The Raven's Wing

by Frances Watts

  As the shopkeeper moved away to carry out Prisca’s orders, Sabine clapped her hands in delight. ‘Surely Gaius can’t help but love his daughter when he sees her in clothes so fine!’

  I felt a flush creep along my neck. So I was not the only one to notice my father’s indifference. Had they been talking about it behind my back?

  ‘Hush, Sabine,’ her mother said in an ominous voice.

  Sabine faltered. ‘I only meant … you said that we must make Gaius love his daughter. That it was important for —’

  ‘Sabine!’ Prisca hissed. ‘Enough!’

  Aurelia stepped forwards to distract the chastened girl by pointing out a cloth embroidered with flowers, while Prisca turned to me and explained, ‘Like many men, your father sees no glory in daughters.’

  ‘Then why did he send for me?’ I burst out. ‘I was happy in Arretium with my aunt and uncle. They loved me!’ To my horror, I could feel hot tears welling in my eyes and I brushed them away impatiently.

  Prisca seemed unmoved by my tears. Her voice was matter-of-fact as she replied, ‘Whether your father loves you or not, you can still be useful to him, and that is a daughter’s duty.’

  She was right, I knew: it was my duty. But how could I possibly be useful to him?

  When we left the cloth merchant Prisca said, ‘Now Claudia will be arrayed as Gaius’s daughter should be.’

  ‘But, Mama, what about perfumes and jewellery?’ Sabine asked. ‘Her dressing table is so bare.’ With an apologetic look at me she said, ‘I couldn’t help but notice when I brought in your tea yesterday.’ To her mother and sister she continued, ‘She has only one small jewellery box and no scents or makeup.’ She made it sound like I was some poor peasant girl in a rough tunic and clogs.

  ‘I borrowed my aunt’s scent and makeup,’ I explained, embarrassed. ‘She said that before I was married there was no need for me to have my own.’ I felt a brief pang as I said it, remembering that barely a week earlier I had still been engaged to Rufus.

  ‘Your aunt is obviously a sensible woman,’ Prisca said. ‘I wish my daughters would follow such an example. But, alas, the girls of Rome are spoiled. I’m sure you could take half of Aurelia’s jewellery and she wouldn’t notice it was gone. Still, let it not be said that Gaius’s own daughter is unadorned next to my own.’

  She seemed ready to be indulgent, perhaps to make up for revealing my father’s disdain for daughters.

  ‘It was your birthday recently, wasn’t it, Claudia? Your father has charged me with finding a gift for you. There’s a goldsmith along here who makes very fine jewellery.’

  Surrounded by our slaves, we walked down the street to a shop painted with the name Salvius, goldsmith.

  A slave was standing inside polishing rings on a tray, watched by his plump, pink-cheeked master, whose bulk filled the doorway leading to the quarters behind the shop. The master himself — Salvius, I presumed — came forwards as we entered.

  ‘We’re looking for a necklace,’ Prisca informed him, and he flicked his hand at the slave, who immediately began to lay out a selection of gold chains on the white marble counter. The other three were looking at me expectantly.

  I picked up first one, then another, not exactly sure how I was meant to choose. Long or short? Large links or small? And what if I accidentally chose a really expensive one?

  ‘Don’t just stare at them; you have to try them on to see how they look,’ Aurelia said. She moved to stand behind me and held one chain after another in place as Sabine stood before me with a hand mirror.

  Fortunately, Aurelia had very decided opinions on jewellery and didn’t seem to need my input. ‘This one’s too long,’ she said, and to the next one: ‘This is so tight you’d choke trying to swallow a pea.’

  ‘This one’s nice,’ I volunteered as Aurelia fastened another chain around my neck. The links were fine and it just brushed my collarbones.

  ‘I agree,’ Aurelia said.

  Prisca studied it critically. ‘You should have a pendant to go with it.’ Turning to Salvius, she said, ‘Do you have something suitable?’

  He laid a black cloth on the counter, then signalled to the slave, who removed a tray from a strongbox.

  After considering the range, I couldn’t decide between a teardrop emerald pendant and a simple pearl, and looked to the others for help.

