by Assaph Mehr
“We buy our spices in bulk,” added Publius, “and not everything gets used. This is to prevent our competitors from figuring out our recipes.”
The mixture is then sealed with corks and wax, and left in the sun to ferment for between one to three months. “A fine nose is the most important tool. The batches have to be opened every ten days, mixed gently, and tasted. The fish have to ferment and liquefy to the right consistency, and the aromas from the herbs and spices have to be in harmony. Here, let me demonstrate.”
We walked out of the fish preparation building and into the open hillside. Corfidius stepped to the vats standing in the bright morning sun, inspected the seal on the vats for dates, and called for an assistant to open one of them. “This is the second mixing of this one,” he explained as the assistant carefully cut the wax seal with a knife and lifted the wooden lid.
My eyes began to water and my knees nearly buckled. Corfidius kept talking as he took a very large wooden paddle, almost a small oar, and gently tossed the half liquefied contents, but I could barely breathe. He sniffed, dipped his finger and licked it with closed eyes. I closed my eyes so I would not gag. The assistant then placed the wooden lid back and sealed around the edges with wax. Corfidius took off a bracelet from his arm, and rolled it around the edge to imprint on the wax. He then personally signed and dated a corner.
“This one should be mixed one more time and that will be that. The taste is maturing properly, and now the garum needs to separate from the allec.” Allec, as was explained to me, was the residue left behind after the liquid fish sauce. It was a by-product, though it was sold as a condiment in its own right. Many a young boy in our city grew up snacking on a slice of bread smeared with the sticky, salty spread.
The next building was where the clay amphorae were made. Here too special care was made. The right type of clay was quarried on the other side of the Mons Krodus, and brought here to be shaped and fired in kilns. The type of wax and resins used to seal the inside affected the flavour of the finished product as well. I was never aware of the complexities that went in creating our people’s favourite condiment, and my respect for the experts who made it grew the more I learnt about it.
From the big clay vessels that were used to ferment the garum, liquamen and muria the sauces were strained and packed in amphorae ready for shipping. The allec was packed in differently marked vessels, and everything was loaded on ships sailing back to Egretia and other ports for trading all over the known world.
* * *
When we left the garum factory Corpio took a back road towards the northern hills. I looked on in interest as we rode along, passing from the busy precinct of the factory with its many employees and delivery carts to a rural landscape of vines and fields.
“There is one more stop on the way back,” said Corpio. “Considering the circumstances of my nephew’s death — and your suspicions — there is another person you should meet.”
We turned off the back road into a narrow farm track. It led us past picturesque groves of trees and open meadows covered with grasses and shrubs. As we rode around a bend in the track I saw before us another low, long building. “This is our family’s honey farm,” explained Publius Corpio. “We have an exclusive method of extracting honey that gives it a very refined taste. We do not produce a lot, and what we do fetches the highest prices from the most discerning customers in Egretia.”
We dismounted, and a slave came out of the building to take the horses and cart. “My ancestor of seven generations ago developed a unique way to collect the honey. You know how it’s normally done?”
“The beehives are placed next to flowering fields, the type of flowers affecting the final taste,” I said. “At the end of the summer, some brave man builds a fire of green leaves close to the hives, and the smoke puts the bees to sleep.”
“But this is not how we do it here,” said a man emerging from the building with a smile. He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with clear skin, dark hair and blue eyes.
“Allow me to introduce Gaius Opimius Agrippa,” said Publius. “Gaius Opimius, this is Felix. He is here to inquire after my late nephew, Caeso. I do believe that Caeso spent some time with you when he was here.”
“Oh yes, nice lad. I was very sorry to hear of his death.”
“Tell me Gaius Opimius, why was Caeso interested in honey collection? I understand from his uncle that he was otherwise disinterested in the family’s business.”
“May I talk freely?” asked Opimius, glancing at Corpio. Publius Corpio nodded and Opimius turned back to me. “The reason is the same as why our honey is so special. I am a trained incantator you see.” He smiled at me, and I gave myself a mental kick — I should have paid more attention and picked up on it. “Instead of using smoke, which alters the complex aroma and taste of the final product, Marcus Quinctius Apiarius developed a unique method of putting the bees to sleep and extracting the sweet nectar. In this way the honey does not absorb the smoke, and comes out with an extraordinarily enticing taste and the clearest amber colour.”
“Somehow I don’t think Caeso was interested in the honey,” I said. “He approached you once he learnt you were an incantator?”
“That he did. He was very interested, though he tried to pretend it was purely professional. He asked a lot about my studies at the Collegium, but I’m afraid I had to disappoint him. It was not as glorious as one may think. I mean, look at me,” Opimius said with a smile, “I am a glorified bee keeper. I like this life tremendously, yet it is hardly what might catch the imagination of an excitable young man.”
“Did he leave it at that? Disappointed?”
“Well… I told him to visit a friend of mine back in Egretia. I gave him a short letter of introduction as well.” He looked apologetically at Publius Corpio. “My friend, Gaius Famnius, graduated the same year I did. He joined his father in the family’s business, they trade overland in exotic stone and glass products from Mitzrania, Assyrica and even further away. Gaius Famnius would have been able to show him things more exciting than bees.”
