The Raven's Wing

by Frances Watts

  Of course, none of it would have happened if not for Lucius. The problem was we had no proof of Lucius’s involvement, nor of his intentions. I felt sick every time I recalled how he had looked at me; I knew now that he had been playing the same game with Sabine.

  Father sent a messenger to Via Triumphalis to fetch him, saying only that Sabine was ill, and told the messenger to wait there if Lucius was not at home. The messenger did not return with Lucius till the small hours of the morning. He had been visiting friends of his family again, he said, but that seemed unlikely given he was no longer in touch with his mother and sisters. Probably he had been gambling.

  I had gone to bed by that time and heard it all later from my father, how Marcus had revealed to him Lucius’s secrets, along with the testimony he had brought from Bononia. Father and Marcus confronted Lucius with this, and accused him of engineering the death of Aurelia. He admitted to his gambling, but maintained his innocence when it came to the murder. Yes, he had given Sabine a gift of plants. We had all seen him do it — he had nothing to hide. But he’d had no idea that there was hemlock among them, and was as distressed as anybody to hear of it.

  To my relief, I never saw him again. My father saw to it that he was sent into exile. It hardly seemed punishment enough, but it was deemed better to keep the circumstances quiet and avoid the scandal that would ensue if it were to be known that Sabine had killed her sister and then herself.

  After the funeral and the Nine Days of Sorrow, Prisca took to her bed; Theodotus told us she was suffering from shock and nervous exhaustion.

  Marcus left Rome, presumably for Veii. He never once spoke to me from the time he told me to run for Prisca to the day he left the city. I was sure he blamed me for Sabine’s death. After all, if I had never found the poison, spurred him into confronting her … I pictured him pacing the terrace, grieving for his two sisters and cursing the day I came into their lives.

  That left my father and me to wander the silent house alone.

  He too blamed himself. ‘I wish I had never brought Lucius into our house. It was the grief over Tiberius …’ His eyes glinted.

  A month passed, in which I thought a lot about how Lucius was able to enter so easily into our family and wreak such destruction. I came to the conclusion that it was because he had a gift for giving people what they needed, so that they came to need him. Sabine was starved of attention and affection, and he gave it to her. My father had an empty place in his heart left by Tiberius’s death, and Lucius filled it. As for me — I was a spoiled girl when I left Arretium, used to being petted and made a fuss of by my aunt and uncle. I had craved warmth and admiration.

  Well, I was no longer that girl, but I knew what I had to do. I felt a cavernous emptiness in my chest as I spoke the words one morning, aware they meant I would never see Marcus again.

  ‘Father, I think I had best return to Arretium to live. My presence here will only remind Prisca of the death of her daughters.’

  Father agreed.

  The weather held for almost the entire journey and I could see how the passing seasons had left their mark on the landscape since I had last travelled this road. The oak forests were in full green leaf, grapes were heavy on the vine and the wheat was ripe in the fields. The farmers were busy with their threshing; as they bent and stood, bent and stood in their dun-coloured tunics, they resembled ears of wheat bowing before the wind.

  The skies only began to turn as we neared home. Grey clouds brooded over Arretium and the hills behind were the colour of a shadow, not quite blue, not quite black, as we approached across the plain. The sombre palette suited my mood perfectly. It was six months since I’d last seen the city, and I felt like I’d aged ten years in that time.

  I had sent a letter ahead of my return telling my aunt and uncle that Sabine had died of the same mysterious disease that had felled Aurelia, and that Lucius had been discovered as a gambler.

  Quinta and Marius, though saddened by the bad news from Rome, were overjoyed to welcome me home, and if I felt a long way from joy myself, our reunion brought me comfort.

  ‘I’m glad they had the sense to send you home,’ Aunt Quinta said as we sat in the atrium together. ‘The gods forbid you should catch their illness.’

  ‘It was unlikely.’

  ‘Fancy your father arranging a marriage to such a scoundrel. That’s what happens when you don’t know the family.’

  I neglected to mention my own part in the debacle. I was as guilty as anyone of arranging that marriage.

