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The funeral was a short affair. As there were no bodies, we could not make the wax death masks or have an elaborate funeral fitting of Fannia and Aelia’s station. There would be no procession to take the bodies through the Roman Forum. There would be no eulogy. Aelia’s father had been recently appointed a new governorship, of Pannonia, and would likely not receive word of her death for weeks.
Claudius Pulcher, Fannia’s husband, sent his regrets that he would not be able to attend the funeral nor did he plan on burying her in the family tomb. Instead, we held a gathering at home for both Aelia and Fannia with a small group of relatives, which, unfortunately, included Sejanus and Livia.
“I don’t know if I can bear to look at her,” I told Passia and Sotas the hour before the ceremony began and the guests arrived, “much less keep my mouth shut or my hands to myself. I want to kill her where she stands.”
Sotas looked at me, his steely-gray eyes stern. “It is simple.”
Passia and I both let out an exclamation. Simple? Sotas was not deterred.
“Yes, it is very simple. You will say nothing to her. You will bow your head or kiss her cheek if offered, but with every touch, with every look, with any word, you will think of only one thing.”
“And what is that?”
He waved to Junius, whom we could see in the kitchen beyond where we stood, playing a game with one of the slaves. “Your son. Junius needs you in his life. He needs you to be strong, healthy, and, most important, not in a dungeon, or worse, dead.”
My friend Sotas, always the wise sage. “Aelia would have told you the same.”
He was right. She would have said the same.
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There was not much to the ceremony, only the hired mourners singing and the priest of Hera saying a few words over the urns that rested on a table in the atrium. I didn’t look at the guests—I couldn’t bear to see the faces of our enemies reveling in our misfortune. I fixed my sight on the ground, or sometimes on Apicata’s dark veil or on Apicius, who was stone-faced and dry-eyed. He stared into the crowd, and when I looked to see where his gaze was fixed it was on Sejanus, who looked downward. Then I recalled what Sotas had told me about the first time Apicius saw Sejanus after their ill-fated affair—over the coffin of Aelia’s mother. I could only imagine what was running through Apicius’s mind.
Livia did not stay long, thankfully. She was polite and reserved, paying her respects and leaving as soon as it was through. I don’t think she had room for emotion in that dark heart of hers. Sejanus left with Livia to attend Caesar.
When the rest of the guests had departed, Apicius, Apicata, Sotas, Passia, Helene, and I went to the Gavia family tomb. We trudged through the town in a solemn clump, adorned in black, followed only by our guards for safety as it grew dark. Apicius held Fannia and Apicata held her mother. Two of the guards pulled a wagon with the heavy laudatio stones, etched with the stories of their lives. Helene, Passia, and I carried wine, incense, and fruit for the inhumation. Citizens saw our funereal garb and quickly parted to let us through. They did not want to catch our bad luck.
The Gavia tomb was close to the gates on the Appian Way, which was typical of wealthy patrician families. It was a massive sepulchre, adorned with statues of the gods and carvings of the deeds of the Gavia family. Apicius unlocked the sepulchre and had the guards open the heavy stone door. We stood outside as Apicius and Apicata entered the tomb and placed our hearts on dark shelves with the other ancestors. Sotas and Helene followed them with the sacrificial items and returned to us immediately after. I could see only the flickering candlelight bouncing off the walls of the entryway but deep inside I could smell the incense and I could hear their cries. I hugged Passia close and she sobbed into my shoulder.
When they emerged much later, the guards helped us shut the sepulchre and lock it. They took to their spades and placed the laudatio. Fannia’s stone was simple, as was befitting a woman not from our family but given the honor of burial. I noticed Apicius had not included Pulcher’s name.
“Please, Thrasius, will you read the stones for us? I know I should, but . . . I can’t.” Apicius’s voice wavered.
I took a deep breath and began with Fannia. “?‘To the spirits of the departed, Fannia Drusilla, of seventy-four years, you who died at the hands of another. Fate bequeaths your friends only sorrow at your leaving. Fannia, you were a dear friend to the Gavia family and to others, a confidante, and a matron of high status, beloved by all. May the di Manes grant you rest and protection.’?”
Apicius choked. He fell to his knees and put his head in his hands. “Please, Fannia, forgive me. I treated you so poorly these last few years, Fannia! Oh, dear gods, please be kind to her, oh, please.”
Apicius touched me on the arm. “Let me read for Aelia.”
Ceres! Did you hear me? Take pity!
Apicius read Aelia’s tombstone through a river of tears. “?‘Aelia Gavia, wife to me, Marcus Gavius Apicius, mother to our daughter, Apicata Gavia, friend to all, your life was snuffed like a candle at the age of forty-six.
“?‘We met for the first time in Minturnae. You were shy and beautiful and made my heart sing like a bird. You told me my words were like honey—sweet and nourishing. The day we married was one of the best days of my life. When I carried you over the threshold you told me you would always love me and would always be loyal to me. And you were.’?”
He paused, his tears getting the better of him. He began again, haltingly.
“?‘Aelia, you were a true Roman matron. You took care of my household, you gave me counsel and nursed me when I was ill. You gave me sons but fate took them from us. You gave me a daughter, Apicata, who learned from you and is now as strong and obedient as you were in life.
“?‘To the end you were a good wife, dying in flames seeking an item you thought would please me. I should have been the one to go to the grave first, not you, you who outshone us all. Natural sadness wrests away my power of self-control and I am overwhelmed by sorrow. I am tormented by two emotions: grief and fear—and I do not stand firm against either. I am destined to long mourning. You will forever haunt my thoughts, my Aelia.
“?‘I pray the di Manes will grant you rest and protection.’?”
“Aelia! Oh, Aelia! Forgive me, forgive me,” Apicius wailed to the heavens. Apicata threw her arms around her father and sobbed.
I wished not for the first time that week that I would open my eyes and find it all a dream.
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