The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (56 page)

The border of the mistress’ chiton had been ripped away. The torn hem was coated with both wet and drying mud. Elsewhere blood spattered her fine robes. There was vigor in her despite her pallor. Her husband’s need had given her purpose. She directed the bearers to take the master to the bedchamber while bidding a maid fetch bandages and salves. Then she dispatched a slave boy to fetch the Greek physician before handing the cellar key to the steward. “Bring wine. The strong one from Sardinia. Do not mix it with water.”

“
Ati, Ati!” Tas raced to her and threw his arms around his mother’s hips, the force of the embrace nearly unbalancing her. For certain it astounded her.

Larce and Arnth halted their play, appalled at the sight of their wounded father. Seeing Lady Caecilia, they clustered around her like puppies fighting for the dug. She winced in pain but smiled as she bent and hugged them.

“
Is Apa dead?” Larce’s eyes filled with tears.

“
No, but we must pray for him.” She kissed each one in turn. “He needs me now. So you must go to the nursery and listen to what Cytheris tells you. Kiss your sister goodnight for me.”

With reluctance, the younger boys allowed the Greek maid to take their hands, but Tas clung to his mother. “I want to stay with you.”

The mistress stroked his hair. “Hush now. You must show your brothers not to be frightened.”

“
But Aricia tried to take me away. Uncle Artile wanted me to go to the Sacred College.”

Bewildered, the princip stared at him in disbelief. “Aricia?” Then she glared at her servants. “How did she get near him? Where was Perca?”

Cytheris bowed her head. “Do not blame the girl, my lady. It was my fault. I should have kept a closer eye on all of them. Aricia snuck through the tunnel again. It seems the priest gave her another key. We were lucky Semni found her before it was too late.”

Tas tugged at his mother’s skirts. “That’s right, Ati. Semni stopped her this time.”

The girl tensed at the telltale words, thinking that at last she would be questioned for being complicit. The noblewoman must have thought the statement unremarkable, though. No questions were asked.

“
Then I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Semni bobbed, pleased to gain credit, relieved to put guilt behind her. As she raised her head, though, she noticed Arruns had emerged from the master’s bedroom and was listening. She grinned, glad to have gained his attention, but his response was a frown before he bowed to the mistress.

“
My lady, the general is awake and asking for you.”

Caecilia
’s face brightened, but when she moved to go, Tas continued to hold fast to her. “Don’t leave me!”

“
It will be all right, Tas. Stay with Semni and Cytheris. Apa needs me.”

Arruns cleared his throat. “Mistress, he wishes to see the young masters as well.”

Lady Caecilia’s brow furrowed as she surveyed her three sons. Then, taking a deep breath, she clasped Tas’ hand and signaled Perca and Semni to follow with the younger boys. “Let us see your father. Let’s show him how brave you are.”

*

The odo
r of damp cloth and wet leather permeated the room. And more. Semni tried not to inhale the stench of battle gore.

Lord Mastarna lay propped up with cushions on the bed. Still in his armor, he was sunk deep into the mattress. The sight of the warrior lying on the fine linen was out of place. Blood seeped into the jaunty greens and blues of the plaid coverlet, war intruding into pampered living.

Arruns was untying a yellow shawl stained crimson, and a strip of embroidered cloth from around the general’s bicep, a dainty pattern for a gruesome wound. The Phoenician smeared yarrow onto the cut before pressing clean bandages against it to stanch the flow.

Lord Mastarna’s face was waxen. The heavy growth of his beard was stark against the whiteness, the scar from mouth to nose livid. There was no color in his lips, grooves of pain scored his flesh.

Head sagging against the pillow, he drank wine from a rhyton held to his lips by Arruns, downing it with grim concentration. After he’d drained the cup, his guard poured him another.

Lady Caecilia wiped the sheen of sweat from her husband’s brow. “Our sons are here, Vel,” she murmured, “but perhaps this can wait.”

Semni was unsettled to hear the master’s usually honeyed voice rasping, “No, Bellatrix. Let me see them.”

Tas hovered next to the bed, his eyes transfixed upon his father. Arm shaking, he saluted. “Hail, General Mastarna.”

The man touched the boy’s cheek with calloused and stained fingers. “Hail, Vel Mastarna Junior.”

Tas whispered. “Are you dying, Apa?”

“
Not if I can help it.”

The son frowned. “But I don’t think you can be of any help with such a sore arm.”

Lord Mastarna closed his eyes.

“
That is enough, Tas.” The mother ushered the boy away.

Larce and Arnth stood rigid beside Cytheris. The bed was too high for them to reach their father. Arruns lifted one and then the other by the waist so the general could kiss them. Larce burst out crying, unable to keep his gaze from the scarlet seeping through the bandages. When placed back on the floor he hid his face in his mother’s skirts. Arnth, though, wanted to see his Apa again and began dragging the footstool towards him. As Lady Caecilia caught him, the general managed a smile. “Later, my young soldier.”

Semni wondered if it would have been better to have spared the children such a viewing. It was an early start for witnessing such damage. And yet was this not their destiny? These little principes of warrior stock. The specter of the battlefield already pursued them. Like their father, they were fated to ride to war. Were born for that purpose. In time thin limbs would strengthen with muscle, tiny bodies would gain bulk to be encased in bronze. There was an expectation that they must seek scars of their own.

