The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (57 page)

“
What about the dead, sir?”

“
There is no time to build funeral pyres. We’ll take the fallen with us. Tomorrow night when we are on safe ground we shall give burned sacrifice for those who have joined the Shades. At least our losses have been few and we will not need to commit too many to the flames.”

Marcus stood to attention. “So I am to tell my men we break camp at dawn?”

“
Yes, and advise the centurions to give the order.”

Command given and received, Marcus glanced across to Pinna.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Finally, Camillus placed his hand on the knight’s shoulder. “I have acted badly, Marcus. Pinna is your woman, but I would like to make her mine. So speak if you don’t wish her to leave you and I will respect your decision.”

Pinna’s jaw dropped. How could her lover be prepared to relinquish her after his public display of affection? Nervous, she waited for Marcus’ answer. Once again she was in his hands. She stared at him, knowing that the problem of disclosing her past would be solved if he kept her, even if it meant maintaining a liaison based on mistrust and hatred.

He took his time to respond. To Pinna, the pause seemed endless.

“
I no longer want her. Take her.”

“
You are generous, Marcus Aemilius. I am grateful.”

Being treated as a chattel reminded Pinna of how money was exchanged for her services in the brothel. Any resentment was forgotten, though, when for the second time that day Camillus put his arm around her waist and drew her near.

The blatant gesture of possession fed her confidence as she realized that she had at last washed herself clean of the graveyard, escaped the oppression of the leno and gained the affection of a general. She smiled at Marcus, relieved and thankful. He deliberately looked down again at Drusus then raised his eyes to her. A pulse beat in her temple, knowing her future was clouded. She needed the gods to help her heal the decurion.

Camillus broke from her embrace, preoccupied again with visiting the wounded.

Pinna turned to follow but Marcus restrained her, his words cutting short any delight she might feel to belong to Camillus.

“
This changes nothing, Pinna,” he said, his expression threatening, his disgust concrete, “you may no longer be under my patronage but our bargain remains. So don’t overly rejoice that you’ve gained the general’s protection. For if Drusus dies, I will ensure that you will suffer as well.”

Glossary

Cast

“
Y
ou need to take this off.” Caecilia unbuckled the straps of Vel’s corselet.

His voice was raw, smile frail. “Don’t worry, I plan to.”

She leaned over and kissed his pallid lips. He groaned as Arruns helped her to remove his armor. It made her guilty that Vel must be caused anguish. She wondered whether it would have been better to leave him as he was until the doctor had seen him.

The muscle cuirass with its linen strips thudded to the floor followed by high greaves, boots and armbands until Mastarna lay only in his damp tunic.

The Greek physician bustled into the chamber with a youth and confidence that declared his nerves were not yet frayed from listening to the screams of his patients. She thought how spruce he was with his short clipped nails, well-combed hair and pleated chiton. When he donned the leather apron, though, it was clear he was prepared for his profession. Opening his square bag he drew from its compartments an array of instruments, which he laid on the side table, taking care to place them in order. The iron forceps, needles and scalpels looked as if their purpose was to inflict torture rather than repair.

Discarding the fouled bandages, the healer examined the misshapen bone and lacerated flesh, muttering to himself as he peered at the damage. As nausea rose within her, Caecilia chided herself for being squeamish. At least the yarrow leaves and pressure had helped. The blood flow was now sluggish. Yet the thought that Vel must suffer further when the physician set the bone sent a shiver, strong and visceral, through her.

Sweat beaded Mastarna’s upper lip and brow, his face alarming in its grayness. Despite the wine being the strongest vintage its effect had only taken the edge off the pain.

Mercifully
the Greek showed compassion. He poured some liquid from an alabastron into yet another goblet of wine. “Here, drink this, my lord. The mandragora will help you sleep.”

Caecilia placed her hand over the rhyton. Arnth Ulthes had died from drinking such a potion. Witnessing his slow and ghastly death still haunted her. “No, it may be a slumber from which he never wakes.”

The healer was terse. “I would be a poor doctor if I poisoned my patients.” Then he nodded towards Arruns. “This man looks brawny enough, though, to hold down the general if he chooses not to use it.”

His sanguine attitude chilled her.

“
Of course, I doubt he will stay conscious once I start straightening the bone. Fixing broken elbows is excruciating.”

Mastarna lowered the cup away from his wife’s protective hand then drained its contents. “I trust him, Bellatrix. Besides, I do not want our sons to hear me screaming.”

Soon he grew drowsy, the muscles in his face relaxing as the elixir spread within him. Wincing, he shifted his weight towards her. “I have not asked about the baby.”

Caecilia brushed his sodden hair from his forehead. For the first time she noticed silver strands. “A daughter—fine and fair and very noisy.”

“
A girl?” He smiled. “Then isn’t it time I claimed her?”

It was the declaration for which she had yearned, yet now that Vel was home she could wait a little longer. “Then she will be your first visitor when you wake.”

Just as with his desire to see his sons, Mastarna was pigheaded. “No, bring her to me. In case the Greek is not as clever in measuring mandragora as he boasts.”