We spoke a bit more, about Caeso and about bees. Opimius let me try some of the new year’s honey, and with the first drop of it on my tongue I understood how the Corpio family could grow rich on it alone. I learnt little more about Caeso from Opimius. The new lead to follow back in Egretia was a sore compensation for having tasted honey so refined it put all others to shame, yet I could never afford to buy.
On the way back I thanked Publius Corpio for the tour. He took real pride in his operations, and the secret garum recipe and honey extraction charm that have been in his family for generations and were the keys to their initial success and rise to power. To a man like him, Caeso’s rejection of the family’s business was unthinkable, a betrayal. He could not comprehend how any member of his family was not as excited about it as him.
Chapter XIV
When we returned to the mansion, I took advantage of my host’s hospitality and treated myself to long soak in their baths. I moved from the cold plunge to the warm plunge and then to the hot, and then back and forth again a few more times. The cut on my arm from the pirate attack was a livid red and would leave a scar, but it had closed and did not seem infected. I still had to keep my arm out of the water, which dampened the pleasure a bit.
After the plunges, a slave scraped me thoroughly with a strigil and then rubbed me down with some of the master’s oils and unguents, helping me shed the aches of long days in cramped travel on ships. Our people have been seafarers for centuries, though sometimes I think the extent of our empire is limited to how far we can sail before we need to stop for a good bath.
I asked the steward to borrow a toga for the dinner that night — I did not take mine as there is no point in travelling with that unwieldy garment that requires competent help to get into — but happily the steward informed me that dinners at the Corpio estate were informal affairs.
* * *
True to the steward’s observation, when I re
ached the triclinium I saw the women recline together with the men, rather than sit on chairs facing them, and all were wearing comfortable tunics. This was no doubt the smaller triclinium of the mansion, used for more intimate family dinners rather than the entertainment of large parties. Everything about it, though, was exquisitely done — from the floor mosaics with motifs of various foods, through the wall paintings depicting sea and country life, to the three couches made from polished wood with inset ivory and gold leaf.
There were four people already present when I arrived. Publius Corpio and his wife Cornelia on the centre couch were saying good night to their daughter. The girl looked to me about twelve and was still wearing the long sleeved tunic of children. Publius Quinctius had introduced her as his “darling Quinctia”, but she darted quickly from the room as soon as I walked in. Cornelia herself was a good looking woman, in her mid-thirties, with dark auburn hair held up with pearl studded pins. Her smile seemed genuine to me, no doubt well trained as the Cornelii have always been consummate politicians.
Corpio indicated the couch to his right, “This is my son, Marcus. He will wear his manly toga later this year, so we are allowing him to accompany us with adult company. Please join him.” Young Marcus shared the family looks, with blond hair, green eyes and high cheekbones. Three years younger than Caeso, I took a mental note to talk to him later in private. He might know something about his cousin that the adults would not.
As I reclined on the couch and had my sandals taken off by a slave, more people came into the room. I raised my gaze and laid eyes on two strikingly beautiful women. The first was aged around forty, very dark hair pinned up exposing a delicately white neck that led down to a voluptuous figure. She wore a saffron coloured tunic that hung loose yet managed to complement her curves most enticingly as she walked. Her skin shone with health and vigour, and her bright smile was like distant snow on a mountain peak.
The second was almost certainly her daughter, the same dark hair, milky skin. Her figure was not as full and mature, rather younger and firmer. I estimated her to be around nineteen years of age, and her piercing grey eyes gazed out with a twinkle, suggesting a curious nature. She wore a simpler blue tunic, and let her hair cascade down, held back by a simple diadem of green cloth. I got the feeling that one day she would eclipse her mother in beauty.
“Come, darlings, sit by me”, said Cornelia. “Felix, may I introduce my elder sister Cornelia maior, and her daughter Aemilia.” Both women turned their eyes to me, examining me with varied and mixed interests I could not quite fathom. “Felix is a friend of my husband’s brother, and will be staying with us as well for a few days.”
I could scarcely believe that they were sisters. Where Cornelia minor the wife of Publius Corpio was a nice-but-average looking woman, her older sister Cornelia maior was remarkable. Wearing less elaborate hair and makeup, with darker hair yet lighter skin, she would forever steal the thunder of any gathering.
“Now that we are all here we can finally eat!” exclaimed Publius Corpio and clapped his hands. Servants hurried in, placing glass goblets in front of use and pouring us mulsum and water, though I noticed the women and young Marcus were only given a splash of wine with their water. The servants then came back bearing large silver trays which they placed on the low tables in front of us. The first courses were simple albeit expertly cooked; though after eating ship-fare and tavern-food for days almost everything would have been delicious.
As we nibbled on boiled gull eggs speared with olives, followed by sautéed artichokes, peppered black fungi in cream, and finally sea urchin roe in egg sauce, I tried hard not to stare at the two women sitting in front of me. Holding in my mind the image of Caeso’s dead body frozen in mid convulsion, I spoke with young Marcus Corpio. Still not formally a man, he had been raised in the Corpio family heading towards a mercantile career. He seemed eager to don the manly toga in autumn and start his education in the Collegium Mercatorum — but what boy would not be excited about stories of piracy?
