The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (5 page)

As Mastarna duly complied, Tas entered. Solemn, the older boy climbed up to kiss his mother before greeting his father. He made no attempt to join in the play, and instead sat at the end of the bed observing his raucous brother.

“
And how is the heir to the House of Mastarna this morning?”

“
Well, Apa.” Tas pointed to the wide purple scar that slanted across the warrior’s chest. “Does that hurt?”

Mastarna peered down at the puckered flesh. “This scratch? No. What you need to remember is to cause your foe greater hurt.”

Caecilia raised her eyebrows. Knowing the story behind the injury, she was unimpressed with such bravado. Vel was lucky to have survived the attack that caused it.

She noticed Tas glance down at his knees. They were badly grazed from where he’d fallen clumsily in some childish game. There had been tears. Brief and angry. She had chided him for weeping, telling him that young soldiers do not cry.

Raising Arnth to her shoulder, Caecilia rubbed his back to burp him. The baby’s skin was smooth and flawless. She knew every inch of it; checked constantly to see if there were any blemishes. She had done the same with Tas and Larce when they were infants. And then, as they grew bolder, she could not keep tally anymore of their scrapes and bruises, could not protect them as they took first steps and began exploring. She knew she must discourage tears, and that a brave face was expected to be shown, yet the thought that one day her sons might bear wounds like their father caused a sudden sadness. She leaned her cheek against Arnth, her lips brushing the soft down on his head.

“
Did a Roman do that to you?” Tas was persistent in his questioning.

“
No, it was a Syracusan pirate. But I don’t plan to let any Roman have such satisfaction.”

Expression grave, the boy turned to Caecilia. His eyes had a somber beauty. Honey-colored like hers. Feline eyes, not just because of their shape. There was something distant in them.

“
But I am half a Roman because of Ati, aren’t I? Does that mean you must hate me?”

Caecilia studied her oldest son, surprised that he had grown from one who merely listened to one who understood.

“
Come and sit here.” Mastarna leaned forward, drawing the boy onto his lap.

Larce protested at having to share the space so Caecilia called him to her. He came reluctantly, but once she tickled him under his arm he planted a kiss first on her cheek and then on Arnth’s head before snuggling in beside them.

“
Of course I don’t hate you, Tas,” said Mastarna. “Your mother has a Veientane heart, a Veientane soul. And so do you.”

Her son looked at her for reassurance, Caecilia nodded. Although she knew that her desire to be wholly Rasennan was not enough. There was a residue of Roman in her she doubted could ever be washed away.

Tas perched upon Mastarna like a cat deigning to bestow favor. So different to Larce’s puppyish fawning. “Tell me the story, Apa. I like the story.”

Mastarna smiled. “Very well, but you must help Arruns clean my armor in payment.”

“
That sounds fair,” replied Tas, formal and earnest as usual.

Mastarna settled into the familiar account. “Before the war began Ati was married to me to seal a treaty between our two cities. For, you see, Rome and Veii had been at peace for twenty years. Both wanted the truce to continue so that Veientane traders could pass through Roman land, and Roman bellies could be filled with Veientane corn.”

“
But then a mean man became the king of Veii,” said Tas, showing he appreciated that a good yarn needed a villain.

“
Yes, a man called Tulumnes seized control by poisoning the wise and just Zilath Ulthes. He declared himself lucumo and threatened to kill your mother unless I helped him wage war on Rome.”

Larce dared to pipe up. “What’s a ’cumo?”

Caecilia stroked the two-year-old’s hair. “Lucumo is the title that the Rasenna give our kings.”

“
Don’t interrupt, Larce!” Tas was impatient to resume the story. “But then Ati ran away from the bad lucumo, didn’t she?”

Caecilia smiled, thinking how well her oldest son knew the story. Time would ingrain it in him and his brothers. As they learned it by rote, soon the tale would grow fabulous, a legend created. “Yes. Tarchon helped me escape to Rome so your father didn’t have to worry about King Tulumnes hurting me.”

“
But you defeated him, didn’t you, Apa?”

Mastarna shook his head. “Not alone. Tulumnes was a coward—cruel and selfish. He offended the leaders of the League of the Twelve, who didn’t like monarchs. And then he ran away when the principes of Veii rose up against him.”

“
But the Romans still wanted to fight, didn’t they?”

“
Yes,” added Caecilia. “Wolves had taken power in Rome by then.”

The boy frowned. “Had they eaten all the people?”

She smiled. “No, I mean men who were as hungry as wolves. Generals decided that Rome needed Veii’s land for their citizens, so they declared war.”

“
But they said the war was your fault, Ati. Didn’t they?”

Caecilia nodded, trying to keep her voice even. Bitterness always welled inside her when she thought of the day war was declared. Camillus planned to attack Veii whether she was Tulumnes’ hostage or not. Her escape home was seen as a nuisance. And her defection an excuse to rally the Roman people against an old foe. “Yes, Tas. They said I betrayed them because I wanted to be with Apa. They are seeking vengeance against me, but they would have attacked Veii even if I’d stayed behind.”

Tas paused as though digesting the information, then reached over his father to the table beside the bed. Retrieving Mastarna’s small golden box, he rattled the dice within it. “And Apa gave you these to ask a goddess what she wanted you to do.” The boy scattered the two gilded tesserae onto the coverlet. Larce immediately tried to grab them. Mastarna deftly collected them, denying both sons possession.

