The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (31 page)

“
But the wine cellar? No servant can unlock it without permission. Not even the majordomo.”

Aricia had smiled smugly. “Ah, but Lord Artile used to live here. And he has given me the key.”

Nerie whimpered in his sleep. Semni wiped her hands free of fish guts and patted him. Her son was the greatest reason for not exposing the cunning of the nursemaid and uncle. She knew what awaited should she and Nerie be cast out into the streets. Why then should she care about the conspiracies that lay beneath the same cobbled roads of river stone?

Glossary

Cast

Aricia’s cot boasted a feather mattress, a plaid woolen coverlet and linen sheets. And her room was redolent with the smell of sweet violets. Semni had been mistaken about the scent of orris lingering in the nursemaid’s hair and clothes. It was not perfume but the incense the girl burned to speed her prayers to Aita.

Semni sat on the bed and fed Nerie. The boy was fretful with pain. Loosening his swaddling, she smoothed more of the honey lotion on his hand before laying him down and stroking him until he fell asleep.

Aricia loosened Semni’s topknot and combed her hair. Such ministrations reminded the girl of nights with her sisters. They would often gossip or squabble as they tended to each other’s grooming, heaping bone pins into piles and combing out each other’s tresses. Now she had lost both of them—one to death and the other to treachery.

Aricia had no such memories. She had no siblings. And the other servants kept her at a distance, conscious of her sanctimony. Her mother did not approve of her fervor for the death cult either. Semni knew, though, that Cytheris was proud that Aricia had been entrusted with the care of the heirs of the house. She’d overheard the Greek woman boasting of it to Cook. Yet the mother never wasted an opportunity to criticize her daughter to her face.

“
She’s dried up and old,” complained Semni. “Why should I go without a man to warm me in my bed just because she’s jealous?”

Between strokes, Aricia smoothed her hand along her friend’s thick waist-length hair, saying nothing.

“
Who would want her? She’s over thirty summers old, ugly, fat and toothless! And her breath stinks of aniseed. No wonder you have no brothers or sisters.”

Aricia stopped combing. “Only one of her teeth is missing. And I had a half-sister who died when she was a babe.”

Semni swung around. “Truly?”

“
Truly. And then there were my twin half-brothers, who were taken from her when she was a slave.”

“
By the general?”

“
No. By my father.”

“
But if he was the boys’ father he had that right.”

“
But he wasn’t. Mother bore them to a different man.”

“
I’m confused.”

Aricia sighed. “Mother has had many lovers but no husband.”

Semni was stunned. That dour woman having many men? “So why don’t you live with your father?”

“
I’ve never met him. He is from Latium. When his wife discovered the Gorgon sleeping with her husband she took my brothers from her. Then Mother was sold to a Rasennan trader. She was pregnant with me.”

Sympathy welled in Semni before she realized that Cytheris was demanding chastity when she’d been an adulterer just like her. “So she caused trouble in her time.”

“
You should not cross her, Semni.”

“
So you think she is right to deny me the chance for some pleasure?”

The nursemaid was quick to placate her. “No, it’s just … I don’t understand why you want so many men.”

Semni’s cheeks flushed with temper. She was fed up with Aricia’s disapproval. There was no reason why the nursemaid needed to remain pure. She may have been plump and plain, but at least she had all her teeth. And instead of Cytheris’ frizz, her pretty black ringlets were sinuous and shiny. Her smile could be appealing, too, when she chose to be amused. And her youth alone would encourage men to couple with her. “And I’d like to know why you want none!”

“
Because I plan to be a priestess.”

Semni snorted. “There’s no rule that holy women have to be virgins.”

“
I don’t want a husband,” Aricia pouted. “He would not let me be a cepen.”

“
Who says he has to be a husband?”

Aricia clenched the comb, voice hard with spite. “Unlike you, I’m not prepared to bear a bastard.”

Semni bridled at the mouse being prepared to bite. How dare Aricia judge her when the nursemaid was playing the traitor? She snatched the comb from the girl and brushed her own hair with sharp, hard strokes. “You might think me a slattern but I think you’re a fool. The haruspex is not going to help a freedwoman become a priestess.”

Aricia balled her hands, holding them tight in her lap. “You’re wrong! He said if I learned to read he’ll show me Aita’s sacred text, the Book of Acheron.”

“
He only says that because he wants you to bring Master Tas to him.”

At the sound of their anger, Nerie started grizzling. Annoyed that he’d been woken, Semni threw the comb onto the bed and picked him up, turning her back on Aricia as she rocked him.

The nursemaid pulled her around to face her. “You’re a liar!”

“
And as I said, you’re a fool.” Semni pushed the girl on the chest. “He’ll never teach you!”

“
And you’ll never have Arruns until you stop opening your legs to every man!”

Semni stood up, propping her son against her shoulder, patting his back to stop him crying. “I don’t have to listen to this. I’m going.”

Aricia’s expression changed from defiant to stricken in an instant. “No, stop, don’t go. I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry. I didn’t mean it!” She clutched Semni’s chiton. “Why don’t you and Nerie sleep here tonight? It must be cold in your cell.”

Semni hesitated, hearing the neediness in her friend’s voice. She thought of her bedroll on the hard floor of the kitchen, and the snores of the other servants who shared her space. It would be no hardship to swap that discomfort for sleeping head to toe with Aricia. The warm softness of the nursemaid’s bed would more than compensate for cramped bodies. Hadn’t she spent her childhood lying next to her sisters in this way? And after Nerie’s accident it would be good for the babe to sleep in a room heated by a brazier.

