‘He was called away,’ Prisca said. ‘There’s a case he is investigating.’
‘I didn’t see a messenger arrive,’ my father said, sounding put out. ‘Any messenger who arrives here must first report to me. I will thank you to tell your son as much.’
‘He didn’t want to disturb you, Gaius.’
But it sounded as if my father would have enjoyed being disturbed. He didn’t like being here, I realised. He lived for the business of the Senate, for the bustle of the Forum, for the clients who called each morning seeking his patronage. This quiet life by the sea scratched at him like coarse cloth against his skin.
‘So what is this case?’ Father’s tone was envious. ‘What’s he investigating?’
‘I couldn’t say,’ Prisca replied vaguely.
As the conversation ebbed and flowed around me, and baked sea urchin was followed by ham boiled with figs and bay leaves, it occurred to me that Marcus would have a hard job finding the murderer. Prisca had said she could not believe that Aurelia had an enemy; if someone who knew Aurelia as intimately as her mother couldn’t provide a clue, what chance did Marcus have?
An idea occurred to me the next morning as Aballa helped me dress. There was someone who would have known Aurelia more intimately than her mother. Perhaps she might know something Prisca didn’t …
Husn was now attending to Sabine, so I waited until I knew Sabine was dressed and on the terrace before I said, ‘Aballa, could you tell Husn I want to see her?’
‘Husn?’ Aballa looked at me as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.
‘Yes, Husn.’ I pointed in the direction of my stepsister’s room.
When the Egyptian girl entered my own room a few minutes later, her eyes downcast, I had a moment of doubt, not wanting to add to her torment by making her speak of her dead mistress. But if she knew something that would help to find Aurelia’s murderer, it would be worthwhile I told myself.
‘You were with Aurelia since she was married, weren’t you?’ I asked.
Husn raised her dark eyes to mine. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I come from the house of her husband.’ Her Latin was stilted, but she seemed to have no trouble understanding me.
‘So you know her husband’s family?’
She lifted a slim shoulder. ‘He did not have so much family. No children. No brothers, no sisters. Very alone man.’
‘Cousins?’ I prompted, remembering the elderly pair from the funeral.
‘Yes, cousins. Old lady, old man.’
‘Who would have inherited Decimus Paullus’s estate if not Aurelia?’
Her brow furrowed as she tried to follow the meaning of my words. ‘Old man cousin.’
Aha! ‘And was he very angry when Aurelia inherited?’ I prompted gently.
But Husn shook her head vigorously. ‘Oh no, no. He very rich man, also very kind man.’
‘But perhaps the old lady cousin didn’t like her,’ I suggested.
‘No, Aurelia visit old lady, make her happy.’
I was getting nowhere. Disappointed that my questioning had elicited no useful information, I dismissed Husn. Sitting at the dressing table I rested my chin on my two hands. Aurelia must have had an enemy, though, someone who would benefit by her death, or who hated her enough to wish her dead. Perhaps she had had a rival? Maybe there was a girl in Bononia who thought she had a claim on Lucius, and this rival had a father or brothers who’d bribed a slave to poison Lucius’s bride-to-be. Or maybe Father had an enemy, someone in the Senate …
I sighed. My suppositions were growing more and more fanciful, and less and less likely.
So where did that leave my investigation? Was there a chance that Theodotus had been wrong about Aurelia being poisoned? I could only conclude that he had been. Really, wasn’t it more likely that she had eaten a bad shellfish? Perhaps Theodotus had listed poison as one among a number of possibilities and Prisca, unwilling to believe that the gods could be so capricious as to take her daughter for no reason, had preferred to believe there was a darker motive. Yes, that must be it — because I couldn’t think of a single person in the world who would want to murder Aurelia.
In the days following the conversation I had overheard, the pleasures of Oplontis waned for me. Once more, intrigues were insinuating themselves into the crannies and crevices of the house. It seemed every time I turned a corner I would find Prisca murmuring to my father in a low voice — trying to persuade him to marry me to Marcus, I assumed.