“
Yes,” he said, handing the dice to his wife. “I sent Arruns to give these to Ati so she could ask divine Nortia if she wished your mother to come back to me.” He raised his eyes to Caecilia. “And she did.”

She rubbed the dice between her fingers, remembering their smoothness as she’d held them in her hand, heavy with potential, on that summer’s afternoon. Remembered, too, how they seemed to tumble forever as she rolled them upon the dusty road, waiting for an answer. She closed her eyes briefly. Now she was beholden to the goddess Nortia forever.

The touch of Larce’s hand prizing the tesserae released her from the memory. She surrendered them to him.

“
And you were married again,” said Tas, ignoring that his brother had claimed the dice.

“
Yes, Bellatrix returned to Veii and once again became my wife.”

“
Why do you call her a bellatrix?”

“
Because she is a warrioress.”

“
Girls can’t be soldiers!”

“
No, but they can be as brave as any hoplite, as courageous as any horseman. And your mother can be fierce. Don’t try to cross her!”

The seriousness with which Tas nodded made both parents laugh.

“
And then Ati had me,” he said, once again intent on the tale.

“
Me too!” Larce stood up unsteadily on the soft mattress before putting his head down and somersaulting over the quilt.

Mastarna grabbed him, tickling the boy’s tummy and making him squeal. Then he tried to do the same to his older son.

“
Don’t!” Tas yelled, body rigid. “I’m not a baby. I’m not a baby!”

The boy’s flare of anger was startling.

“
Be quiet!” Mastarna’s roar silenced the tantrum.

Tas lowered his head, his bottom lip trembling. “Sorry, Apa.”

“
You will be a man soon enough,” said Mastarna, still gruff. “And no one will think less of you for enjoying foolery. Even soldiers like to jest.”

By now the chamber had grown lighter but the mood within the bedroom had darkened. At the boom of their father’s deep voice, Larce was tearful and Arnth began to mewl.

Mastarna cast aside the coverlet and sat upon the edge of the bed. “Time to rise. I need to train with Arruns.”

Caecilia beckoned Aricia to come forward from the corner where she’d been quietly waiting. She handed the whimpering baby to the nursemaid, then also rose from the bed and lifted Larce to the floor.

Cytheris entered, hastening to the ornately carved linen chest to await direction as to which gown her mistress wished to wear. Arruns also appeared holding a pitcher of hot water and a razor to shave his master’s stubble. The routine of the day had begun, the servants that peopled their lives bustling around them.

Tas climbed down to stand next to the guard, studying the blue tattooed serpent biting into the man’s face, before declaring, “Apa said I should help you clean his armor.”

If the freedman was surprised or annoyed by this news, he gave no sign.

“
After training, Tas,” Mastarna growled. “Now go and get dressed.”

As the children padded after Aricia, a breeze crept into the room, the charcoal in the brazier flaring. Caecilia shivered and drew her shawl around her, wishing Tas had kept his temper and that Mastarna would enjoy a day of rest.

“
Do you really need to practice war today, Vel?”

Mastarna seated himself on a stool and directed Arruns to shave him. “I’m over two score years, Bellatrix. Youth doesn’t oil my limbs anymore. If I slacken for even a day my body stiffens and my muscles ache.”

There was quiet for a time, the only sound that of the scrape of razor against bristles and the sweep of a brush along Caecilia’s hair.

“
Our son’s bouts of anger have not improved,” Mastarna finally said. “He is a strange one, that one.”

“
He is still young and will grow out of such childishness soon enough.” She hoped she spoke the truth. Tas was like a drum stretched too tightly. The slightest touch could start a resonance humming. His lack of control worried her. And it worried her, too, that he had learned the failing from her.

Face cleanly shaven, Mastarna stood while Arruns lifted his master’s breastplate from the wall. The cuirass was embossed with dozens of minute figures portraying tales from the Trojan War. Caecilia knew that Tas would relish the task of burnishing the armor not only for the honor of serving his father but also for the chance to touch the heroes. “Vel, we need to talk about Kurvenas.”

Mastarna didn’t respond other than to command Arruns to fetch his greaves.

“
Vel?”

“
Later. Now I just want to exercise.”

His closed look warned her not to press further. She moved to affix the protective linen strips that hung from the shoulders of the muscle cuirass.

Unlike her son, Caecilia gained no pleasure from the subject decorating her husband’s cuirass. Helen caused a siege that lasted ten years and was despised by the peoples of two cities. The similarity of her own story to the Greek girl’s always disturbed her. Until now, Tas had been enchanted by the tales of Achilles and Ajax, Odysseus and Hector. This morning her son had been enthralled by his parents’ story also. One day, though, he might not think his mother valiant. One day he might see her as a traitoress who started a never-ending war.

Glossary

Cast

The youths were not yet old enough to boast beards, their faces retaining the soft edges of boyhood, wisps of down tracing the line of cheek and jaw, pimples upon nose and chin. Their expressions were tense, readying themselves for the initiation ceremony they were about to undergo.

Sitting bareback upon fine long-legged horses, they drew into formation on the edge of the arena. Concentration was essential if they were to hold the animals to the line as the horses tossed and dipped their heads, manes of chestnut or bay shiny from grooming.