The Raven's Wing

by Frances Watts

‘Oh, yes. You speak Gaulish, Aelia?’

  She inclined her head. ‘My parents are from Gaul; I speak their language as well as Latin.’

  Aballa stood behind her with her head downcast, as if fearing she was in trouble.

  ‘Could you begin by asking Aballa where she is from, please?’

  Aelia turned to the Gaulish girl and spoke a few words.

  Aballa responded in a murmur so low Aelia had to ask her to repeat herself.

  ‘She says she comes from a village near Gergovia.’

  I had vaguely heard of the place as a stronghold of the Averni tribe. Julius Caesar had fought them in the Gallic Wars. ‘And how did she come to be here in Rome?’

  Aelia listened intently as Aballa, her voice sometimes rising in pain before falling again to her usual low murmur, answered my query. Finally she turned to me. ‘She says that although Gergovia fell to Rome years ago, her father, who was the chief of their village, still resisted. Not long ago he attacked a Roman patrol. The soldiers from a nearby camp went to the village to take their revenge. They killed Aballa’s father, her mother and her grandparents, right in front of her eyes.’

  I looked at Aballa in wordless horror. Oh, Angerona, goddess of secret sorrows, I’d never imagined she could have been nursing a pain like this.

  I nodded at Aelia to go on. Haltingly she finished the story.

  ‘Aballa and her younger brother were the only survivors from their family. They were brought together to Rome with other Gauls who had been captured to be sold at the market, but they were separated when Aballa was brought here. She doesn’t know where her brother is now. She’s afraid for him because he is disfigured.’

  Aelia paused and we both watched as Aballa traced a line down the left side of her face, from the hairline to the jaw. ‘Andalos,’ she whispered. It was the name I had heard her sobbing.

  Aballa began to speak again and Aelia translated. ‘He was injured while trying to defend her and he has a scar. She is afraid that with his scar Andalos would not have fetched a good price at the market, and will not be with a good family.’

  Aballa fell silent and Aelia looked at me. ‘Did you have another question, miss?’

  ‘No. Tell her …’ What? What could I tell her that would be of any use after what she’d been through? ‘Tell her I’m glad to understand the cause of her sadness.’ I only wished there was something I could do to alleviate it.

  For the next few days I was haunted by the story Aballa had told me. To have seen her parents and grandparents slaughtered before her eyes, brought to Rome as a slave, separated from her only surviving relative and fearing for his safety. I had never thought about it before, but now I wondered if every slave had a story like this to tell.

  Anthusa, of course, had been born in Arretium, but what about Aurelia’s slave, Husn? Her name, I knew, was Egyptian, as were her black hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes. But how did she come to be in Rome? I would have liked to ask Aurelia, but she could no longer be found on her couch eager for conversation. As the engagement party drew close, our time was increasingly taken up with preparations.

  Aurelia, Sabine and I were fitted for new dresses and we spent hours at the baths having treatments. We all wore face packs made of a cream of broad beans and wine to smooth and soften our skin, while Sabine suffered the application of a mix of onions and chicken fat against a crop of pimples on her forehead.

  ‘Look at me,’ said Aurelia, her face slathered with cream. ‘I will have the most exquisite complexion at the party but no fiancé.’

  With the party only days away, Lucius had still not returned. I wondered if beneath her light-hearted comment Aurelia really was concerned. Perhaps he had changed his mind? I wasn’t sure whether to be sorry or hopeful. Sorry, I decided, because if he refused to marry Aurelia he would surely be banished from our house forever.

  ‘He has sent messages to explain his delay,’ Sabine defended him.

  ‘Yes, indeed — so many messages, so many delays.’

  Aurelia mightn’t like being stood up, but she had never longed for the marriage in the first place, so I couldn’t imagine it would have a lasting impact. She and Prisca might even be pleased if Lucius didn’t come back; Prisca had certainly not enjoyed his influence over her husband.

  Of course, it was the household slaves who were the busiest. On Prisca’s instructions the furniture was moved out of the atrium so that its full size and splendour could be appreciated.

  The dining room was not large enough to accommodate all the guests for dinner, so it was decided to use a large reception room off the atrium as well as the tablinum. In both rooms the wooden doors could be thrown back so they were open to the garden, and there were to be tables and couches in each.

