The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (8 page)

She tried to embrace her but Ramutha fended her off. “Don’t. It’s nothing to celebrate. The baby is not Thefarie’s.”

Caecilia’s eyes widened. “May Juno have mercy!”

“
Be quiet,” Ramutha urged, “someone will hear you. It’s not easy to take precautions. Silphion is most effective but supplies of the plant are hard to come by while there is a blockade. I had to use it sparingly.” Her laugh was rueful. “Too sparingly, it seems.”

Caecilia continued to struggle with the news. “Are you sure it’s not his?”

Ramutha unwrapped the lilac mantle twisted around her waist then smoothed her hand across her chiton to reveal a gentle curve. Soon costly fabrics and loose gowns would not hide her secret. “Very. Four moons have waxed and waned since my last flux. Thefarie was campaigning in the north with Mastarna all war season. I’ve only warmed his bed since his recent return. There is no way I can present him with a chubby-limbed newborn and claim the child came early.” She twined the mantle around herself again. “And with the city under siege I’m not free to retreat to our country villa and appear a year later as though I had never quickened.”

Her friend’s acceptance of her predicament was alarming. Caecilia clutched her arm. “How can you be so calm! When Thefarie finds out he could kill you.”

Ramutha patted Caecilia’s hand as though she was a child. “Don’t be foolish. We aren’t in Rome. Husbands can’t execute their wives for adultery and go unpunished.”

Caecilia relaxed her grip, relieved once again for the difference between Rome and Veii. And yet she still wrestled with the infidelity. “I don’t understand . Why did you cheat on Thefarie? Don’t you love him?”

The sound of the crowd was now of babbling conversation. Exchanging opinions, claiming winnings from wagers, expressing disappointment that the ritual was over.

Ramutha gestured towards the arena. “The ceremony is finished. Our husbands will be wondering what’s happened to us.”

“
Please answer me.”

She sighed. “Do I love him? No. But he is a good man, and a fair enough lover. He doesn’t beat me either for my indiscretions. He knows a woman can’t be expected to go for months without a man. And I know he indulges himself with camp whores as does Mastarna.”

Caecilia pursed her lips, sensing her friend was trying to avoid further queries with mischief. “Vel is faithful.”

Ramutha cocked her head to one side. “That’s what he tells you. Are you sure?”

“
Very.”

The Veientane primped the ringlets framing her cheeks, and checked the snood that covered the rest of her abundant hair. “Anyway, Thefarie and I have an understanding.”

Caecilia put her hands on her hips. “I hardly think he’ll ‘understand’ you bearing another man’s child.”

Ramutha’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so judgmental. Besides, Thefarie’s courtesan has borne him a daughter. And I’ve caught him more than once dallying with the maids. I don’t see why I can’t use a slave or freedman for my own pleasure every now and then.”

Caecilia stared at her, wondering why she was drawn to this woman who was so different to any she had known in Rome. Roman virtues were never drummed into Ramutha. Such lessons could not be easily forgotten. Her friend always relished shocking her as she would a country cousin. Her teasing was always softened by smiles, though. It was hard to dislike her. Yet the revelation she’d lain with a man of low status was disturbing, so too the realization that she had more than one lover. “Please tell me you’re not carrying a servant’s child!”

Ramutha gestured to her to lower her voice. “Don’t fret. The child is a princip.”

Caecilia chewed her lower lip. The potential for scandal had now doubled. She glanced around for eavesdroppers. “And did you ever consider using your remaining supply of silphion to end this?”

Ramutha straightened. “I want this child. Besides, it is too late for that now.”

The response was almost defiant. Caecilia was even more puzzled. “So just who is the father?”

Ramutha hesitated, glancing around her. “Caile.”

Caecilia groaned. “The zilath’s grandson! Why, he rode in the Troy Game. By the gods, he would be no more than seventeen!”

The Veientane grinned slyly. “Ah, but young boys are insatiable. You should try one.”

Caecilia recalled how Caile had struggled to control his horse, then imagined him grappling with Ramutha instead. She shook her head again, disapproval doubling. Ramutha was thirty. Yet she knew of even older matrons who harbored affection for youthful vigor. Downy cheeks and slim physiques held allure for some Veientane ladies. There was a reason Rasennan men had skill in bed. Many had gained their education from experienced women. She doubted, though, that Vipinas would appreciate Ramutha schooling his grandson. “At least tell me this infatuation is over.”

Ramutha concentrated on rearranging the woolen tassel hanging from her shoulder, a symbol of her nobility. And yet, as far as Caecilia was concerned, her friend had betrayed both her class and her husband.

“
Yes, it’s finished between us.”

The chill in the air had grown sharper, a breeze rising. Caecilia wrapped her cloak around herself. “So when do you plan to tell Thefarie?”

Ramutha twisted her string of turquoise beads around her fingers. “Not yet. While he’s preoccupied with Kurvenas attaining royal office I don’t want to add to his worries. And there is already too much friction between him and Vipinas.”

Caecilia realized her friend was not so brazen after all. And she was relieved to hear she was concerned about her husband. “So you do care for him.”

“
Of course I do! No man likes to be made a cuckold.” She rearranged her mantle again, ensuring it was draped elegantly. “It won’t be easy either if the child is a boy. After giving him two girls, he will be none too pleased if I bear a son to another man.”

Once again, Caecilia was unnerved at her friend’s coolness about the consequences that must surely follow. “But aren’t you afraid he’ll divorce you? What will happen to you then? And the baby?”

There was a tinge of cynicism in Ramutha’s voice. “Thefarie might want to cut ties with me but not with my fortune. My father has funded him for too long. As for the babe, I keep telling you, Mele, this isn’t Rome. I can declare the infant as one of my bloodline. I don’t need my husband to claim it, nor the Vipinas family for that matter. The child will belong to Clan Tetnies. My clan.”

