When Gambling (Love and Warfare Series Book 2)

by Anne Garboczi Evans

  “But – ”

  “If a man were to offer all the wealth of his house for love, it would be met with scorn. In the Scriptures, remember? If we press Edna further, she’s likely to expose us to Victor.” Cara pressed her hand against her pounding head.

  Eric nodded. “Without a horse, it’s a three-day journey to Camulodunum where my father is. I can’t leave you and Lucia here in this danger, so maybe four. My father’s Londinium steward is gone for a fortnight, so I can’t get the exorbitant sum needed for a letter or a horse from him, and we don’t have time to wait.”

  “What about Aulia?”

  “Sailed for Mesopotamia with her familia last week. Did Edna say if the plot would occur in Camulodunum? Or how it would happen?”

  “She said Victor drew a sketch with the date.” Cara dug her fingers into his hand. What if Victor tried to kill Eric, too?

  “We need more information to stop this plot.” Eric pressed his teeth into his upper lip as he glanced around the hovel.

  More information, from Victor? She well knew his weakness. That day she’d served at the Ocelli household when the slave girl clad in yellow broke the vase flashed across her wits. Edna had said the Ocelli household had come to Londinium, which meant slaves, too. “I have an idea. There’s a slave girl, Venus they call her. We need to ask her.”

  Eric swung his gaze to her. “I doubt Victor’s careless enough to let a slave overhear his conversations.”

  “She’s sharing Victor’s bed, or was. What she doesn’t know, she may be able to find out.” Shivers consumed Cara, her body trembling like leaves in autumn.

  She felt the blood drain from her face.

  What if she miscalculated?

  If Venus didn’t know, what would they do next?

  They ran out of time. The thoughts came pounding back. She can’t even stay calm. She’s worthless to Eric. She should have thrown herself in the river that night after Conan rejected her.

  “How do you know these things?” Eric brushed her skirt smooth against her legs as casually as if the answer mattered in this time of desperation.

  As he acted the part, her breathing slowed. Cara rolled her eyes toward the roof and pretended the answer mattered. “Pruella’s mother.”

  “Who?” Eric flicked hair back from her face as he smiled at her.

  “A self-righteous woman who was always telling me how to work harder and be an obedient wife to Conan.”

  “She sounds vexatious.” Eric wrapped his arm around her, tugging her down from the table.

  “Beyond belief.”

  “That self-righteous woman talked about slave girls and Victor?” Leaning down, Eric caught up his short sword. The metal glinted in the firelight, but his demeanor remained casual, teasing even, as he performed the act that signaled the deadly schemes to come.

  For a moment, the thoughts stayed at bay. Cara felt her cheeks heat. “No, she just, well, the week before I was to be betrothed to Conan, she gave me the marriage talk, since I don’t have a mother.”

  “And?” Eric looked up from buckling his sword belt, interested, or faking interest well.

  She tilted her head, a question in her eyes.

  “What did she say?”

  “Oh.” Cara’s ears tingled, but the dirt steadied beneath her feet and her pulse stopped galloping as she thought of other things. “Pruella’s mother said not to be surprised if the man wanted to do it – ” she lowered her voice and whispered the number.

  Eric’s mouth gaped. “People do it that often?”

  She raised her shoulders, hand palm up.

  “Are we missing something?”

  He looked to her. She looked to him. On the pallet, Lucia opened her eyes and whimpered. Eric’s arms bore the black tinge of dock grease. Her worn dress sleeves wrinkled around her arms, wet up to the elbows from laundering.

  Eric shook his head. “No, some people do nothing all day, but let’s go find this Venus.”

  Darkness shrouded the back alley behind the townhome on Hermes Street. A back door hung open. A hive-shaped oven cast light on the bustle of slaves.

  “I’ll go in,” Cara said. “I’ll draw less attention than you.”

  Eric nodded and reached for Lucia.

  A shadow moved in the courtyard. Scowling, a beautiful woman bent to empty a slop bucket on the refuse heap.

  “Venus,” Cara called.

