The Raven's Wing

by Frances Watts

  I didn’t see Marcus again until the eve of my wedding.

  I had spent the morning at the baths. Prisca and Sabine accompanied me, but only to avoid the gossip that would have ensued if they hadn’t. As it was, they remained stony-faced and silent unless we were surrounded by others, when Prisca would make an effort.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you she was a beauty?’ said Calpurnia. Her enormous figure was swathed in several towels as she made her way between the tepidarium and the caldarium. ‘Didn’t take long to get her married off now, did it? And I hear Gaius is going to adopt the boy.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Prisca in a tone clearly designed to discourage further discussion.

  But Calpurnia mistook Prisca’s ill-disguised displeasure for grief (and, to be fair, she was still grieving). ‘You’ll be thinking of Aurelia, of course. Tomorrow will be a bittersweet occasion, to be sure. Well, I’m looking forward to seeing you at the wedding. I should have been in Capri by now, but I stayed at home especially. By Castor, you didn’t give us much notice, though, did you? I’m afraid poor Claudia’s wedding must be poorly attended with so few people in Rome at the moment.’ By ‘people’ she meant, of course, ‘our’ kind of people, most of whom spent the year’s hottest months away from the city.

  I had treatments for my face, was massaged with scented oils and even had the hair ripped from my legs using a sticky paste of pine resin that left my flesh as raw and mottled as that of a newly plucked quail.

  When we finally got home, we found Marcus pacing the atrium. His mother and sister rushed to greet him.

  ‘I’m going to rest in my room,’ I said to the air.

  Marcus disentangled himself and called after me, ‘Wait a moment, Claudia. I want to talk to you. Let’s sit by the fountain.’

  I preceded him into the garden and perched on the fountain’s edge. ‘How’s Andalos?’ I asked, hoping to have good news for Aballa.

  ‘Recovering well. Timon says he’s a bright boy. He has begun teaching him Latin. When he’s fluent enough I’ll send him to school.’

  ‘That’s so kind of you,’ I said, impulsively putting my hand on his and feeling an unexpected jolt.

  ‘It’s the least I can do after what he has suffered here in Rome.’ He looked down at my hand. ‘So, tomorrow you marry Lucius,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, withdrawing my hand and folding it together with the other in my lap. ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘You must be excited.’ His tone was flat.

  I shrugged.

  ‘What kind of response is that? You want to marry Lucius, don’t you?’ he persisted. ‘Because he’s so handsome … or perhaps you think you are in love with him?’ His voice was scornful now.

  ‘Stop!’ I stood up. ‘Why are you being so objectionable? I thought we were becoming friends.’

  ‘Friends? You and me? Is that what you thought?’ His laugh was harsh. ‘We’re not friends, Claudia.’

  How different from the last time I had sat with a man on the edge of this fountain. But, Claudia, I don’t look on you as a sister.

  ‘My father wishes that I should marry Lucius,’ I said, reluctant for some reason to admit that it had been my own wish.

  ‘Did you think Lucius might love you too, is that it?’ he asked cruelly.

  ‘At least someone did.’ Why had I said did? ‘Does,’ I corrected myself.

  ‘Poor Claudia,’ said Marcus, sounding anything but sympathetic. ‘You feel unloved, do you? Are you sad and lonely here in your grand house with all your clothes and jewels?’

  ‘How dare you!’ I said fiercely. ‘I never asked for any of this.’ I tugged at my dress, my necklace. ‘I was happy with my aunt and uncle in Arretium. We were comfortable, but we weren’t rich, not like this. But they loved me. Why is it such a shameful thing, to want to be loved?’ To my horror, my voice began to wobble.

  Marcus too looked horrified by the prospect of my tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said hastily. ‘I just … I just want to know why you wish to marry Lucius.’

  What did it matter now?

  ‘Kindness,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that enough? You told me once that I should decide what kind of life I wanted. Well, I want someone to care for me, to notice if I’m happy or sad, to take pleasure in my company.’

