The Raven's Wing

by Frances Watts

  ‘I suspect it is his principles that Gaius objects to,’ Aurelia said. ‘They don’t exactly see eye to eye politically. Anyway, how can you be so sure Gaius will agree to a marriage between me and Lucius? Perhaps he has in mind that Claudia could marry his new son. He has certainly been noticing her more of late, and it seems to me that Lucius has been putting her forward as much as you have. If you’re not careful, Marcus will be left out in the cold altogether.’

  I could hardly believe this: I had been married off to two different men in as many minutes! I just hoped that Aurelia was right, and my father would want to see me marry Lucius, his favourite. It didn’t sound like he thought much of his wife’s son.

  ‘Hmm, that is a problem.’ There was a noise that might have been Prisca tapping her finger on the table, lost in thought. ‘He raised no objection to the idea of Claudia marrying Marcus when I proposed it — he agrees that it’s a good solution to the Titus Laenas problem.’ (What was it about this Titus Laenas that was such a problem? Surely not the elephant.) ‘But in his delight at having found a friend of Tiberius, my husband does seem prone to act without consulting me.’ She sighed. ‘I’m happy to see his spirits raised, of course, but it makes him much harder to manage.’ (Both Prisca and her daughter saw husbands as creatures to be managed, apparently.) ‘I need to settle things fast.’ There was a pause, during which I imagined her mind as busy as the spider’s legs, weaving a scheme to meet this new situation.

  ‘Ah, of course: there’s his rank. Lucius’s father was a publicanus in Bononia, wasn’t he — a tax collector? In that case, he’s hardly good enough for Gaius’s daughter. Claudia should only marry a man of senatorial rank.’

  ‘Oh, but he’s good enough for me, though?’

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but I need you to neutralise the threat of Lucius. You’ll be doing it for your brother’s sake.’

  ‘That’s what you said when you made the match with Decimus Paullus,’ Aurelia responded.

  ‘How was I to know he would die so soon?’ Prisca said irritably. ‘Anyway, he left you with a very handsome inheritance.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not complaining,’ Aurelia said. ‘Merely commenting.’

  But Prisca wasn’t interested in her daughter’s observations; her mind was already racing ahead. ‘The question is how to persuade Gaius …’ Tap, tap, tap. ‘I know: I’ll tell him that you’re growing bored and restless in your widowhood, and I’m worried you’ll fall in with a fast crowd. The gods forbid it should come to Augustus’s attention, I’ll say — you know how Caesar prizes female virtue — so we had best marry you off quickly. Gaius would do anything to avoid a scandal and I’m sure he’d have no trouble believing such a story.’

  Aurelia seemed unaffected by the implied criticism. ‘Very well, Mother,’ she said, as if she couldn’t care less. ‘Do what you think is best.’

  ‘Thank you, Aurelia,’ said Prisca dryly. ‘I always do.’

  Marcus must marry Claudia …

  Prisca’s words rang in my head. Did Marcus know? Did he approve of the plan? Prisca and Aurelia had spoken of it openly, and even my father knew about it, so surely Marcus must have been consulted. Then why was he staying away? Oh … I cringed as I understood. So that’s why he was absenting himself from Rome despite his mother’s orders for him to return: he didn’t want to marry me! I began to tremble. I had been torn from my home in Arretium, where I had been well loved and long promised to the son of a family friend, brought to Rome not on the summons of a grieving father desiring the comfort of his only remaining child but to further the machinations of a mother scheming for her son’s advancement — and the son didn’t even want me!

  I stepped out from under the willow tree and walked quickly through the garden, eager to reach the sanctuary of my room, where I could be alone in my misery. As I passed the hedge that screened Sabine’s garden, I hesitated, wondering if I should confide in her. But then I remembered that she was the one who had let slip that they were scheming to make my father love me, and with a rush of anger I realised that she knew too: that everyone had known but me. The humiliation!

  I hurried on, trying to hold back my tears till I was in private.

  But when I pushed back the curtain to my room I saw Aballa was there, folding some freshly laundered gowns and putting them away. Suddenly I hated the sight of her unhappy face.

