I didn’t have long to wonder, as not more than half a mile down the road we entered the grounds of an estate. I almost burst out of the carriage when it stopped. Only one more night to endure in a strange house — though this place looked more lovely than strange, I had to admit. The villa sat on a small rise surrounded by vineyards and olive groves, and to my surprise Theodotus informed me that it belonged to Marcus Fabius Aquila, my stepmother’s son. The master was not at home, but his overseer, Timon, greeted me at the front door.
‘I’m afraid Marcus Aquila has gone to Rome on business, Miss Claudia, or he would receive you himself,’ he said, leading me through a comfortably furnished atrium. As we passed a room with the curtain drawn back, I saw that two walls had shelves on which scrolls were kept, more than I’d ever seen in one place. The only furnishing was a single couch.
‘So many books!’ I said, not quite able to keep the envy from my voice.
‘That’s Marcus Aquila’s library. The least grand room in the house, but it’s where he spends the most time.’
I would have too. We’d had a few scrolls in my uncle’s office at home in Arretium, but to have a whole room for a library? It almost made me wish I could stay longer …
We set off for the final stretch of our journey under a leaden sky.
The skies opened just as we joined Via Flaminia, which passed to the east of Veii, and the traffic increased as we neared the Pons Mulvius, the great stone bridge that spanned the Tiber. The Tiber! On the banks of this very river, Rome was founded. Romulus and Remus, twin sons of the god Mars and a Vestal Virgin, had been abandoned in the salt marshes on the orders of a king who had feared their claim on his throne. But the tide had receded, and instead of drowning the babes had been rescued and raised by a she-wolf. They later overthrew the king, Amulius, and established a settlement on the site where they had washed ashore. Through the flight of birds, the gods had revealed that Romulus would be its king.
Lost in my musing (really, the river — iron-grey and pockmarked with rain — didn’t look as powerful and majestic as I’d expected), it was a while before it occurred to me that we were no longer moving. Craning my neck to see the road ahead through the drizzle, I saw a great wall before us, made of huge blocks of stone.
Theodotus rode abreast, his face in shadow from the hood of his cloak so that only his beard was visible. ‘I sent a man ahead to order the litter. It’ll be here shortly. The senator lives on the Caelian Hill, south-east of here. There’s not far to go now, Miss Claudia.’
We were at the gates of Rome! I alighted from the carriage, clutching the travelling rug around me against the unexpected chill, and picked my way around the puddles. Theodotus instructed the two men who had ridden in the cart behind to carry my trunk to my father’s house, and while they were manoeuvring it out of the cart the litter arrived. The litter-bearers lowered it to stand on its four short, stout legs and I climbed in. One of the men untied the curtains so that I was enclosed inside a cocoon. There was a slight wobble as the litter was heaved up, and then we were moving.
After a few minutes I couldn’t resist: I pulled the curtain aside and peeked out to see a long brick wall just inches from my face. But before I could reflect on the meanness and narrowness of the streets of Rome, the vista opened into a vast square and we were passing groves of white columns, still slick with rain. The clouds parted and as the sun hit the temples the marble glittered like salt crystals. The grandeur of the architecture was in contrast to the life going on around it. The square was crowded and my eyes moved between groups of men in togas strolling, standing and declaiming, arguing. A cluster of men in tunics had gathered on the steps of a basilica and were playing a game with dice. Yet more people were jostling around a stall where sausages were being grilled.
And then we were leaving the square behind and following a wide street lined with shops and apartment buildings and warehouses and the long blank walls of houses. We turned right up a gentle slope, and at the top of the incline turned again at a corner girded by a long ochre-coloured wall. We followed the wall until we reached the entrance to a small courtyard and there we stopped. I dropped the curtain hurriedly, hearing Theodotus murmur something low to his horse and then a thump as he dismounted. As the litter was lowered to the ground, my stomach knotted nervously. We had arrived.
The porter who stood by the double doors turned and rapped on the wood with his knuckles, and they were opened from within by slaves standing either side.