  The woman whipped around. The lamplight shining from the open door revealed a dark bruise stretching down her cheek to her neck.

  “I know her. She was with Victor that night at the farmhouse,” Eric said.

  With a furtive look left and right, Venus glided toward them. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “Information on the Ocellis,” Eric said. “First, I’ll have your promise you’ll not repeat our conversation this night.”

  “A slave knows no loyalty to the hand that holds her scourge.” From that bruise and the branded letters seared into her arm, Venus likely spoke truth.

  Eric looked into the woman’s eyes and nodded. “Word on the street is, Victor plots to spill Paterculi blood before long. Know anything of that?”

  For one moment, Venus’ eyes widened, then she stepped closer, not more than two handbreadths away. She dropped her voice, softer than the wind. “Yes, the entire plot. What’s it worth to you?”

  “Name your price.” Even in a whisper, Eric’s voice was hard.

  “My freedom and ship’s passage to my homeland, Dacia.” The wind whipped Venus’ black hair back from her face.

  For a lovely slave like Venus, the Ocellis’ price would rise high, and ship’s passage to Dacia would cost a handsome sum as well. Cara scraped her finger against her thumbnail as her breathing quickened.

  Eric nodded. “Tell us what you know.”

  “Not until I see the gold in my hand.” Venus glided back.

  “Give me a fortnight. My father’s steward will buy you and take care of manumission and ship’s passage to Dacia.”

  Venus snorted. “Five years a slave, and you think I still trust any man? I want my freedom before the evening star rises, or I might tell my master that you’ve been asking questions.”

  Cara froze, but Eric didn’t raise his voice. “You want your freedom. Truly think the Ocellis will give you that?”

  “No threats?” Venus arched her dark eyebrows.

  The slave woman could get them all killed. Cara’s heart pounded in her throat. With the Paterculi steward and Eric’s father too far away to reach, they couldn’t stop her.

  “Paterculis don’t threaten. If I decided to ensure your silence, I’d just do it.” Eric spoke with as collected a calm as if he had the Paterculi garrison and wealth backing up his empty bluster.

  Cara stared at him. Eric had used that same voice when he’d pledged last fall that they wouldn’t starve. How many other times had Eric’s assurances been more a stubborn refusal to embrace the facts than an actual plan?

  Venus pointed to a hedge. “Meet me there, before the evening star rises.” Then she slid back into the kitchen.

  “What if she betrays us?” Cara whispered through the breeze.

  “I saw the look in her eye when I asked for her word. She hates the Ocellis.”

  Cara clenched her hands together, yet still they trembled. “What if she’d had a different look in her eye?”

  “I’d have kidnapped her until we could get word to my father and have the Ocellis arrested.” Eric rested his hand on his short sword as comfortably as if that were a viable plan. They didn’t even have the coin to send a letter to Legate Paterculi! Eric smiled. “Wish to help me earn two thousand denarii this night?”

  They certainly didn’t have two thousand denarii. She felt her voice rise. “How?”

  Chapter 27

  “Exactly how do you intend to obtain two thousand denarii this night, husband?” Cara stared through the shadows at Eric.

  “By gambling for it.”

  Ice tingled in her fingers.
Her feet rooted to the stones. Panic pounded in her chest. “If we lose?”

  He met her gaze, shoulders spread. “You never lose.”

  “Yet. We could try something else.”

  “Such as? Even if we head for Camulodunum now, my father and brother will die before we arrive. If we press Edna further, she’ll tell Victor, and then we, and my father and brother will die.”

  “We could hire a swift messenger to ride all night and warn your father.” Even as she said the words, they fell flat. They didn’t have the coin.

  “Yes, for fifty denarii, which we don’t have. Also, what good would a warning do with so little detail?”

  Cara bit her tongue. “We could only gamble for the fifty.”

  “I said I trusted that slave woman, but not that much. I want her freed and on a ship to Dacia before she has another night to consider exposing us. If Venus tells, the Ocellis will try to murder me at least, perhaps you and Lucia, and your friend, too. Unlike my father, we don’t have guards.”

