The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (20 page)

Her conclusions had led her to overcome despondency. For Mater Matuta had given her a second chance at coercion. Today she had summoned courage. Today she would pay a call on Marcus Aemilius Mamercus Junior.

The bawd was surprised when she’d asked permission to visit the forum. She’d not ventured outside for many months. He had no reason to suspect she had no intention of returning. No inkling that, if she did not succeed with her scheme, she planned to let the current of the Tiber drag her into the passageway to the dead.

She’d left wearing her toga and sandals as required by her profession. The leno made no comment at her lack of cosmetics or the fact that the henna in her hair had faded. There was no expectation of her flaunting herself in the day, not when business was so brisk at night. Her face was still white, though, wan from tiredness instead of paste.

At the lupanaria’s doorway she froze, breath shortening, pulse quick at the base of her throat at taking a first step from her dim cocoon into a world busy with daylight.

The Comitium was empty as she walked through it to reach the Campus. The early election for the six consular generals had finally been held. The results were astounding. Five plebeians had been elected. The threat of riot had been removed. There was carousing in the streets instead of violence. Her customers were drunk with triumph instead of discontent. The wound of a shameful retreat had been cured now that the soldiers were present in the city and once again able to vote.

Genucius’ name had been scratched into the wax of many of the ballots. She was surprised at how pleased she felt at his being chosen. So far she’d only known him in his role of politician. Yet competing with the veins on his legs were scars, proof of past fighting under patrician leaders. No doubt the one-eyed soldier would wear the red cloak with pride.

Only one aristocrat had been chosen. Camillus had at last been returned to office. And it also made her strangely satisfied to think this man would again lead an army.

Hiding behind some trees Pinna checked that no one was observing her. She quickly coiled her hair into a demure knot and unwound her toga. Using a knife she had pilfered from the brothel’s kitchen, she cut a length from the abundant material to serve as a palla shawl, then stashed the bundle of remaining cloth behind a tree. She would never wear the symbol of a harlot again. She drew the palla over her head. The sensation of the cloth against her hair seemed odd after so many years of being uncovered.

She could do nothing about her sandals. Their leather was sodden from walking through the slush of the Campus. She could not exchange them for shoes because she had none. As a whore’s life was led indoors, there was no need for her to wear them. She wished she had a mirror to check her appearance to see if she’d managed to feign decorum. One thing was certain: she did not need to check her reflection to know her face was hard and eyes bitter.

Returning inside the city, she paused at the cattle market to say a prayer outside the Temple of Mater Matuta. The Romans had become neglectful of the dawn goddess. The building’s stucco facade was crumbling and its plain clay decorations needed to be replaced. She did not venture onto its portico; the prohibition against a prostitute entering a place of worship was now engrained in her. Tomorrow, though, she hoped to cross its threshold to offer thanksgiving.

Untying the string around her neck she released Lacerta, bidding the lizard a farewell. Her companion did not hesitate to scurry between a crack in the steps, loyalty forgotten with freedom.

Pinna wiped her sandals clean as best she could, then, picking up her skirts to avoid the manure littering the road, she began to climb the Palatine Hill to the richest quarter of Rome.

*

The majordomo of the House of Aemilius was just as she expected, sniffing at the sight of a poor woman knocking at a nobleman’s door.

At her request to speak to the young master of the house, he barred her entrance. “Get away with you!”

She scrambled for an excuse to be granted entry. “I have a message for him from Appius Claudius Drusus.”

His eyes narrowed, disbelieving that an aristocrat would entrust an errand to one such as she. “Then tell it to me,” he demanded. “I will make sure the master hears it.”

“
No,” she said, growing in boldness. “I was bidden to tell no one other than Marcus Aemilius Mamercus Junior.”

His doubtful expression remained, but nevertheless he led her through the vestibule. Wary that she might offend the household spirits she was careful to cross the threshold with her right foot.

“
Wait here,” he barked. “Don’t touch anything.”

Pinna surveyed the atrium around her. It was the largest room she’d ever seen in the grandest house in which she’d ever set foot. She swallowed hard, overcome with apprehension that she may have embarked on too great a mission, feeling like a pig among princes.

A shaft of sunshine from the roof opening speared the otherwise muted light within the chamber. Wood smoke wafted through the ceiling hole from an enormous hearth fire, and a reservoir with a terracotta head beneath it boasted a private water supply. A fine loom stood to one side indicating that Marcus had a mother or sisters who observed womanly duties. The painted timber walls were clean except for the soot that stained the rafters around the vent. Bunches of rosemary and chamomile hung drying, their scent perfuming the air. Pinna glanced at her feet, hoping she’d not brought too much of the stink of the river with her.

Near the hearth stood a tall cabinet, its doors closed. Her father had once spoken of such cupboards, how they housed the death masks of great and powerful family members within them. How many waxen faces of Aemilian ancestors were hidden in that space? No such storage had been needed in a farmer’s hut.

Beyond a metal chest safe with a sturdy lock lay another room, its drapes drawn back to reveal shelves crammed with scrolls. A servant boy was busy mopping a large puddle on the floor, buckets around him full of water. It would seem being rich had not prevented the roof leaking during the downpour earlier that morning.

