The Raven's Wing

by Frances Watts

  She was holding the arm of a small man whose bald head and heavy-lidded eyes gave him the look of a sleepy turtle. She nudged him now with her ample hip and said, ‘What do you think, Appius?’

  This was Appius the brute? I pressed my lips together to stifle my laugh.

  Appius blinked slowly but didn’t speak.

  We were interrupted by Prisca, who was moving purposefully through the crowd.

  When she saw us she said distractedly, ‘Hello there, Calpurnia, how extraordinary you look.’ Extraordinary seemed to be the word everyone fell back on when describing Calpurnia’s appearance. ‘Claudia, have you seen Aurelia? She and Lucius should be the first seated in the dining room but she seems to have disappeared.’

  ‘I’ll help you look,’ I said, excusing myself from the circle that had formed around me.

  Most of the guests had made their way into the house by now, and Aurelia was not among the stragglers. I finally found her on the terrace at the back of the garden, lying on the stone couch with Sabine sitting at her side. Prisca had got there just ahead of me.

  ‘Aurelia, everyone is waiting for you,’ Prisca hissed.

  ‘I just needed to rest a moment.’

  ‘Enough of your laziness. Get up at once.’

  ‘Mama, she’s not feeling well,’ Sabine protested, but was quelled by a thunderous look from her mother.

  ‘Up, up, up,’ said Prisca, making shooing motions with her hands.

  Aurelia rose from the couch. She really did look weak, I thought, but her mother either didn’t notice or didn’t care, being too conscious of the banquet about to start.

  We were joined by Lucius, who had also been looking for his fiancée.

  ‘Lean on me,’ he offered.

  Aurelia took his arm. Her steps were hesitant, and she seemed almost to stagger before recovering her balance.

  ‘The only problem with you is that you’ve had too much wine,’ Prisca said furiously.

  Most of the guests were already seated by the time Sabine and I slipped into our places. Tonight we would recline with the other diners, and I was directed to a table that had three couches arranged around it, each with room for three diners. I had hoped I’d be next to Luciana or Sabine, but instead I found as I lay on my left side that I was facing Marcus, who was on the next couch. Why put me next to him? I fumed. There was nothing to be gained by throwing us together now.

  The banquet went on and on. There were more dishes than I could count and they were more luxurious than I had ever seen in Arretium: oysters were followed by baked dormice, stuffed with a mix of pork mince, pepper and pine nuts; boiled ostrich preceded smoked breast of peacock.

  Between courses we were entertained by musicians, acrobats and poets, which was just as well since Marcus didn’t speak a word to me and on my other side was the ancient widow of some uncle of Prisca’s; she had fallen asleep partway through the appetisers and her delicate (ha!) snores had almost drowned out the poetry.

  We had been at the table for hours by the time poached quinces were carried out for dessert, as well as platters of grapes. I was so full that I had to avert my eyes.

  I snuck a look at Marcus, and saw he was staring across the room. Was he watching Flavia? I scanned the surrounding tables but couldn’t see her. I did see Luciana’s brother Octavian, though, and gave him a little wave. (His nose was really hardly noticeable from this distance.) Let Marcus see that not every man found me completely repulsive, I thought.

  As Octavian very cheekily blew me a kiss, I felt a sharp elbow in my stomach.

  ‘Ow!’ I cried.

  ‘Remember who you are,’ Marcus growled.

  I looked at him. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Try to behave with some decorum, Claudia, and not like a common flirt.’

  ‘He’s a friend of the family,’ I protested, feeling the heat rise up my neck in anger and embarrassment.

  ‘I’m sure the gossips who saw you making eyes at him will be sure to mention that.’

  ‘I was not making eyes at him! And anyway, I’m sure the gossips will be too busy talking about you and Flavia to bother with me.’

  His eyes glittered in the lamplight as he snapped, ‘My behaviour is none of your concern.’

  ‘And mine is none of yours,’ I snapped back, turning my face away.

