The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (18 page)

“
Ah, what a day it has been.” He lowered his bulk onto the packed earthen platform of her bed, the thin mattress no relief from hardness.

Their routine began. Pouring the water into a ewer, she washed her feet, splashing her calves and thighs, taking her time. Genucius watched her with his one good eye. Unlike other men he did not brag how he’d lost the other. Handing him a cloth she placed one foot, dripping, upon the erection poking from his bush and dwarfed by his paunch.

Genucius dried each of Pinna’s feet in turn, stroking them, sliding his palm along the soles, then leaned with difficulty to lick and suck her toes. “Delicious.”

A politician and soldier of Rome ministering to a whore had at first shocked her. Now it merely amused her. As did his ridiculous hankerings. She kept such knowledge private—a secret and a trust that gave her power. In truth she almost felt affection for the plebeian as she let herself enjoy the luxury of his attention. His clumsy caressing of her feet always helped her overcome the oddness of what he would expect her to do next.

When he was satisfied, he lay with his head upon the wooden tablet that served for a pillow and adjusted his eye patch. Pinna reached for a flask of sweet-smelling balsam oil, and then, sitting at the end of the bed, drew one of his legs onto her thigh. Her back to him, she massaged the raised blue veins that riddled his ankles and snaked up his limbs. How they must pain him. Hands firm, she smoothed his calves before kneading arch, ball and heel. And as she worked, Genucius talked.

According to the plebeian, his wife inhaled words and exhaled sentences with little interval, giving him no peace. So he paid extra for Pinna to provide a different service. To listen. And this was why he was her favorite—because, if she was lucky, his complaints would extend beyond domestic worries into worldly concerns.

For Genucius was a people’s tribune. His right of veto over patrician law gave him both power and headaches. The cause of his latest anxiety could be heard outside the brothel. Men were running along the street shouting abuse and demanding justice, their noise permeating the walls of the dingy, windowless chamber. The unrest had been simmering for days now, erupting into scuffles and fistfights that would be quelled and then flare again in spasms of insurrection. Both the people and soldiers were roiling about the actions of the two consular generals who had caused so many warriors to die, and so many to be shamed.

All Rome gossiped. How the feud between Sergius and Verginius had led to a Roman army being routed. When under attack Sergius was too proud to call for help from his rival; and Verginius, just as obstinate, refused to provide assistance unless requested.

“
Listen to that mob,” sighed Genucius. “There’ll be bloodshed soon. The pigheadedness of those two fools caused all this trouble. They blame each other for the debacle. And now they stubbornly refuse to resign even though the Senate and other consular generals agree that early elections should be held.”

Pinna said nothing. She was not expected to offer an opinion.

Genucius closed his eyes. His silence lasted only moments. “Even if they do resign the unrest won’t settle until they are put on trial. Everyone is baying for their blood.” He put his hand to his brow. “It wearies me. People come to me all day complaining that I should do something about it! Rome faces more enemies than ever so extra troops need to be levied. There is talk of recruiting old veterans to serve as home defense. They in turn are demanding a salary. And how do you think all these soldiers are to be paid?” As always, Genucius answered his own question. “By passing a law to double the war tax! The army has threatened to mutiny!”

He shifted his other leg onto Pinna’s lap. “It’s no wonder I’m aching. I’ve been standing in the Comitium all day trying to find a way through this mess.”

“
It must be so hard for you, sir,” she murmured, stroking his ego as well as his ankles. “It is fortunate that you are so wise.”

“
You have no idea what I have to put up with!”

Pinna smiled, thinking how much more talkative he was than usual.

“
Everyone expects me to use my power of veto to stop the bill,” he whined. “They say the nobility should be taxed more heavily than others. But it’s not so straightforward. Even if that happened we still could not raise enough funds to fight our foes. With the Faliscans, there are now four of them. The cost of war has to be borne by all Romans. The other people’s tribunes don’t agree with me.”

Pinna frowned as she continued massaging him. She was not so sure about his sympathy for the wealthy. She quashed an urge to mention her father. How the war tax was one of the causes for his downfall. How it had led her to being a whore.

“
And now there is a proposal to declare Camillus dictator to resolve the problem. More arguments. More debate!”

At hearing Camillus’ name, Pinna paused in her task. She’d often thought of the patrician, and was a little disconcerted at how often she did so. She imagined what it would be like if he walked through her doorway one day. Would lying with him be any different? “Sir, what is a dictator?”

Genucius opened his eye at her query. Pinna could see he was deciding whether to pander to her curiosity. She bent and gently kissed his leg, brushing her breast against it. He moaned softly and gestured her to continue her ministrations.

“
In times of crisis,” he said, relenting, “the Senate can authorize one of the consular generals to appoint a leader to resolve an emergency.”

“
That is a lot of power for one man.”

“
That’s why his rule is limited to six months so he entertains no ideas of becoming a king.”

Pinna smoothed more oil over Genucius’ scaly skin. “And why Furius Camillus?”

“
He’s a war hero. A brilliant strategist. Some think that, if he was given the chance, he might even succeed against Veii.”

“
And what feat did he perform to become a hero?”

Genucius chuckled. “When just a young officer he continued riding into battle with a Volscian spear lodged in his thigh. There is a touch of madness in such an action as well as courage.”

“
Then declaring him dictator might be the right thing to do?”

Genucius sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. “It’s not like you to ask so many questions. It does not suit you.”

“
No, sir.” Pinna was sorry that, in trying to converse, she had caused their time to end.