Surely she couldn’t think it was a good idea for me to marry Marcus now that he had accused me of … well, at the very least, being happy about the death of his sister! But that would make no difference to either of them, I realised. My character, good or bad, was of no importance. Nor were my feelings. Marcus would marry me because he had finally accepted that it would be to his advantage. Once we were wed, Prisca would persuade Father to adopt Marcus and make him his heir, and Father would use his influence to help Marcus to advance through the series of posts a man must hold on his way to becoming a senator. And once he had achieved his goals, I would have served my use. What would it be like, being married to a man who hated me? He could make my life a misery, if he chose. I was sure, almost sure, he wouldn’t do any such thing. But then I thought of his eyes, ink-black and unfathomable, and realised I had no idea what he was capable of.
I knew I had to accept whichever groom my father selected — but I couldn’t marry Marcus, knowing he despised me! Yet how could I stop it if he and my stepmother were determined? Perhaps if I ran away back to Arretium and married Rufus? No, that wouldn’t work — my aunt and uncle would be duty-bound to send me back to my father’s house, and Rufus and his family had made it clear that there would be no resurrecting our engagement. Still, it was a good idea: I couldn’t marry Marcus if I was married to someone else. Of course, it would have to be a match my father would approve of; a match so pleasing to him that he wouldn’t listen to his wife’s objections. In fact, I thought slowly, I would have to do exactly what Marcus expected of me. A pulse began to throb in the base of my throat as I allowed myself to contemplate the dream I had all but forgotten. I almost laughed aloud at the thought that Marcus himself had given me the idea: Lucius. I must marry Lucius.
Prisca would argue that his rank was against him — but if Father adopted Lucius that wouldn’t matter: we’d be the same rank. The question was how to put my plan into action. I would be helped in this by the fact that Father had apparently already been contemplating the idea himself. I merely needed to urge him on without him realising I was doing it — and without Prisca being any the wiser.
I found my opportunity the next day, when I saw Lucius on the terrace with Sabine. On the pretext of looking for something to read, I went into the small room off the atrium that served as both Father’s office and the library, knowing he would be alone.
Father was frowning over some papers, and looked pleased to be interrupted.
‘Do you need something, Claudia?’
I shrugged. ‘I thought there might be a book in here I haven’t read.’
Father leaned back on his stool. ‘You might find something over there.’ He waved in the general direction of a box of scrolls in the corner. ‘I’m afraid we lead a rather dull life here in the country, and what with Aurelia’s death …’
I seized on this opening. ‘Oh, Father, I hate to see Prisca and Sabine and Marcus in such pain. But you know, I’m almost as sorry for Lucius as I am for them. He was so looking forward to joining our family — to be brought closer to you through his marriage to Aurelia. He’s lost more than a bride; he’s lost a new father too.’ I paused. ‘Or perhaps I’m misreading the situation. After all, Aurelia was not really your daughter.’ I let the implication hang in the air: But I am … ‘I only hope that when the time comes for me to marry you’ll choose a husband whom you look on as a son.’ It seemed to me that I couldn’t be any clearer, but would Father grasp my meaning?
He had pushed aside his papers and was g
iving me his full attention as I spoke. When I’d finished he said, ‘Well, my dear, I’ve been thinking much the same thing, as it happens.’
I left the room without taking a scroll. Our conversation had gone even better than I’d hoped. From what he’d said, Father was definitely considering marrying me to Lucius!
I expected that as soon as Father had had a chance to talk with Lucius an announcement would be made. I could barely eat my dinner for anticipation of it, but nothing was said that night, nor the next. And though my gaze met Lucius’s several times in the days that followed, and we spoke of the weather and the beauty of the spot, he gave no sign that Father had spoken to him about me. On more than one occasion I saw Prisca in my father’s office whispering earnest entreaties, my father nodding thoughtfully. Had Father told her of our conversation? Was he having second thoughts?
A week passed with no announcement made either way. I felt wound up inside, impatient to know my fate. I’d tried to be like Prisca, to arrange things to suit myself, but here I was, as powerless as ever … Grrrr!