Clutching Aunt Quinta’s pillow, I walked ahead of Theodotus into the narrow entryway. By the light of the oil lamps in sconces on the walls, I saw a mosaic of a fierce guard dog on the floor. Yet another slave pulled back a sheer curtain for me to pass through into the atrium.
I stopped in the doorway, overwhelmed. It looked more like the inside of a temple than someone’s house! To the left and right of the doorway stood tables of grey and white marble framed in bronze, the bronze itself inlaid with silver. On one table top beautiful vases of blown glass were arranged in order of height, while on the other was a bronze sculpture of a rearing horse, every detail perfectly rendered. The pool was surrounded by four marble columns, and had water spouts in the shape of lions’ heads. Near the pool was a third table, its two supports carved with griffins, bearing a gleaming array of silverware. Everyone had been telling me that my father was a wealthy and important man, but it hadn’t really sunk in until now just how wealthy he was. The answer, I saw now, was very wealthy.
Other than the fact that it was big — the atrium of our house in Arretium would have fit into this one four times — it was hard to get a sense of the room as a whole, as my eyes were drawn here to a wall painting of Venus and Mars attended by Cupid, there to a niche in which stood a bust of a serious-looking man with a furrowed brow — an ancestor, I guessed. (But look how his ears stuck out. I sent a silent thank you to Venus, goddess of beauty, that I hadn’t inherited them.) On the far side of the pool was a wide mahogany desk where a woman was busy writing on a tablet.
Theodotus murmured something to a big bald man standing to the left of the door. ‘Miss Claudia has arrived, domina,’ he announced, and the woman looked up.
I hadn’t bathed properly in days, my dress was grubby and, now that I thought about it, what was that strange smell? I hoped it wasn’t me … Still, I raised my chin, drew back my shoulders and crossed the atrium, trying to look like I was equal to my surroundings.
The woman who put down her stylus and stood to greet me was long-limbed and elegant. Her dress was a deep indigo beneath her dark red stola and her hair, which was arranged in a large roll at the forehead then pulled back tight, added several inches to her height. (I’d never realised before how intimidating hair could be.)
‘Welcome, Claudia. I am Prisca, your stepmother.’
As I moved towards her, I saw her sharp eyes take in my creased dress and her long nose wrinkle slightly as if there was an unpleasant odour (oh no, it was me), but she merely smiled graciously.
‘Unfortunately, your father isn’t here to greet you; he usually spends his afternoons at the baths. But he’ll be home for dinner. Come, meet my daughters — I hope you’ll look on them as sisters.’ She paused, then added cryptically, ‘If not now, then someday.’
My father wasn’t even here to greet me? I tried not to let my dismay show on my face, but it did seem odd that after going to such trouble to bring me here he’d left me to be welcomed by strangers.
We passed to the far corner of the atrium towards the sound of a high clear voice. Behind a screen of flowering foliage a small group of couches and stools were arranged in a circle.
On a blue-and-yellow-striped divan lay a beautiful young woman in a crimson dress. I guessed immediately from Calpurnia’s description over dinner by the lake that this must be Aurelia. She was like a lighter version of her mother. Prisca’s hair was a deep rich chestnut, but auburn curls framed Aurelia’s face and tumbled over her shoulders. And while her mother’s eyes were the
colour of moss that grew on a shaded tree trunk, Aurelia’s eyes were the luminous green of an oak leaf with the sun behind it.
The girl sitting in a chair close by, reading from a scroll, must be the sister whose name Calpurnia had forgotten. Her hair had the cool white glow of moonlight and her skin seemed almost translucent, especially against her white dress. She was so unlike her mother and sister that I could only presume she took after her father.
‘Aurelia has been living with us since the death of her husband a few months ago,’ Prisca told me, indicating the woman on the couch.
‘Yes, I am in mourning,’ Aurelia agreed. I was surprised by how cheerful she sounded. She had been holding a date between her fingers and now popped it in her mouth. ‘But it was to be expected,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘Decimus was as old as Saturn.’
I couldn’t suppress a burst of laughter; Saturn, the god Jupiter’s father, was far older than any mortal.
Her mother gave Aurelia a severe look as I turned my laugh into a cough. ‘Do not speak of the senator with such disrespect. And remember that Claudia is in mourning too.’
