The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome Read Free Page A

challenge to death.
    Once, long ago, drugged and despairing, Caecilia had been drawn into such rituals. The visions she saw that night still haunted her, confirming she could never worship Fufluns. She may have forsaken Rome but she could not desert its gods. Yet she did not condemn the Veientanes’ dedication to the deity. With their enemy besieging them for so long, the promise of rebirth and regeneration was compelling. And, over time, familiarity with such rites had beveled the edges of her disapproval.
    Hearing the music and ecstatic cries from below the acropolis, she covered Mastarna’s hands with her own as he clasped her waist. Some aristocrats like Tarchon had already descended into the woods to seek epiphany with commoners and slaves alike. At least she was reassured that Vel would not indulge in the revels. He knew she could not bear him seeking rapture with other women, and so he always stayed by her side at these festivals, his devotion to Fufluns remaining private. Both had come to tolerate each other’s beliefs.
    The wine god must have been pleased because the night was mild and starlit. Mild enough for the zilath, Vipinas, the chief magistrate of Veii, to order a pavilion with banqueting klines to be set up beside a giant bonfire in front of the palace. The lord and lady principes dined together, draped luxuriantly across the deep-cushioned couches. Ribbons entwined with ivy had been wound around statues and steles in the forum, trailing cheerfulness, encouraging a belief that all was as it should be. Symbols of Fufluns were ever present: pinecones piled as decorations, leopards engraved on footstools and furniture. Musicians wandered between the divans, the strains of cithara and double flute a sweet antidote to the months of privation. With swirling skirts, dancers lifted their arms to the night sky in praise.
    Caecilia turned and laid her cheek on Mastarna’s shoulder. Tall as she was, she could watch the banqueting principes while resting there. The feast was well in progress. Naked slave boys, chosen for their beauty, hastened to pour a fine vintage into double-handled goblets. No sour wine would do for the high councillors and their wives when toasting the wine god.
    She gazed at the noblewomen, beautiful in their finery, as they shared the divans with their husbands. Robed in vivid chitons, the women had dressed their hair elaborately with amber and glass diadems, and golden torques graced their necks. Caecilia smiled, delighted that she was clothed and adorned in this way too. In many ways she was no longer an outsider. She gave thanks to Juno every day that she had found independence here; giving audience to tenants in the absence of her husband, and acting as patron to artisans famed for their fine ceramics. Observing how the ladies laughed and drank and conversed with the men also lifted her spirits. There would have been no such freedoms if she’d remained in Rome, only the confines of atrium and bedroom, the company of women, and sullen obedience to the men of her family. Rome and Veii only lay twelve miles apart across the Tiber, but they were different worlds.
    She wrapped her arms around Vel and squeezed him.
    He laughed. “Why the hug?”
    “ I’m just glad you are with me again. Glad that I live here.”
    He kissed her brow. “So am I. But much as I would love to stay here holding you, Bellatrix, I think it’s time we returned to the feast.”
    Caecilia reluctantly agreed, but as she slipped her arms from around him she knocked a small dice box from the sinus fold of his tebenna.
    “ You see,” he said, retrieving the golden canister, “I’ve been careful not to lose my luck charms.”
    He spilled two golden dice onto her palm from the box. Each had the symbols of numbers carved upon them rather than dots. They were worn around the edges from constant use. Given her husband’s love of gambling this was no surprise. “There will be complaints if you try these old things at the