Early in July, Marcus returned to Oplontis. Walking into the atrium I saw him speaking urgently to Prisca. They appeared to be arguing. Was Marcus still insisting that he should be the one to marry me? Ha! Not if I had anything to do with it. I’d have to approach Father again, I decided.
But as we gathered on the terrace for dinner that evening, my father came alongside me and murmured, ‘I’ll be making an announcement at dinner tonight, Claudia.’ He winked, then moved off, leaving me gaping at his back. Could he mean to announce my betrothal to Lucius? I turned to look for Lucius, and saw that Marcus and his mother were watching me carefully. Perhaps I was to marry Marcus? Why else wait till Marcus’s return to the villa? I shivered, recalling what he had said, what he thought of me: that I had seen Aurelia as an enemy; that I had gone to the slave market to sightsee, to gallivant. (Gallivant? I had never gallivanted in my life!) But Father had been talking of Lucius … hadn’t he? He must have meant Lucius. Yet there was Marcus, watching me …
Never had a meal passed so slowly, and never had I eaten with less relish. The olives tasted too salty. The roast kid was dry in my mouth. The watered-down wine in my cup was sour. We were spooning peaches stuffed with ground almonds and dripping with syrup (sickly sweet) onto our plates when Father finally began to speak, in a voice that silenced the quiet conversations that had been going on around the table.
‘Our house has been shrouded in shadows of mourning since the death of our dear daughter Aurelia, but I have made a decision that will bring us into the sun once more.’
He sounded like he was addressing his fellow senators. I only hoped it wouldn’t go as long as a speech in the Senate before coming to the point.
‘We had been eagerly anticipating a wedding …’
I saw Marcus’s eyes narrow.
‘… and now I anticipate another just as eagerly: when my daughter Claudia marries Lucius, and I will finally make him my son.’
Yes! I looked across the table to Lucius. His eyes were shining as they met mine, then he ducked his head as a broad smile spread across his face.
The silence with which the news was met would have told anyone but my father that very few around the table joined him in his delight.
‘Eh, Prisca? Eh, Marcus? Isn’t this joyous news?’
‘Of course,’ said Prisca, whose expression was anything but joyful. ‘Excuse us if we don’t express our delight more fulsomely. It’s just that we’re reminded of the day you announced Aurelia’s betrothal.’
‘And hopeful that a similar fate does not befall Claudia,’ Marcus growled, looking very much like he hoped that it would.
Sabine let out a small cry and I knew she would be thinking of how she had failed to save her sister.
I reached out to touch her hand. ‘Don’t worry, Sabine. Nothing is going to happen to me.’ I gave Marcus a fierce look, daring him to contradict me.
‘I suppose we should be planning an engagement party on our return to Rome,’ Prisca said, her lips seeming to shrink from the words, as though they were tinged with lemon.
I hadn’t thought of this. ‘I don’t think that’s necessary,’ I said quickly. ‘Not while we are in mourning.’
‘I see you have some feelings at least,’ Marcus muttered.
I was glad when Father stood, signalling the end of the meal. I walked immediately to the edge of the terrace, eager to feel the breeze from the sea on my face, to have it blow the conflicting emotions from my head. It should have been a happy night for me but instead I felt like I had lost something …
I was gazing at the dark sky, pinned with stars, when I heard a footstep behind me.
Sure it was Marcus, come to chastise, to accuse, I spun around — but it was Lucius, his hair silvery in the moonlight.
‘You ran from the table before we had a chance to speak.’
‘I was …’ How could I explain? He knew nothing of the undercurrents coursing between myself and Marcus. ‘I felt a little giddy,’ I said finally. (Was I lying to my husband-to-be? One day I would tell him all that had passed. Just not yet.)
He was smiling his understanding. ‘I’m feeling light-headed myself. I had hardly dared hope — and now …’ He ran his fingertips lightly down my cheek, stopping to rest one finger lightly on my lip. ‘Claudia, my own sweet Claudia. May I call you that now?’