  ‘Either would look fine on you with your dark hair. Sabine can’t wear pearls — they look insipid against her pallor,’ Prisca stated, and Sabine’s face fell.

  ‘But silver makes her look ethereal,’ said Aurelia, and her sister brightened again.

  As I hesitated between the two pendants, Aurelia said, ‘Let the pearl be from your father and the emerald from me. We’re sisters, aren’t we?’

  I was taken aback by her impulsive generosity. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, but you really shouldn’t — I mean, we’ve only been sisters for a day.’

  ‘Actually, it’s been four years since my mother married your father, so that’s how long we’ve been sisters. I hope you’ll look on me that way.’ It was almost word for word what her mother had said the day before. Was she looking at Prisca as she said it?

  I couldn’t discern Prisca’s reaction, as she had turned her head away to examine a display of rings.

  ‘And my other little sister must have a gift too,’ Aurelia announced. ‘What do you say, Sabine? Perhaps a new charm for your bracelet?’

  ‘I want an emerald,’ Sabine said. ‘So Claudia and I both received emeralds from our sister on the same day.’

  Their warmth gave me a glow that melted a little of the icy hardness that had lodged in my chest after my father’s cool welcome.

  ‘You must have a ring to match,’ Prisca said, turning back to us. ‘Claudia, what do you think of these?’

  I was starting to feel almost light-headed as I slipped on the ring she had indicated and held out my hand for Prisca to see.

  ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘You have remarkably fine hands. It would be good to draw attention to them. What do you think, Aurelia?’

  Aurelia took one of my hands in hers. ‘Oh yes, and such narrow wrists. Perhaps some bangles?’

  I was starting to enjoy this. I wished my friends from Arretium could see me standing in a goldsmith’s shop selecting whatever I wanted!

  ‘Claudia has enough adornments now,’ Prisca said when three gold bangles were jangling on my arm.

  ‘She needs scent,’ Aurelia said firmly. (Was she thinking of my arrival the day before? It wasn’t me! It was the travelling rug!)

  The perfume shop next door was lined with shelves bearing small glass flasks, and when Prisca had explained what we needed the perfumer began to pull down bottles of different scents. I sniffed at flasks smelling of lavender, cinnamon and, with a sudden pricking behind my eyes, roses. I would’ve exchanged my new sisters and all the gold we’d just bought to be at home with Aunt Quinta again.

  ‘What do you wear, Aurelia?’ I asked, hastily putting down the flask.

  ‘Jasmine.’

  The perfumer handed me a bottle and I held it to my nose. The scent was thick and sweet and languorous, just right for Aurelia, who seemed suited to couches. Not for me, though. Feeling a little dizzy, I replaced it on the counter.

  ‘Perhaps something a little lighter?’ the perfumer suggested. ‘Try violets.’

  I took the proffered flask, dabbed some scent on my wrist and a delicate scent wafted through the air. ‘I like this one,’ I said.

  ‘Violet is a most suitable scent for a young lady,’ Prisca declared.

  Needless to say, that settled it.

  After that, even Aurelia agreed that we had shopped enough. ‘You can borrow my makeup until you have some of your own,’ she offered.

  We returned home in time for lunch, which we ate in the garden.

  When we were done Prisca said, ‘Claudia, fetch your cithara so I can hear you play.’

  Oh good, she was back to testing my accomplishments.

&n
bsp; Approaching the door to my bedroom, I heard sobbing. Pushing back the gauze, I saw Aballa. She was sitting with her back to the wall and her face in her hands, as if hoping to smother the sound of her crying. She sounded utterly distraught.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Has something happened?’

  On hearing my voice, she jumped to her feet, looking frightened. She quickly wiped her tears on her sleeve.

  ‘Tell me what’s troubling you,’ I said, for she looked so heartbroken, but of course she didn’t understand, just shook her head.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. On the one hand I didn’t want to leave Aballa, but I was reluctant to keep Prisca waiting. Should I mention the girl’s tears to my stepmother? Or would it be unrefined of me to involve myself in the concerns of a slave? I reached out to touch Aballa’s shoulder but she drew back and turned her head away from me.