  The widow woke abruptly and peered at the platter in front of her, then fixed her watery eyes on me. ‘Grapes,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. There was a lump in my throat that was making it difficult to swallow, though I was no longer sure that it was because I was full.

  ‘Oysters then grapes? That’s it? I call that a funny kind of banquet. I knew my husband’s niece was frugal but this is ridiculous. I’m leaving.’ She gestured to me to move so she could rise. ‘You, girl — escort me to the door.’

  With difficulty she manoeuvred herself into a sitting position, feet on the floor, and I took her by the hands to help her up. Her frame was so thin and light that the white stola she wore over a long-sleeved tunic looked bulky and cumbersome, as if she moved inside it rather than it moving with her. We walked with slow, careful steps through the atrium to the entrance, and the porter summoned the slaves who carried her litter.

  ‘You tell Prisca that next time she invites me to a banquet she could at least have the decency to serve a meat course or two,’ were her parting words to me.

  I turned to go back to my place, but halfway across the atrium I stopped. The reception room ahead was blazing with light. Musicians were playing lively tunes on flutes, cymbals and tambourines, the chatter of voices rising above the music then dipping below it. It was my first proper Roman party, the most brilliant and glamorous event I’d ever been to in my life. So why did I feel miserable?

  With the engagement party out of the way, plans for the wedding took over, on top of which there was Aurelia’s new household to organise. After the wedding she and Lucius would move into the house she had lived in with her previous husband. It had since been standing empty, and most of the slaves were sold after Decimus died.

  ‘You’d do as well to buy new slaves sooner rather than later,’ Prisca said as we sat in the garden a few mornings later. ‘They can begin preparing your house. I’d offer some of ours for the job but they’ll be busy with the wedding. Do you want me to send Theodotus to the slave market, or do you think Lucius would rather go himself?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say, Mother,’ said Aurelia. She seemed distracted, rubbing her stomach. When she saw me watching she smiled faintly. ‘I’m feeling rather poorly this morning. Something I ate perhaps.’

  ‘Too many sweet things, no doubt,’ her mother said. She didn’t sound the least bit sympathetic. She turned to her younger daughter as Sabine appeared, followed by Aballa, who was carefully carrying a cup of steaming tea. ‘And it’s your fault for encouraging her, Sabine. I saw you fetching her plates of sweet things after dinner last night. I wouldn’t wonder if our hives in Campania are completely drained of honey.’

  ‘But she said she had no appetite, Mama,’ Sabine defended herself. ‘I was trying to give her things she likes.’ She took the cup from Aballa and handed it to her sister.

  Aurelia made a face. ‘It’s not more parsley tea, is it?’

  ‘Parsley is good for abdominal pain,’ her sister reminded her.

  ‘I know,’ Aurelia said as she reached for the cup. ‘And thank you, Sabine … it’s just that the last cup you gave me was so disgusting.’

  ‘I’ve put even more honey in it this time — you won’t taste the parsley,’ Sabine assured her.

  ‘Drink it up and stop complaining, Aurelia,’ Prisca ordered. ‘We have a lot to do. Now, I remember you had a very good steward. Do you know what happened to him?’ When Aurelia shook her head Prisca made a note on her list. ‘Sold with the others, I presume. Well, perhaps he can be traced through the trader’s records at the slave market.’

  The mention of the slave market caught my attention. That was where Abal
la was bought, I remembered. And if records were kept of the slaves who were bought and sold, I had a way to find Aballa’s brother! All I needed to do was find the trader who had sold Andalos and ask him where the young Gaul had gone.

  The problem was I had no idea where to find the slave market. I didn’t dare ask Prisca, and I didn’t want to distract Aurelia when she was already so busy, and unwell besides. But Sabine, who shared Aballa with me, would surely be moved by the slave girl’s suffering and want to help.

  I waited till that night, when we were walking along the colonnade towards our bedrooms, to raise the subject.

  ‘Sabine,’ I said, as we paused outside her door, ‘I need to ask you a favour. Well, it’s not for me exactly …’

  She looked at me with a quizzical expression. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I want to go to the slave market.’

