‘My little sister.’ Her voice was soft.
‘I hate him,’ I said into the pillow.
She sank onto the stool. ‘What was that, dear?’
I lifted my head. ‘My father. I hate him! He hasn’t once remembered my existence since he left Arretium, never even sent so much as a letter, and now he’s wrecking my life!’
‘To be fair, Claudia, there are many, many calls on a senator’s time. He’s probably too busy for letters — but it doesn’t mean he never thinks of you.’
Typical Aunt Quinta; she never could think ill of anyone.
‘He wasn’t a senator when my parents married, though, was he?’
My aunt leaned her back against the edge of the dressing table, her thumb still idly rubbing the cameo. ‘No, it wasn’t till after your mother passed on to the underworld that your father moved to Rome and entered the Senate.’
She stood and placed the cameo back in the brass box, then moved to stand by my bed. She placed her hand lightly on the crown of my head. ‘We have had the pleasure of your childhood, but you are a woman now, and it is right you should return to be with your true family.’
‘You are my true family,’ I insisted. ‘You and Uncle Marius.’
‘I wish it were so, my dear, with all my heart I do.’ Bending, she placed a kiss on my temple. ‘Rest now, and I’ll send Anthusa in later to help you dress, for dinner.’
As if I could rest. I pulled off my dress, then lay back on the bed in only my under tunic and tried to picture my new family …
Anthusa woke me from a dream in which my stepmother was having me whipped for playing a discordant note on my cithara while a group of goat-faced children laughed and pointed.
‘Have you heard?’ I asked her as she placed the wooden chest of makeup on the dressing table.
‘About Rome?’ She nodded. ‘Alexius ate with the senator’s man and then showed him to his quarters. He’ll be travelling back to Rome with you.’ According to Anthusa, slaves always knew more about what was happening in a household than their masters did.
She continued, ‘He’s not just an ordinary messenger, you know. Alexius says he’s the steward who manages your father’s household. It’s a very high position.’ She opened my chest and removed the best of my dresses, one made of soft white cotton.
‘So?’ I slid from the bed and let Anthusa slip the dress over my head, raising my arms so she could tie a woollen cord around my waist.
‘So you are being treated with a great deal of respect.’
I sat on the stool and tipped my head back. Anthusa began to make up my eyes, dipping a smooth wooden stick first into oil and then the tube of kohl.
I felt a rush of gratitude — she was obviously trying to reassure me — followed immediately by a hollowness at the thought that I would be leaving her behind. Then it occurred to me: perhaps I didn’t have to?
‘Anthi,’ I said, ‘I’m going to ask Uncle Marius if I can take you with me to my father’s house.’
The movement of the stick stopped. ‘I can’t go to Rome.’
I twisted on the stool to face her, excited by the possibility. ‘I’m sure he’ll agree. It would be so much easier to leave Aunt Quinta and Uncle Marius if you were coming with me. And I’m sure they’d feel better too if they knew I wouldn’t be alone in my father’s house.’
My attachment to Anthusa was not the normal one of a mistress to her slave. She had been born to two of my uncle’s slaves only a year before I came to live with Quinta and Marius, and had been my first playmate before becoming my personal attendant.
‘Claudia, I can’t go to Rome,’ Anthusa repeated. She sounded distressed. ‘You know I can’t.’
I opened my mouth to disagree — Uncle Marius had never refused me anything — but then I realised that it was not up to him. My father had his own slaves; there would be no place for Anthusa in his house.
‘I’m sorry, Claudia.’ As Anthusa gazed at me, her brown eyes wide with sympathy, something inside me snapped.
‘It’s not fair! I don’t want to go!’ I was sobbing now, the despair I had been trying to keep at bay overflowing.
‘I don’t want you to go either,’ Anthusa said, her voice quavering. ‘I thought we’d always be together. That your uncle would give me to you when you married and — oh no! The kohl!’
Looking in the mirror, I saw black rivers coursing down my cheeks.
