The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (30 page)

Semni frowned, uncomfortable with what she had witnessed. Uncertain whether this priest’s intention was not only to save this boy’s soul but also to steal it.

Glossary

Cast

The cries were faint through the brick walls, but even in her drunkenness Semni recognized her son, insistent and distressed.

She was supposed to be scaling fish in the washroom but had strayed next door to the stables. With the master and his son away at war the grooms had fewer horses to exercise and curry. Often these tasks were finished by mid-afternoon leaving time for drinking a rough brew concocted on the sly.

Sitting up, Semni placed her hand over the groom’s mouth to prevent another kiss and reached for her chiton, which had fallen to the floor. Tipsy, the youth clumsily sought to hold her, but she shoved him away, knocking over her half-finished cup. Wine trickled through the straw to the bank of pebbles that served as his bed.

Stumbling into the kitchen, she saw strips of swaddling trailing across the floor, the bands broken. Arruns was holding Nerie on his lap murmuring stilted words of comfort as he rubbed the baby’s back. The boy’s mouth was wide, his scream earsplitting, eyes slits, face red.

Semni snatched him from the guard. “What did you do to him?”

The Phoenician’s eyes narrowed. “I could hear his cries from the atrium. He has burned his hand.”

Semni gasped, examining her son’s reddened and puckered fingers. She kissed his head, rocking him, but the infant was inconsolable, gulping in air as he continued crying.

She thought she’d swaddled him tightly. And yet it had not been the first time he’d broken free. Her milk was plentiful and he was thriving. Strong-limbed and starting to crawl, he was always restless, eager to explore. And yet when she’d last seen him he was nestled safely asleep in the corner of the warm pantry.

Semni glanced across to the andiron horrified she might have lost him in the flames. It was no wonder his exploration had led to the hearth. The bronze cookware was decorated with a menagerie of mystical and mortal beings: the huge cauldron on its tripod was decorated with the leering lips and mischievous eyes of a satyr, and dolphins adorned the sides of the saucepans. Even the brazier’s handles were shaped as serpents. There were other attractions for a nine-month-old, too: necklaces of garlic dangled and sheaths of herbs hung drying, their aromas mingling with the ripe, gamey smell of partridges hanging on hooks from the ceiling.

A lion-handled poker lay strewn across the hearth. When Semni picked it up it was still warm. The stand with the tong and shovel had been knocked on its side.

This time Arruns did not hide his anger behind a cold and dreadful stare, but raised his voice in fury. “What kind of mother are you, leaving a child alone?”

Semni shrank back, thinking he might strike her. The right of a husband or father when this man was neither. How dare he act as if he was entitled to berate her! “I am a good mother! It’s not my fault he broke his swaddling bands.” Rattled, she scanned the room. “I thought Cook and the kitchen slave were here.”

“
It’s always someone else who is to blame.”

Semni ignored him, kissing Nerie’s face. Soon the guard calmed down as he watched her consoling the child. There was no doubt he was fond of the boy. Semni had often caught him in awkward play with the child, wary of his muscled touch when handling one so tiny. Hesitant, Arruns reached out to pat Nerie with clumsy gesture. Still aggrieved at his censure, Semni turned her back, denying him further contact.

When she’d entered Lady Caecilia’s service she’d been surprised to find the general had not taken Arruns with him. And finding the Phoenician living under the same roof raised her hopes that he might want her. As soon as she could, she cornered him, believing that, with her figure returned to normal, he would desire her full breasts and soft curves. His rebuff had stung.

“
Why not? I thought, perhaps, you’d think differently about me after what we shared at Nerie’s birth.”

“
You’ve not grown any wiser from what I’ve heard.”

“
My brother-in-law took advantage.”

He had shaken his head. “Semni, I would never take the chance that you could be the mother of my child.”

“
What’s going on here?”

Hands on her hips, Cytheris stood in the doorway, a slave girl behind her. There was a look of surprise on her face at seeing Arruns, then a scowl as she glared at Semni.

The man surveyed the three women and strode from the room without another word.

“
Nerie’s burned himself,” said Semni.

Cytheris frowned, crossing the room to check the baby’s fingers before ordering the slave to fetch some mint from the vegetable plot.

Semni shifted Nerie to her shoulder, jiggling him while kissing his head. “Hush,” she cooed, putting the infant out of reach of the Gorgon. “Mama’s here.”

Cytheris pursed her lips. “And how did the boy end up near the fire?”

Semni gestured towards the slave girl in the garden. “Where was she? And Cook? They should have been keeping an eye on him.”

“
Cook is sorting out the day’s menu with the mistress. And the girl was doing what she was told—picking herbs. So what, pray tell, were you exactly doing not to notice your child missing?”

“
I was in the washroom. Nerie was asleep and swaddled in the larder.”

The kitchen slave returned and began chopping the mint leaves before mixing them with some honey. She handed the lotion to the Greek woman who smoothed the sweet stuff onto the baby’s fingers. After a few minutes, Nerie’s cries lessened, but Cytheris remained persistent. “Don’t think I’m not aware of what you were doing.”

Semni busied herself again with her son. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“
Of course you do. You stink of musk and seed. And wine. Who was it? The gardener? The driver? Or one of those lazy grooms?”

Semni’s head was aching, the effects from the drink souring. And she found it difficult to speak without slurring. “No one,” she mumbled, thinking that if the Gorgon unplaited her ankle-length hair snakes would slither from it. For certain the woman would turn her to stone if she was able.

