As Prisca busied herself with frequent visits to Aurelia’s tomb, I tried to take over some of the household tasks, even though I knew Theodotus could manage perfectly well without me. It was the only way I could think to help. Each morning I consulted with the cook about the day’s meals — which really meant approving of the menu that the cook, who knew the tastes of the family better than I did, had devised. I also recorded the activity of the weaving room in the ledger Prisca used.
When the official mourning period was over, we left for the coast. We would spend the summer at Father’s villa near the small town of Oplontis, on the Bay of Naples.
There were no uncomfortable carriages this time. We made the journey in two days, going by boat down river to the port of Ostia, where we boarded a ship and sailed south along the coast.
We disembarked near Pompeii, in the shadow of the giant Vesuvius, and were carried by litter the last two miles to Oplontis, which, I discovered as we passed through it, was barely large enough to be called a town, comprising only a tavern and a few shops to serve the scattering of villas nearby. I had seen these from the ship as we drew near to land: enormous houses perched along the cliff tops, rising in tiers two, or even three, storeys high.
From the town, the road climbed up and up, the land falling away in green-stubbled pleats.
‘I have never been so glad to leave Rome,’ Prisca declared as we alighted from the litters. She sounded as if a weight had been lifted from her.
I stood for a moment, basking in the light. The warm air was tinged with a mild sea breeze that carried a hint of salt. All around me I could see shades of green; the dusty green of olive trees in neat terraces on a nearby hill, the deep cool green of pine trees, leaves rattling in the wind, the bright green of flowering shrubs. Bursts of yellow broom blazed like sunshine all around.
While slaves bustled about with the luggage, I followed Sabine into the house, pausing to allow my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the interior. Sabine walked purposefully through the atrium to an enclosed garden. I barely had time to take in walls painted with a cerulean sky, orange trees, a nightingale on a branch, before we were entering a sparsely furnished reception room with a magnificent mosaic of sea creatures, white-bellied fish, speckled sharks, octopus and golden serpents, swimming sinuously through a black sea.
The doors at the back of the room were thrown open and Sabine hastened through them, with me after her, only to come to an abrupt halt. It was as if the earth beneath us had suddenly dropped away, and we were suspended above the dazzling blue sea. Jagged rocks pierced the water’s skin like the teeth of a giant monster. We were standing on a terrace perched high on a cliff, with only a waist-high wall between us and the expanse of water. When I was able to drag my eyes from the view I saw that to the left and right steps led to lower terraces and a series of manicured gardens. One had lawn with beds of geraniums in the middle and lining the edges, another had a pergola with a magenta shock of bougainvillea, a riot of tendrils snaking here and there like the hair of the Medusa. All around were oleanders in bloom, vivid pink and white and yellow flowers against austere green leaves.
‘We eat out here, mostly,’ Sabine said, turning back towards the house and pointing to an outdoor dining area tucked against the wall. Nearby was a fountain, water arcing into a marble basin from the mouth of a peacock made of bronze, delicately etched with feathers. ‘Except in the heat of the day, we spend most of our time outdoors.’
‘Do you have a garden here that you tend?’ I asked.
Sabine’s expression hardened, and I had the impression that she would rather I hadn’t mentioned her garden. Because she missed it? Or because she felt guilty for being unable to save her sister?
‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I have no garden here.’
As the days passed, my spirits began to rise, lifted by the sparks of sun glittering on the sea, the scent of air perfumed not by incense but by bright blooms.
Lucius seemed to draw the same consolation from our changed surroundings. ‘I feel like I can breathe again. There are no memories here.’
Of course, while Oplontis was a place without memories for the two of us, that wasn’t the case for Aurelia’s family, who had passed several summers here with her. Despite her initial delight at leaving Rome behind, Prisca continued to move in a cloud of gloom and Marcus continued to fret and glower. I had the impression that he was chafing at his failure to prevent his twin sister’s death, and would’ve liked nothing better than to have someone to blame.
