The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (44 page)

Goose bumps prickled her skin. “Tas? What do you know of Tas?”

“
He is different, is he not, than your other boys?”

The hair rose on the back of her neck.

The haruspex scattered the knucklebones on the divan. “It would be a pity if his talents were not encouraged. For I believe he might become the greatest soothsayer Veii has ever known.”

“
Tas will be a soldier, like his father.”

Artile remained poised, the slippery, conceited smile reappearing. “I think not, Sister. He has proven to be a keen pupil. I wish him to live with me so I can continue to train him in the art of prophecy.”

It was as though her legs had been kicked from under her and she had fallen on her face with no chance to break her fall. This man was seeing her son in secret. Someone in her household had delivered Tas into his hands. “Who is it? Who has betrayed my trust?”

“
Someone who despises you for your lack of piety. Your sons’ nursemaid would see them gain salvation after their death. She has been my devoted servant even as she has been unfaithful to you.”

Caecilia sagged against the divan. “Aricia?” She whispered the name, trying to convince herself that the little girl she’d freed had grown into a conspirator. Had she not treated her fairly? Kindly? Bestowed gifts upon her, clothed her, fed her? Skin crawling, she swallowed hard as she remembered Tarchon’s story also. How this priest had beckoned an eleven-year-old to his bed and then corrupted him. He had promised the boy that he would teach him to be a cepen, cajoling him with flattery and gulling him with sick affection while beating him whenever envy and temper flared.

She launched herself at him. “If you have touched my son I will kill you.”

Artile fended her off, grasping her wrists. For one used only to pampered living, his reflexes were deft and his grip surprisingly strong. “Calm yourself. I have not tainted him. He is my nephew. To do so would offend the gods.”

“
And Tarchon was your cousin and Mastarna’s adopted son. That did not stop you.”

He released her. Caecilia clenched her fists, restraining herself from trying to hit him.

Once again, the irritating smoothing of his eyebrow, the adjusting of his crescent brooch. “The role of haruspex is hereditary. As I am unlikely to have a son given my abhorrence of your sex, I am prepared to make Tas my heir. This is the news I thought you would welcome.” He stretched out his hands, palms open. “Would you deny your son the chance to read the future? He is hungry for knowledge. Thirsty for enlightenment. People will hold him in awe. He will be honored and revered. You could declare your pride at being a mother of such a seer, as did my own.”

Dumbstruck, she stared at him. It was true. Larthia had been proud of her priestly son. She had sent Artile away when he was ten years of age to learn the holy discipline. She claimed it caused her heartache and yet it had not stopped her. Artile was delivered, alone and vulnerable, to the Sacred College. Much as Caecilia admired her mother-in-law in so many ways, she did not want to emulate her in this example. “I will not surrender Tas to you.”

There was no mercy in Artile’s eyes. He was no warrior and yet he was brutal. “Then you will lose your daughter. And when confirmation comes that your husband has died, I will control all three of your sons.”

She hated that tears pricked her eyes. Hated to show him weakness. For a moment she considered begging. She doubted it would make a difference. “Mastarna may yet return.”

“
Within two days? Unlikely.”

“
And when he does? Do you think he will spare your life when he finds either his daughter dead or his oldest son in your thrall?”

The priest scooped up the tali again. “And yet he did not slay me for what I did to you and Seianta.” He tutted. “Or have you kept that a secret from your husband?”

Caecilia reddened. Vel knew of her addiction to the Zeri but she feared telling him of the silphion’s effects. Only Tarchon knew of the priest’s perfidy in preventing her from conceiving and causing Seianta’s children to be malformed.

“
I only kept it from Vel to prevent him from being executed for killing you.”

“
So you no longer wish to shield him from suffering the same punishment?”

“
This is different. Your murdering his daughter would give him a defense.”

The priest leaned closer. “No one would condemn me. After all, I would be acting within my rights as the head of the house in my brother’s absence.”

Face inches from hers, his bay leaf breath struck her with each word he uttered. “Besides, a holy servant is protected by the principes as much as by the deities. And the lucumo relies upon me. My brother will sign his own death warrant if he harms me. And if he does, at least I will die knowing that I have caused his downfall.”

He drew back and shook his head as though speaking to an imbecile. “Don’t you understand, Sister? You have no power here. I plan to take everything from you just as you did to me. Your children, your husband, Tarchon.”

Tas’ tali were still in his hand. He opened his palm to show them to her. “You like games of chance, don’t you, Sister. Mastarna often boasts of how Nortia brought you back to him with your throw of the dice.” He jiggled and scattered the knucklebones across the kline. “Tell me, do you cheat at tali as you did with those tesserae?”

A shiver ran down her spine.

“
You say you no longer seek to control your fate but that’s not true. You are destined to return to Rome, Sister. I have read it in the liver of a beast. And you saw Nortia’s decision that day, didn’t you. You cannot avoid that destiny. The goddess may be blind but she is all-seeing. Your subterfuge has not gone unnoticed.”

Gloating, he edged back from her. The space granted no relief. Caecilia felt as though she was suffocating. The seer might well have had his hands around her neck.

From a distant room in the house, a shrill wail drifted through the garden. Thia had woken.

Artile grimaced at the sound. “I will give you until midday on the day after tomorrow. And then that noise will be silenced forever if you do not give Tas to me.”

Turning on his heel he strode from the garden, an assassin after all.