‘Enough tears,’ Anthusa ordered. ‘You’re just creating more work for me.’ She scrubbed my cheeks clean with a piece of cloth and began to make up my face again.
When she was done I gazed at my reflection. I saw no sign of the anguish I felt in the face of the girl staring back. Her hair was as dark as a raven’s wing and she had large brown eyes in an oval face. But I would be looking in a different mirror soon and I had the eerie feeling that I would be looking at a different girl. Everything I knew, every picture I’d had of my life to come, had been swept away.
‘A carriage?’ Aunt Quinta, having resigned herself to the fact that she couldn’t prevent my leaving, had transferred her dismay to the means of it. ‘All the way to Rome? Gaius couldn’t spare a litter?’
We were standing by the front door. My trunk had just been carried off by two of Father’s slaves, and Uncle Marius and I were about to follow them to the city gates, where the carriage my father had sent would be waiting.
‘A carriage will be much faster,’ my uncle pointed out. ‘Would you have the girl spend longer on the journey than she has to?’
‘I would have the girl stay at home with those who love her,’ Quinta said fiercely. But she must have seen something of my feelings on my face, for she added hastily, ‘Of course, your father loves you too,’ though I knew there was no ‘of course’ about it. ‘Anyway —’ she was keen to change the subject now ‘— the carriage will bounce you till it’s bruised the very bones of your bottom, which is not so well padded as mine …’ She managed a smile. ‘Wait! Wait here.’
She rushed off and returned a minute later, clutching a cushion. I recognised it as one from her bed, covered in dusky pink linen.
‘You can sit on this,’ she told me.
I took the cushion under my arm and stood patiently while she fussed with my cloak, arranging it just so, and called to a slave to go to the kitchen to make sure provisions for the journey had been sent ahead to the carriage, as she had ordered. After being so reluctant to go, I was feeling impatient to leave now, to get the shock of farewells behind me. Finally my uncle said in a quiet voice, ‘The carriage is waiting, Quinta.’
‘Yes,’ said my aunt briskly. ‘You’d best be off.’ As she held me to her, she said, ‘You are the best of daughters, Claudia, and your father will love you as we have.’ She pulled away to look at me. ‘Well, perhaps not quite so well as we have; that would be impossible.’
I hoped that my eyes conveyed my feelings as I gave her one last hug; I kept my lips clamped shut for fear of wailing.
My uncle and I headed off down the street. It was only just light, and along the road to the city gate the traders were still setting up their stalls. A farmer was unpacking baskets of early spring vegetables, arranging piles of baby artichokes and mounds of fava beans, lining up the slender spears of asparagus … Ouch. I loved asparagus, but now it was an unpleasant reminder of the worst-ever birthday dinner. My uncle hadn’t been able to find Aulus Crispus to tell him of my father’s message, so we’d had to break the news that night during the meal. When the slaves had carried in the platters of asparagus, Rufus’s mother said how glad she was that spring was finally here, then began to praise the season as an auspicious time for an engagement. Uncle Marius had cleared his throat and … I felt my own skin flush at the memory of Rufus’s face reddening to match his hair.
‘It’s not my fault,’ I’d whispered to him in the stunned silence.
‘Perhaps your father thinks my family isn’t good enough for a senator’s daughter,’ he’d said stiffly. He’d sat through the rest of
the meal without saying a word, only speaking again when the last dish had been cleared and we all rose from the table. ‘Goodbye, Claudia.’
Fortunately, his parents and sister seemed more understanding of the fact that no blame lay with me, and their farewells were warmer, though no less final. The message was clear: even if I were to return to Arretium, there would be no prospect of a marriage between Rufus and me.