  In the lamplight, her eyes widened. ‘What? But why would you want to go there?’

  I related the story Aballa had told me.

  ‘I want to find out what happened to Aballa’s brother,’ I finished. ‘But I don’t know my way around Rome well enough.’

  ‘Oh, the poor thing,’ Sabine exclaimed. ‘No wonder she looks so sad all the time. But, Claudia, we can’t go to the slave market ourselves. Girls like us on the street alone … it’s not right. Mama would never allow it.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on telling her,’ I said.

  The alarm on her face made it plain that she had never contemplated disobeying her mother before. Probably too scared, I surmised. I didn’t much like the prospect of defying Prisca myself — but I didn’t intend for her to find out.

  ‘So will you help me?’ I pressed.

  ‘If you really need me …’ Sabine shook her fair head in dismay.

  ‘No one will ever know,’ I promised.

  I saw my chance a couple of evenings later, when Prisca decided that she and Aurelia would visit Aurelia’s house the following morning.

  Aurelia herself expressed no interest in the excursion. She had barely touched her food at dinner that night, and even the honey-soaked figs lay untouched on the platter in front of her.

  ‘You two girls can join us,’ Prisca said to me and Sabine. ‘It would be good for you to see how another household is arranged, Claudia.’

  ‘I was hoping to go to the baths,’ I said. ‘I think Luciana said she would be there.’ I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I told the lie.

  My stepmother eyed me speculatively and I hoped she would think that my blush had something to do with Luciana’s brother. I was sure Marcus would have told her about my supposedly scandalous flirtation, citing it as yet one more reason I was not a suitable wife.

  ‘Come with me, Sabine,’ I urged, giving her a significant look so she would guess my true intention. ‘Then even if Luciana isn’t there I won’t be alone.’

  She bit her lip and for a moment I thought she would refuse, but then she said, ‘Okay, Claudia — if Mama and Aurelia don’t mind.’

  To my relief, Prisca didn’t object. ‘Very well,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities for you to visit the house.’

  As we walked towards our rooms at the end of the evening, Sabine caught my elbow. ‘Claudia, what if someone sees us?’

  ‘If we’re found out, I’ll take full responsibility,’ I said. But as I continued down the colonnade my anticipation was turning to apprehension; Sabine’s anxiety was starting to infect me. Still, I was determined to go through with my plan. If I could find Aballa’s brother for her, at least she would have some peace of mind after all she’d been through.

  ‘Good night, Sabine,’ I called from my doorway.

  Her voice floated back to me from the garden. ‘Good night.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to bed?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘Aurelia’s still not feeling well. I’m going to pick some parsley for more tea. Can you send Aballa to me?’

  ‘Of course. Don’t forget to put lots of honey in,’ I reminded her lightly.

  ‘I won’t,’ she said seriously.

  I opened the shutters the next morning to see the sky was dull pewter, and there was a hint of chill in the air unusual for late spring. All the better, I thought; I could wear a thick cloak and pull it up to cover my head so I wouldn’t be recognised. (Not that there was much risk of that, considering I knew hardly anyone in Rome.)

  My warmer cloak was still in the wooden chest I had brought from Arretium. As I pulled it out, I saw the purse my uncle had given me tumble from its folds. On impulse I took it too.

  I called for Aballa to dress me, but she didn’t appear. A slice of bread and portion of creamy sheep’s milk cheese had been left on a plate on my dresser, though, so I sat down to eat.

  I was just brushing the last crumbs of bread from my fingers when the slave girl finally entered my room. With her help I dressed hurriedly, then, with my purse concealed beneath my cloak, went next door to Sabine’s room.

  To my surprise, she was still only in her under tunic.

  ‘Am I too early? I thought Aballa had been to you already.’

  Sabine shook her head. ‘No, I’m late, sorry. I’ve only just come in from the garden. I needed Aballa to take more parsley to the kitchen for tea. Aurelia’s pain is worse this morning and she says her legs feel strange too. She tried to get up and almost collapsed. She’s resting in bed now. I don’t know why the tea’s not working.’ Her face was tense, and I wondered if she was thinking of her father. But I was still focused on the morning’s excursion.