And all at once the darkness in me dissolved and I was suffused with light, like one of the stars above. ‘Yes,’ I breathed.
He took my hand in his and I felt his warmth enfold me. ‘I’m sorry that I don’t even have a ring to give you, but after we’re married I’ll shower you with jewels.’
‘I don’t need jewels,’ I told him. I thought of my new life as Lucius’s wife; a life in which plots and plans and power and politics would play no part. ‘You are all I need.’
In the middle of July we returned to Rome. Father was on a committee drafting a bill that was to be presented before the Senate when it next sat, so he had a meeting to attend, and it had been decided that Lucius and I would marry in early August, a few days after the Kalends. After the wedding, Prisca and Sabine would return to Oplontis for the remainder of the summer.
Father was keen to get back to the city as quickly as possible, so he and Lucius left a few days ahead of Prisca, Sabine and me. We reversed our earlier journey with the litters and boats. It was an uncomfortable trip, but not for the usual reasons. Since the evening Father had announced my engagement, Prisca had either ignored me or, if forced to interact with me, did so in an icy manner. Sabine didn’t speak to me either, but since she had barely spoken at all since Aurelia’s death it didn’t make much difference. Occasionally I caught her watching me and it seemed as if she might be on the verge of saying something before checking herself. I could only presume that Prisca had forbidden her to talk to me. Marcus had left Oplontis the morning after Father had announced my betrothal to Lucius, so I was spared his ill temper at least.
We arrived in Rome on a scorching afternoon, and had to wait for some time at the port while the litters were sent for. We were none of us in good moods when we finally got home.
I was changing out of my travelling clothes, snapping at Aballa as my tunic snagged on my necklace, when I heard a terrible scream from the garden.
Yanking the tunic back over my head, I raced outside to see where the sound had come from.
There was one more cry of ‘No!’ — it was Sabine’s voice — followed by loud sobbing.
When I reached her I couldn’t believe the destruction that met my eyes. Two of her garden beds had been ripped up, the plants scattered. Sabine was cradling ruined plants in her arms and crying as if her heart had been broken, which it probably had.
I reached out a hand but she shrugged me off, turning her back.
Jupiter sat calmly amid the wreckage, licking a paw.
‘Who did this, Jupiter?’ I asked, and he raised his head to stare at me before returning to his gr
ooming.
Prisca was the next to arrive. Her eyes flickered over me but she didn’t acknowledge my presence. With her hands on her hips she surveyed the damage then regarded her distraught daughter.
‘It is a shame, Sabine, but please control yourself. You didn’t cry this much for your own sister.’
Sabine gasped. ‘That’s not true, Mama,’ she said through her sobs.
‘They are plants. They have no feelings.’
They had no feelings? What about her!
‘Wash and change, please, it’s not long till dinner.’
More than ever I longed for the marriage that would remove me from this house.
When Lucius and my father returned home from the baths, Prisca told them what had been done to Sabine’s garden. I suspected she was not entirely displeased; it even occurred to me that she might have ordered the destruction herself — but if she had, she wouldn’t have bothered to hide the fact, I supposed.
Sabine was still weeping quietly and tried to excuse herself from the evening meal, but Prisca wouldn’t allow it. ‘You are not unwell, Sabine, merely overemotional.’
Better than having no emotion at all, I muttered to myself.
Over dinner, we speculated as to who might have ripped up the plants.
‘Could a slave have done it?’ Father wondered.
‘Of course not,’ Prisca said. ‘What reason would they possibly have?’
‘Why don’t you show me the damage, Sabine?’ Lucius said kindly, holding out his arm for Sabine to take. ‘Perhaps it’s not irreparable.’
She looked at him hesitantly, then rose and put her hand in the crook of his elbow.
When they returned about a quarter of an hour later, Sabine’s eyes were swollen but she seemed much calmer. ‘Lucius thinks it was the cat,’ she announced.
‘I have heard there are some plants that send cats into a frenzy,’ Lucius said.
‘That must be it,’ said Father.
I slept late the next morning, tired from the journey, and awoke to hear Sabine crying, ‘Go away!’
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