  Cara peered through the darkness into Eric’s brown eyes. A depth of emotion swam in them. “We don’t have the front money to open a wager.”

  “I’m Eric Paterculi. Any gambling tavern will assume I do.”

  “You mean write a note that says you’ll pay at the end of the night?”

  “Yea.”

  “If we lose?” The moon reflected off her trembling fingers. Her pounding heart throbbed against Lucia.

  “My father and brother die and I get thrown into Londinium gaol for not paying my gambling debts.” Eric started walking. “I’d be thrown in gaol for fifty denarii as quick as two thousand.”

  “I don’t have the clothes to play a Paterculi wife.” Cara’s quaking knees refused to move.

  What if she lost?

  What if Eric went to jail?

  What if Victor found out and killed Eric?

  A pain shot through her chest.

  The cobblestones shifted.

  Numbness tingled through her limbs.

  In a moment, the thoughts would come. Shame. Shame. Cara clenched clammy hands.

  “A patrician’s wife wouldn’t be allowed entrance, not to that sort of a place.” He glanced back at her. His gaze touched her shaking body.

  Could he hear how her breath gasped through the darkness? “You can’t win without me.”

  Eric touched her arm and smiled at her, his countenance as light as if they had no more stake in the wager of this lethal game than those nights they’d played tabula at Victor’s parties. “Oh, they’ll let you in, just not as my wife.”

  “As what then?” At his touch, Cara’s heart slowed. The bands of dread strangling her loosened.

  A grin flashed across Eric’s face. “My mistress.” He flicked the sleeve of her dress. “You’re plenty comely enough to pose as my mistress.”

  “Mistresses are more comely than wives?” With the turn of conversation, her hands ceased trembling.

  “Oh, most definitely.” Eric tugged a hairpin from her locks. “The glossy hair, the perfect waist,” he ran his hands up the sleeves of her dress, “shapely arms. Perfect mistress material.”

  Cara laughed. “I’ll ask Paloma to watch Lucia tonight.”

  The moon’s orb rose, lighting the dim streets. The wooden walls of the Golden Eagle loomed above them, the raucous noise of carousing pouring out onto the street.

  Cara touched Eric’s hand. “I’ll go in separately.”

  “Why?” Eric’s white linen tunic caught the moon’s glow.

  “If the gamblers think we’ve never met before tonight, they won’t suspect me of helping you cheat.” If only she had weighted dice.

  “Cheat?”

  “I can’t always win, Eric, and these men that frequent such places, they’ve played this game for years.”

  He squeezed her hand. “It’s my father and my brother’s lives.”

  “And our two thousand denarii.” The attempted jest stuck in her throat as her pulse pounded against her skin.

  “Mercenary.” He kissed her.

  His lips brought no comfort. Cold chills twisted around her ribs, scraping against her insides.

  Her bowels churned.

  What if they lost?

  What if Eric’s father and brother died?

  What if Victor tried to kill Eric?

  What if –

  “Don’t think about it now, Cara.” Eric slid his broad palm over her cheek, but his face tensed.

  Once again, he used the same voice as when he’d assured her many a time over that long winter that things would turn out well. Exactly how close to starving would he have allowed them to get before he contacted his father?

  The cobblestones beneath her feet shifted.

  Pinpoints of light glared in her consciousness.

  You’re worthless. Unlovable.

  No! No! Her chest shook with the effort of keeping the thoughts at bay. She had to do this.

  With a deep breath, Cara walked beneath dark eaves to the back door. The panel hung open. Across the lighted space filled with tables, noise, and coin, she spied Eric entering through the front door.

  A man wearing a stained apron put out a hairy arm, blocking her entrance. “You don’t have the coin to gamble, and I don’t need starving thieves stealing my meat pies.”

  She gulped. Eric already moved to a table. He’d never win by himself. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she hadn’t spent hours at Victor’s parties to not know how to playact a loose woman. She flaunted her shoulders, shifting the threadbare fabric of her dress. “But I attract the kind of men that do.”

