. I missed your funny accent.” A burst of happiness swelled within me when I thought of bantering anew with him over the preparation of a meal. Although Timon was a master at his trade, I missed the camaraderie I had with Rúan.
“Aye, and I missed your funny talk of all your crazy gods! But I suspect you’ll work me even harder than Publius Octavius did.”
At the name, Apicius seemed to snap out of his reverie. He cleared his throat.
“Come, Thrasius, we have much to do.” He strode off toward home. I waved good-bye to Rúan and followed, knowing Apicius was likely to be in a mood best avoided.
? ? ?
We decided to hold the banquet at the school, in the gardens we had designed for such a purpose. The kitchen there would allow for easier food preparation and we could easily set up couches and tables to accommodate the five hundred people on the guest list.
Fannia, Trio, and Celera joined us for dinner that evening. The discussion that night was the possible theme for the cena publica. “Hold a competition.” Fannia was tipsy, delighted that Caesar Augustus was dead and Tiberius had ditched the old decorum that one could drink wine only after dinner and women should drink only when religious ceremonies required.
“A competition? With swords?” Trio was skeptical. “Aren’t there enough gladiatorial games without us throwing another?”
Apicius waved a hand at Fannia to continue. “Gladiators are so droll.”
“Not a gladiator fight. A competition.”
We all looked at her, still uncomprehending.
“A footrace?” Celera offered.
“Drinking? We all know how badly that might end.” Aelia smirked at Apicius.
“No, no, no. A competition between the gods!” Fannia said.
“Continue.” Apicius tossed the bones of his chicken wing onto the tiles behind the couch to appease the ghosts of the ancestors.
“Imagine. Neptune and Diana competing to prove who has the most delicious bounty—the sea or the forest. The food could be animals of the sea and the land.”
“Tiberius could judge!” I mused. It was a brilliant idea.
“Yes, exactly!” Fannia exclaimed.
The fire of this idea roared through my brain. I could barely get the words out of my mouth I was so excited.
“Each course could be dedicated to one of the gods. We bring out the seafood first, then the animals, then back and forth in each course . . .”
“Yes! And the final course will be the pinnacle dish from each god!” Apicius had caught the fire now.
Everyone agreed and a clamor arose as they gave suggestions about the banquet. “Excellent!” Apicius was jubilant, as were we all.
It was an exquisite feeling—a feeling that wouldn’t last long.
CHAPTER 23