“
Hear that? It’s started to rain.” He reached for his tunic. “I’ll have to get that pimp to call for my carriage.”

Pinna listened to the drumming upon the roof. The angry shouting outside had stopped, doused by weather and darkness. The protesters were no doubt going home or seeking shelter at inns to nurse their rancor over goblets of wine.

The politician patted her head as he stood. “Don’t worry yourself about politics, Lollia. Leave that to us men.”

Glossary

Cast

Genucius made his way to the vestibule, pausing to use the urinal at the entrance after paying. The smell of piss filled the air despite regular sluicing by the slave boy.

Pinna took up her place outside her cell, noticing that one of her sisters was also available. Two men entered, hair sodden, wearing heavy army capes, water streaming off the leather folds. Even without their armor Pinna knew they were officers. There was an arrogance about them, a sureness in their gait.

With the city teeming with disgraced soldiers, Pinna was getting used to a different clientele. Soft city bodies had been exchanged for hard ones; unmarred flesh for scarred. Some were rough, venting their frustration on whores instead of wives. The needs of most were simple, and usually brief. Seeing their calloused hands made her remember her father’s. At least the early return from battle would mean these men could once again heft a plow. It reminded her that years ago her palms had also been coarse from farmwork, her body aching from wielding scythe and hoe. And yet even though such memories were tinged with the scent of fresh eggs and honest sunshine, she knew she did not wish for that life either; that she was making what had been grueling desirable. Yet the soft skin and clean fingers of a city prostitute brought her no happiness either.

Genucius glanced up from his task at the new arrivals. “Is that you, young Marcus Aemilius?”

Hearing the name, Pinna peered down the passageway. Heart pounding she shrank back, realizing that the other soldier was Drusus. Even with the rain darkening his hair, she could see its russet color. He was even leaner and taller than she remembered.

She never expected to see him again. The odds were long that they might meet again in this city of thousands. It was unusual for patricians to seek out a brothel. They had servants to meet their needs. Yet the stigma of being branded one of Sergius’ cowards must have led these men to find a whorehouse that met their mood. Pulse racing, she was tempted to step back into her cubicle, but the leno had already seen her. He would only call her out if she disappeared.

Marcus nodded to Genucius. His manner was abrupt as though reluctant to rub shoulders with a commoner, even one as wealthy as this people’s tribune.

Genucius did not seem to notice. “You are a rare man, Marcus Aemilius, to gain fame despite being one of a retreating army.”

Marcus glanced at his friend before responding. “I did what any man would have done given the chance.” Again he glanced at Drusus. “Others were not in such a position that day.”

The politician stepped away from the urinal. “Come, don’t be so modest. You made a stand although surrounded by the enemy.” He clamped his hand on the younger man’s shoulder while turning his back to Drusus. “You saved the lives of your men while others were fleeing. Yours was an honorable retreat.”

The rebuff was brutal. In the eyes of Rome Drusus was a coward, even though he was led into and out of battle by a fool. His face colored.

“
The gods blessed me that day, that’s all.” Marcus seemed embarrassed, even a little irritated, at such praise. Pinna felt respect for him. A warrior who had gained distinction and yet did not bask in glory.

“
I imagine they were impressed by your valor.”

Drusus pushed past Genucius, his own form of slight. “Come on, Marcus. Are you going to stand here talking or are you going to pick a whore?”

Pinna murmured a prayer that Marcus would choose her and leave Drusus to take her sister. The harlot was one of the oldest, at least thirty, well past her prime. The leno would have got rid of her but for the need to cater to the influx of soldiers. Pinna felt sorry for her. The woman’s hair was falling out and there were lesions on her body. The leno allowed her to wear clothes to hide them. The memory of Fusca lingered. Pinna worried she had not escaped disease either. Her womb hurt when she lay with a man. It was the whore’s curse—or blessing. She knew she was barren.

Marcus ruined Pinna’s hopes. “I’ve changed my mind.” The distaste on his face as he examined both of the she wolves was obvious. “Look at them. I don’t want the pox.”

Drusus frowned, grabbing the other’s cloak. “You always make excuses. When did you last have a woman? It’s been almost a year since we took that camp slut. You need to get your cock wet.”

Marcus shrugged. “I’d rather wake up tomorrow with a sore head from wine than being bitten by fleas and infected by sickness.”

“
Try Lollia then,” said Genucius, “she’s clean.” Then seeing his carriage had arrived, he slapped Marcus on the back. “Give my regards to your father.”

When the older man had gone, Drusus further encouraged his friend to remain, but Marcus refused, making his escape despite the downpour outside. “I’ll wait for you in the tavern.”

Drusus signaled the leno that he wanted Pinna. Her stomach lurched knowing that with each step the soldier took towards her he edged closer to discovering who she was. She moistened her finger with saliva and passed it behind her ear to avert evil, whispering a prayer to Mater Matuta, ever hopeful that the goddess of dawn would protect her. Hunched over, she entered the room before Drusus could draw near enough to see her. The lamp was guttering, the light on the point of being extinguished. For a moment she thought there was a chance that he would be content to continue in near darkness. The servant boy knew his duties, though, bustling in to refill the lantern and bringing more water.

The refreshed lamp did not add much brightness to the room, but as it flared it was enough for her face to be seen. She froze, expecting Drusus to show surprise, an intake of breath, but he said nothing. She relaxed, straightening her shoulders as she realized she bore little resemblance to the dirt-stained night moth he’d briefly met on that winter’s night a little more than nine months ago.