  Marcus rubbed at the corners of his eyes with his fingertips as if weary. ‘You’re right: I encouraged you to consider what you wanted — but I was talking about a life that mattered. I’d hoped that you would want to do good, to be of use. Instead, you’ll just be helping Lucius to become rich.’

  ‘And how did you imagine I would do good?’ I shot back. ‘By marrying someone who could use me to gain political power?’

  My distaste must have shown on my face because, his own face reddening, he said, ‘What’s so wrong with that?’

  ‘It’s selfish.’

  ‘Why do you assume politics and power are bad things? Can’t power be used for unselfish reasons? For example, if I had the power I would bring in laws to protect the welfare of slaves. Remember how Andalos was treated? The current laws don’t go far enough.’

  I slowly nodded my agreement. What had happened to Andalos shouldn’t be allowed.

  ‘There are all kinds of things I’d do if I had the chance. If Rome is to live up to her ideals, senators really must work for the people and not just for their own gain or to consolidate power for their own class.’ He had risen now, and was pacing back and forth before me.

  ‘Politics is how we argue our different goals for Rome, our different cures for her ills, how all our voices are heard. Well, not all our voices are heard — but they should be. Rome might be more stable, more secure, than at any time in her history, but at what cost? Power that used to reside with the assemblies of the people has all been transferred to the Senate, made up only of patricians — and even the Senate is dominated by one man, Caesar.’ He looked troubled. ‘The signature of our state is SPQR, Senātus Populusque Rōmānus: the Senate and People of Rome. It is meant to convey that both are sovereign. I think we have strayed from the ideals of the Republic.’

  Listening to him, I felt both thrilled and anxious; he made me see things I had taken for granted in a new way. But it made me nervous to hear him sounding critical of Caesar and the Senate. ‘You shouldn’t talk like that,’ I warned him. ‘What if someone were to hear you?’

  ‘I don’t usually say such things aloud. But I can trust you, can’t I, Claudia?’ His black eyes were fixed on mine. The air between us seemed taut, vibrating with energy; I felt I could pluck it like a cithara string. ‘Can’t I?’ he repeated softly.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, surprised at how breathless I felt.

  ‘You could have done so much better than Lucius,’ he said. I could have sworn his tone was regretful, but I couldn’t tell for whom.

  Marcus did not stay for dinner that night, and I had no idea whether he intended to come to the wedding the next day.

  The rest of the afternoon passed in preparations. I picked marjoram and verbena from the kitchen garden and wove them around a piece of vine to make my wedding wreath, and laid out my wedding clothes in readiness for the next day.

  After dinner, as was traditional on the eve of a wedding, we went to the shrine in the atrium, where I was to sacrifice symbols of my childhood to the household gods. I had chosen to offer a bracelet Quinta and Marius had given me when I was little and the best dress I had brought with me from Arretium.

  As we gathered around the shrine, my father said gruffly, ‘Here, this can be one of your offerings.’ He held out a small pottery pig studded with bits of coloured glass. He shook it so that it rattled then placed it in my outstretched hand. ‘You were ferocious about this pig when you were small. The gods help anyone who tried to take it from you.’

  I stared at the toy in my hand in wonder. My father had kept it all this time? More than kept it: he must have brought it with him from Arretium. Why, when he had shown so little interest in me over the years? I suppose the Claudia he had known
was a child, and I had arrived in Rome as a young woman, a stranger.

  ‘Well? Put it in the fire, girl.’

  I tightened my grip on the pig, feeling the studs of glass on my palm. ‘I don’t want to,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps she wants to keep it for her own children,’ Prisca said. I was surprised to hear her speak up on my behalf.

  A smile spread across my father’s face. ‘Of course. Keep it for my grandsons.’

  As my father prepared to intone the prayers to the household gods, Sabine said, ‘Why isn’t Marcus here?’

  At the mention of his name I automatically looked around, half expecting to see him watching me with those unfathomable dark eyes. I could almost feel his gaze — but of course he wasn’t there.