‘Oh, of course.’ Aurelia swallowed the date then went on, looking contrite, ‘I’m sorry for the loss of your brother. Poor Tiberius.’
I didn’t know what to say. They had probably known my brother better than I had. Perhaps I should be expressing my condolences to them?
‘Has it been very hard on … on my father?’ I asked, remembering my uncle’s conjecture that my father had summoned me here because of his grief.
‘I’m afraid Gaius feels the loss very keenly,’ Prisca replied. ‘You’ll find him much changed.’
Changed from what? I thought. I had no idea what he was like before.
‘Date?’ offered Aurelia, gesturing to a plate resting on a low table by her couch. ‘They’re stuffed with almonds and drizzled with honey.’
‘You and your sweet tooth,’ said Prisca. She made it sound like a moral weakness. Turning to me, she said, ‘I hope your journey wasn’t too uncomfortable, Claudia?’ Her voice was crisp rather than concerned.
I shook my head to both Prisca’s question and the date. My stomach was still clenched like a fist. This was my home now. These women were my family. It was inconceivable.
‘And are your aunt and uncle in Arretium well?’ Prisca continued.
No, I wanted to say. They’re upset. And I was mourning Aunt Quinta and Uncle Marius more than the brother I couldn’t remember.
Before I could frame a response she said, ‘You must be tired from travelling. I’m sure you’d like to rest and —’ she wrinkled her nose again ‘— refresh yourself.’
Surreptitiously, I sniffed the shoulder of my gown. What was that smell?
‘I’ll show Claudia to her room.’ The pale girl, who still hadn’t been introduced, stood up.
‘Oh — this is Sabine,’ Prisca said, almost as an afterthought. ‘My youngest.’
Sabine was probably only a year or so younger than me, but she was so small and slender I felt like a giant next to her. As she led me towards a large doorway at the far end of the atrium, I heard Aurelia say, ‘I could have sworn there was a smell of wild animal about that girl.’
Wild animal? That was the smell — it was the travelling rug from the carriage. I smelled like a bear! I wished I could fall through the floor and join my brother in the underworld.
Before I could explain I heard Prisca respond, ‘I told you not to expect much in the way of refinement; she was brought up in the provinces, remember.’
Excuse me, Arretium was no provincial town — it was one of the largest cities outside Rome! But my indignation was swept away by the vision in front of me. We had moved through a curtain into the tablinum, a small reception room off the atrium, and now stood on the threshold of the peristyle. This was nothing like the small square courtyard at my uncle’s house in Arretium, though.
For a moment I just gazed in awe.
Directly in front of us was a fountain, with a statue of Dionysus at its centre, a marble-tiled walkway leading towards it between two rows of cypress trees that stood about two or three feet taller than me. Beyond the cypresses I caught a glimpse of lawn stretching to a series of columns on either side. When we reached the fountain I saw that hedges ranging from waist to shoulder height created discrete sections of garden.
‘All our bedrooms are off to the sides.’ Sabine pointed left and right and in the shadow of the colonnaded walkways I saw a series of doorways separated by window shutters.
‘Don’t mind Mama,’ she said with a sideways glance as I followed her along a pebbled path winding between a series of miniature gardens, some with flowerbeds, others a patch of lawn with a topiary tree at the centre. ‘She can be very strict but it’s only because she wants the best for us.’
I smiled agreeably and nodded, though what Prisca’s idea of ‘the best’ might be was a frightening prospect if she thought marrying Aurelia to a man as old as Saturn was a good idea.
Under a pergola entwined with vines in a central square was a stone dining table lined on three sides by stone couches. ‘Sometimes we eat out here when the weather is fine,’ Sabine explained.
We skirted a fishpond and I saw the gold flash of carp among the deep green weeds. I wasn’t the only one whose eye had been caught by the movement. A cat the colour of a storm cloud gazed intently, motionless but for its tail, which swished and curled.
‘Does the cat have a name?’ I asked.
Sabine shrugged. ‘Not that I know of. I think one of Gaius’s clients brought him back from Egypt.’