“
Listen to me, you little slut. If I catch you with another man I’ll make sure the mistress dismisses you, and has you whipped for drinking. I only helped you because of Aricia’s pleading. You’ve been here all spring and you’ve already stirred up trouble. Those stupid grooms are fighting over you.” She paused. “And don’t think I can’t see you’ve been sniffing around Arruns.”

Nerie had quieted. Semni laid him on the kitchen table and carefully wrapped him in the swaddling again. She was nervous, knowing Cytheris’ threat was not an empty one. Lady Caecilia was fond of her maid. The Gorgon held much sway in the household. Semni knew, too, that the woman wanted Arruns for her daughter. “Yes, Cytheris.” Her voice was meek, hiding her resentment.

“
Good.” The maid peered at Nerie, neatening one of the bands. “Poor babe.”

Semni was relieved to see the fondness in Cytheris’ gaze. Arruns was not the only one enamored of her child. When she’d first arrived, it was the sight of Nerie—dirty, hungry and shivering—that had softened the Gorgon’s stance. Hopefully the maid’s affection for Nerie would continue to save them from being cast out into the streets.

Returning to the washroom to resume her work, Semni settled Nerie on a bundle of sheets. The thin membrane of gut and slats on the window did little to muffle the sound of traffic outside. Worn out with crying, the baby soon fell asleep despite the noise.

As the girl scaled the fish she wished she didn’t have to wait for darkness to visit Aricia. She needed to complain about Cytheris’ latest injustice.

United in mutual resentment of the Gorgon, the two sixteen-year-olds’ friendship had deepened. Their differences attracted rather than divided them: frivolous versus pious, wanton versus chaste. They often sought each other out. Aricia would bring the little masters to the kitchen where Cook would spoil them with honey cakes sprinkled with a little pepper, and Semni would steal through the house at night to meet the nursemaid and gossip.

Her status as chief nursemaid entitled Aricia to sleep in a small antechamber next to master Tas’ room while Perca made do with a pallet in the nursery. And so, as soon as the other kitchen slaves fell asleep, Semni would creep along corridors tiled with mosaics and decorated with frescoes to reach her friend.

The House of Mastarna was full of servants all ranked according to the nature of their service. After her initial gratitude, Semni soon made comparisons which fostered discontentment. How could Lady Caecilia make her a kitchen hand destined to live out her days washing crockery, plucking fowls and gutting fish? After all, she was a freedwoman and an artisan. Surely she should have been appointed a housemaid at the very least. She’d half hoped, too, that the mistress would take steps to restore her to a position in the workshop, but it was not to be. The princip was not prepared to upset Velthur. The Roman had been stern, rigid with disapproval. “I would have expected fidelity to your husband and your sister. I am prepared to give you a chance because of Nerie, but you are to behave yourself here, do you understand?”

Semni bowed, irritated at being chastised. And, remembering her own ungainliness, swollen ankles and plodding gait when she was pregnant, she could not help being jealous of the noblewoman. The tall princip was seven months with child and yet remained elegant, carrying her baby well. Semni wished she could have worn a chiton cinched under the breasts by a crisscross of beads, and flowing golden pleats to hide a gravid belly.

Semni thought the aristocrat no beauty. The purple birthmark on Lady Caecilia’s throat was ugly despite layers of albumen and powder. And her mouth was too wide and her nose too narrow in her oval face. The girl had to admit, though, that the good humor in the Roman’s round hazel eyes and the charm in her smile drew attention away from such defects.

She envied the princip’s jewelery, too. She had never thieved, but Semni could not stop herself imagining what it would be like to fasten a necklace with tiny pendant bird charms around her neck or wear teardrop earrings studded with granules of gold.

A different source of curiosity burned in Semni also. Any mention of Lord Artile’s name was forbidden in the house. The haruspex was reviled. What had caused the rift?

Aricia could not say. “It happened when I was a little girl. Mother won’t tell me. But it was one of the reasons Lady Caecilia ran away to Rome before the war began.” The nursemaid raised an arm, twisting it so that four silver bracelets clicked and jingled. “The mistress gave me these on the night she left. She gave mother enough coin, too, to buy our freedom. You see, I was to be sold to another house when I was eight years old and she could not bear to see Mother lose me.”

Semni studied the bangles. Lady Caecilia had freed Aricia and her mother from slavery, and provided her with employment as a freedwoman ever since. Surely the nursemaid should be rewarding the Roman with gratitude instead of betrayal for such kindness.

Over the three months Semni had sheltered in this house, she’d often felt twinges of guilt at her own part in the nursemaid’s plot. Yet the longer she remained quiet about Aricia’s perfidy, the more her silence cemented her own. Resentment at the princip’s refusal to be her patron again also made her continue to turn a blind eye.

Although the girl told herself it was better if she knew as little as possible, she found herself asking how Aricia managed to take the boy to the soothsayer without being caught. The nursemaid’s explanation had amazed her. “A network of tunnels lies under the arx. Some are disused drainage channels but others have been hewn from rock as escape routes for the rich. There is a passageway from the wine cellar that branches into them. The high priest showed me the one to the Great Temple.” The girl lowered her voice. “And there is gossip that Lord Tarchon uses one to visit Sethre Kurvenas in the palace. It is said that they are lovers.”

Semni raised her eyebrows thinking that both the people and the walls of this house concealed too many secrets and schemes. “Truly?”

“
Truly.”

“
And what about Cook and the other servants? Don’t they question you when they see you with the little master?”

“
They are used to me bringing him down to the kitchen for a drink of warm milk at night to soothe his nightmares.”