  My aunt and uncle treated me like an invalid, taking my quietness for mourning. I was mourning the dead, of course — Aurelia and Sabine — but more than that, I was mourning the living. I was mourning Marcus, and the life that was now lost to me. Though, if I was honest with myself, it had never been in my grasp. He had declared me unfit to be his wife within twenty-four hours of meeting me, and had only very briefly changed his view.

  I returned to my old routines, calling on friends, visiting the bazaar and the baths. I was leaving the baths one day when I saw Rufus. He looked much the same; perhaps a bit taller, more confident. He had only just adopted the toga when I had last seen him, but now he wore it with ease.

  ‘Claudia, hello. You’ve returned from Rome for good, I hear.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You would have been better off staying in Arretium and marrying me.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said, though I knew now that marriage to Rufus wouldn’t have satisfied me. Or would it? If I’d stayed in Arretium, I’d never have met Marcus, never known the thrill of his dark gaze, the way even our arguments set the blood fizzing in my veins. I wouldn’t have known that without him I felt like there was no light or colour in the world. I might have been content enough with Rufus.

  ‘But you missed your chance,’ Rufus went on. ‘I’m to be married in the new year.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ I said. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy.’ And I meant it, without a twinge of regret.

  ‘I hope you’ll be happy too, Claudia.’ I saw that Rufus was scrutinising the fine wool of my gown, the jewels adorning my fingers, my wrists, my neck. ‘Though I’m sure the way we live here must seem very small and provincial to you now.’

  I put my clothes and jewels from Rome away after that, and wore only the kind of dresses I’d had in Arretium previously. Here, I was not a senator’s daughter; I was the niece of a factory owner, and I had better look the part.

  I was returning from the baths with Anthusa one morning about a month after my return when she said, ‘Look, a messenger.’

  I raised my head in time to see the hem of a cloak disappearing inside my uncle’s house.

  The horse stamping impatiently outside looked familiar. Was it the one Theodotus had ridden? It whickered softly as I approached.

  A sense of dread flooded me; I knew it could only be bad news. Surely the gods had punished my father’s family enough!

  I hesitated at the threshold, wanting to delay whatever it was.

  ‘Are you waiting on a sign?’ Anthusa teased.

  I shuddered, remembering the feel of the crow’s wing on my cheek all those months earlier, and the ill fortune that had followed. As if on cue, I caught a flutter of black from the corner of my eye. Turning to the right, I saw a bird swoop towards me, felt the softest brush of its wing against my face, then, before I could react, watched it soar up, up.

  ‘No,’ I gasped.

  ‘It’s all right, Claudia, it was a raven,’ said Anthusa in my ear. She clutched my arm. ‘I was only joking, but it’s true: the gods have sent you a sign! A raven seen on the right side is a good omen.’ She gave me a gentle push. ‘You needn’t fear going inside now.’

  As I stepped through the front door, she slipped my cloak from my shoulders and I entered the atrium. Aunt Quinta was sitting by the small table and with her, his back to me, was a tall, well-built man with short, thick dark hair.

  It is not him, I told myself. It is not him. But still my
heart sped up in hope.

  ‘Claudia,’ said my aunt, on seeing me. ‘What do you think? It is Marcus Aquila, your stepbrother from Rome, come with a message for your uncle.’

  Marcus stood and turned to face me. ‘Claudia,’ he said, his eyes boring into mine.

  It was hard to speak with no breath in my lungs, but I managed to choke out, ‘Hello, Marcus.’

  ‘Marius had to go to the workshop to see about a problem with an order,’ Quinta explained. ‘But I’m expecting him home soon.’

  When Marcus didn’t say anything, I asked, ‘What news is there from Rome? Your mother?’

  ‘Mother is doing better, thank you.’

  ‘And how is my father?’

  ‘He’s very busy; Augustus has appointed him to the committee overseeing the revision of the Senate’s lists.’

  ‘He must be happy.’