I bent to stroke the cat’s fur and he interrupted his vigil over the fishpond to regard me through light green eyes. A purr began to rumble deep in his throat. ‘You sound just like Jupiter, the god of thunder,’ I told him.
Sabine now led me to the left.
‘What’s over there?’ Through a hedge I had glimpsed a flurry of leaves and colour that seemed at odds with the manicured spaces we had seen so far.
‘Oh.’ Sabine ducked her head. ‘That’s just my garden.’
‘You have a garden of your own?’ I couldn’t imagine what she meant.
‘I’ll show you, if you promise you won’t tease.’
‘Why would I tease?’ I asked as we stepped through a gap in the hedge into a small square of grass surrounded by garden beds. Looking at the odd assortment of weeds, flowers and herbs, though, I didn’t quite know what to say. It did seem a pretty strange sort of garden.
‘The others do,’ she said. ‘They think I should let the slaves work in the garden instead of doing it myself. Mama would rather I sang or recited poetry, but this is what really interests me. Do you know that every one of these plants has medicinal properties?’ She pointed. ‘Camomile is good for headaches; fennel calms the nerves and can also be used to ease stomach complaints; garlic can cure any number of ills. Marigolds reduce a fever. Hyssop —’ she was now indicating purple flowers growing up a long stem ‘— is good for coughs; mint is too. Calendula for skin rashes. Parsley for abdominal pain.’
I recognised the wispy fronds of fennel and long straight shoots of garlic, but that was about it.
‘How do you know all this?’ I asked. It was kind of impressive and weird at the same time.
‘It’s what interests me,’ she said again. ‘Theodotus, our steward, is also a physician, so he gives me lots of advice and recommends books that talk about the healing properties of different plants. The hard thing is getting new samples for my collection.’
She stooped to pluck a weed from one of the beds, then brushed the dirt from her hands. For a moment she looked less like the young, slightly nervy girl I’d met in the atrium and more like a proud matron surveying her domain. ‘Would you like a calming infusion?’ she asked.
‘All right,’ I said. (Did she think I seemed agitated?) ‘Thank you.’
She ran her hand over the leaves of a feathery green plant. ‘The camomile isn’t flowering yet, but I dried some
last summer. I have it in my room. This way …’ After a last look around, she nodded in satisfaction then led me back through the hedge and onto the path.
A little further along the pathway I could see the back wall of the garden, painted with fields and hills that extended into the distance. At its centre was a secluded terrace, half screened by hedges either side, with a table, a stone couch and a bench. A small fountain tinkled next to it.
‘That’s Mama’s favourite spot,’ Sabine said, pointing. And then, indicating to the left, ‘My room is just there. Yours is next to it, and Aurelia’s is further along. Mama and Gaius are on the other side of the garden. Marcus has a room here too, though he has a house of his own on the Esquiline Hill, and he usually sleeps there when he’s busy with a case.’
She stepped between the columns into the shade and pushed aside a sheer curtain to enter a small narrow chamber. Shutters opened onto the garden, and these had been thrown back to let in air and light. A patch of sunlight lit up a square of deep red on the wall. A high wooden bed stretched across the far side of the room, inlaid with ivory and delicate traces of gold. The trunk I had brought from Arretium was set against one wall and a slave girl was in the process of unpacking it.
I dropped Aunt Quinta’s cushion onto the bed and Sabine grabbed my hand and squeezed it. ‘I really want you to be happy here, Claudia,’ she said. ‘Mama said that we might find your manners not quite refined enough for our tastes because you’re not used to living as we do, but I think we’ll get along very well together.’
I opened my mouth then closed it again, feeling a blush rise up my neck to my cheeks. I could tell from Sabine’s earnestness that she truly didn’t mean any offence, but it seemed to me that her manners — or her discretion at least — were more in want of refinement than mine.
She must have seen from my expression that her comment hadn’t quite come across as she’d intended, for she put a hand to her lips and said, ‘Oh no, that came out wrong, didn’t it? Mama’s always saying that I should be more guarded — but I just meant that I wasn’t sure that I was going to like you, but now that I’ve met you I know that I will.’
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