  Fine, I decided. Whatever was bothering her, she didn’t want my help.

  I took the stringed instrument from the corner of the room and carried it back to the garden. I sat on a low stool, and played and sang a hymn to Mother Earth based on a poem of Homer. The song was one of my aunt’s favourites.

  Prisca listened keenly, chin in hand, smiling her approval, though more with an air of judgement than enjoyment. ‘Do you hear that, girls?’ she said when I had finished. ‘That was well done, Claudia. My daughters sound like a couple of screech owls when they sing, though they play competently enough. You shall play for your father tonight. He enjoys music.’

  ‘Marcus likes music too,’ Sabine piped up. ‘When does he return?’

  That reminded me; when I had stayed at his house the night before my arrival in Rome I had been told he was here, but there had been no sign of him.

  ‘You must excuse my son’s absence,’ Prisca said now. ‘He was called back to his estate on urgent business. You probably passed each other on the road. But you’ll meet soon, I hope. Speaking of urgent business, I must attend to some myself …’ She rose and headed back inside.

  Aurelia rose too. ‘I promised I’d call on an old cousin of my husband this afternoon.’

  ‘Would you like to help me weed my garden?’ Sabine offered.

  I looked at my hands — they were rather nice, I reflected, and I’d really rather not plunge them into the dirt. ‘How about I keep you company?’

  When we were in Sabine’s secluded garden I said, ‘You know Aballa, the slave who attends to me?’

  ‘Is that her name? I’ve never heard her speak before. She dresses me and does my hair in the mornings. Adelphe, who attends to Mother, taught her. Adelphe used to do my hair too, but Mother sent Theodotus to buy a new slave when we knew you were coming. It would have been too much for Adelphe to do all three of us. Aurelia has Husn, who came with her from Decimus Paullus’s house.’

  How long ago was it decided I was to come to Rome? I wondered. I’d only found out myself a few days ago.

  ‘Do you know where Aballa is from?’ I reached out to touch the feathery petals of a small purple flower only to scrape my wrist on a prickly bulb lurking beneath.

  ‘Careful,’ warned Sabine as I yelped. ‘That’s milk thistle. It’s good for headaches, but it’s hard to gather.’ As I rubbed at my sore wrist with my thumb, she continued, ‘I suppose he went to the slave market. I don’t know where she was before that. Why? Isn’t she looking after you properly?’

  ‘She’s all right, it’s just that I saw her crying and I wondered if she was unhappy about something.’

  Sabine paused in her digging and looked back at me, wiping a stray wisp of hair out of her eyes and leaving a smudge of dirt on her forehead. ‘Our slaves are treated well, I’m sure they are. They’re not whipped or starved. I can’t see that she’d have any reason to be unhappy.’

  The more I thought about it, the more I realised Sabine was right. The slaves of my father’s house were obviously well clothed and well fed. What could they possibly have to be unhappy about? Perhaps Aballa had a sulky temperament.

  Father returned home just before sundown, his hair slick from the baths.

  ‘Titus Laenas cornered me in the caldarium,’ he complained to Prisca over dinner. ‘He was talking about the new marriage law in a very pointed way, I thought.’

  ‘It’s not as if anything had been settled with his daughter; he can hardly complain that Flavia was wronged. Anyway, if he thought less of the marriage law and more of the sumptuary law we would not be drawing back now,’ Prisca responded.

  ‘Is it true about the elephant?’ Aurelia broke in.

  ‘The elephant? What elephant?’ Her mother looked mystified.

  ‘Decimus’s cousin told me that Titus Laenas has bought an elephant, and he and Flavia have been riding to dinner on its back instead of using a litter.’

  Was she serious? They really knew someone with an elephant? I was about to say I would love to see it — no one in Arretium had an elephant — but my father was shaking his head in disapproval.

  ‘The man is ridiculous,’ said Prisca. ‘That’s exactly the kind of ostentatious behaviour I’m talking about. And, as I say, he has no cause to reproach you, Gaius: the idea was talked about only in the vaguest terms.’