  When the sacrifice was made we bade each other good night and went to bed. But I was too agitated to sleep. Tomorrow I would be leaving this house. Lucius had moved into the house on Via Triumphalis a week earlier, and though he still came each morning to assist my father in his business, he rarely returned in the evenings. He was paying courtesy calls to friends of his parents, he said, most of whom would be leaving town before the wedding.

  Was Lucius awake now too? I wondered. Imagining the moment at which we joined hands and became husband and wife? No, I told myself ruefully, recalling the jubilation with which Lucius had envisaged our future together. Lucius would be imagining the moment at which he entered our new house as my father’s son and heir. But what did it matter why he was marrying me? Marriage was not about love, but duty. My engagement to Rufus had been meant to benefit my uncle and Aulus Crispus, and now I was marrying for the sake of my father. He would have a son again — though it seemed to me now that Prisca had been right after all, and Marcus, so passionate about politics, would’ve been a better choice. Once again I had the uneasy feeling that my stepmother was wiser than I had given her credit for. I tried to silence the voice that would have me admit the truth: I had arranged this marriage to spite Marcus, because I knew he despised me and I didn’t want him to benefit by our marriage. And while I had succeeded, there was something hollow about my victory.

  Still, Lucius and I might not know each other well, but surely we knew each other as well as most couples when they first married. Better than some, even. And I was fond of him and I was sure his affection for me was genuine. In any case, surely it was normal to feel jittery.

  With these semi-comforting thoughts I drifted into an uneasy sleep, to be awoken by a cry …

  ‘Quick, the sun’s coming up — we need to leave the city before the streets grow too busy.’ The voice was low and tense.

  I had been lying limp in my captor’s arms, but on hearing these words I began to struggle. Where were they planning to take me, if not somewhere in Rome? How would I ever be found? A sob of fear escaped me.

  ‘Be still!’ snapped the man holding me, and I was so shocked by the edge to his voice that my sobs dried in my throat. ‘Here, I’ll pass her up,’ he continued.

  And then I was being moved, hands around my waist lifting me and another pair of hands hauling me roughly onto the horse’s back. Blinded by the sack and hampered by my long dress, I sat awkwardly in front of the saddle, my back pressed against the chest of one of my captors, his arms like iron bars holding me fast.

  With a click of his tongue, the rider urged the horse on.

  The horses were kept to a walk at first, and I realised that if my captors were intending to take me from Rome we would first have to pass through the city gates. Perhaps there would be a chance to raise the alarm? My body grew taut in anticipation, and as I felt the horse’s gait slow I readied myself to cry out. But as if he sensed my intention the man at my back growled, ‘Not a sound. This is for your own good, understand?’

  My own good?! A pulse began to throb in the base of my throat as I nodded, suppressing a whimper. I could hear voices all around me now, and knew that we must be drawing near to the gate, but I hardly dared to breathe lest my captor suspect me of trying to draw attention to myself.

  I felt movement at my sides as the rider pulled on the reins and we came to a stop. A voice in front — the man who had snatched me from my room — was talking, the words indistinct.

  Save me! I begged silently. Surely the soldiers on the gate wouldn’t let us through; I was so obviously a captive. Save me!

  But we were moving again, walking at first until, with a shout, the man at my back flicked the reins and the horse sprang forwards, gathering its strength into a gallop.

  With every jarring step I was scared that I would be unseated — but that wasn’t my worst fear. I was frantic with ideas. Were these the same people who had murdered Aurelia? Why not just poison me, then? Or maybe that wasn’t it at all; instead it was the oily man from the Subura, who had found out where I lived and — No, it was the owners of the Peacock, they had discovered my part in Andalos’s escape. With every new thought my breathing quickened until I was gasping for air, but it was so hot and close beneath the sack I worried I would suffocate. My breath was coming in ragged pants and I tossed my head desperately, trying to loosen the covering, overwhelmed by the darkness, by the thick cloth pressing into my face …

  I became aware of the horse slowing, and then the man behind me was saying, ‘Calm yourself now. I’ll remove the sack, but you must promise to stay quiet.’

  I nodded, though he probably wouldn’t be able to detect the movement beneath the bulky sack.

