The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (15 page)

Semni sighed. “You should forget about that dismal death cult. Revere Fufluns instead. Enjoy his revels. Seek life. Hallow resurrection.”

Aricia gestured towards Semni’s belly. “I’m sure Velthur doesn’t appreciate you worshipping the wine god.”

Semni laughed at the unexpected quip. It suddenly made her warm to the nursemaid. She glanced at the guard again. She’d heard that Arruns had been the Phersu. Although she was not a follower of the death cult, it strangely excited her that he had performed holy deeds. “Arruns once acted as Aita’s instrument. I would have thought that would appeal to you.”

“
He’s no believer. He told me so. Just a killer Lord Mastarna has retained.”

Semni frowned. Arruns was more than a bodyguard. He was a warrior who fought in the light infantry when his general rode to war. “Still, you could do worse.”

To her surprise, Tas tapped her on the shoulder. “But Aricia would be very tired if she shared a bed with Arruns.”

The potter blinked. Throughout their conversation the boy had been studying the vase. She’d thought him uncomprehending.

Aricia blushed. Semni giggled. “And why is that, young master?”

“
Because Arruns never sleeps. He told me he must keep his eyes open.”

Semni’s laughter doubled. “Sleepless nights are exactly what your nurse needs!”

“
Enough.” Aricia scowled, then bent down to Tas, voice gentle. “Let’s return to your mother, my pet.”

“
No! I don’t want to!”

To Semni’s disapproval, Aricia complied without question. Clearly the little master’s petulance was often tolerated. Nevertheless, the nursemaid mouthed a warning behind the boy’s head. “No more talk.”

The potter smiled, returning to her work, deftly painting the background around the lovers, filling in the thin grooved outlines with precise strokes of a fine-bristled brush, the untouched clay giving form to the figures.

Unable to contain curiosity, Tas piped up again. “Why are you using red paint? It should be black.”

“
Because the slip is magic.”

“
Slip?”

“
The clay and potash paint.”

“
It doesn’t smell like magic.”

Semni leaned towards him, tone conspiratorial. “Oh, that’s because I like to mix a little piss with it.”

He screwed up his nose, and when his expression remained skeptical, Semni pointed to the kiln. “See how the slave has placed a tile over the chimney so there is less air? It will make the furnace hotter. When the vase is placed inside, the slip melts and turns black, leaving the unpainted figures red as the fire cools. Is that not magic?”

Tas digested the information with a nod, then moved onto his next question. “Is she a goddess?”

“
Who?”

He pointed to the woman on the vase. “Her.”

“
No, she is a mortal. That’s her husband, Fufluns, the wine god. Her name is Areatha, but Greek people like Aricia call her Ariadne. Do you know her story?”

“
Only that she helped These slay the Minotaur and then escaped with him.”

“
Ah, but on their way home they stopped at an island, and when she was sleeping These deserted her.”

The boy frowned. “Areatha must have been very sad.”

“
Not for long because, you see, she fell in love with Fufluns. The god found her while she was sleeping and took her as his bride.”

“
And never left her?”

“
Never. They live together even now. The most devoted of divine couples.”

“
But Aricia says that Lord Aita and Persiphnae love each other more than any others. They are rulers of the Beyond. I’ll meet them after I die.”

“
Yes, my pet.” His nursemaid tugged at the boy to stand, the gesture showing a nervousness the potter did not quite understand. “Now let’s leave Semni to her work and find your mother.” This time Tas allowed himself to be bustled away.

Shortly after, Semni noticed Tas’ cap must have fallen from his lap. She retrieved it from the floor, brushing off the dust. Not inclined to heave her weight from the stool, Semni called to Arruns to fetch it. The Phoenician ignored her. He always snubbed her advances. To be perverse, she called even louder. He reluctantly approached.

“
Master Tas dropped this.” She handed him the hat. As he took it from her she ran her fingers along one vein of his corded arm. “You know,” she said, voice husky. “I won’t always be with child.”

Arruns shook off her hand, hooded eyes cold. “You should look to your husband.”

Semni laughed, studying the blue serpent on the Phoenician’s torso. Her fingers drifted down his chest and stomach towards his groin. “Are you ever going to show me if it’s a two-headed snake?”

His palm engulfed her hand, his touch light, but she knew he could hurt her with the merest pressure.

“
I only lie with women, not spoiled children.”

She pulled away, pouting and pointing to her belly. “Do you think I’d be like this if I wasn’t a woman?”

“
Semni, the babe inside you is probably wiser than you.”

His barb stung. The baby edged its foot under her ribs. She poked it, cursing again.

The stoker called to her as he opened the furnace, querying whether she wished to check the pots before placing them into sand to cool. She gestured for him to continue, then picked up the vase, caressing it. Out of fire would come perfection. The child within her would never be as exquisite. What would it look like? Fawn or lamb, calf or cub? And what would her husband do if he found the child was not of his loins? Hopefully it would only bear a resemblance to her.

She thought of Lady Caecilia’s announcement then realized that it didn’t really matter that the workshop was to become a factory. With motherhood, any chance to gain fame would disappear.

Semni turned the vessel over and raised the scalpel, incising her name onto its base. Only the best artisans were entitled to do so. This would be the last time she would make such a mark. A spattering of tears darkened the clay.

