It took us eight months to plan the banquet. Those months were some of the busiest and most exciting of my life. I spent hours at the market looking for ideas, buying up everything from new napkins to intricately embroidered cushions for the couches. I sent messengers across Italy: to our farms for wood pigeons, dormice, capons, and heaping baskets of grapes, apples, and beets; to the fields beyond Rome for fresh pears; to Nomentanum for amphorae of wine, some more than forty years old; to Praeneste for hazelnuts; and to the plains between Ostia and Lavinium for wild boar and deer. I sent men to Ostia for fresh, salty mackerel and mussels and to Mount Hymettus for the finest honey to dilute the Falernian wine we had on stock at home for the princeps and all the senators. I purchased ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and other spices from India and Taprobane, not only to flavor the food but to present as gifts. I even sent a man to Sicilia for green and black olives and for the olive relish that was a specialty of the region. I reveled in the planning of such a massive banquet.
However, all the planning made Apicius unbearable. Nothing I did seemed to please him and I thanked the gods daily that he was no longer my master and could not whip me like he did the slaves unfortunate enough to be in the way of his whims and rages. Even Sotas seemed on edge. About this time came word of the terrible treatment of the slaves by P. Vedius Pollio, a once-friend of the Divine Augustus and a minor acquaintance of Apicius. A cupbearer broke a precious crystal goblet at one of his banquets and in a rage Pollio cut the slave’s hands off and hung them around his neck. The slave was forced to parade among the diners before Pollio mercilessly threw him to his death into a pool of lamprey eels.
“Dominus wouldn’t ever do that to Junius or me, would he?” Passia whispered to me one evening as I shed my clothes and climbed into bed. Our son, now four, snored softly from his bed in the corner of the room.
“No, my love. For all his faults he is not that cruel. And he loves little Junius. You know how much he dotes on him.” Apicius did love the tot, and that day had even given him a new brightly painted wooden horse on wheels to pull along behind him as he toddled through the villa.
“What about the other slaves? This banquet is for Caesar! Dominus might want to keep up appearances.”
“Don’t worry. Pollio did not win the kind of notoriety he might have liked by killing off that poor boy. Besides, Apicius is too concerned with his image to have people talking about him for anything other than his food. And he depends upon me too much to hurt those I love.”
Passia didn’t seem satisfied with the answer but she cuddled up next to me anyway. Soon she was breathing heavily into my shoulder. I lay awake for a while thinking of her question. I was not worried about what Apicius would do if something wasn’t perfect at the banquet. I was worried about what Caesar might do.
? ? ?
On the day of the banquet I was up before dawn helping the staff put the final touches on the decorations and helping Rúan and Timon begin the monumental task of preparing the main dishes.
When the water clock showed ten o’clock Sotas came to collect me for the astrology reading. Rúan laughed at me.
“Oh, how you Romans love your divinations!”
I just smiled at him. I had long ago tried to convince Rúan that the gods were powerful and that divination wasn’t a load of bunk, but in the end we had agreed to disagree. It didn’t stop him from teasing me regularly for what he saw as folly.
We met Apicius and Glycon and went to Tiberius’s palace on the Esquiline. Tiberius was still in his morning robe when we met in the garden. He had a handful of guards with him, as well as a bald, smooth-shaven man Glycon seemed to know.
“Ahh, Thrasyllus,” I heard the astrologer mutter to himself.
“Good day to you, Caesar!” Apicius smiled broadly. “What a fine day to honor you.”
Tiberius looked uncomfortable. “We honor Rome first.”
I saw Apicius’s eye twitch. He thinned his lips into a long line as if trying hard not to respond.
Sejanus spoke up before Apicius could say something regrettable. “In honoring you, Caesar, we honor Rome, do we not?”
Apicius continued to make awkward small talk with Sejanus and Tiberius, leaving Glycon to slip off to the side to speak with Thrasyllus. A gold pendant flashed at the man’s neck, of a moon and stars. Tiberius’s astrologer. They talked in hushed tones. I caught a few words of their conversation, none of which inspired calm within me: “stars . . . the consequences . . . actions . . . friend . . . dire . . . we’ll tell him . . . yes, yes . . . he’ll believe . . .”
Tiberius’s voice rose. “Come now, let’s get this over with.”
Sejanus motioned for Thrasyllus to come forward. Glycon trailed behind him.
“Sir, the stars are most favorable. My colleague Glycon was right in choosing this date for the feast. The moon is full and will give us light beyond the candle. Mars is in the templum of Venus and Venus is in the templum of Saturn, aligning them all to look down upon us in various stages throughout the night. Today is a particularly auspicious time for a feast, dear Caesar.”
“Excellent! Now it is time for my bath.” He snapped his fingers and his guard came to attention. “Oh, and Apicius, I want my servers to be naked. Stark as the day they were born, understand?” He didn’t give Apicius a chance to respond, abruptly walking away, leaving us looking at his retreating figure.
“It seems everyone finds favor with you now.” Sejanus smirked. Where he had once been cordial to Apicius, he had diminished into sarcastic tolerance. “Let us hope they still do when the banquet comes to an end.” He inclined his head toward one of his guards. “Paulus, see them out.”
Apicius snapped his fingers at Sotas, who dutifully trotted over to Glycon, said a few low words to the man, and waited patiently until Glycon gave his good-byes.
“A good reading, Master Apicius.” Glycon fell into step alongside Apicius, a sight that was now all too common in our household.
“You are sure this will be a good night?”
“Yes, yes, it will be a fine night!” Glycon’s voice was slick, like fresh pressed oil.
I didn’t believe him.
? ? ?
The day’s preparations flew by, and before we knew it, the first guests began to trickle into the garden, some more than an hour earlier than we expected.
“They want to secure the best couches,” Fannia remarked, coming up from behind. She had also arrived early, and was overdressed, as usual, in too many golden necklaces and rings and a garish blue stola one step away from the Imperial purple, a dangerous choice considering the possible insult to be made.
I stood with her, watching as our slaves escorted the guests to various couches. I sent the first group of slaves out with the wine. Fannia stopped one of them and took a brightly painted goblet from the tray. She winked at me.
“So much more civilized this Caesar is! Drinking before dinner! Women partaking without shame!” She lifted her glass at me.
While Tiberius had a more relaxed attitude toward wine, most did not share his views. Fannia didn’t care one whit and had embraced drinking in public with great gusto.
“Some guests aren’t sure what to do.” I motioned toward a group of equestrians and their wives. One couple took a glass and other guests frowned at them. “I know I don’t like it. You shouldn’t drink before dinner. It dulls the senses and the taste of your food.”