  Marcus raised a shoulder. ‘Perhaps not quite so much as you would think. He seems to have lost his taste for politics. And he doesn’t like to leave my mother too much alone. She feels the absence of …’ he paused ‘… everybody. I have been helping your father manage his affairs in what time I can spare.’ His lips quirked in a wry smile. ‘We get along very well these days, now that we’ve been thrown together.’

  We continued in this awkward way until Aunt Quinta said, ‘I think I’ll send a message to the workshop to tell my husband you are here.’

  ‘I don’t mind waiting,’ Marcus told her, but, still fretting, Quinta hurried from the room. As soon as we were alone, he said accusingly, ‘You left Rome without saying goodbye.’

  ‘How could I say goodbye? You had gone already — and you didn’t say goodbye to me.’

  ‘But I was coming back.’

  ‘How was I to know that?’ I could have screamed with frustration at the pointlessness of the argument. ‘Why are you here?’ I burst out.

  ‘I’ve come to bring you home,’ he replied.

  I gestured to the room. ‘This is my home.’

  ‘Must you always argue with me?’

  ‘Me? You’re the one who’s arguing. I don’t even know what it is we’re arguing about!’

  ‘Fine, we’ll be married from here then.’

  I gaped at him. ‘Did you say … married?’

  ‘It’s your father’s wish. I have it in the message for your uncle here.’ He tapped his knee with the scroll.

  ‘My father’s wish,’ I repeated. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And will he make you his heir when we are married?’

  ‘That’s the agreement.’

  ‘Oh, you have an agreement — I should have known. You’re not that different from Lucius, are you? You’re marrying me for my father’s wealth and patronage.’ In my attempt to disguise my disappointment, my voice came out sounding disdainful.

  I saw his eyes flare with anger at the mention of Lucius, but he merely said stiffly, ‘You know that’s how it is done. Besides, you and I are all our parents have left now. You would need a heart of stone to defy them after all they’ve been through.’

  You would know about a heart of stone, I thought to myself.

  Obviously irritated by my silence, Marcus demanded, ‘Just tell me this: do you mean to obey your father’s wishes, or don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will obey.’ Were the gods rewarding me or punishing me? I could hardly tell. Perhaps I had been too greedy: I wanted him to marry me, but I wanted him to love me too.

  ‘And will you return with me to Rome?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Good.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Now we are getting somewhere.’

  He didn’t love me, but he would marry me, for my father’s sake and his own. Perhaps I could make him love me? I dismissed the idea at once; who had ever made Marcus do anything?

  Aunt Quinta returned. ‘I have sent a message; I’m sure Marius will be here soon. And you are sure everything is all right in Rome?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes, madam. Both my mother and stepfather are well, though still grieving.’

  ‘To lose two daughters to illness so young and so close together.’ She shook her head, and Marcus shot a quick look at me, perhaps surprised by the realisation that I had not disclosed, even to my aunt, the full extent of the tragedy. ‘I don’t know how they can bear it. I am just glad Claudia did not succumb.’ Then, looking mortified, she put a hand to her mouth. ‘How selfish that sounds. I meant no offence.’

  Marcus inclined his head. ‘None taken. I know you have raised Claudia like your own daughter and thus can well imagine my mother’s grief.’

  I was barely following the conversation, my mind in turmoil. I was to return to Rome, to marry Marcus.

  He glanced at me from time to time, but didn’t push me to join the conversation.

  When my uncle finally arrived, red-faced and perspiring as if he had run all the way from his workshop at the edge of town, Marcus got to his feet.

  ‘Sir, I am Marcus Aquila. I have a message from my stepfather, Gaius Claudius Maximus.’

  Together they went into Uncle Marius’s office.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, my aunt turned to me. ‘So that is your stepbrother. You have barely mentioned him. He’s very handsome. Now tell me: do you have any notion of what news he brings?’

  ‘My father … he wishes for us to marry.’

  My aunt looked astonished. ‘You and Marcus Aquila? Did you know of this?’

  ‘There was some talk of it while I was in Rome, but nothing was settled before … before I returned to Arretium. The plan is for Father to adopt Marcus and make him his heir.’

  My aunt nodded approvingly. ‘That makes good sense, especially after the disaster of your last engagement. This marriage to Marcus, does it please you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, then promptly burst into tears. ‘I am very happy.’