Anxiety stirred again. What if in the end the father was on his deathbed unable to claim a daughter in her cradle only one room away?

Well
-fed, Thia was contented when Perca carried her into the chamber. Caecilia laid the baby in the crook of Mastarna’s arm, the fresh swaddling bright against his soiled tunic.

He was awkward with the miniature girl. “She is smaller than the others.”

“
That is because you’ve never held a newborn.” Caecilia uncurled Thia’s small fist with one finger only to have the baby clench her palm around it. “This is only her tenth day of life.”

Lethargic, Mastarna needed to concentrate to form words. “And what is she to be called?”

“
Larthia, after your mother.”

Caecilia realized she did not have an amulet to place around her daughter’s neck. So she unfastened her Atlenta pendant. The silver locket was large upon the tiny breast.

“
Then she is to be a warrioress also?”

“
She is a child of war.”

“
Then may this bulla protect her from the evil eye.”

He could not raise the baby aloft; instead he bent and kissed her head, speech slurred but his intention clear. “I claim Larthia of the House of Mastarna. She is the child of my loins and that of Aemilia Caeciliana’s.”

There was no welcoming crowd to hear his proclamation. Only three witnesses: a bodyguard, a healer and a nursemaid. After threat and despair and terror this more than sufficed.

*

The physician was skilled. Caecilia saw how careful he was as he worked on her unconscious husband. He used both hands with equal ease and his fingers never trembled as he stitched the flesh and set the bone with a wooden splint.

Her spurt of vitality was flagging. Now that Vel had been tended, she noticed the aches within her own body: the rent to her womb, the welts upon her cheek where the hail had hit her. Her eyelids were heavy with both tiredness and the sharp beating pulse in her forehead. And the acrid smell of resin cerate smeared on the bandages made her feel faint. It was an odor to which she must grow accustomed. Such a plaster would ward off infection.

Evening had fallen. In the soft glow of the candelabras
the leopard on the wall peered at her from its laurel bower. Vel believed it would keep them safe from the perils in the Beyond. As always its gaze was steady and calming as she whispered to it, “I pray he will not need you today.”

Arruns stood to the side in the shadows observing the general. For the first time she noticed how weary the Phoenician was, the snake tattoo unable to mask exhaustion. There was an air of satisfaction about him, though; the subtle uncomplaining discontent she’d sensed within him over the past months had been dispelled. He was no longer a mere guardian of women and children. Today he’d been able to display valor. Once again, he’d risked his life for his master. “Thank you for protecting him, Arruns. Both of us now owe our lives to you. Go eat, rest. I will watch over him.”

He hesitated
, then checked Mastarna one more time before bowing and leaving the chamber.

Sinking into the armchair Caecilia tried to clear her mind, but soon troubles disturbed her.

Tas.

The vehemence of his embrace after days of quiet resentment had stunned her. Yet on the heels of surprise came the news of his attempted abduction. The sense of danger having been evaded when she was not aware of its existence was unnerving. She’d thought she had outwitted the haruspex. If not for Semni, she could be bemoaning the loss of her son.

Thinking of Artile upset her. A nerve flickered in her cheek. She hoped the Romans would be ruthless. The priest’s sins against her had been so many and so great. At least Mastarna would not risk punishment. With his brother fled there was no need for murder.

Lost in thought, Caecilia did not notice Tarchon enter.

Standing at the end of the bed he studied his father, crinkling his nose at the heady smell of pitch within the chamber. “At least he looks peaceful, but I would not want to be him when he wakes.”

“
The physician has done all he could. Now we must pray Vel’s blood is not poisoned.”

The soldier drew up the other chair in front of her. His thigh had been dressed with fresh bandages. “And what about you, Caecilia? You are so drawn you look as though death has hunted you. Was giving birth to my sister difficult?”

“
I must admit that she was a little stubborn about leaving the womb.”

“
Then she takes after her mother.” He smiled and patted her hand. “Let’s hope she is as brave as her mother, too.”

Caecilia did not feel courageous. Seeing Tarchon was a reminder that the world outside the sickroom was frantic with confusion and grief. He’d not even had time to wash the dirt from his face, his beauty marred by lines of weariness and worry. “What is happening in the city?”

“
Lusinies is convening the High Council. Many are calling for Mastarna to be lucumo.”

She rubbed her temples, the throbbing in her head worsening. “Vel would never agree. And the dead of our clan are still on the battlefield waiting to be buried. There are few left to vote for him.”

Tarchon leaned forward. “Other tribes wish him to rule, Caecilia. Many believe he is the only one who can lead Veii to victory.”

“
Victory? How can you speak of victory after today?”

“
Because of the alliance.”

“
Alliance?”

“
The one Mastarna formed with Tarquinia.”

Her eyes swam with fatigue as she struggled to understand. “But the League of the Twelve rejected Veii’s petition.”

“
That’s true, but Mastarna convinced the congress to allow those cities wishing to assist to join us. He has succeeded in persuading Aule Porsenna. That zilath is mustering a force as we speak. And there are others, too, that see Rome as a canker that must be excised before it can spread. Thefarie is riding from Capena to parley with them.”