  ‘Go!’ I ordered.

  She looked at me, uncomprehending, her expression fearful.

  ‘Leave!’ I made my voice harsh as I pointed to the door.

  When she was gone I flung myself onto my bed, my face to the wall, and gave in to my shame and self-pity. How flattered I had been by Prisca’s approval, by her determination to make my father love me. And the kindness of Aurelia and Sabine, their quickness to embrace me as a sister — had that been real, or was it because I was going to marry their brother? No one cared about me at all, I thought, as my tears brimmed over. Not even my father. I could sing as sweetly as a Muse but I would never be what he wanted: a son to carry on his name, to honour his ancestors.

  As the hot tears ran down my cheeks, it occurred to me that the only person who wasn’t scheming against me was Lucius. Poor Lucius was as much a victim of their plotting as I was. Who was to say he would even want to marry Aurelia? I remembered the look he had given me as we sat by the fountain; how he had said, I don’t look on you as a sister; the warmth of his touch on my hand. Perhaps I should warn him? Perhaps if we went together to my father … But who would my father be more likely to believe: his wife, or the daughter he hadn’t seen in ten years and a young man he had only met a month ago? And anyway, maybe Lucius would welcome the match. Aurelia was from a noble family, with a fortune of her own, and very attractive and charming as well. Besides, Lucius was living here as a son to my father, and he was obviously devoted to him. He would not defy Father’s wishes; he would do his filial duty. Just as my duty as a daughter, I realised dully, was to marry in a way that suited my father.

  Prisca had mentioned a new law, and that a marriage between me and Marcus would please Augustus. What had she meant by that? I didn’t see how Rome’s first citizen would care about my marriage. Well, I would not marry Marcus just to please Prisca, but if marrying her son would help Father, and please Caesar, then of course it was my duty to do so. I was stunned that Marcus would dare to defy them.

  When I was sure that my tears had stopped, I got up from my bed and stepped out into the garden. I gave a last hiccupping sob, startling a slave trimming the hedges, then stopped at the fountain to bathe my face in the cold water, hoping that my eyes didn’t look too red and puffy. I couldn’t hear voices coming from the corner of the garden where Prisca and Aurelia had been, so I passed through the tablinum, which was deserted — Father and Lucius must have gone to the Forum already — and entered the atrium. Aurelia was there, stretched out on the striped divan, a book in her hand and a plate of honeyed dates on the low table beside her. When she saw me she flung the scroll aside, its ends curling. ‘Oh good, company. Come talk to me, Claudia, I’m bored.’

  I sank onto the couch opposite. ‘The book isn’t interesting?’ It felt strange to be speaking to her normally, as if I hadn’t just overheard that whole horrible conversation on the terrace.

  She glanced at it. ‘It’s all right, I suppose,’ she said indifferently. ‘Virgil. I’d much rather be reading Ovid, but we’re an old-fashioned family.’

  ‘Ovid? Doesn’t he write …?’

  She laughed. ‘Not suitable for a young lady like yourself, of course, but surely an old widow like me is allowed something a bit racier.’ She turned onto her side and propped herself on an elbow. ‘Go on,’ she ordered. ‘Amuse me.’

  ‘I don’t think I can,’ I protested. ‘I’m not nearly clever enough for a Roman conversation.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Everyone talks so knowledgeably about politics at the dinner table — it seems that’s all they talk about.’

  ‘T
hat’s Rome for you: we eat, sleep and breathe politics here. What did you talk about in Arretium?’

  I shifted uncomfortably. ‘You know … our neighbours … trivial things.’

  ‘I adore trivial things.’ She reached for a date.

  ‘I — I heard something about a new law, something about marriage.’

  She gave me a sharp look and I said hurriedly, ‘Father mentioned it at dinner the other night when he was talking about Titus Laenas.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ Her expression relaxed. ‘It’s called the Lex de maritandis ordinibus,’ she explained, ‘a law to regulate marriage. Caesar Augustus is concerned that not enough of the finest families are marrying each other and having children. For the sake of Rome, it’s important that the nobility breed.’ She licked the honey from her fingers. ‘That’s not the only new law Augustus is bringing in. There’s also the sumptuary law, the Lex sumptuaria, which is meant to curb people’s spending. Augustus thinks we’ve all grown too extravagant, especially the women.’