Glossary

Cast

The potters were standing again. Then kneeling. General Mastarna had arrived.

Semni curtsied as best she could, intrigued as to why Lady Caecilia’s husband would visit the workshop. Here was another man whose unloveliness she could forgive. Out of habit she wetted her lips and primped her hair. Although she doubted he would be tempted even if she wasn’t pregnant. The lord only had eyes for his thin Roman.

The warrior was encased in armor, his round shield slung over his shoulder. He hastened to his wife, ignoring the potters who gave obeisance. Puffed up with importance, Velthur tried to greet him. The princip brushed past him. The old man’s bony chest was already sunken; being rebuffed only made him looked more crestfallen.

Lady Caecilia stood, face ashen. “Vel, what is it? Is something wrong?”

He took both her hands, his deep voice buoyant. “Word has just reached us. The city of Falerii has declared war against Rome. They are in battle as we speak.”

“
The Faliscans? Why would they do that? Those people are not Rasennan.”

“
Because they see that they’ll be next. They’ve been Veii’s ally for too long and goaded Rome one too many times by providing us with their corn.”

“
But I thought the Romans had set up double siege lines. Isn’t General Sergius ready to counter any northern attack from the rest of Etruria?”

Mastarna smiled. “The fool has been lax in leaving some of the northern forts unmanned. The Faliscans have taken his army by surprise. And while the Roman forces are preoccupied staving off the attack, I’ll charge the trenches that face Veii. Then I plan to cross the northwest bridge and assault them from the rear. Our enemy will be squeezed between two battle lines.”

The noblewoman’s expression was as anxious as her husband’s was eager. “But surely the main Roman camp in the south will come to Sergius’ aid? And General Verginius’ contingent is far greater in number.”

“
Kurvenas is already mustering his men to sortie against him should he make any attempt to relieve his colleague. Don’t you see? This is the chance to flush out the Romans completely.”

The lines creasing her brow deepened as she gripped his hands. “Do you have to lead the vanguard?”

Mastarna kissed her fingers. “I will be careful.”

His wife gave him a small, unconvinced smile. “You are never careful.”

“
Don’t worry, Ati. Apa will be victorious.”

The parents looked down at their son who had been standing silently beside them. Smiling, the father lifted Tas onto his hip. “You must look after your mother and brothers while I’m fighting.” He lowered the child to the ground and swung his shield from his shoulder. “You must be ferocious.” He pointed to the bull’s head boss. “You must be the bull of the House of Mastarna.”

The boy’s golden eyes held his father’s gaze, a note of bravery in his reedy voice. “Yes, Apa.”

Semni saw how Tas trembled as he clasped his mother’s hand. She felt sorry for him. Born into conflict, this boy had only known a world of armies and siege lines. At least she had memories of peace, even if they were clouded.

The piercing blast of a war trumpet sounded, one low startling note held for moments, then lengthening and rising. Mastarna gestured to his bodyguard, then turned to his wife. “Two of my men will escort you home. Stay there with our family. Arruns will come with me.”

Face upturned to his, Lady Caecilia put her arms around her husband. Watching them, Semni saw their embrace as an echo of the red-figured lovers on her vase. For a moment, the general’s zeal dimmed. Husband and wife held each other’s gaze as though no one else existed. He pressed his lips to her forehead, and then her mouth, the kiss lingering and tender.

Envy stirred within Semni. She’d never thought of being faithful. Wanted only desire. Brief and uncomplicated. Now, seeing the couple’s reluctance to part, Semni wondered what it would be like to love a man. To have intimacy instead of lust. To welcome familiar caresses.

She’d never imagined, either, bidding farewell to a fighter. Even though she’d lain with soldiers, it was different than being their woman. And she knew little about the warrior class. Her brothers were merchants. Velthur and her workmates, craftsmen. Only noblemen and their vassals could afford to go to war. Their rank defined by how much coin they could spend on armor. There was a price for luxury and comfort in peacetime—the duty to die when war was declared.

She glanced over to Arruns. His demeanor had changed from bodyguard to warrior. There was keenness in his gaze, his body tense, a predator ready to stalk its prey.

In that moment the girl also saw him as a loner. Had he any family other than the one he served? Would any woman grieve for him? Did anyone love him? She knew nothing about him other than his harshness and disdain.

She moved to stand beside him, her gaze traveling along his tattooed body. “Be careful, Arruns,” she said, no teasing in her voice. “I don’t want the reason I’ll never see all of that serpent to be because some Roman slew you.”

She waited for his rebuke. It did not come. Inscrutable, he turned his attention to her. “Don’t worry, Semni, it will take at least three of them to kill me.”

The eerie martial horn blared again. Drums accompanying it. General Mastarna did not tarry. Face tristful, Lady Caecilia stood back, still holding her son’s hand.

Semni knew she should also be somber, but as she watched the men leave she found herself pleased. For even though it was fleeting, Arruns had hidden a broken-toothed smile behind a nod goodbye.

Glossary

Cast

News of the battle echoed through the marketplaces. The enemy was struggling to survive the Veientane and Faliscan onslaughts. A crowd of townspeople raced to the Tinia Gates at the northwest of the city to assemble along the wall. They could not spy the fighting in the distance but they heard the clamor of battle drifting across the valley.