The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (39 page)

Ramutha glowered at the men. “Lady Caecilia’s time has come. Let me take her home.”

Kurvenas grimaced, showing no sympathy, while Artile observed his sister-in-law with dispassionate gaze. Lusinies avoided looking at the women, clearly uncomfortable at the prospect of being present at a birth.

Vipinas, though, hastened to Caecilia’s side and offered one scarred, liver-spotted arm to help her stand. He wheezed with the effort of propping her up as he glared at the king. “I have heard enough. I do not believe Lady Caecilia is the traitor we seek. I will not let you send her back to Rome. She is faithful to Veii and has borne three warrior sons.” Coughing, he strived to finish his piece. “I gave my word that I’d protect her. And you should remember your own pledge to Mastarna. You talk of dishonor today. How can you think of sending another man’s wife to her doom while he is fighting a war in your name?”

Caecilia clung to the aged man’s arm, thinking how frail he seemed despite his defiance.

Kurvenas bristled. “I don’t need a lesson on principles from a toothless old man.”

The aristocrat’s near-translucent skin reddened to the roots of his thinning hair. “I have been zilath more than once. At least respect my service to this city even if you choose to insult an elder.”

Caecilia sagged as another pang seized her. Ramutha staggered a little as she held her friend around the waist.

The lucumo ignored Caecilia’s distress. “Respect you, Vipinas? You failed to avenge my grandfather’s death. You ensconced yourself as zilath and thereafter claimed no more tyrants would rule Veii. And then you negotiated a truce with Rome for twenty years instead of waging war against it. And don’t think I’ve forgotten you joined Mastarna in deposing my cousin.”

Astonishment registered through Caecilia’s distress.

Vipinas was shaking as the lucumo listed grievances extending back decades. “Take care. I am still head of my clan even if I no longer ride into battle. You menace this woman as your cousin Tulumnes did before you. You would do well to remember that his oppression was not tolerated. And that all the other principes followed Mastarna in dethroning him and his cronies.”

Kurvenas swept the inkstand and candelabras from the table. They crashed to the floor. “What you say is treason.”

Vipinas flinched. He could barely speak for wheezing. “Are you accusing me of being the traitor?”

Lusinies rose and stood in the space between the two men. His circumspection was a relief after the fury between the king and princip. “Sire, this is a weighty matter. I ask that you not act hastily. Consult with the High Council. Let’s wait until Mastarna returns to determine who this betrayer is. Then there will be no question that the College of Principes will support your decision.”

Another contraction. Caecilia clenched her jaw determined not to moan. It was as though a great hand was wringing her insides. Ramutha held her close as she shouted, “You should heed Lusinies. Otherwise you will need courage to survive Mastarna’s wrath.”

The king hesitated before turning to Artile. The priest bowed. “Sire, as lucumo you are the high priest of Veii. I am merely the chief haruspex of Uni. It is in your hands to determine what must be done. I have merely interpreted the omen.”

Kurvenas kicked the inkstand across the room. Sweeping his cloak behind him with a swirl of frustration, he once again mounted the dais. “Go then! I will give Mastarna until the end of summer to return. And then the matter will be decided once and for all.”

Skirts soaked, Caecilia tried to summon dignity as Ramutha and Vipinas helped her from the chamber. Unable to concentrate on politics and portents, absorbed with the agony of her labor, aware there was no guarantee Vel would remain alive.

Glossary

Cast

Semni leaned her weight against the handle of the quern, arms straight and back horizontal. Her legs strained with the effort, her breathing labored. The upper stone grated against the millstone, the iron pivot creaking from lack of grease. Flour flowed into the trough below before spilling onto the paving.

She was weeping again. Thinking of Arruns. She had done so on and off for hours.

A breeze, hot and mischievous, swept through the courtyard. The flour rose in an eddy. Semni knelt and hastened to scoop it from the trough into a sack but the gust blew the powder onto her face and hair and clothes.

Frustrated, she sat on her haunches. She should not have been grinding a hand mill like some lowly slave. She should have been setting a flywheel spinning instead of trudging in a circle. She should have been perspiring from the heat of a furnace instead of sweating in the hot sun.

“
Are you still out here after all this time?” Aricia hovered in the archway of the courtyard.

Nose red and eyes puffy, Semni wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

Aricia hurried over to her. “What’s the matter?”

“
Arruns.”

The nursemaid frowned. “Why, what did he do to you?”

Semni rose, sniffling. “He wants me, Aricia, but he puts his duty first.”

The nursemaid hesitated but made no comment. Then she scanned the courtyard. “Where is Nerie?”

“
With Cook. She was cross that I was lagging behind and could see he was hindering me in my work.”

Aricia pushed Semni’s hair from her brow. “Come, dry your eyes. I’ll fetch a broom and help you sweep up this flour, and then we can go to my room to talk.”

Semni was grateful for such help. Her head was aching from laboring in the midday sun. “Where are the little masters?”

“
Tas is with his tutor, and Perca is tending to Larce and Arnth.”

The familiar smell of incense lingered in Aricia’s cell but after the fierce heat it was a relief to rest in the cool interior. Semni sat down with a sigh on the soft mattress and tried to wipe her face clean.

Aricia smiled. “Your tears have turned the flour on your face to glue.” Spitting onto her kerchief, she rubbed the paste away as would a mother wiping the cheeks of a grubby child. Forlorn, Semni closed her eyes, tolerating the attention.