  ‘Will we be out of favour?’ I asked, looking around at the luxuriously decorated room.

  Aurelia laughed. ‘See? You’re thinking like a Roman already. “Will we be out of favour?” Don’t worry. This is nothing. We live in a style appropriate to our position, but we’re in no way excessive. More’s the pity. I’d love an elephant of my own. And a gown embroidered with gemstones, though I imagine it would be rather heavy; perhaps I couldn’t be bothered heaving it around. Anyway, Mother would prefer to see me in some rough old tunic from the weaving room, wouldn’t you, Mother?’

  Prisca had just entered the atrium, Sabine at her side.

  ‘Certainly not,’ she retorted. ‘What would people think? Don’t you go filling Claudia’s head with your nonsense.’

  ‘We weren’t talking nonsense at all,’ Aurelia said. ‘We were talking about the new marriage law and the sumptuary law and Roman virtues, weren’t we, Claudia?’

  ‘Good,’ said Prisca. ‘I approve of young ladies taking an informed interest in politics. An understanding of current affairs is of much more value to a husband than grubbing about in the garden.’ She looked meaningfully at Sabine, who ducked her head.

  Had she really said of much more value to a husband? Her earlier conversation with Aurelia must have been playing on her mind.

  ‘I can see that Aurelia has your political education in hand — how uncommonly helpful of her. But you must also know how to run a household. You say you helped your aunt in Arretium?’

  I muttered something that I hoped sounded affirmative, even though it wasn’t strictly true. Lovely, indulgent Aunt Quinta had not been a very stern taskmaster and I had rarely set foot in those parts of the house where the work was done.

  ‘Still, you’ll no doubt be the mistress of a far grander household than hers one day, and could benefit from further instruction. Claudia, I’d like you to join me in the weaving room tomorrow morning.’

  I inclined my head obediently, all the while thinking, The mistress of a far grander household … like her son’s? She was obviously still determined that I would marry him. What was he even like? I would have paid more attention to his villa near Veii if I had known I might one day be the mistress of it. There had been that library, and I’d liked the overseer. Had there been any portraits of the master? None that I could recall. Perhaps he was too hideous to warrant a portrait. But his sisters weren’t hideous, I reminded myself, far from it; we’d have very handsome children, Aurelia had said of herself and Lucius. I thought sadly of Lucius’s golden hair and sea-blue eyes. Why couldn’t I marry Lucius, as Aurelia had suggested?

  If only his father had been a senator. But from what Aurelia had said, the new law was designed to promote marriage between members of the nobility; a marriage between his daughter and the son of a tax collector would not demonstrate Father’s support of the Lex de marita — whatever it was. I had no choice but to do my duty, and if that meant marrying Marcus, then I was bound to do it. And if he wanted to be my father’s heir, then like it or not he would have to marry me.

  I had barely dressed the next morning before Prisca was at my bedroom door, reminding me that I was to accompany her to the weaving room. She led me through the atrium to a narrow door I had never paid much attention to before. I had seen slaves come and go through it, and assumed all kinds of work went on behind the dark heavy curtain that covered it, but I hadn’t felt any desire to see the inner workings of the household for myself. Poor Aunt Quinta, I thought now. I would have been a disgrace to her, going off to be mistress of Rufus’s household with no idea how to run it.

  ‘The kitchens are down there,’ Prisca explained, pointing to the left down the dingy corridor. ‘And beyond that there’s a door to the stables, where food deliveries are made.’ The stables were at the back of the house, I knew, with an exit to the rear laneway, and there was also a door there leading directly into the garden.

  She turned to her right. ‘This way takes us to the weaving room.’

  The small bare room had no windows and only a single oil lamp. In one corner were huge piles of cloud-like fleece. A couple of young slaves, children, were combing the fleece and picking out burrs before passing it to the women at the spinning wheels. The skeins of wool they spun were then given to the women at the upright loom.