  ‘I hope your mother isn’t planning to come to the baths with us instead of going to Aurelia’s house?’ I asked.

  ‘No, Mama is staying with Aurelia. She has sent for Theodotus to look at her.’ Sabine reached for the dress Aballa had laid out for her. ‘We can still go to the slave market.’

  She said this with such obvious reluctance that for a moment I felt guilty; it was cruel, really, forcing her to come with me when I knew she didn’t want to. But I had promised myself I would find out what had become of Aballa’s brother, and we wouldn’t be gone long, I reasoned.

  At the door I instructed the porter to have a litter brought round.

  ‘The baths, please,’ I instructed the litter-bearers loudly. But once we had turned the corner out of earshot of the house I pulled back the curtain and called, ‘I’ve changed my mind. Take us to the Forum, please.’

  Where Via Sacra met the Forum, we alighted from the litter.

  As people hurried past, Sabine clung to my arm. ‘Look at all these people! What if we see someone we know?’

  ‘We’ll say it’s my aunt’s birthday and that we’ve come shopping to find her a gift,’ I said. ‘Now where’s the slave market?’

  ‘Over there, behind the Basilica Julia,’ Sabine said, pointing to a huge three-storey building with statues lining the upper storeys. ‘That’s where the law courts are. Marcus could be there.’ She looked at me with wide eyes.

  ‘Just make sure you keep your head covered,’ I said.

  The slave market was enormous, much larger than I’d expected. We walked along row after row of stalls with slaves standing on wooden platforms, naked or wearing loincloths or ragged tunics. Some were in iron cages, while others were crowded into wooden pens under the watchful eye of a man brandishing a whip.

  The aisles between the stalls were crammed with people who seemed strangely festive, chattering and pointing as if they were at the theatre or some other spectacle.

  ‘Try not to look so furtive,’ I said to Sabine, who was walking behind me with her head bowed. ‘We’re just two ordinary women looking at slaves for their households.’

  ‘But people will see that we’re not wearing stolas and know that we’re not married. And even married women of good family wouldn’t come alone to the slave market.’

  ‘Then pretend that we are not from a good family,’ I said impatiently. ‘Now help me look. The sooner we work out what happened
to Andalos, the sooner we can leave this place.’ I was already regretting my insistence on coming here and feeling less optimistic about our chances of finding the trader who had sold the young Gauls.

  The misery on the faces of the slaves was hard to bear, and even worse was watching the traders in action.

  ‘Let me see her teeth,’ a big-bellied man in a rumpled toga demanded, pointing to a trembling girl with chains on her ankles.

  The trader wrenched the girl’s mouth open.

  ‘Missing a few,’ the potential buyer commented.

  ‘Ah, but those she’s got left are stayers,’ the trader assured him.

  I imagined Aballa here, in chains, her limbs being squeezed, hoping that she and her brother would be sold together. With a sick feeling I suddenly saw Rome and Romans through her eyes; her mother and grandparents slain in front of her, subjected to the torture of the slave market — how she must hate us, I thought, with a flash of insight. What had Marcus said that night at the dinner table? The very future of the Roman Empire might rest on how we deal with our slaves. If that was the case, we should be very worried.

  Sabine and I passed a group of tall, dark-haired slaves being sold together at an auction.

  ‘Prisoners of war from Thrace. Fighting men — though not anymore, of course, ha ha; all the fight gone out of them, don’t worry about that,’ the trader bantered, cracking his whip near the men’s feet and nodding in satisfaction as they cowered. The trader himself was a small, slight man with prominent front teeth and a twitching nose that gave him the appearance of a rat. I’d bet he wouldn’t be so confident without the whip in his hand.

  ‘They’re muscular, though, I can guarantee that — here, you, flex your muscles.’ He prodded one of the slaves with the tip of his whip until, his expression blank, the Thracian flexed his biceps.