Sabine, without her garden to occupy her, remained depressed and listless. More than once I asked her to join me for a walk around the grounds of the villa, to identify those plants and flowers that were new to me, but she declined, preferring instead to lie on a couch gazing into space. I tried to keep her company without disturbing her.
Lucius too often sat talking softly with her — which was more than her own brother bothered to do, I noted. Marcus and Prisca were so bound up in their own grief they had no compassion to spare for Sabine, though she was so much younger and more vulnerable than they. Aurelia would have noticed Sabine’s pain, I thought.
Our life in Oplontis was quiet, the days running into each other: each one dawned the same, the sky always cloudless, the drone of insects ceaseless. Although we were surrounded by the villas of some of Rome’s most prominent families, many of whom we socialised with back in Rome, in our mourning we kept to ourselves. The villa was even equipped with its own baths, so there was no need to go into the nearby town at all.
One evening, perhaps inspired by the melodic tinkle of wind chimes stirring in the breeze, Lucius ventured to suggest some music after dinner.
‘Claudia, did you bring your cithara with you?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I said hesitantly. Until now the time between dinner and bedtime had been passed in desultory conversation, as if we were reluctant to disturb the fragile peace that had settled on us.
‘I’d like to hear you play, if no one objects.’
No one did, though only my father seemed enlivened by the prospect. Prisca looked pensive, as she always did these days, and Marcus wore the grim expression that had rarely left his face since Aurelia’s death.
A slave was dispatched to fetch the instrument from my room, and minutes later returned with it. It had been so long since I held it the cithara felt heavy and cumbersome in my arms. But the sweet notes filled me with unexpected joy. As I sang, I looked at Lucius, trying to convey to him my gratitude for the idea. As he smiled back at me, I was reminded how when I first saw him his eyes had made me think of the sea; now that I had seen how the light skipped and sparked off the water below I thought the comparison even more apt.
As the last notes died away, I felt a prickling on the back of my neck and turned to find Marcus watching me, his black eyes hot and angry.
‘Next time you think to entertain us,’ he rasped, ‘spare a thought for those of us who aren’t quite ready to sing and be merry.’
While I appreciated Lucius’s attempt to bring light into the shades of mourning, Marcus was apparently determined that we should all be miserable.
‘Aurelia wouldn’t want us to mourn her forever,’ I said, trying for a conciliatory tone.
‘She hasn’t been dead a month. We owe her that much grief at least, I would have thought.’
I did not bring the cithara out again.
After we had been at the coast a couple of weeks, I steeled myself for a task I had been putting off. Taking some parchment and a quill, I went outside. At first I headed to a small patio set below the main terrace and in its shadow; it had stools and a table and overlooked the sea, and I often went there to read. But other members of the family used the spot too, so instead I settled on a bench screened off from the patio by a bay laurel hedge. I was going to write to Aunt Quinta about Aurelia’s death, and I didn’t want to be disturbed.
I sat for a while, the parchment and quill on the bench beside me, not sure how to begin. Idly I p
lucked a bay leaf from the hedge and crushed it between my fingers, releasing the savoury scent. I hadn’t written to my aunt since before the party, when I’d been preoccupied with my dress and the decorations and menu. She’d be expecting a letter full of descriptions of the banquet and news of the upcoming wedding, and instead I would describe a funeral.
With a sigh I picked up the letter-writing tools and began. I had got no further than: Dear Aunt Quinta, The most terrible thing has happened, when a murmuring warned me that people were approaching the patio. I heard Prisca say, ‘What is it you wish me to see?’ and Marcus’s deep voice reply, ‘That was just an excuse; I want to talk to you where no one else can hear.’
‘Really, Marcus, it’s so hot out here, are you sure we can’t talk inside?’
I knew I should stand up and make my presence known, but I didn’t. I was curious; I wanted to know why Marcus was being so secretive.
‘No, we cannot talk inside. Mother, I can’t believe you’re willing to stand by and let this happen. What can Gaius be thinking?’
‘I suspect he’s worried that Lucius will grow bored and leave, and he’s trying to keep him here.’