  Sabine showed me the reception room one morning, as it hadn’t been used since I was in Rome. We found slaves on their hands and knees polishing the mosaic that was the centrepiece of the floor. It was a scene from The Odyssey, with Odysseus tied to the mast of his ship so he couldn’t heed the call of the sirens. The intricacy was astounding; there must have been tens of thousands of tiny tiles.

  The wall paintings were equally magnificent, and featured scenes from the labours of Hercules; one in which Hercules fought the Nemean Lion, another in which he hunted the hind with golden horns.

  ‘Are they portraits of me?’

  We both shrieked, startled by the voice behind us.

  Sabine was the first to speak. ‘Lucius!’ She ran and threw her arms around him.

  ‘There, there,’ he said, laughing as he held her at arm’s length. ‘I wasn’t gone that long, was I? You’d think I was Odysseus and had been away from home for ten years.’

  ‘I was afraid you would be!’ Sabine said.

  ‘And you, Claudia? Are you as glad to see me?’ How was it that a voice could be made to sound like a caress?

  ‘Always,’ I said, pleased to note that I felt barely a flutter.

  ‘Now where is my fiancée?’

  ‘She is in the garden with Mama,’ said Sabine.

  ‘Probably trying to convince her that your engagement party won’t be complete unless you make your entrance on a rhinoceros,’ I added.

  ‘A rhinoceros? A fellow I know saw one of those at the Circus Maximus. It gored a hole clean through a gladiator with its horn. I’m not completely sure that it would be safe at a party.’

  As we left the reception room, he called to a slave to fetch the box he had left with the porter.

  We found Aurelia alone in the garden. Lucius greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘I know it’s unforgivable of me to have left you to manage all the arrangements for the party on your own,’ he said, grimacing in apology. ‘But just when I’d finished my business in Bononia my oldest sister fell ill. I stayed on a few extra days, hoping she’d recover, but I’m afraid she’s in no condition to travel, and my mother and sisters won’t come to Rome without her. They’ve sent gifts, though.’

  ‘Then it’s for the best,’ said Aurelia, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  He presented her with a pair of emerald earrings. ‘These are from my mother. They were a gift from my father on their betrothal.’

  Aurelia held them to her ears. ‘What do you think?’ she asked us. ‘Aren’t they lovely? Thank you, Lucius — or, rather, I shall write to thank your mother. I like them very much.’

  Lucius continued, ‘And when I told my sisters about the new sisters I was fortunate enough to gain by my marriage, they insisted that I must bring gifts for you as well. I’ve noticed this about sisters: they are very fond of gifts.’

  ‘We must have some recompense for having Aurelia taken from us,’ I retorted.

  ‘Ah, I’m afraid my paltry gifts can hardly make up for that.’ He gave Aurelia a smile before turning back to me. ‘I told my sisters how you enjoy poetry and are so fluent in Greek, and they recommended a collection of Theocritus.’ With a flourish, he handed me a scroll.

  ‘Oh, I
love Theocritus!’

  ‘And I’ve sought out some plants from my region for you, Sabine. At least, I think I have.’ He grinned and gestured to the slave, who put the box he had been holding at Sabine’s feet. Inside were a dozen or so plants. ‘The truth is I’ve got no idea what’s really in this box. But the herbalist I got them from says they’ll be useful.’

  Sabine looked at him with shining eyes. ‘I must plant them at once.’ Beckoning to the slave to follow with the box, she hurried off to her garden.

  I sat with Lucius and Aurelia and listened as they discussed what had been arranged for the party. After about half an hour Prisca joined us.

  ‘Lucius, you have returned to us, I’m glad. I was beginning to think Aurelia would have to celebrate your engagement on her own.’

  When Lucius didn’t say anything to defend himself, I spoke up. ‘He couldn’t help being delayed — one of his sisters is sick, and now his family can’t come to Rome for the party.’

  Prisca had the decency to look as if she regretted her scolding. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. You must pass on my good wishes when next you write to them. Where’s Sabine? Not in that infernal garden of hers, I hope.’

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Lucius volunteered. ‘I brought some herbs from Bononia.’