“
Very well.” Her tone was haughty, making it clear she was doing the maid a favor. She sat down again, kissing Nerie’s fair hair and crooning to him. When he was finally quiet Aricia sidled up beside her and began plaiting Semni’s hair into a loose braid. After a while the nursemaid laid her head on her friend’s shoulder. “Mother can’t force me to marry him, you know. But I don’t know why you want him. Arruns is not a man to love, Semni. There’s something missing in him, something chilling. He was the Phersu, after all.”

Uncomfortable with the girl’s nearness, Semni shifted away from her and pulled back the bedcovers. “I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep.” Cradling her son, she slid between the sheets, enjoying the first-time feel of linen against her skin. Aricia doused the lamp and climbed into the bed at the other end.

Semni lay on her side in the dark, taking in the smell of honey and mint as Nerie lay against her, and conscious of the nursemaid’s back touching hers.

A tear trickled from the corner of her eye into her hair. Aricia was wrong. Arruns may have worn the scarlet mask once and now guarded his emotions behind hooded eyes and tattoo, but she’d seen through his guise. She knew he had feelings. And if he wanted her she believed he might just make her desire no other man.

Glossary

Cast

Pinna was happy. Her arms and legs were brown. She liked the feel of the sun on her face, the slight tightening of the skin after she’d spent long hours in light. Although the ruddiness marked her as a peasant and in time would age her, the more she tanned the further away her life in the dim interior of the brothel became.

Under the hot noonday sun, perspiration soaked the back of her tunic, sweat trickling between her breasts and coating her arms as she carried a basket of provisions to her tent. She’d had to haggle with the trader outside the camp to get a decent price for olives and cheese. And the piquant fish sauce Marcus enjoyed was far too expensive for her liking. According to the suttler it was harder to secure supply lines from Rome when so far advanced into Faliscan territory.

Pinna looked eastwards. Mount Soracte rose in the distance, its snowcapped peaks at odds with the shimmering haze. She had never known a summer like it. The earth retained its heat until evening and not even darkness brought cool. And yet it was preferable to the past winter when the wind scissored her skin and ice coated the ground. In that season the campfires were doused too often by falling snow, and the thin walls of Marcus’ tent did little to ward off cold. The chilblains and shivers reminded her of her experience as a night moth, and made her wonder if she had made a mistake in becoming an army wife. After a time, though, camp life became bearable. It was not nearly as onerous as days spent beside her mother plowing or scything with sore back and blistered hands. And freedom, too, gave her cause to thank Mater Matuta every day.

Around her, soldiers, squires and manservants were busy pitching tents on the gentle sloping field. General Camillus liked to change locations regularly to make it more difficult for the enemy to plan attacks. The march had commenced at dawn. Now ditchers were swinging shovels and filling wicker baskets with soil in the midday sun. Soon the wide trench dug around the perimeter would be finished. And the woodcutters felling timber in the nearby woods would then splinter the pine into pickets that would rise two yards high.

With no expectations of what a camp would be like, Pinna was amazed to find it was a small town on the move. Farriers and cobblers, leather workers and blacksmiths all went about their business for the purposes of war. And she had grown used to the smell of dung and the odor of donkeys and milking goats corralled in the animal enclosure, their braying and bleating a constant.

As she walked through the encampment she was conscious of men’s stares. Such attention always confused her. She thought herself unremarkable. At the lupanaria customers had often chosen her over her sisters, but she thought the reason no more than the effect of cosmetics and lust. Now she found men still scrutinized her even though her face was devoid of carmine and kohl. And although she no longer sat naked outside a cell, it seemed her palla and tunic failed to hide a narrow waist and full breasts. Marcus had remarked one time that it was lucky he was unlikely to be jealous. She had smiled at his jest, confident that men might ogle her but would never try to touch her. No soldier would attempt to steal an officer’s concubine.

By the time she reached the tent Marcus was already checking his armor, making sure sufficient beeswax had been used to polish the leather and metal of his corselet, and that his round bronze shield was burnished as befitting a knight.

She placed her purchases in one corner next to the lard and flour before arranging the clay jars of wine and water beside them. “I want to get everything in order by dinnertime,” she said, finding a position for the cook pot, plates and spoons.

Marcus smiled. “Disciplined as always. You would make a good soldier, Pinna.”

“
I have to be tidy since you insist on such modest quarters. I’ll never understand why you don’t have a bigger tent like the other officers.”

Marcus checked the blade of his spear. “All I need is somewhere to sleep and some storage. I think myself lucky. The common soldiers must crowd together in their tents.”

The last items unpacked were their mats. There was no need for sheepskin and blankets in this heatwave. Reluctant to lie under the stuffy tent of leather yet again, Pinna made a suggestion. “We’ve had such restless nights of late. Perhaps we could sleep in the open this evening. There might be a breeze.”

Marcus stopped his inspection. “I don’t think that’s wise. It’s more difficult to pretend that we are … well … together.”

Headstrong, Pinna stood waiting with the mats at the tent opening. “Marcus, you know Roman soldiers don’t show affection in public. No one will think it odd that we don’t share a bed when lying under the stars.”