  My aunt, looking troubled, rushed to sit beside me. ‘My dear, are you all right? These tears … are you sure they are tears of joy? If the prospect of marriage to Marcus Aquila makes you so unhappy, Marius will go to Rome and speak to your father himself. You have been through quite enough.’

  ‘Yes,’ I sobbed. ‘They are tears of joy. I think. Aunt Quinta, I love him. But he doesn’t love me.’

  ‘How could anyone not love you?’ My aunt looked so indignant that I began to laugh.

  When Marcus and my uncle returned, I had dried my tears, though I was still sniffing. I was sure I made a pretty picture for my fiancé, with red eyes and a swollen nose. Well, at least I knew he wasn’t marrying me for my looks.

  Once again, I was to leave Arretium for Rome on short notice.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m losing you for a second time,’ my aunt said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief as we stood beside the litter that was to take me back to Rome.

  ‘I’ll take good care of her,’ Marcus promised. ‘And you must come to visit us.’

  For some reason, the kind and respectful way he treated my aunt and uncle only made me cross with him. It wasn’t enough that I already loved him so much it broke my heart — he had to make me love him more?

  The journey was slower than it had been when I travelled by carriage, but more comfortable. We stopped overnight at inns, rather than stay with friends of the family; Marcus preferred not to answer questions about the tragedies that had befallen our household.

  Marcus was solicitous, often asking me if I was comfortable or if I needed anything, but was otherwise uncommunicative. At least Lucius had been delighted enough by the wealth I was bringing him to rejoice in the prospect of our marriage, I reflected bitterly. Marcus, with his infernal pride, most likely resented me.

  We finally reached Rome a week after we had set off from Arretium. I was taken aback when Prisca greeted me with a warm hug.

  ‘I once wanted your marriage to bind Marcus and Gaius closer together. Now I am glad it will bind you closer to me.’ Then, bringing her lips clos
e to my ear, she whispered, ‘Marcus is all I have left. Please, make him happy.’

  I didn’t have the heart to point out that it wasn’t in my power to make Marcus happy.

  Father consulted the calendar and fixed on a date for the wedding in October, between the Nones and the Ides. He announced it to Prisca, Marcus and me at dinner one night. The news was greeted calmly; grief lay over the house like a thick, damp towel, muffling all other emotions. Besides, I was the only one at the table who felt emotional at the thought of the marriage. I glanced at Marcus under my lashes to see his response but he seemed to be engaged in a staring contest with the dull eye of the fish on his plate.

  ‘About a month away,’ mused Prisca as she delicately peeled back the skin of the fish on her own plate and began to pick the flesh from its bones.

  ‘Is that not enough time?’ my father asked anxiously. ‘I thought we’d agreed that it was better if it were done sooner.’

  ‘If anything it’s too much time,’ replied his wife. ‘We have virtually nothing to organise. The wedding party will be a very small one — I hardly think any of us are in a mood for celebration — and Marcus already has a house of his own for Claudia to move into.’

  ‘Claudia might like to make changes,’ Marcus suggested politely, ‘since she is to be its mistress.’ He looked up at me enquiringly.

  I shrugged. ‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ I said, careful to keep my tone neutral. I had some pride left, and I had no intention of letting anyone see that I thought of this marriage as anything other than a business transaction between my father and my fiancé.

  As if to emphasise this, Father turned to Marcus and said, ‘I’m having some trouble with a property in Florentia I’d like your opinion on, if you have time after dinner.’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ said Marcus. And just like that we had moved on from the subject of the wedding.

  After dinner, Prisca retired to her bed early and I wrapped myself in a shawl and walked in the garden, lit with lamps now that the evenings were shorter. Some changes had been made while I was away. Sabine’s riotous beds of herbs and flowers had been transformed into a pebbled square with a bronze statue in the Greek style, of a woman carrying an urn. The furniture was gone from the small terrace where Sabine had drunk the poison, and in its place was a marble statue of a nervous faun, head cocked and one leg lifted as if in flight.