“Thank you for your kindness,” I stammered, unsure of what else was expected of me. In other households where I’d served, the matron of the house rarely paid me any mind unless something with a meal had gone wrong. Instead, here she was, telling me she was protecting me from the whims of my new master.
She walked around the kitchen, peering into bowls and tasting from the dishes with the tips of her fingers. The rushing slaves slowed when she came near and hardworking scowls turned into smiles of pride when she commented on their work. When a blond wisp of a girl from Germania dropped a basket of apples and they tumbled across the floor, Aelia bent to help her pick them up. She waved off the slaves who came to her side, talking gaily as she and the girl placed the apples back in the basket. “Give the bruised ones out to the other slaves,” she said, winking at the girl, who bowed her thanks repeatedly.
Aelia plucked an apple from the top of the basket and brought it to Balsamea, who thanked her profusely and slipped the apple into her pocket. Aelia closed her eyes and breathed in the aroma of the kitchen. “Thrasius, if your food tonight tastes half as good as it smells, you are well on your way to earning great respect in this household.”
“I hope everything will be to your liking, Domina,” I mumbled. “My apologies if it seems simple or rushed.”
Aelia grinned at me. “I’m sure it will be fine. Marcus has been bragging to me all afternoon about how fortunate he was to find you for sale,” she said. “Could you do me a favor?” Aelia cocked her head slightly as she spoke.
I was in awe of this young woman. For all the rapport I had had with my previous Dominus, he still commanded me as any master would a slave, as did his wife, who used to bleat instructions at me through thin puckered lips and the bar of her yellow teeth. There were never any “favors” to be given, only service demanded.
“Of course, I am pleased to serve,” I said, motioning for Vatia to take over the task of brushing egg yolk across the dough before the hams went into the oven for their final stage of cooking.
“Marcus will love those pigs.” Aelia smiled, motioning to the tray with her hand. “So will Apicata, but I am sure she’ll be more interested in playing with them than eating them.”
“Apicata is your daughter?”
“Yes. That’s why I came by. To meet you, but also to ask you to have dinner ready for her in a short while. She’s sleeping now but will be up soon. Maybe some cheese and fruit?” Aelia curled a strand of hair around her finger as she spoke. “Rúan came by with her supper earlier but she had fallen asleep amid her dolls. We played all day at the ocean and she was tired.”
“Yes, Domina. The sun and sea do tend to wear you out.” I myself was pleased to be near the water and already looked forward to my first day off so I could wander the beach below the house. All day the smell of the sea had invigorated me every time a breeze blew through the open kitchen windows.
“I’ll send Passia along to fetch a tray. May Fortuna and the Lares of this house shine upon you tonight!” Aelia pulled her stola close around her and left the kitchen, the tink-tink sound of the gold links of her necklaces and earrings becoming fainter as she moved through the corridor beyond.
I instructed one of the younger slaves to put together a plate for Apicata and returned to the task of organizing the slaves who were serving the cena courses.
“Remember to count!” I instructed the six serving slaves as they left the kitchen and crossed the threshold into the outdoor triclinium, where the guests rested on couches in the late-summer sun. Despite the frenzy in the kitchen, I’d managed to find a half hour in the afternoon to help the slaves practice the way I wanted them to serve the meal. It was obsessive, but I could not help myself. When the spectacle of the food arrived in a fantastic way, it made the pleasure of eating the meal all that much greater.
I watched as the slaves reached the diners, stepped together in perfect time, and simultaneously placed trays of food on the tables before each guest. The servers removed polished spoons from their aprons and newly bleached napkins from over their shoulders and presented them to the guests. I breathed a sigh of relief that the slaves followed my instructions and stayed in step with one another.
The cheese flowers that accompanied the bread made the ladies squeal with delight, but it was the look on Apicius’s face that pleased me most. Throughout the meal, Apicius beamed, his face glowing more from pride than it did from the light of the fading sunset over the sea.
When I returned from the triclinium, where the guests were finishing their honey cakes and drinking from jeweled goblets of pear juice, a woman entered the kitchen from a side door.
Out of all the surprises I’d had that day, she was the most surprising of all. The vision of her dark eyes, waves of auburn curls, and the sylphlike curve of her hips would haunt me in the days to come.
“I came for Apicata’s meal,” she said. Her voice floated across the room, undulations of sound washing over my skin. This was the woman Aelia had said would come for the tray. Passia. The name glittered in my mind as I made the connection.
“Is that it?” She pointed, one long finger tipped with carefully curved, pink-pale nails. I had been standing like a statue, stunned by my close proximity to what I thought might be the physical manifestation of Venus herself.
“That’s the plate, yes, over there. There.” Suddenly I wished she would leave. If not, all would be lost. I wouldn’t be able to complete the cena, wouldn’t be able to direct the servers, and would end up under the lash as the result of my gloomy failure to live up to Apicius’s expectations. Inside my head, I said a prayer to Venus that Passia would go, but in the same breath, I begged the goddess that Passia would remember me, as I knew I would remember every sumptuous detail about the moments she stood before me.
Thankfully the goddess was paying attention. Passia didn’t give me a second glance. She skimmed across the room, her arm brushing my hand as she leaned over the table to take the tray. In the span of a dove’s breath, she was gone.
Balsamea noticed my agitation. She flicked a bit of water at me with the end of the spoon she had been using. “Looks like there is more than dough rising in this kitchen, wouldn’t you say?”
If I had felt heat on my cheeks earlier, it was tenfold with that statement. I glared at her, wishing I could hurl a lightning bolt in her direction. I chose not to answer, but instead turned back to my counter to finish shucking the last of the oysters.
CHAPTER 3