  ‘Really, Lucius, you mustn’t encourage her.’ She glanced at the book I was holding on my lap. ‘Her time would be better spent reading literature. I’m glad you have come to be my daughter, Claudia; it means at least one of my children is sufficiently accomplished for fine society.’ She looked at Lucius. ‘Though I’m sure Aurelia will make you a very agreeable wife.’

  ‘I’m certain I shall have no cause for complaint,’ said Lucius. ‘But perhaps you could send Claudia to us to sing after dinner, because my fiancée tells me I might as well have the Gorgon sing as her.’

  ‘Quite. Now the dressmaker is here with Sabine’s dress for the party and she’ll have been kneeling in the mud, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ll get her,’ I said.

  ‘Make sure she washes her hands and changes her dress before she comes to the atrium.’

  As Prisca had feared, I found Sabine kneeling in the garden, her hands in the dirt. I breathed in the usual smells, sharp and sweet, and something decidedly rank. I screwed up my nose. Perhaps the cat had buried something.

  ‘Sabine,’ I began.

  ‘Oh!’ she cried, and spun around. Seeing me, she smiled. ‘It’s you, Claudia. You gave me a fright.’

  ‘Sorry. Your mother’s looking for you. The dressmaker has brought your new dress, but you’re to wash and change your clothes before you see her.’

  ‘I’m just finished.’ She patted down the soil.

  ‘Are you pleased with the plants Lucius brought you?’

  Sabine looked down at the garden bed she had been working in. ‘Some of them are new to me,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to study them.’

  I was glad for her that she would have a brother-in-law who was so supportive. At least the marriage of Aurelia and Lucius would be of benefit to someone besides Prisca.

  On the day of the party we visited the baths early. Aurelia had refused at first, complaining that she was tired, but Prisca had been unbending. ‘None of your indolence today,’ she insisted. ‘Everything must go perfectly for Gaius.’

  ‘Isn’t the party for me and Lucius?’ Aurelia reminded her.

  When we returned from the baths we ate a light lunch of fruit then rested before dressing. As the sun made its way down the sky, Aballa helped me to dress in my new gown — white, of course, but threaded through with gold. Then Prisca’s own ornatrix came to do my hair and makeup. As well as lining my eyes with kohl, she put a touch of cinnabar on my lips to redden them, and vermilion from Tyre to add a light blush to my cheeks. My hair was pulled back as usual, but a few tendrils were left loose and arranged so that they curled softly around my face.

  The sun was just about to set when I stepped into an enchanted garden. All was quiet apart from the trilling of a nightingale. Lamps, hung high, were scattered like stars in the sky, and each one I passed made the gold thread in my gown shimmer. A perfumed oil wafted from them so that the air smelled as sweet as a wild meadow in spring.

  Then the sweet meadow was overlaid with the heady notes of jasmine and I turned to see Aurelia. Glossy reddish-brown curls framed her pale face, which had been made even whiter with foundation, then dusted with crushed mica so that her skin sparkled. Her scarlet dress was made of muslin as soft and light as a whisper.

  ‘You look gorgeous,’ I told her, just as her younger sister stepped out from the colonnade to join us. Sabine’s hair shone like the moon and her skin was the white of lilies with just a hint of rose petals about the cheeks. Her eyes were enhanced by the use of a deep blue eyeshadow made from crocus flowers. Her dress floated as light as a cloud around her slender form and when it caught the light I saw that the fabric shimmered like the pearly inside of an oyster shell. Why had I never noticed before how beautiful she was?

  When the guests began to arrive Sabine and I retreated to the shadow of the colonnade to watch as they strolled through the garden, which was full now of the murmur of voices and the occasional shrill squawk of a peacock. Many of the women were familiar from the baths, but this was the first time I had seen their husbands and sons and brothers.

  I saw Marcus, darkly handsome in a tunic of midnight blue, approach a stout grey-haired man walking arm in arm with a flame-haired girl about my own age. Her hair was elaborately arranged in braids and curls and topped with a gold diadem and her dress was embroidered with gold thread, like mine, but also with pearls. Suddenly the girl stopped and looked at the ground behind her. She had a gold leash around her wrist; she gave a tug and a brown furry creature scampered forwards, almost tripping over the white tunic it wore, and threw thin ropey arms around her leg. It was a monkey! She bent and lifted it into her arms like it was a child, and I saw that the creature’s white tunic had a purple stripe around its hem. I didn’t know whether to be amused or appalled that she had dressed the monkey as a senator.