‘If he’s determined to see Lucius married, it should be to Sabine!’
I sat up straighter. What was he talking about? Lucius and Sabine?
‘Calm yourself, Marcus,’ Prisca said coldly. ‘You’re being ridiculous. Sabine is nowhere near ready for marriage.’ Then, her voice warmer, she said, ‘Is it really on Sabine’s account you are angry, or your own?’
‘You think I’m jealous?’ His voice was incredulous. ‘That’s the first amusing thing I’ve heard since Aurelia died. Which brings me to the subject I really wanted to talk to you about. Mother, how did Aurelia die?’
‘What do you mean?’ My stepmother’s tone was cautious now. ‘You heard what Theodotus said.’
‘Don’t take me for a fool, Mother. Tell me what disease strikes a healthy young woman so fast — or what allergy strikes so slow. You know what I’m asking.’
In the silence that followed, I puzzled over his words. And suddenly I realised how naive I had been. It was strange that Aurelia had fallen ill so unexpectedly, and that the cause was so mysterious; I had thought so myself on the day she died. But surely he wasn’t suggesting …? I heard the beat of blood in my ears as Prisca confirmed my dark suspicion in a hoarse whisper.
‘It is true: she was poisoned.’
There was a silence so long that I turned and peered through the hedge to see if they had left the patio. I saw Prisca in profile, her face deathly pale, seated at the table while Marcus stood with his back to her, staring out to sea.
Finally Marcus spun around to face her. ‘You know this for sure?’ he demanded.
Prisca inclined her head. ‘It is the opinion of Theodotus. And I have never known him to be wrong in a diagnosis.’
‘But who? Who would poison Aurelia?’ His bafflement echoed my own.
‘I don’t know.’ Her voice rose on the last word; Prisca sounded frightened now, and I understood why she had seemed so fearful during the mourning period in Rome, why she had held so tightly to her remaining children. She did not fear the gods: she feared a murderer! ‘I don’t know who and I don’t know why!’
‘Well, what does your husband say? Does he have any ideas?’
‘I haven’t told Gaius that Aurelia was poisoned, and I asked Theodotus not to say anything either.’
‘Why keep it so secret? Don’t you want to know who has done this?’
‘Of course I do! I was planning to hire an investigator when we return to the city. This must be handled with discretion, Marcus.’ Some of Prisca’s old imperiousness had returned, I was strangely pleased to hear. ‘If Gaius knew, he would insist that the slaves be questioned, and you know what that means.’
I knew what it meant too: a slave’s testimony was only legally valid if it was obtained under torture. I shrank at the thought.
‘In any case, all our slaves have been with us for years,’ Prisca continued. ‘I can’t believe any one of them would have helped to poison Aurelia.’ She sounded weary. ‘And I can’t believe that Aurelia had an enemy.’
‘I can think of one,’ said Marcus. ‘She was probably glad when Aurelia died.’
She? Did he think a woman had poisoned his sister?
‘What are you talking about?’ said his mother. ‘Who do you mean by “she”?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? Claudia.’
I bit my hand to keep from gasping aloud. He thought I had murdered Aurelia?!
My heart began to beat rapidly and I felt a buzzing in my head as if I might pass out. I clutched the cold stone of the bench to steady myself.
Prisca sounded as astonished as I felt. ‘You think Claudia was responsible?’
‘Of course not. You were just saying that Aurelia had no enemies, and I was pointing out that she did.’
‘But Aurelia loved Claudia! Why would Claudia be glad of Aurelia’s death?’
Marcus gave a bitter laugh. ‘Isn’t it obvious? So she could have Lucius for herself.’
He couldn’t seriously believe that!
‘Nothing has been settled about Claudia and Lucius,’ Prisca countered. ‘I should never have told you that Gaius raised the idea. But as long as you refuse to marry her it’s hard for me to argue against Lucius.’
‘You must remind your husband that I have the first claim on Claudia. He has already agreed to our marriage; he can’t renege now.’