There was a bronze cista next to the bed. Aricia delved inside the container and brought out a silver mirror. She lifted it so Semni could check her reflection, albeit distorted, in the polished metal. “See, all clean.”

Semni examined the looking glass. Engraved on the back was an image of Turan, the goddess of love, being tended by a winged and naked angel. “Where did you get this? It’s beautiful.”

“
Don’t tell. I stole it from Lady Caecilia.”

Semni was stunned. Even her own resentment towards the mistress would never tempt her to steal. “Why do you take her things? She gives you everything you need.”

Aricia sat down on the bed. “She has so much. Lord Mastarna spoils her. You should see in her chamber—one cista for pearl and amber and lapis, and another for all her gold. And besides, she has many mirrors. She has not even missed this one yet. Mind you, I don’t know why she would want to look at her reflection with that ugly birthmark.”

Semni was silent, disapproving of the maid’s venom. And she could understand why the princip would collect mirrors if they were decorated as splendidly as this. The artist had talent. Again she wished she could display her own. “You sound as if you hate her.”

“
I told you, Lady Caecilia clings to her beliefs even though she claims she is Rasennan. She doesn’t believe she will once again feast with her ancestors after she dies.”

The girl traced the outlines of the etched figures. Why should she be shocked at Aricia’s pilfering trinkets? It was nothing compared to the theft of the Roman’s son. It also reminded Semni again of her own tacit involvement. She handed the mirror to the Greek girl who carefully placed it back in the cista. “Do you ever feel guilty, Aricia? Taking Tas to Artile in secret?”

“
Why should I when she denies her sons immortality through Aita.”

Semni shrugged her shoulders. “Not all of us believe in the Calu Cult.”

Aricia was undaunted. “The Romans believe you descend into a milling crowd of bodiless souls after death. Would you want that for Nerie? Well, that’s what Lady Caecilia condemns her sons to suffer by not making sacrifice.”

The bangles on Aricia’s wrists jingled as she brushed some flour off Semni’s dress. “What is worse is that the mistress once was a follower.”

Surprised, Semni turned to face her. “How do you know that?”

“
Lord Artile told me. To hear that she once believed but now has shunned Aita makes it even worse!”

Semni listened with growing concern. She did not believe in the blood rites of the death cult but she still expected to live beyond the grave. “How could the mistress not believe in the Beyond?”

“
I know. It’s terrible.” Aricia lowered her voice. “Lord Artile told me something else that is worse.”

Her hushed tones made Semni also whisper. “What?”

“
She followed the Fatales Rites. She tried to defer the birth of Tas.”

“
I don’t believe you.” Semni’s voice returned to normal level. “The mistress loves her children.”

“
Now, perhaps, but when she first came to Veii she wanted to stop herself conceiving. She thought bearing a Rasennan baby would mean spawning a monster. She appealed to Nortia to delay such a fate.”

Semni struggled with the revelation, trying to reconcile the contented mistress who was heavy with child with the coldhearted schemer of whom Aricia spoke. And yet her friend seemed so certain. And the chief priest of Uni was her source. “Truly?”

“
Truly.” Aricia’s eyes were stony with condemnation. “She failed in her purpose, though. Lord Artile says that she was not devout enough to gain Nortia’s favor. Can you see now that I am right in taking Tas to visit his uncle? Lady Caecilia does not deserve to have such a son.”

The story seemed so outlandish. And yet to believe it helped Semni to assuage her own guilt at remaining silent. Maybe the Roman wasn’t such a good mother after all.

Aricia slid her arm around Semni’s waist. “Do you feel better now? About Arruns?”

She shook her head.

“
I don’t understand why you cry over him. He’s ugly and cruel.”

“
He’s not cruel.”

“
His job is to kill.”

“
He is kind to Nerie.” Semni tapped her chest, tears welling. “And to me.”

Aricia’s tone hardened. “Yet he does not want you.”

“
You’re wrong. He does. Only he chooses Lord Mastarna over me.”

Aricia brushed more flour from Semni’s chiton. It was as though she had not heard her. “This is so grimy. Why don’t you take it off and I’ll lend you one of mine.”

Semni glanced at the pleated blue and white gown hanging from a hook on the wall, distracted by the thought of feeling fine linen for the first time. She had always been jealous of the maid’s wardrobe. She nodded and dried her eyes.

Aricia stood beside her. “You don’t need a man to make you happy,” she said, helping her friend strip off her clothes. The skin of Semni’s rounded body was creamy, her arms and legs tanned, coated with a fine layer of flour.

She was weary of the refrain. “I do! And I’ve had no one to hold me for so long. All because of the Gorgon.”

Aricia sat down behind her friend and encircled her waist, laying her cheek against her shoulder and placing her hands on Semni’s belly. “Then I will hold you.”

The offer was not the embrace Semni was seeking. Nevertheless, the cushioning of padded breasts and arms, and the faint scent of violets was a comfort.

She felt Aricia’s breath against her skin as the nursemaid whispered, “I want to make you happy. Can’t I be enough for you?”

Surprised, Semni turned to face the nursemaid, not quite sure of what she was hearing. Over the past months she’d often slept on her friend’s feathered mattress, welcoming the chance to abandon her narrow pallet and escape Nerie’s squirming. And the tot also gained rest, snuggling upon a pillow beside the cot. And so Semni was not fazed when Aricia encouraged her to nestle in front of her in bed. It was less awkward than lying head to toe. Now she remembered how the maid always pressed a little too close, and how she would often wake to find Aricia’s arm across her. She’d thought nothing of it, believing it the tangle of slumber.