Marcus’ disdain was equal to his manservant’s at finding Pinna gawking at the splendor around her. His eye and lip had healed but he walked stiffly, the hidden bruising to his body still paining him. She noticed he was wearing wristbands today, lessening the chance of others spying the evidence of self-mutilation. There was curiosity in his expression. Clearly he did not recognize her. Why would he? The last time he’d seen her she’d been naked and painted.

“
I’m told you want to speak to me.”

She drew her shawl from her head. “Yes, my lord.”

Hearing her response, Pinna saw him trying to recall her voice even if her face was not remembered. She stretched out her hand to reveal the horse crest buckle.

His eyes widened then sharpened as he took in her garb. Then, noticing the servant boy was watching, he drew her by the elbow into one of the side rooms, drawing the curtain closed behind them. Startled by the intruders, cockroaches darted across the floor. It was dim and stuffy in the cell, the smell of damp seeping from the walls. There was a narrow bed also, making her feel as though they stood once again within the brothel, although the cubicle was far more spacious than hers. His shock had changed to suspicion. “What do you want from me?”

Pinna handed him the buckle. “A reward.”

Relief apparent, Marcus reached for his money pouch. “Of course. You’ve been more honest than I thought. I’d not expected it to be returned after,” he paused, “after what happened.”

She placed her hand on his. “My lord, I don’t want your bronze.”

“
What then?”

Pinna lifted the hem of her tunic to reveal her sandals. “The chance to wear shoes.”

He frowned.

“
The chance to cover my head in modesty.”

At these words, his confusion ended. “How dare you seek to parade as a respectable woman! You insult all those who are decent with your act. Why do you think I can help you? Your name is and always will be on the prostitutes’ roll.”

She bristled. “I am a soldier’s daughter! Once a citizen. I am what I am because of patrician greed. My father died a bondsman and my mother a whore because he could not pay debts accrued while fighting for Rome! And now the leno holds me in bondage too.”

He stared at her, disbelief upon his face. His voice softened. “Then your family has suffered.”

“
Yes, we have suffered! I’ve been a harlot since eleven and no longer want to lie with men.”

“
But what do you expect me to do about that?”

“
Become my patron. Take me to war with you as your concubine.”

This time he laughed. “You must be simple.”

“
Why? There are always women who follow the army. I will wash and cook for you. I will mend your clothes and shine your armor.” She pointed to the bandage on his neck. “I will tend to your injuries.”

“
Stop this nonsense.” He opened the pouch. “Here, take this for your honesty and go away.”

She took a deep breath, shaking her head. “I told you, I don’t want your money.”

Marcus shrugged and turned to leave. “Then you shall have nothing.”

“
Wait!” Her voice became a whisper. “How long have you loved him?”

The patrician swiveled around. “What did you say?”

Pinna took a deep breath. “Tell me, does your cock only harden if you are taking Drusus’ leavings?”

He took a step towards her. “You little bitch, get out!”

To her relief he did not strike her. She stood her ground. “You want him. I can tell. Boys aren’t enough for you, are they? Or freedmen? You want an equal as your lover.” She pointed to the buckle in his hand. “You wear the loose tunic of a civilian today but when you wear your leather belt it marks you as a soldier. How would you feel if you couldn’t wear it?” She gestured towards his wristbands. “I’ve seen how you’ve sliced your skin. Your own punishment for loving him.”

His staring silence only fueled her. “Or perhaps you’ve already had courage enough to risk execution by using some other soldier who wants you.”

He seized her. “Shut up before I make you!”

For a moment she thought she’d misjudged his reluctance to hit her but desperation drove her on. “How? By suffocating me, like your friend?”

He flinched. “You tell only lies.”

“
Not so. Your eyes and those wounds tell me I speak the truth. Besides, gossip can do much damage. I have many prestigious clients. Genucius, for example. I don’t think he’d be slapping you on the back for valor if he knew you were lusting after a soldier.”

Seeing his stricken expression gave her pause, then she remembered how he’d done nothing as his friend assaulted her, her violation taking second place to his lust. “My freedom for my silence,” she hissed.

Marcus’ fingers dug into her flesh but still she continued. “If you take me with you people will accept me as your concubine. No need to pretend you like women by going whoring with Drusus, unless, of course, you can’t give up following where he’s been.”

He thrust her away and dragged his fingers through his hair. Then, as they glared at each other, there was a knocking at the entrance doors.

This time the majordomo was as unctuous to the caller as he had been condescending to her. “Good morning, my lord. Master Aemilius was not expecting you but you are most welcome. He did not take audience today because he’s ill, but I will let him know you are here.”

“
No matter. It is his son I came to see. Tell him I’m here.”

Marcus peeked through the slit in the curtain then drew back quickly. He stared at Pinna, anxiety obvious. “Stay here, be quiet.” He slipped through to the atrium.

Pinna moved one pace behind him so she could peer through the gap. The guest’s voice was familiar although last time its level had been loud enough to hear across the expanse of the forum. Her pulse quickened. No more than ten feet from her stood Marcus Furius Camillus.

Glossary

Cast

If the newly elected consular general thought it strange that Marcus appeared so abruptly from a side room he made no comment. He smiled as he clasped the younger man’s forearm in greeting. “Ah, Marcus, I’m glad you’re home. I hear your father is sick.”