“Yes,” he affirmed.
“In that case, I would begin with a gustatio of salad with peppers and cucumbers, melon with mint, whole-meal bread, soft cheese, and honey cake.” I tried to draw on my memory of one of the last meals I’d made for Maximus.
Apicius licked his lips. “Yes, yes, go on.”
“Then pomegranate ice to cleanse the palate, followed by a cena prima of saffron chickpeas, Parthian chicken, peppered morels in wine, mussels, and oysters. If I had more time, I would also serve a stuffed suckling pig. And to close, a pear patina, along with deep-fried honey fritters, snails, olives, and, if you have it on hand, some wine from Chios or Puglia.”
“Perfect. Simple and the flavors would blend nicely at the beginning of a meal. Good.”
? ? ?
Apicius led us across the square to the altar to Fortuna Privata, the goddess of luck and wealth. I had been right in thinking my new master was worried about his purchase—it was the only reason he would need to ask the goddess for a divination. On the way to the altar, we stopped at a grocer’s stall to purchase offerings: a live goose, fruit, and honey cakes.
The altar was between two buildings on top of a tall stone platform that housed a richly adorned statue of the goddess. Sotas handed the goose to Apicius, who brought it toward the priest waiting next to the altar. My heart pounded. This divination was about me, about how I would affect the Gavian household. An unlucky reading would place doubt in Apicius’s mind, and the last thing I wanted was for Apicius to return me to that filthy slaver. He would beat me within an inch of my life for cheating him out of such a fortune. The gods only knew who I might end up with then—the slaver might decide to send me to the salt mines, which would be a death sentence. Few slaves lasted more than a year or two cutting salt.
The priest, a bald man with heavy-lidded eyes, wore red robes that, despite their color, could not hide the dark blood stains of his trade as a haruspex, one who gave divinations by viewing the entrails of sacrifices. Apicius handed the squawking goose to the priest, who sprinkled it with salted flour, poured a few drops of wine on its forehead, and said a blessing. He placed the goose in the copper bowl resting on a low side table and abruptly ended its cries with a quick slash across its neck and a push of the knife down its belly. Scarlet flooded the feathers and flowed into the bowl in a rush.
There was no struggle, which bode well for the divination. The haruspex rolled the goose over and pushed upon it until the entrails fell into a viscous mess in the bowl. I observed my new master, wishing I knew what thoughts were going through his mind. An ironlike smell wafted up from the bowl.
A few more cuts and the haruspex set the carcass into a second bowl off to the side. The goose meat was payment for his services. He pushed his hand through the goose guts, pulling aside intestines and organs. Last, the priest singled out the liver, heart, gizzard, and gall bladder. He turned each organ over in his hands, searching for spots and abnormalities by which he could discern the goddess’s wishes. As a cook I had seen the insides of hundreds of geese, but I still didn’t understand what a haruspex saw when he examined the blood and guts.
After many long minutes, Apicius was unable to take the priest’s silence any longer. “Well?” he asked as he twisted the thick gold wedding ring around his finger.
I was just as impatient. What if the divination said I was a terrible purchase? Would I be back on the slave block before the end of the afternoon?
The haruspex cocked his head at Apicius, one eyebrow raised. I imagined he had seen the same look in the eyes of the wealthy before. He cleared his throat. “The goddess Fortuna smiles upon you in some ways but, I fear, not in others.”
Apicius wiped his palms on the folds of his toga. I held my breath.
The priest pushed around the entrails. He lifted up the liver. It was larger than normal but very smooth. “In this I see a life of indulgence and prosperity. You will win many hearts and bring pleasure to many people. You will have much to love in your life.” He examined the gall bladder. It was swollen and no longer green as it should be, but a bright, angry red.
A whirring noise engulfed us as several hundred flapping pigeons swirled through the air. Apicius cursed. “Damn pigeons.” He glanced upward. “Perhaps I should have sought an augur to read the birds instead of a gut gazer.” I had to wonder as well; so many birds appearing at that moment must have great significance.
The priest didn’t look up. Apparently birds meant nothing to him unless they were sprawled open under his knife. He slashed the gall bladder open and pulled it apart with the tip of his blade. It was filled with hundreds of yellowish-orange pieces of gravel. He grimaced and my stomach lurched. What did he see?
“This is most unfortunate. A healthy liver and a rotten gall bladder. You will feel the blood of life mingling with the pang of death. Your good fortune will be as a disease throughout your life. The more you work toward success, the more your sky will darken.” The haruspex jabbed a fat finger toward a particularly large rock glistening with bile. Two larger pebbles stuck to its sides. “See that? Beware! For every success, greater failures will cluster to the sides.”
The priest ignored Apicius’s sharp intake of breath. He put the gall bladder aside and turned to the rest of the entrails. He lifted the gizzard, a double-bulbed organ, and cut it open carefully, exposing a cavity full of grass, rocks, and other debris. “Look here,” he said, pointing to a piece of rounded pale blue glass amid the slimy debris. “This means unusual judgment.”
“What do you mean?” Beads of sweat stood out on Apicius’s brow.
“It means that, ultimately, you will be judged in the Underworld by how our world and the world of the future perceive you.”
The haruspex picked up the bowl and turned away.
I felt sick—it had been a dismal fortune and surely Apicius was bound to march me right back to the slave trader.
“I see,” said Apicius, looking perplexed.
The statue of Fortuna glowed in the early-afternoon sunlight. Her eyes, painted blue, stared at me.
As he rose, Apicius repeated the priest’s words over and over in a whisper: “Judged in the Underworld by how the world sees me now and in the future.”
I glanced at Sotas, but the body-slave only bowed his head. I wished that I could ask Apicius what he intended. Would he send me back? I looked toward Fortuna and dared to stare into that aquamarine gaze. I thought back to my time with Bulbus and how he abused me in ways no person should have to endure. Please, my lady, grant me your favor. Please. Do not send me back to a beast like Bulbus. Please . . .