As we passed through the city gate, my uncle pointed out the bearded man, my father’s steward. He was soothing the big bay horse I’d seen him riding through the streets two days earlier. The horse was pulling at its bridle, tossing its head in what looked like irritation. Beside them was a fine carriage made of wood, with bronze decoration, and room for four inside on two bench seats. The driver sat up the front, behind two mules. Alongside the carriage was an open cart in which I could see my trunk and the provisions Aunt Quinta had arranged. As well as a driver for the cart, there were the two slaves who had carried my trunk. My father had sent five slaves just for me? That was half the number we had in our whole house! Okay, I had to admit this was pretty impressive. Maybe he wasn’t all bad …
My father’s steward stepped forwards to greet us formally. ‘Miss Claudia, I am Theodotus, from the household of Gaius Claudius Maximus. It is my pleasure to accompany you to Rome.’ He turned to my uncle. ‘You can be assured, sir, that every care will be taken to ensure your niece’s comfort and safe arrival. We will stop each night with friends of Gaius Maximus.’
My uncle put his hands on my shoulders and kissed the top of my head, then placed a small purse of coins in my hand. ‘Here you are, my dear — a little something to be used as you see fit. Perhaps you’ll be accosted by barbarians on the road and will use it to buy your freedom.’ He must’ve seen by my face that his attempt to lighten the moment with humour had failed, because he added hastily, ‘Though that shouldn’t be necessary; any right-thinking barbarians would make you their queen immediately.’
I considered dropping to my knees and weeping piteously, begging my uncle not to let my father take me, but since that would only make my uncle feel bad (not to mention what it would do to my white dress), I forced myself to laugh. I stepped up into the carriage, sat on the bench facing forwards and leaned out the window to wave to my uncle; and then, with a shout, the driver urged the mules into motion and we were away, the ironclad wheels loud on the stones.
The bench was hard and narrow, but despite my aunt’s worries the carriage was well provided with comforts. There were numerous cushions, and a creature that looked like a bear slumbering on the bench opposite turned out to be an enormous fur travelling rug.
I put cushions beneath me and behind me, though they did little to ease the jolting. Wrapping myself in the fur helped, and it also cut the chill of the dawn. I hugged my aunt’s cushion to my chest, and was soothed by her scent of roses.
A mist shrouded the distant hills and the fields around us were pale green, bordered by long grasses freckled with red poppies. I rested my head against the window and watched a steady stream of carts trundling past on their way to Arretium laden with vegetables, amphorae of oil, bales of wool.
As the sun rose higher, the mist burned away and the traffic dwindled, and I turned my attention to the activity of the countryside. The start of spring meant a return to the fields, and I saw farmers and their sons tending crops on their smallholdings. The road passed large estates too, with gangs of slaves in loincloths pruning vines. We seemed to be hours crossing the undulating plain, fields spread over the land like rumpled blankets, but as the sun reached its zenith the road began to climb and we entered an oak forest. The new leaves were still only tight knuckles of green along the branches and the craggy limbs were stark against the sky. For some reason they gave me a chill, these bare bones of branches. The change in the landscape felt symbolic somehow, as if we had crossed some invisible border. I had left my home in Arretium, and I did not yet have a home in Rome. How easily I could fall through the space between the trees and be lost forever …
We stopped the first night at an estate owned by a friend of my father’s. The owner of the house lived in Rome, but the overseer was expecting us. I ate alone in a lavishly decorated dining room, the floor decorated with a mosaic of a bowl overflowing with fruit and the walls painted in yellow and red, then was shown to the guest chamber.
The second day on the road passed in much the same way as the first, and the night too, which was again spent at an estate where the owners weren’t present. The third night, though, we passed in a villa by the lake in Volsinii. Although the master of the house was in Rome, his wife — an enormous woman with a mountainous bosom and an equally large bottom — was in residence at the villa. She was as generous in nature as she was in proportion, and despite never having met me decided instantly that we were already excellent friends.
‘I am astonished to meet you, Claudia,’ she declared. ‘Astonished! Until Prisca sent a message asking me to receive you, I had no idea Gaius Maximus had a daughter.’
I’d forgotten I ever had a father, I retorted to myself. And I had no idea who Prisca was. My stepmother, I supposed.
Calpurnia was clearly glad of the company. ‘I’ve been two days by myself with barely a soul to talk to,’ she explained. ‘My sister and her family arrive in a few days’ time from Asculum; my husband can’t bear my sister, so it’s better we meet here than in Rome. He’s a brute, my husband.’