  ‘Augustus’s wife Livia helps to weave the household’s cloth herself,’ Prisca told me. ‘She stands at the loom alongside the slaves.’ She lifted one corner of her mouth in a wry smile. ‘She sets a fine example, but it’s better if I don’t follow it. I never was very good at weaving. I understand the principle well enough, though, if not the practice.’ She began to list where the wool came from — Father’s farms around Campania mostly, where sheep were run specifically for the purpose of producing wool. Any wool that was left over after the needs of the household in Rome and Father’s other estates had been met was sold. She went on to describe how many bales of wool it took to make what quantity of cloth, and how many slaves and servants that cloth would clothe, until my head was spinning with figures.

  This led her into a recitation of how many slaves my father owned, from the farms in Campania to the seaside villa in Oplontis as well as those here in Rome, all of them needing tunics and sometimes cloaks. And then there was the bedding and the curtains, and on she went until I was almost in despair. Was she expecting me to remember all this? Would I really have to know how many sheep it took to make curtains when I ran a household of my own? I couldn’t remember Aunt Quinta saying anything about this — not that I’d have been listening if she had. But, of course, my uncle hadn’t owned estates all over the country. We had our house in Arretium and a modest villa outside Populonia on the Tyrrhenian Sea, where we summered. Uncle Marius had owned ten slaves, while Father had more than a thousand slaves and servants in his care. Now I understood why Prisca was so interested when my father spoke of things like illness in a flock of sheep; if it affected how much wool they could produce, that would be her problem. The household might have to buy cloth instead of producing their own, which would mean an extra expense. And to think I’d always imagined that the wealthier you were, the easier your life would be … Prisca was responsible for seeing that a thousand slaves were clothed and fed!

  Lessons in household management became a regular feature of my morning (unfortunately) on those days we didn’t go to the baths. I was given a thorough tour of the laundry and kitchen. I almost gagged at the disgusting smell that hit me when I entered the kitchen for the first time.

  ‘Garum,’ Prisca said as I put a hand to my nose. ‘It’s a fermented fish sauce used to flavour many dishes. You’ll get used to the smell.’

  Used to it? I’d rather starve! I couldn’t believe the vile stuff was flavouring the delicious meals we were served.

  Prisca introduced me to the cook, with whom she consulted every day about menus, then pointed out the food stored in baskets, bowls and sacks, and the amphorae of wines, oils and sauces.

  I lea
rned that although kitchen slaves went to the markets every day, much of what was used in the house was sourced from Father’s own farms. We brought in wine from his vineyards in the Alban Hills south of Rome and along the Latium coast to the west; the olive oil produced from his groves on the lower slopes of the Apennines was used in the lamps and for cooking. There was also a garden for produce behind the stables, and chickens were kept too.

  Not only were my mornings taken up, I now had less leisure time for rest, reading and music after lunch, as at least a couple of afternoons a week Prisca set me tasks.

  ‘It’s such hard work to be rich,’ I complained to Aurelia one afternoon.

  We had been sitting in the atrium for the last hour, the only movement Aurelia’s hand as she brought dates from the plate to her mouth, her bangles jangling on her wrist.

  I sighed and shifted on the hard stool, trying again to focus on the numbers Prisca had written on the parchment. The numbers represented quantities of fleece and Prisca expected me to be able to work out how much wool could be spun from each weight, how much cloth could be woven from the wool and how many tunics would result.

  Aurelia laughed knowingly. ‘That’s Mother for you,’ she said. ‘In most households as large as ours the stewards and overseers manage the accounts, but Mother believes that hard work is a virtue.’ She gestured to the parchment I was labouring over. ‘I went through the same thing when I was your age. Of course, now she knows that I’m beyond help. But she must think you’re intelligent to be devoting so much time to teaching you. You should take it as a compliment.’

  A compliment?! I said nothing, though I knew it was no qualities of my own that made Prisca determined to mould me into a model housekeeper; she just wanted to make sure I was worthy of her son. But I didn’t want to give away that I’d overheard her plans.