  And then the sack was being lifted from my head. It got tangled with my veil and I panicked as my face was shrouded until, with a wrench, my head was free, and my nose was filled with fragrant verbena and sweet marjoram from the wreath of flowers that had crowned the yellow cloth.

  ‘Breathe easy, Miss Claudia.’ The man’s voice was composed now, without the gruff edge of earlier, and it occurred to me that they must have been anxious passing through the city gates. How had they persuaded the guards to let them through?

  As the horse was urged into a gallop once more, it struck me: ‘Miss Claudia’, he had said. He knew my name! This was followed immediately by the realisation that of course they would know my name: one of the pair had come right into my bedroom at the back of my father’s house and taken me. It was hardly a random act. In fact, it was probably … No. No more guessing, no more theories, I chided myself as I felt my breath grow tight in my chest again. Shocked and exhausted, I allowed my mind to subside into numbness.

  After hours in the dark, the daylight was blinding, and I was barely able to take in the blur of trees and fields as we passed. Mile after mile we travelled, and I let the rhythm of the horse’s gait lull me into a kind of trance. But as we slowed to a canter at a small road leading off the larger, I came alert again; it seemed to me that the scenery was familiar. Neat vineyards, olive groves, a villa …

  We cantered almost to the steps of the villa, and there we stopped. The air around me seemed to ring with silence after the incessant beating of hooves against the stone. Every sound seemed amplified; the snorting and stamping of the horses, the soft rasp of my captor’s breath near my ear, a thud as the man on the other horse dismounted.

  My heart was still racing in time with the gallop, and the horse’s body heaved beneath me. I became aware of my captor’s arm tight around me, holding me steady as he said, ‘We’re going to move you now, Miss Claudia. Please, don’t struggle or you’ll fall.’

  My captor loosened his grip and then a second pair of hands had grasped me around the waist and was hauling me from the horse’s back. Unsteady after the ride, I stumbled a few steps and would have fallen to my knees if the second man hadn’t clasped my shoulders and held me upright.

  After a few seconds he released me and untied the rope binding my hands behind my back. I tried to draw my arms forwards.

  ‘Patience,’ the man on the horse murmured. ‘It will take a few minutes for circulation to return.’ That voice … was it familiar? There was a hint of an accent: Greek, maybe.

  I gazed with
disbelief at the villa I had last seen when I’d stopped overnight on my way to Rome. Months ago … a lifetime. Walking down the steps was the villa’s owner. I was struck speechless as he came towards us.

  ‘You!’ I stared at Marcus then spun around to face my captors. I recognised one of them as the overseer, though I couldn’t remember his name. And to think that I had liked him! Beside him stood a younger man, slimmer and with dark curly hair.

  The big Greek overseer had a troubled look on his face, and he ducked his head as though ashamed when he saw me looking at him. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Claudia, but we had to do it this way.’

  Marcus cast a quick glance at me then frowned. ‘Timon, what’s all this?’ He gestured at the rope that lay at my feet.

  ‘We had to tie her up and —’ the overseer winced ‘— I’m afraid we had to put a sack over her head too. If she’d called out, the house guards would have been alerted, and if she’d struggled, it would have slowed us down.’ He glanced at me apologetically. ‘And it was important that she not be recognised as we rode away from her father’s house. When we were stopped at the city gates we told the guards she was a runaway slave.’

  Marcus grimaced at the mention of the guards. ‘I’m sorry, Timon. I know it was asking a lot of you. I wish it wasn’t necessary, but no harm done, I suppose.’

  No harm done?! He was apologising to Timon? After the initial surprise of seeing Marcus, I was shaking with a mix of rage and terror.

  ‘What have you —? How dare —?! Why —? My father —!’ I couldn’t complete a single thought, so many were tumbling through my head.

  ‘We’ll see to the horses,’ Timon murmured softly, but neither Marcus nor I responded as he and the other man led them away.

  ‘Let’s have this discussion inside,’ Marcus said curtly. He strode off, leaving me to follow.