‘So you’ve changed your mind?’ His mother sounded surprised. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I’m sure Gaius will be glad too.’ Prisca’s tone belied the confidence of her words, however.
‘Will he? I should think he’d be as happy to have Lucius for a son-in-law as Claudia would be to have him as a husband. I suppose I can’t blame her. Lucius is handsome, charming.’ He sat at the table, put his head in his hands and groaned. ‘This is my own fault. I encouraged her.’
‘You encouraged her? How? To do what?’ Prisca was now bewildered and a little fearful. ‘You’re scaring me, Marcus. Truly, you sound unhinged. Perhaps Aurelia’s death has affected you more than you know.’
‘I know exactly how much it has affected me,’ he snapped. ‘I feel I have been torn in two and half of me is lying in a cold tomb on the Appian Way. I mean that I encouraged Claudia to arrange her life according to her own wishes, like you do. I was embarrassed that you would force her to marry me just because you wanted to advance my interests.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Well, it turns out it’s Lucius she wishes for. Haven’t you seen how she looks at him? She’s in love with him, I tell you.’
Was I in love with Lucius? I realised with a start it had never once occurred to me that, since Aurelia’s death, he was no longer out of reach. But now an image of his golden hair and laughing eyes filled my mind and I thought how different he was from the man in front of me, all thunder and dark glares.
Prisca groaned. ‘Oh, Marcus, what were you thinking? A girl of fifteen is hardly in a position to know her own mind. And anyway, so what if she fancies herself in love with Lucius? Claudia knows as well as anyone that marriage is not about love. In any case, it’s a big step from mooning after Lucius to scheming against her sister in order to marry him.’
‘You’d be surprised how resourceful she is. Do you know she persuaded Sabine to go to the slave market with her?’
I couldn’t believe Sabine had told him! I really should have known better than to trust her to keep a secret. But then I thought how terrible she must have felt, being absent during some of Aurelia’s last hours — hours she could have spent searching for a cure — and understood her urge to confess.
‘She did what?’ Prisca exclaimed. ‘Why would Claudia want to go to the slave market?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘How would I know? Probably sightseeing.’ His contempt for me was clear. ‘Poor Sabine feels terrible about it. That the two of them were gallivanting around the slave market while Aurelia was dyi
ng.’ His voice cracked on the last word.
There was a pause as Marcus seemed to struggle for composure. He leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, breathing heavily. Then he looked up abruptly. ‘You were right all along, Mother — about marrying Claudia, that is. Aurelia too.’
My heart stilled. What did Aurelia have to do with it?
He continued, ‘She said I was stupid to be so proud, that I would be a fool not to marry Claudia. Why deny myself the opportunities the marriage would bring?’
I couldn’t help but feel betrayed, even though I knew it was only natural that Aurelia should think of what was best for her brother.
Prisca said, ‘I’m pleased that you’re finally seeing sense.’ Her voice was wary, though, as if she didn’t quite trust his sudden change of heart. I knew I didn’t.
‘I’ll leave it to you to persuade Gaius.’ He stood. ‘I have to go.’
‘Go? Go where?’
‘Someone killed my sister, and I will not rest until I find out who.’ And just like that, without even a proper farewell to his mother, he strode away.
Prisca rose and I thought she would follow Marcus, but though she stared after him for a few seconds she then turned and moved to the edge of the patio.
‘Immortal gods,’ she whispered, ‘what is to become of this family? I swear I only wished the best for everyone …’
For several long minutes she gazed out to sea.
I sat, my hands gripping the bench so hard that the stone edge cut into my fingers. The whole discussion had left my head whirling. Father was considering marrying me to Lucius … Marcus had decided to marry me after all … He had accused me of being glad of Aurelia’s death.
Aurelia’s death … The warm air felt cold against my skin as I remembered Prisca’s revelation. There had been no illness, no allergy — Aurelia had been murdered.
Marcus’s departure had been so swift and sudden that no one else in the house was aware of it until that evening.
‘Marcus is late to the table,’ my father remarked, irritated, as we gathered on the main terrace for dinner.
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