  ‘But he’s making me feel as if we’ve ill-treated him,’ Father grumbled.

  ‘That’s his problem. Anyway, once he understands about Claudia …’

  I stiffened. What about Claudia?

  ‘True,’ my father said. ‘That should silence him.’

  I was finding it all increasingly hard to follow. A senator called Titus Laenas and his daughter, some new laws (what was a sumptuary, anyway?), an elephant … and me? What did I have to do with it? I was itching to know, but I didn’t feel quite brave enough to ask. I had a feeling Prisca would tell me it was none of my business, even though it plainly was.

  When dinner was finished, we moved into the atrium. Slaves lit lamps hanging from tall bronze lampstands and Prisca said casually, ‘Perhaps we could hear Claudia play on the cithara?’

  ‘You play?’ My father looked at me with a sign of interest for the first time. ‘Very well then. Let’s hear you.’

  Prisca sent a slave to fetch my instrument while I arranged myself on a stool.

  Father settled on one of the couches and Aurelia on another, while Prisca and Sabine sat on stools. Other than at meals I had yet to see Prisca on a couch; she was always upright, her spine straight. I wondered if she even knew how to relax.

  With the cithara cradled in my left arm, I played the opening notes of Homer’s ‘Hymn to Pan’ and saw Father nod in recognition.

  ‘Muse, tell me about Pan, the dear son of Hermes,

  with his goat’s feet and two horns —

  a lover of merry noise.

  Through wooded glades he wanders

  with dancing nymphs …’

  My father moved his hand in time with my strumming. When the last notes had died away he said, ‘Very nice.’ He turned to his wife. ‘She plays well, my daughter, doesn’t she?’ The compliment warmed me and I saw that Prisca too looked pleased. Immediately, however, he turned from me and began to tell her about a problem with a flock of sheep on one of his farms.

  Lying in bed later, the memory of my father’s compliment and the way he had acknowledged me — ‘my daughter’, he had said — made me smile. Had I imagined it, or had he said it with some pride? Uncle Marius had always called me his nightingale; maybe that was the way to make my father love me: through my singing. I recalled what Sabine had been saying when her mother cut her off. It was important that my father love me, she had said. Why was that? I wondered. And what did it have to do with being useful to him? There was something going on, something that related to why I had been brought here, but I had no idea what. If only Anthusa were here, she would have known. There would have been whispers in the slave quarters or a rumour in the kitchen. Instead I had the sulky Aballa, and she was no help to me at all.

  Gradually I settled into my new life. The dressmaker came t
o measure me, and in the course of a few days I had gowns of my own that were fitting for a senator’s daughter. The surface of my dressing table was covered with jewellery and bottles of scent and makeup. Twice a week we went to the baths and I met the women of other senators’ families and became friendly with some girls of my own age. Unlike the public baths I had gone to in Arretium, which were open to women in the morning and men in the afternoon, the private baths we went to on Via Triumphalis were exclusively for women of well-to-do families.

  When I saw Calpurnia again two weeks after my arrival in Rome it was like meeting an old friend. She was leaving the dressing room of the baths as we entered, swathed in a cloak that made her look like an aubergine.

  ‘Claudia! Why, I wouldn’t have known you, my dear.’ Turning to Prisca, she said in a loud whisper behind her hand, ‘She was such a poor bedraggled soul when I met her on the road from Arretium. Missing her family and — Well, what am I saying? You’re her family too, of course. But look at you now, my girl. You’re positively beautiful in that dress!’

  Prisca didn’t say anything, but she looked quietly satisfied. It surprised me how pleased she seemed by compliments paid to me. If anything, I had expected she would be jealous of the position of her own daughters. Of course, she would want me to be a credit to her husband, I reasoned.

  ‘Now I must rush,’ said Calpurnia. ‘My Appius wants his lunch early today and he’ll be vile if he’s kept waiting. The brute.’

  If we weren’t going to the baths or calling on friends, I spent the mornings reading in the garden or the atrium; my father’s library was filled with books I hadn’t read. Often, if the weather was fine, I sat on the bench in Sabine’s garden and read aloud or chatted with her while she worked.