Excerpt from Feast of Sorrow by Crystal King, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

The slave master continued, "His talents go beyond that of the kitchen. He can read and write, he is excellent at figures, and he speaks several languages. This is the coquus for you!"

"Famous?"

The slave master cocked his head and smiled. "Most definitely."

I expected Apicius to ignore the slaver's words. Yet he asked my price of the slave master and the answer shocked me. Twenty thousand denarii! Slaves rarely sold for more than a few hundred denarii.

"Sotas!" Apicius beckoned to the body-slave. Disapproval briefly flashed across Sotas's features as he stepped forward with a bag.

Apicius opened the bag to reveal several gold aurei, then laid the heavy pouch in the slaver's dark calloused hand. "The argentarii know me well," he said, gesturing in the direction of two men standing under a small canopy at the corner of the slave market. As representatives of the Roman bank, the argentarii were responsible for officiating over the larger sales, verifying credit, and making sure transactions went smoothly. "They will sign my letter of credit for the rest."

The slave master grinned. He had profited heavily.

I would later learn that my selling price was more than all the other slaves sold that morning combined.

•••

After the slave master had removed my shackles and thrown a threadbare tunic at me, Apicius motioned for me to follow. Sotas followed behind.

As we made our way through the Baiae streets, I could sense unease in my new dominus. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about the high price he paid for me.

When he spoke it was with impatience. "Tonight I'm having a small cena with a few close friends. Tell me what you will make for the meal."

I faltered at my new master's words. I gazed up at the laundry lines strung between the insulae we walked past, with colorful stolae hanging out to dry. The sun was already past its apex.

"I am unsure of the staples in your kitchen." I kept my eyes down. My stomach churned as if I had eaten a rotten apple.

Apicius stepped around a small group of boys playing a game of knucklebones. "Never mind that. If you had any ingredient at your disposal, what would you make?"

"You said it was a small dinner?"

"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.

Excerpted from Feast of Sorrow by Crystal King. Copyright © 2017 by Crystal King. Excerpted by permission of Touchstone. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.