Carefully juggling the platter, spinning it expertly with his little finger to keep it balanced, Melicos bellowed an order as he ran and the door at the end of the corridor swung open as he neared it, granting access to the Imperial apartments.
On he ran, into the decorative entrance hall with its frescos of elegant parkland, lakes and bridges, swans and geese, colonnaded villas and trees. Deftly, he jumped a small table. He could have navigated the route from the kitchen to Claudius’ triclinium in the pitch darkness without spilling a drop, he’d done it so many times.
The smell of Melicos’ signature dish wafted after him as he ran.
His sauce cooks were all experts in their field. Pratucus had been chief chef to the governor of Narbonensis before his fame spread and Melicos sent him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Banathes was a Syrian who had risen to fame with his own chain of thermopolia in Emesa. He was often a little heavy on the spices, but was learning to temper his work for the more jaded palate of Rome. Latiades was a find: a Greek who could work wonders with mulsum.
It had been something of a wrench letting go of control over the sauces, but Melicos simply didn’t have time these days to work in as much detail as he used to, having to monitor the work of three dozen kitchen staff in an almost constant flurry. At least they were the three best sauce cooks to be found in the entire Empire.
Ha!
He laughed bitterly at the thought as he rounded another corner, slapping along into a wide corridor with bright windows that dazzled with sunlight, fading the beautiful painted griffins on the far wall.
One of the prized suilli, coated with his special sauce of mixed garlic, sea-salt, black pepper, reduced cream and crushed poppy seeds, rolled off the pile and, with a move that took more dexterity than any gladiator could ever hope to achieve, Melicos dipped and came up running still, the precious cargo rolling back into place, caught once more by the silver dish.
Claudius had always loved his suilli, but since that day that Melicos had perfected his sauce recipe, the emperor had refused to eat them in any other fashion, demanding the dish at least three times each week. It had become a little repetitive and dull for the head chef, but now, with his three sauciers, he could farm out the most irritating tasks, and the pride in his famed dish made any trouble worthwhile. Claudius had forbidden the staff from allowing the recipe out of the Palatine kitchens, and visitors were rarely treated to the delicacy, unless the emperor wished to tease someone.
The meal had been in progress for almost half an hour. Melicos redoubled his speed. He just simply had to get the dish there in time!
Another door opened in response to a shout, and he pelted into the main residential area, the sounds of muffled conversation drifting back through the doorways, backed by the music of a masterful trio.
Melicos pinched the bridge of his nose as he ran. He couldn’t afford to mess this up. The emperor wasn’t a person given to extremes of violence, unlike his predecessor, but even he would have trouble here, and Agrippina would be harsh to say the least.
Her attitude toward the kitchen staff had been made abundantly clear in her first month on the Palatine, following her wedding and accession. It had come to her attention that rats had been spotted in the kitchen and stores of the palace. Her violent outbursts and rabid demands that every brick of the kitchens, stores and servants’ quarters, well over a hundred rooms and passages in all, be cleaned by hand and washed down with vinegar and exterminators be brought in to deal with the vermin.
Ridiculous. Rats were ever present. The lady of the Palatine could demand whatever she wished, but there would always be rats in the lower levels. They were a fact of life, like birds or sunsets or slaves.
And thus, inadvertently, it had been Agrippina that had caused all of this, thought Melicos as he ran, gritting his teeth. Years now of scrubbing damp, decayed brick, and leaving out traps, hiring burly charlatans who would come with a box, display a dead rat they probably brought with them, collect their cash and leave. All because the lady Agrippina detested rodents so much she would turn the Palatine inside out to deal with them.
And in those years it had become apparent that she held the staff in little more esteem than she did the rats, though this disgust and enmity was mutual, he had to admit. Whatever the emperor saw in her, none of the staff could understand. And as for her obnoxious brat of a boy…
The voices were loud now and the music almost present. Melicos came to a halt in the vestibule and paused to recover his breath. No matter the urgency, one did not burst into the emperor’s presence at a run, heaving in gasps of air. A half minute would be enough to compose himself, straighten his tunic, and round the corner to present the dish to Claudius and his guests.
He could only hope he was still in time.
The dish of suilli smelled succulent and appetising, much as the last one had.
The one that had been delivered half an hour ago.
The one with the ‘special sauce’.
There would be an investigation as to how the rat poison ended up on the delicate mushrooms. Melicos could trace the chain of events in his mind clearly enough. The last exterminators they had in were a real haphazard lot with no sense of decorum or order. One of them, probably the Gaul with the disturbing squint, would have left the poison on the shelf while he worked and forgot to collect it afterwards.
Banathes, the Syrian saucier, would have reached for the powdered garlic and salt and his hand inadvertently closed on the wrong jar; the poison had looked so like the garlic mix that even Melicos had had to sniff it to be sure.
Someone would die for this, certainly. Melicos just hoped it wasn’t him. Poor Halotus, the emperor’s taster, would have had the first taste, but he would only have had a little bite, so the poison would likely work slowly on him and give him a bad few days of digestive trouble. But eaten in bulk…
Melicos mopped his perspiring brow and took a deep breath, rounding the corner into the busy triclinium with steady breath and a carefully blank expression.
The emperor Claudius lay on his couch, lounging next to Agrippina, the witch plastered in so much white lead that she looked more like a statue of herself. Other guests, including the insidious and oily Otho, lay around listening to the soothing music, chattering away without a care in the world.
Trying to conceal his nerves, Melicos strode purposefully into the room and bowed, scanning the table.
His heart sank.
The empty silver platter stared back at him, mocking his tardiness.
Halotus the taster stood at the side of the emperor’s couch, gnawing on a dormouse in honey. Agrippina smiled at her husband, the white lead straining and ready to crack. Claudius was frowning, but very much alive, stroking the witch’s cheek. Melicos heaved a sigh of relief and crossed the room, producing the silver dish of suilli with a flourish and sweeping away the empty platter, replacing it smoothly.
“Why Melicos” the emperor smiled. “More? You spoil me.”
The chef took a deep bow, his mind racing. Perhaps the emperor had been feeling unusually generous and had shared them all around, administering a mild dose to everyone? Or perhaps this was all a mistake and Banathes had not reached for the wrong jar. Whatever the case, Claudius seemed happy.
With a smile, Melicos turned and strode across the room toward the exit.