She talked nonstop through dinner. ‘Prisca is very grand, you know. She’s related to Caesar’s wife Livia in some distant way I can’t quite recall. In fact she’s rather like Augustus and Livia, now that I come to think of it — very old-fashioned. Not like me; I pride myself on being modern, as you can probably tell from my hairstyle.’
I had been trying not to stare at her hair, which looked as though it had been set upon by a mad architect. Braids were coiled here, ringlets shot out there; I presumed a hairpiece or three had been killed in its construction. ‘It’s extraordinary,’ I said, which was no lie.
She patted the top of the edifice (or as close to the top as she could reach). ‘It’s the very latest thing in Rome, I can assure you. You’ll find that Prisca is quite unadventurous when it comes to fashion. Her older daughter, Aurelia, she’s got a good eye, though Prisca tries to quash it. Have you met Aurelia?’
I shook my head.
‘There are three children: two daughters and a son. Their father’s not long dead, five years maybe, but anyway, your father is a fine match for Prisca, so much more wealthy than her last husband, and it was a useful marriage for your father too, as she has good connections. She was thinking of the opportunities for her son that marriage to your father would bring, no doubt. Of course, Gaius Maximus had his own son, so hers would never take first place — though he is dead in Cantabria now. Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear; he’d be your brother, wouldn’t he?’ She paused to touch my hand in commiseration, then continued, ‘So now the chances for Marcus are greater, though we don’t see much of him at your father’s house. He’s a lawyer, you know — he even studied rhetoric in Athens, that’s how good he is — and they say he’s quite fearless in the law courts. I must say I find him rather a forbidding presence; he certainly doesn’t smile very much. Aurelia now, she’s quite the beauty — and doesn’t she know it! She was married young, I think, to a colleague of your father’s in the Senate. The third one … I can’t remember her name. Odd little thing. I haven’t heard of her being married nor even engaged yet.’
I was sorry to leave Calpurnia the next morning — she was the first person I’d seen after three days alone. Three days! Alone! Alone and bored. By Castor, I was bored! No one to talk to, no books to read — even my cithara was packed away in the trunk trundling along in the cart behind. I tried to see how many verses of The Odyssey I could recall by heart but the answer was none. Wouldn’t Rufus laugh at that! I’d always been so quick to recite while he had stumbled. And I couldn’t even daydream about marriage to Rufus.
Every time I thought of him I saw his cold expression. I couldn’t blame him for being angry, but would it have hurt him to think how I must be feeling? It wasn’t like he’d been forced to leave the only home he’d ever known.
As the distance stretched between me and my old home, though, the regret for what I had left behind turned to anticipation of what was to come. My resentment of my father started to lessen too. He was an important man, as everyone said; perhaps he had no time for children, but didn’t the fact that he had sent for me on my birthday imply that he no longer saw me as a child? And now here I was, travelling in a fine carriage with five slaves sent all the way to Arretium for the sole purpose of conveying me to Rome, the capital of the empire. I began to feel excited, impatience fizzing in my veins till I could hardly bear to be still. As the sun’s last rays gilded the landscape, I could see a walled city in the distance — not Rome, not yet, but we were getting close; Theodotus had told me we must pass Veii, and that was barely ten miles from the capital.
Even though I had known we wouldn’t reach Rome tonight, it was still a bit of a let-down when we turned off the main road and onto a smaller track. The land was cultivated, neat vineyards stretching out either side of the road, but there was no sign of life other than a horse and rider, who stepped off the road as we approached. The rider sat tall and proud on his mount, the gathering dusk throwing him into shadow. He gave no acknowledgement as we passed, but he glanced into the carriage as we drew level and for a moment our eyes met. I felt a strange thrill at the intensity of his dark gaze; there was something so compelling about it that I couldn’t look away, but then the wheel of the carriage plunged into a rut on the track and the spell was broken, the horseman forgotten, and I scanned the countryside for a clue as to where we might be headed.
The Raven's Wing Page 2