She studied Tas, the heir, who dreamed of separating heaven from earth with a lituus but instead must wield a sword. He would be more comfortable wearing a fringed sheepskin cloak than a military cape.

Lady Caecilia bade Cytheris take the boys to their chamber. Once again
, Tas slipped his hand into Semni’s.

Seeing this, the mistress left the bedside. “You are to take Aricia’s place now, Semni. Perca is too young and silly. Go with Cytheris. Feed my daughter. She must be hungry.”

The girl curtsied a thank you, amazed that she would finally break free of the drudgery of washroom and kitchen.

Lady Caecilia smiled. “Oh, and Semni, thank you again for saving my son.”

*

After lullabies and consolation the brothers fell asleep, the arc of eyelashes curving upon soft cheeks, their breathing shallow but steady. Semni prayed there would be no nightmares after such a day.

Replete, Thia dozed in her cradle while Cytheris sat in a chair keeping vigil. The woman’s stare was vacant, thoughts far from that room. Semni recognized Aricia in her. The nursemaid may have been faithful to Lord Artile but there was steadfastness in Cytheris also. Her own sons and daughters lost, the Greek maid was devoted to the mistress and children of this house.

After a time she focused on Semni. “Do you think she is still alive?”

What could she say that would reassure her? The haruspex’s influence with the gods needed to be great if the fugitives were to survive. She hoped Aricia was right in believing the Romans would take no interest in a priest and his servant. “All we can do is pray for her.”

Cytheris sighed and nodded towards Aricia’s cubicle. “That is your room now, Semni. Bring Nerie here and rest awhile.”

Glossary

Cast

Marcus sat with his sleeping friend propped against his chest. The closest embrace he was likely to have with the man he dreamed of as his lover.

Pinna rose and left them alone after tending to Marcus’ wound. She was downcast. For he had trapped her. The Claudian’s wounds were near mortal. She would have to spend long hours feeding, bathing and changing his dressings daily. Even with such care his wounds could turn septic. The beeswax she’d spread upon the wound was a scant barrier to infection. She would have to pray hard and often for the dawn goddess to save the man she loathed.

Hoping to see Camillus, she walked towards the command tent. She did not need to go far. He was visiting the hurt, praising them for bearing pain for the glory of Rome. She could see how his words rallied their spirits. Even the gravely wounded responded with feeble smiles.

When he saw her he grinned and strode over to her. Lifting her by the waist he swung her into the air, kissing her as he set her down. She dropped her basket in surprise.

“
We routed them, Pinna! We destroyed the army of the great Vel Mastarna! The river ran red with Veientane blood. We now hold the bridge!”

Giddy with elation she hugged him, not caring that the odor of combat was heavy about him. Her euphoria was not for his victory but because he’d held her in front of others. And in that moment she dared hope that she may have stolen a small piece of his soul.

Laughing a little too loudly she touched the gash upon his cheek. The blood had dried, the skin swollen. “You’ve been cut.”

He laid his hand over hers. “Just a nick.”

“
I was so worried about you, especially when the messenger told us about Lake Albanus. I thought it might be an omen that you would die.”

“
Lake Albanus?”

When she explained he frowned. “And the Sibylline Books still provide no advice as to how to placate the gods?”

“
No. The Senate is at a loss.” She laid her head upon his shoulder. “I am fearful, my lord.”

He kissed her again, stroking her hair. “The gods favored us today, Pinna. If anything, the lake’s flooding is a portent that our city will finally triumph.” He broke from her. “But now I must continue to inspect my men.”

She didn’t want him to go, longing to throw her arms around him and bid him take her to their tent. Wanting to delay him, she picked up her basket and searched for the dagger. “Here, take this. I did not need it.”

Camillus slid the weapon into its scabbard. “Let’s pray I never need to lend it to you again.”

She smiled and shifted the basket into the crook of her arm, the movement catching his eye.

“
Tell me. Who have you been treating?”

“
Claudius Drusus.”

His brow creased. “Then take me to him.”

Marcus still held his friend. When he noticed the general, though, he eased the unconscious man from his lap and stood to salute.

The general clapped him on the back. “I hear you fought well today, soldier. Slaying many. You will be rewarded for your deeds.”

“
I do not deserve it, sir. Claudius Drusus showed greater valor.”

Camillus crouched down beside the injured warrior. “How so?”

“
He fought Vel Mastarna and wounded him badly, whereas I failed to kill the Etruscan when I had the chance.”

The general looked up sharply. “Vel Mastarna? Then not only have we massacred his army but we also struck him a personal blow.” He rose and pointed to Marcus’ forearm. “No doubt there will be other opportunities to kill him. And you will bear a scar to remind you of your purpose.”

Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “Do not worry, sir. I will not rest until Veii, Mastarna and my cousin are destroyed.” He stared down at his friend. “Doubly so if he dies.”

Camillus scrutinized Drusus’ injuries again. “So he nearly got his wish.”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Then rest assured, Appius Claudius Drusus will gain honors too.”

For the first time that day, Marcus smiled.

The general nodded, returning to the business of command. “Genucius’ army will remain in place to tighten the siege, but this campsite is perilous. We need to move back to Faliscan territory. I don’t want our victory today spoiled by King Kurvenas trapping us in this valley. And there is danger that the stream might rise and flood us if there is any more rain.”