  The girl looked happy and lively, but the man was squinting around the garden critically, as though the setting didn’t quite match his expectations. His critical expression didn’t change as Marcus greeted him, but the girl looked up into his face with a delighted smile.

  ‘Who’s that Marcus is talking to?’ I asked Sabine, watching as her brother bent his close-cropped dark head towards the girl’s fiery one to hear something she was saying.

  She followed the direction of my gaze. ‘That’s Flavia, the daughter of Titus Flavius Laenas. Oh, look! She has a monkey! Let’s go see.’

  She started towards them but I held her arm to stop her. I thought I recognised the name. ‘Titus Laenas — isn’t he a senator?’

  ‘Yes. I’m surprised he was invited, though. He’s not in favour with Caesar Augustus anymore. Or maybe he’s in favour again? I can never keep up like Mama says I should.’

  ‘Marcus seems to know the daughter well,’ I observed, trying to keep my voice neutral. It seemed that not all senators’ daughters failed to charm him; only me.

  ‘We saw a lot of the family at one time. I think Marcus was going to marry Flavia. They weren’t engaged but it was being spoken about. Then …’ She frowned. ‘Oh, I don’t think I should be speaking about this. Especially not to you.’ She pulled free of my grasp and went to join them.

  I stared at the girl with flaming hair (dyed, surely). She was stroking the monkey and chattering to Marcus, and the monkey was chattering too. So Marcus been meant to marry Flavia before her father fell out of favour. All at once the meaning of his reading of Penelope at her weaving was clear: probably Prisca had forbidden him to marry Flavia and told him he must marry me instead. There had been no message for me in his reading; he was telling his mother that he loved Flavia and meant to be loyal to her. Well, that suited me perfectly: Flavia could have him. And perhaps that was why Titus Laenas was here, I speculated. Marcus
was refusing to marry me, so his mother had agreed that he might as well marry Flavia even if her father was out of favour. Any senator’s daughter was better than none, I supposed. And, as Sabine had pointed out, Titus Laenas might very well be in favour once more.

  I felt sick at the realisation that Marcus had been in love with another girl all along, even as his mother was trying to make him marry me. No wonder he regarded me with such revulsion; he was already attached to Flavia. How could I possibly compare to a girl with a monkey? The only animal in my life was a cat who pushed people into ponds. I looked around hopefully. Maybe he’d push Flavia into the pond?

  A gong sounded to signal that dinner was to be served, so I had to stop brooding in the shadows and join the throng making their way towards the dining areas. As I passed the fountain, a voice called, ‘Claudia!’

  ‘Luciana!’

  I knew Luciana and her mother from the baths, but I had never met my friend’s father and brother. The senator was round and ruddy, in stark contrast to his lean, gangly son, who towered over his pretty, dainty sister. A shock of dark hair, which he kept brushing back, fell over one of his eyes and he had a strikingly long nose.

  ‘Father, I don’t think you’ve met Gaius’s daughter Claudia?’ Luciana said.

  ‘I haven’t, though I know the important things about you from my daughter: that if I loved her I would buy her an emerald necklace like the one you have.’

  ‘And a dress with gold thread too, Papa,’ Luciana added. ‘It’s beautiful, Claudia.’

  I envied her easy way with her father. It reminded me of how Uncle Marius had used to tease me.

  ‘You had better say that Claudia herself is beautiful rather than the dress,’ her brother broke in, and I realised his nose wasn’t quite so long as I had thought.

  ‘Quite right,’ said the senator. ‘Claudia, this silver-tongued young man is my son Octavian.’

  Before I could say anything a familiar voice broke in, ‘And he has a great eye for beauty.’ It was Calpurnia. ‘Excuse me, Senator, but I’m a great friend of Claudia’s and I just had to say hello. You are looking quite lovely, my dear.’ (She was speaking to me now, not the senator.) ‘What a delicious gown with all that gold thread, but I do think the ornatrix could have been a little more adventurous with your hair, seeing as it’s a special occasion.’ Calpurnia’s own hair had been braided and then all the braids stood on end to form a cone that stood almost a foot high.