*

Thia was shrieking. Desperate to hold her, Caecilia ran towards the kitchen.

Semni had been given the babe to feed.

“
Give her to me!”

The girl shrank back, frightened at her mistress’ shout.

Caecilia kissed Thia’s swollen face and her downy head, nuzzling the folds of the baby’s neck, sweet with rosewater. Untying the bands, she pulled the swaddling away. She needed to feel the babe’s skin against her own. The gentle nudging warmth. To be as close as possible to this little being. Thia’s puny legs wriggled, her body long and skinny, the black stub of cord protruding from her navel. Caecilia quickly counted ten small fingers and toes.

Unfastening the fibula on her chiton, she pressed the baby to her breast, sensing the fluttery racing heartbeat beneath her fingertips, her own pulse frantic. And face upturned to Juno, Caecilia prayed the goddess would grant her enough milk to finally suckle Mastarna’s daughter.

Glossary

Cast

Semni stepped back, shocked and uncertain what she had done wrong. She watched as Lady Caecilia tried in vain to nurse her daughter. She had never seen her so angry. There was a desperation about her as the noblewoman held the naked infant tight. Freed of her bands, Thia squirmed and squealed, the fierceness of her mother’s actions distressing rather than soothing her.

Semni frowned, wondering what had happened to cause such frenzy. Earlier Cytheris had emerged from the garden and promptly handed the infant over without a word. The girl realized the Greek woman was perturbed but didn’t ask what was wrong. The Gorgon was unlikely to share any of her burdens.And now the mistress had appeared and wrenched the baby away to feed her. And yet everyone knew that Lady Caecilia could not give suck.

A week had passed since the infant’s birth. Semni wished the princip’s milk would come in soon. She resented her new role. As wet nurse she should have gained status as a house servant; instead the babe was brought to her in the kitchen, not the nursery. And no sooner had Thia been fed and rested than she would wake and demand the teat again. It reminded Semni of the hard months after Nerie was born.

Her memories of Lady Caecilia’s confinement were troubling. She could not forget how she had stood transfixed as the color leached from the mistress’ face and blood gushed from her womb. She could not forget Lady Ramutha either. The princip’s beaded dress was drenched in red as she had held a vinegar sponge to her friend’s nose, urging her to open her eyes. Seeing this, Semni realized that bearing Nerie in the aftermath of battle had been nerve-wracking but uncomplicated.

While the midwife stanched the bleeding, Cytheris had barked at Semni to take the baby. Thia bawled, battered face scrunched and little tongue ululating. The servant was nervous of dropping the small girl as she wiped her clean of blood and vernix with salted barley water.

Then the Gorgon had issued another order. “Feed her!”

She had obeyed, nursing the mite amid the rush and urgency, noticing the infant’s feebleness after being used to the confidence of Nerie. Worrying also that the abundance of her milk might drown the babe.

The other servants in the kitchen were staring at the princip, too. Cook wiped her hands on her apron, wary of speaking, and the slave boys in front of the fire forgot to turn the spit. The aroma of roasting rabbits permeated the room.

Cytheris signaled for one of the naked boys to fetch a chair for Lady Caecilia, then she crouched beside her, face concerned. It was not the first time Semni had noticed the bond between maid and mistress. When they were together the Gorgon was not shrill or ill-tempered. Indeed, to Semni, it seemed the depth of Cytheris’ affection for the Roman and her sons meant there was none left for her own daughter. “What is it, my lady?”

“
Where’s Aricia?”

“
In the nursery with the boys.”

Lady Caecilia shouted to one of the slaves. “Go and fetch her. Tell her to come alone.”

Cytheris’ brow furrowed. “What has she done?”

Thia’s cries were piercing. Lady Caecilia rocked her, not answering. When the child would not be consoled the Greek woman touched her mistress’ shoulder. “Perhaps Semni should take her,” she murmured, “until you are calmer.”

The mother shook her head. The babe grew hysterical, her tiny fists balling against her mother’s bosom. Thia’s face was no longer swollen but all Semni could see was a wide howling mouth. Finally the mistress relented, kissing her daughter’s head as she handed her to Semni, reluctance obvious in the transfer. Semni felt guilty at how quickly the infant settled once she’d wrapped her again and put her to the breast.

Semni could feel perspiration soaking her armpits and trickling down her back, guessing why Aricia was being summoned. The judgment day had arrived. She prayed her friend would not expose her as an accomplice. Since the day when Arruns had accused them, Aricia had kept distant, her silence laden with reproach and hurt and self-pity. Pleading forgiveness had proven futile. Semni’s thoughtless denial hung between them.

Crestfallen after relinquishing her child, Lady Caecilia ordered Cook and the slave boys to leave. The freedwoman did so, protesting that the dinner could burn. As they left the kitchen, Arruns appeared and stood observing the fuss. As always, there was contempt in his gaze.

She’d tried more than once to convince him he’d been mistaken, but when she repeated her explanation he refused to talk to her. She thought of all the times she had shifted blame, cursing injustices that in truth were her own fault. Now faced with the reality of unfairness, she despaired. Time and time again, she relived the moment when the briefest brush of lips had turned two people whom she loved against her.

Cytheris hovered at her mistress’ side. “I don’t understand. What has she done?”

The princip nodded towards the doorway. “Let her tell you herself.”

Aricia hovered there. “You called for me, my lady?” There was a tremor in her voice as she scanned the expressions of the three women before her, in turn angry, anxious and confused.