Claudius pushed past him, nearly falling with the effort. “Albus?” His voice cracked.
He collapsed on the ground next to Livia. His clubfoot stuck out beyond the folds of his toga, twisted unnaturally.
“Oh, m . . . mm . . . my boy!” He took his son from Livia’s arms. “Wh . . . wh . . . wh . . . what happened?” he asked his grandmother.
“He choked on a pear, Claudius. I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t sound sorry at all.
? ? ?
Sejanus recovered from his frenzy quickly, insisting on footing the bill for the small funeral to be held. No one had seen the bodyguard leave the atrium but me. No one saw Albus eat the pear—they were all hiding. The body-slave was watching the other children hide and saw nothing. When I asked Livia about the bodyguard, she told me pleasantly but firmly that I was mistaken. I didn’t miss the warning tone in her voice. Three years ago Tiberius had passed a law that speaking against Livia would be an act of treason. I had no doubt she would have been delighted if I had decided to do so.
Claudius’s son was the first Imperial noble named Drusus to die that year.
We had seen the other Drusus, Tiberius’s son and only heir, only a handful of times since the banquet at the school. He had been off campaigning in distant lands as a leader in Caesar’s army. Drusus was likely one of the few who hated Sejanus more than I or Apicius did.
Drusus’s dislike of Sejanus was well known among most of Rome’s elite but I had yet to witness his sentiments firsthand. At least not until the hot June eve of Vestalia, honoring the goddess Vesta and the everlasting flame of Rome. Sejanus had decided to host an elaborate banquet in celebration.
During the meal, Apicius had asked me to fetch Apicata from the garden, where she had escaped alone for a breath of fresh air. I found her on a bench admiring the view of Rome sprawled out beneath the Palatine Hill.
On our return we came upon Sejanus and Drusus in heated conversation in the hallway beyond the triclinium. Apicata and I stopped when we reached the knot of Praetorian Guard that stood behind Sejanus. We arrived in time to see Drusus slam his fist into Sejanus’s chin. Sejanus staggered backward into his guards, who seemed conflicted about what to do. They were sworn to protect the Imperial family but I knew they were loyal to Sejanus.
“You deserve more than that, you filthy louse. Jupiter and all the gods damn you! I’m not sure what magic you are employing on my father that he has chosen to invite a stranger to assist in the government while his son is still alive, but I promise you, Sejanus, I will find out.”
Sejanus regained his footing. He stood in the face of Drusus’s rant and said nothing.
“One more thing, Sejanus. If I find that you are sleeping around with my wife,” he snarled, “I will personally make sure that my father has you crucified.” Drusus spat at Sejanus’s feet, a long, wet gob that splattered against the Praetorian’s toes. Then he turned and walked off.
Sejanus pointed to his feet and one of the slaves who stood nearby rushed to wipe off his toes with the hem of his tunic.
“He will rue this day. The gods will find favor with me, not him,” Sejanus muttered. He turned away and pushed past the guards, stopping when he caught a glimpse of Apicata behind his men.
“Sejanus!” Apicata, schooled as she was to be the perfect Roman matron, and always trying to stay in his good graces, rushed to her husband. She reached her hand to his bruised face.
“Do not touch me!” He pushed her hand away in a rough gesture, throwing her off balance. “What in Tartarus are you doing here, woman?” The look on his face was dark. I was sure he was going to strike her but then he saw me. His visage changed and softened.
“Aren’t they expecting you at the banquet? I was on my way to see if you were all right,” he said to Apicata with a smile.
My chest tightened and I fought to control my anger. What would he have done to her if I had not been there?
Apicata seemed to realize the danger. She took me by the arm. “We were on our way there, husband. My father sent Thrasius to fetch me. Will you return with us?”
“I have other matters to attend to.” He brushed past us, guards in tow.
When they were gone I turned to Apicata. “Is he always like this? He was ready to strike you!”
She began to cry.
I pulled her close. “Oh, my little bird.” I ran my fingers through her hair, my heart breaking for her.
“I fear he may divorce me soon,” she choked.
“Why would you think that?”
“I just do.” She pulled away. “I would welcome it, but . . .”
“He will have the children,” I finished. I knew they were her true joy.
Her fingers dabbed at the corners of her eyes in an attempt to keep from crying. I reached my hand to her face to smooth out the smeared kohl around her eyes.
Sejanus had married Apicata to vex Apicius and for the vast wealth that came with her dowry. Now he had power and the favor of Caesar. He didn’t need her anymore. I understood her worry about the children, but I knew that my heart would feel great relief when she was no longer under his roof.
“Be strong, little bird. That’s all you can do. Hold your head up high and never let him know how much he hurts you.”
She nodded and together we returned to the party, our hearts heavy.
? ? ?
That summer Apicius and I began work on a new book, this time about breads and fritters. During his travels Apicius had fallen in love with some of the sweet delicacies of far-off lands and he wanted to share these new possibilities with the cooks for all the best Roman families. One of my favorite treats was bread soaked in milk and egg, fried, and slathered with honey before serving.
I made up a batch of this sweet eggy bread for Apicata and Junilla during one of their rare morning visits to Caesar’s kitchen. Junius was there as well. He had inherited my and Apicius’s love of food and was there helping me test out some of the new recipes.
“Thrasius, this is my favorite thing in the world!” Junilla declared. She licked honey off her fingers.
“I thought that fried dates were your favorite thing in the world!” Junius teased her.
“No, no, this bread is! When I am old enough to have my own cook, I’m going to have him make this for me every single day!” She put her hands on her hips and jutted out her chin at him. Her green eyes shone with determination.
“I think you might get tired of having this bread every day,” Apicata suggested as I served up another batch.
“When can I get married? And not to someone who is going to die before we have a wedding?”
I had just put a piece of the sweet bread into my mouth and almost choked at her words. Children could be so blunt. Apicata closed her eyes, seemingly to keep her composure.