Caecilia stared at her. Even after eight years, Veii could amaze her. She was always in awe of the rights of Rasennan women. Hearing her friend could claim a child in her own name was astounding.

Ramutha smiled. “Oh Mele, it’s not like you to be speechless.” Then her almond-shaped eyes softened. “Besides, I want this baby. I can weather censure as long as I nurse Caile’s child.”

Caecilia’s wonder turned to dismay. It was disastrous enough that the youth was to become a father, but to continue the affair? “But you said it was over between you!”

“
I know, Mele.” Ramutha hugged her, laying her cheek upon her shoulder. Her charm and warmth was disarming as ever. “But I can’t stop thinking about him. I love him.”

Caecilia groaned, shaking her. “This is madness.”

Ramutha steepled her fingers in supplication. “Please, Mele, promise me you’ll keep quiet for the moment—about the baby, and about Caile.”

Caecilia hesitated, uncomfortable with conspiracy. “You know I don’t like keeping secrets from Vel.” She touched the swell of her friend’s belly. “And you will not be able to keep this hidden much longer.”

“
Please! At least until this sham election is over.” She cupped Caecilia’s cheek. Her fingers were icy. It was no wonder. Snowflakes were drifting and swirling around them.

With the change in the weather, the food vendors hastily covered their firepots, shouting to people to buy their remaining nuts and sweetmeats as the spectators spilled from the stands.

Cytheris struggled through the crowd to reach the two ladies. The Greek woman was not prepared to be shooed away. “Mistress, you need to come now. I’ve called for the carriage for you and the master.”

Ramutha gripped both of Caecilia’s hands, voice beseeching. “Please, Mele.”

Sighing, she relented. “Very well—but as soon as the election is over you must speak up.”

The Veientane kissed her. “Thank you, thank you.”

Cytheris clucked in disapproval as she watched Ramutha hasten to find her husband. “Another cuckoo in a rich man’s nest,” she said, stamping her feet to warm them.

As always, Caecilia marveled at the maid’s ability to guess what was unspoken. “How did you know?”

“
Easily enough. Lady Ramutha’s maid is a dreadful gossip.”

“
And you aren’t, I suppose.” Caecilia was less impressed with her servant’s intuition.

Cytheris chuckled. “As long as the rumors aren’t about me.”

The crowd was thickening, their heightened mood descending into irritation. Thrown into the eddy of departure, they bumped against one another. The wealthy were escorted to their carriages, and the less privileged began a long walk home in the snow. Caecilia moved out of the flow, seeking shelter under one of the stands while she waited for Mastarna.

Cytheris took hold of her mistress’ elbow. “Best stay away, my lady.”

“
Why?”

“
Prostitutes and slave boys are conducting business under that one.” The maid sniffed. “There could be gamblers too, playing with too much wine and bad temper. It’s not safe.”

Caecilia recalled the muted voices and noisy bumps sometimes heard from beneath the benches while watching the games; competition in plain sight within the arena, debauchery glimpsed between gaps in floorboards.

As Caecilia moved away, the leather flap covering the frame of the nearest stand was flung back and a man exited from the gloom. It did not surprise her that it was Tarchon. Mastarna’s adopted son had a taste for pretty boys and wagers. This didn’t overly concern her, but his failure to marry did. She accepted he preferred those of his own sex, but nevertheless wished he would take himself a wife. At least the pretense would satisfy society. And Mastarna. Even if it was unlikely any child would be born from such a union.

Tarchon did not give her his usual lazy smile, instead glanced back over his shoulder before taking her elbow. “Don’t you have sense enough to get out of the wind?”

Another occupant of the stand emerged from the dimness. Sethre Kurvenas drew his tebenna over his head with a shiver. This time Caecilia was surprised. It seemed Caile was not the only one gaining experience. She wondered if the general would be proud of his son seeking this type of initiation.

With an antipathy inherited from his father, Sethre ignored her as he sauntered away, as haughty and arrogant as he had been in the Troy Game. He barely acknowledged Tarchon either, nodding curtly.

Before she could catch sight of any other denizens beneath the stand, Tarchon led her towards the carriage. “Where is Mastarna?”

She scanned the crowd. “He should be here somewhere.”

Her husband finally broke from the current of people. “Are you all right?” He replaced Tarchon at her side. “What was the matter with Ramutha? She doesn’t usually have qualms at watching the Phersu.”

Caecilia hesitated. “Nothing. A weak stomach. Can we go now? I’m cold.”

The lie was small but covered a large secret. She instantly felt guilty. It had been a long time since she’d been untruthful with her husband. Yet if she told him he would be honor-bound to inform Thefarie. And it would only add to both men’s concerns. It was better to wait for Ramutha to make her confession.

Mastarna surveyed the whores’ den before turning to his son with a knowing look. “It’s not like you to miss the sacrifice. But I guess your lust won over worship.”

The questioning of his piety sparked a terse response from Tarchon. He was as devout in observing the Calu Cult as he was in indulging his vices. Caecilia, too, thought it strange he would choose to miss the ceremony.

“
At least I won’t be damned for being an unbeliever.”

Mastarna glowered. “I’ve never hidden my lack of belief in the death cult.” He gestured towards the stand. “You have sunk lower than I thought if you need to seek satisfaction in such a makeshift brothel.”

Tarchon reddened but squared his shoulders. Over the last year the tension between them had worsened. Even though Tarchon had proved himself in combat he had yet to impress his father. It disappointed her that Mastarna could not put aside his prejudices against his son’s past failings. “Stop it, you two.” She tugged at her husband’s arm. “Please, Vel, can we go?”