As I recounted to him my adventures of three nights ago, my sole intention was to gain his interest so I could question him later regarding Caeso. However I soon found myself in the centre of a room full of people listening eagerly to my every word.
Suddenly the focus of attention, I stammered. “I hope I have not offended the women with my stories of uncouth pirates.”
“Not at all,” said Cornelia maior, looking at me with a twinkling smile.
“Sounds like you saved the day,” said Aemilia rather flatly.
“Our family has been in the shipping business for generations,” added Corpio, “and the ties with Cornelii by marriage just as long. We are all used to the hazards of the sea, as well as its bounty.”
The servants cleared the dishes of the first course, and brought on the main courses. These consisted of roasted gulls stuffed with pine nuts, a salad of fresh herbs and sharp cheese, boiled ham with honey and sage, and fried baby octopus in spices.
The conversation resumed, though thankfully on subjects other than me. The two Cornelias were chattering away; Young Marcus was keenly interested in his father’s dealing — the fishing and garum manufacture, the pearl diving and other enterprises, the long distance trading. Aemilia, surprisingly, was quite animated about those subjects, expressing original opinions. She seemed very knowledgeable as well, on matters ranging from geography and foreign cultures, to trade goods and routes, to business practises of finance and manufacture. I found it surprising, as not many young women of her class and age would receive this level of tuition nor feel so free to express it. Voicing her opinion seemed tolerated and even accepted by her family as well, another uncommon arrangement.
The last dishes of the main courses were cleared, and the servants came to tempt us with desserts. These included dates stuffed with almond paste, honeyed sesame cakes drenched in wine and thin pastries with poppy-seed filling. The conversation moved to family matters. Cornelia maior and Aemilia, I learnt, had made it their habit to come visit Cornelia minor and Publius Corpio often; to “escape from the pace and interminable gossiping of Egretia” as they put it. I gathered both mother and daughter enjoyed the freer environments of the Corpio island mansion.
Cornelia was widowed these past six years, her husband Tiberius Aemilius Mamercus having passed away suddenly at the early age of forty nine. Her eldest son, bearing the same name as his father, had joined the Collegium Militum and was currently on campaign against the Tigumani, who had been recently encroaching our province of Arbarica Inferior.
I was not used to women reclining together with men, and the view it offered me of Cornelia’s curves as she talked was most distracting. I also found her daughter’s gaze on me enticing, with her large grey eyes, and at the same time sobering with its clear and level directness. And yet, as my gaze kept wandering uncontrollably back to Cornelia maior, I found her looking keenly back at me just as much, eyes atwinkle.
Inevitably, the subject of my business on the island had come about. Not being sure how much the extended family knew of the circumstances of Caeso’s death I looked to Publius Corpio. By now he had stopped watering his wine, and his face was flushed. “Oh, he’s here to poke at what that young pedere had gotten himself into,” he said, and caused some consternation to his wife with his uncouth language. “Well he was, woman,” continued Corpio over Cornelia minor’s attempts to shush him. “No appreciation of the family. That’s how he got himself into whatever shady dealing that ended up killing him in this way.”
“I think it’s time we retired,” interjected Cornelia maior tactfully, and rose from the couch. Aemilia obediently followed. As they left the room, both gave me curious looks — the daughter, a mix of curiosity and interest, the mother, a completely different mix of interest and something quite else.
I decided it was the wine which made me read things that were not there. I shook my head and rose as well. “I thank you kindly for your superb hospitality, Publius Corpio and Cornelia. I think I shall
retire too, as I have a busy day tomorrow.”
* * *
As I left the dining room and tried to find my way to my sleeping cubicle, Marcus Corpio followed me. “They won’t tell me how cousin Caeso died,” he said. “He was here last autumn, you know. Is that why you are here?”
“Perhaps,” I replied. “Do you know anything about his whereabouts while he visited?”
“Oh, I know some places he went to alright. I could take you there if you wished.”
“That will be most appreciated. Could you tell me where he travelled?” I asked.
“I could, but I’d rather go with you,” he said with an excited look. “I bet you would find the… places, really interesting!”
“I don’t want to put you in any risk. What would your father say?”
“He doesn’t have to know. I told cousin Caeso and his friend Gnaeus Drusus, but they went without me. Took them too long to find her as well; served them right.”
“ ‘her’ ?”
“I’ve said as much as I would. Will you take me with you?”
“You strike a hard bargain. I need more details though, before I will even consider going behind your father’s back. Why don’t you tell me as much as you are willing, and I will decide then? I give you my word that if your story sounds plausible I shall share my investigation with you.”
He thought for a moment. “Fair enough. Come with me, we can talk in the library.”
He led me through an open colonnade bordering the peristyle garden, and ducked into a large room. “This should be far enough from everyone else,” he said in a low voice, “however we should still keep quiet.” The room was dark as we did not have a light with us. I could not see Marcus’ face clearly, only the gleam in his eyes. “Is it true that cousin Caeso got turned to stone by a medusa?” he asked.