  “You’re scarcely dressed to please.”

  She tugged at her skirt, patched at the knee where the fabric had ripped, and refused to listen to the ringing in her ears. “Never stopped men before.”

  “I already have my regulars.”

  “Your customers would object to one more woman in your place?” She rested her hands on her hips, saucy as that bold girl who’d talked to the slick-haired man.

  The aproned man crossed his arms above his burgeoning belly. “Very well, a quarter hour. If you can find a man who’s interested in that time, I won’t throw you out, and don’t touch my meat pasties.”

  Gliding by the hairy tavern master, she picked her way around tables dotted by tabula boards. Tankards of ale brimmed over on the trestles, roast meat and bread piled high. Men sat on the long benches with women behind them, or on their laps, doing the same things as at all Victor’s parties.

  Across the hall, Eric sat at a table with other men dressed in fine linen. He closed his fingers on the dicebox.

  She walked behind the bench Eric sat at. Five other men surrounded Eric’s table. Several indecently-dressed tavern girls looked over some of the men’s shoulders.

  Instead of sliding in on the empty bit of bench beside Eric, Cara sidled up behind him.

  She’d watched women do this to men at Victor’s parties. It wasn’t wanton if one had to for saving lives. Besides, her actions distracted her from the spells. She wouldn’t do it otherwise. Never. Probably.

  She slid one hand down Eric’s arm, touching the bare muscles exposed by his tunic.

  He turned to her.

  One hand on the table boards beside Eric’s forearm, she leaned immodestly forward. “Never saw you in here before, sir.”

  He nodded to her. He gripped the pommel of his short sword.

  Across the room, the hairy man glanced her way. Tavern masters had the right to demand proof of a bet. With that expression on Eric’s face, the hairy man would demand to see his two thousand denarii posthaste.

  Swinging her leg over the bench she sat down – on Eric’s lap.

  He jerked his gaze to her.

  “You think me ill-favored of face?” She smiled up at him and the tavern master turned away.

  “Certainly not.” Eric stared at her.

  “Then what’s your objection?” She settled down on his knee, her legs falling between his. “Have a je
alous wife who’d be displeased with you?” She only did this to deceive the tavern master, no other reason at all. A grin tugged at her lips.

  His eyes grew even wider. “No, I – ”

  “Your turn,” the man across the table said.

  She had the perfect vantage ground to see the board and whisper back into Eric’s ear.

  Eric leaned over her to grab the dicebox. He tipped it. A 3, 4, and 6.

  The bulbous-eyed man across the table took his own dicebox and rolled. Eric tipped the dicebox again, a bad roll, and then the bulbous-eyed man rolled triple fives.

  She couldn’t lose. Cara dug her fingernails into her palms as she tried to forget that fact. Leaning back against his chest, she whispered instructions for the next dozen moves. Eric didn’t need help sliding the last piece over the finish line.

  Victory. She pressed her mouth up against his ear. “How much did we win?”

  “One hundred denarii.”

  Not nearly enough, and the evening star would soon rise. Across the table, a graying man with an angular face directed a suspicious gaze at them. From the look of his stack of gold, he’d won every game he played this evening.

  She needed to divert the man’s attention from their whispering. That’s the only reason she slid her arms around Eric’s neck and placed a kiss on his mouth. She ran her fingers through his glorious hair.

  Eric moved his hand behind her shoulders. He tugged her close enough that his mouth touched her ear. “You know we have a game to win, and our lives hang in the balance?”

  She glided her eyelashes down then up as she smiled. “I’m concentrating perfectly, and you only need to tip the dicebox. Also, the next bet needs to be for two thousand.” One more win and they’d walk away as the victors.

  “Two thousand?” Eric sucked in a deep breath. Releasing her, he looked at the other men. “Why these paltry wagers? Let’s put genuine money on this game. Two thousand denarii?”

  “Two thousand denarii is more than I care to lose this night.” The bulbous-eyed man swung his legs out of the bench.

  Eric moved his gaze to the other four men. One shook his head. Two more stood and left.