“I’ll take you on.” The graying man with the angular face lifted a sack of coin and dumped it out.
Something shifty sat in the man’s eyes. Cara leaned toward Eric’s ear. She’d tell him to find another man to play.
“Done.” Eric swept the tabula pieces back to the start of the game as the man moved up the bench.
A pace behind them, the bulbous-eyed man laughed. “You’ll regret that wager before this watch of the night’s up. Gnaeus never loses.”
A cold chill swept down Cara’s back. Her heart increased its pace. Gnaeus took the dicebox, and the ivory rattled under a master’s touch. She couldn’t do this. She was going to fail. Her hands trembled.
One roll, two, ten, fifteen. This Gnaeus always rolled at least one six. Eric dumped his dicebox. A 1, 5, and 3. Eric glanced at her.
No way around it. They’d have to leave three pieces open to capture, and that when Gnaeus had three-quarters of his ivory over the finish line.
Her insides heaved. She’d retch. On the board. No!
She whispered in Eric’s ear and he made the move. Gnaeus lifted his dicebox. Roll low. Please let him roll low.
A 4, 5, and a 6. Gnaeus captured every one of their separated pieces. Cara’s hands went numb.
Her insides churned. Her head pounded with blood. She couldn’t feel her feet anymore.
Unless Eric rolled triple sixes thrice over and Gnaeus rolled low, they’d lose.
Lose.
Eric would go to jail.
His familia would die.
Lucia and her –
Gnaeus raised his thin lips triumphantly as he looked over his high pile of gold and Eric’s irredeemable wax tablet wager.
Her breath came in gasps as the spell overtook her. You’re no use to him anyway. Might as well run. Run? She glanced toward the door.
No! She gritted her teeth. Spell or no spell, she’d win this game. She glanced at Gnaeus again. That dice he rolled the six with had a tiny chip on the side. That die had turned up a six every time he’d rolled. A weighted die! He was cheating.
She glanced toward the tavern master. If she turned Gnaeus in, the garrison would take the money. If Gnaeus disposed of the die first and she couldn’t prove her accusation, Eric would have to pay the two thousand denarii all the same.
Cara’s heart thundered in her chest as she leaned up to Eric’s ear. “Stall, Eric. Stall as if your life depends on it.” Because it did.
Jumping up, she ran. The room faded in and out as she looked down long tables. This tavern overflowed with gamblers and women of ill-repute. Someone had weighted dice.
A tavern girl brushed by her. Cara grabbed the woman’s arm. “Who’s the luckiest man in this place?”
The woman snorted and stabbed a finger right toward a greasy man clutching a tankard of ale. “Him. Rolled triple sixes multiple times every game, but he’s not interested in women.”
Cara’s heart pounded in her throat as she shoved between narrow tables, jostling servers and knocking against elbows. She grabbed the greasy man’s shoulder.
He turned his tankard bottom up. “I’ve more important business than dallying with harlots.”
She grabbed his arm and dragged the man from the table. “You’ve got weighted dice.”
He jerked back from her.
“I’ll keep quiet if you loan me them.”
The whiskers on his bottom lip scraped against his upper lip.
She wanted to shake him. Yell. Scream. Blood pulsed through her veins.
“I suppose I could do with a break to have another meat pasty.” The greasy man shot his hand out. He dug wiry fingers into her flesh. “You’ll give me two-thirds of your winnings. Hear me, girl?”
Cara nodded. “Absolutely.” Never.
The man handed her three cubes of ivory. She slid them into her pocket and ran.
Gnaeus leaned forward over the tabula board, a thin smile on his face as he looked at Eric. “You can’t delay the game forever. I’ll be two thousand denarii richer before this night’s through.”
Cara touched Eric’s arm. Relief slid over his face.
Relief? She’d go to jail, too, if Gnaeus caught her switching these dice. Then what would happen to Lucia? What if –
What if –
Her throat pressed in against itself. She couldn’t draw in air.
No! She’d have this spell later. Right now, she needed to win.
Placing one foot on the bench, Cara slid her hand down Eric’s chest. His gaze jerked up. She scooted onto the table, face to Eric, and shoved her raised hip against the dicebox. The ivory pieces fell.
“Stupid tavern wench,” Gnaeus said. “Get off the table. We’re playing a game.”
Her dress now wrinkled up to her calves, and she didn’t have to fake the burning heat that flushed across her face as she met Eric’s gaze. “I’m so sorry, sir.” Sliding under the table, she grabbed the fallen dice. She dropped them into her other pocket as she stood, the greasy man’s weighted dice in her open palm.
A question in his eyes, Eric took the weighted dice and dropped them in his dicebox. He shook it.
These weighted dice better actually work.
Eric tipped the dicebox. Triple sixes. He moved his pieces forward.
With a scowl, Gnaeus tipped his dicebox. A 1, 2, and 6 and Eric captured two of Gnaeus’ split pieces, sending them to the start.
Another triple sixes roll. Cara dug her fingers into Eric’s shoulder as Gnaeus once again rolled low.
Triple sixes again. Eric’s eyes widened as he moved the ivory in accordance with the numbers and sent his final pieces over the finish. “That gold then.” Eric met Gnaeus’ gaze.
Gnaeus slapped his hand down over his gold. “I want to see those dice. No one rolls triple sixes thrice.”
Cara choked.
“Of course.” Eric grabbed the dicebox and extended it.
She launched herself onto the table, her skirt flying up far past her knees. Grabbing Eric’s hand that held the dicebox, she pressed it to her bosom. Her skirt rode up further as she shoved his hand forward, positioning her back to block Gnaeus’ view.
Leaning over Eric’s hand, which she held against her chest, she tilted the dicebox down the neck of her dress.
“Stay off the table, harlot,” Gnaeus said.
“Don’t you dare call her names.” Eric grabbed the table.
“I’ll call her whatever I want until she gets off our table.”
She slid the old dice in as Gnaeus glared at Eric and her husband looked ready to swing forward with a fist.
She jumped off the table, skirts sliding back down around her legs as Gnaeus snatched Eric’s dicebox. Gnaeus tilted it. A 3, 5, and a 2. A glower spread across Gnaeus’ narrow face as he shoved his gold forward.
Eric took the coins and grabbed Cara’s hand. He led her through the narrow space between tables and sloshing tankards toward the door where they could slip out and disappear into the dark. “Let’s go pay Venus a visit. Get rid of this money before I’m stabbed in the back for it, and then recover our babe.”
Fists balled, the greasy man streaked out of the tavern after them. “You cheating wench.”
Eric grabbed the man by the collar. “Who are you?”
“I have his weighted dice. It’s how we won.” Cara looked at the kicking and cursing man. “Gnaeus cheated, too, though.”
“Oh.” Eric sucked in a breath. He held his short sword to the man’s throat. “Help us, and I won’t report you to the garrison.”
The greasy man swore, then wrinkled his nose. “What do I have to do?”
“Purchase a slave.”
The moon rose over the tablinum. “Have you made everything ready for the pentathlon games the day after the morrow?” Victor’s father asked.
“I hired a man to slip hemlock into Wryn’s drink. I still need a discus thrower.” Victor leaned more heavily against the wall. This unpleasantness better buy him the wealth and power he wanted.
&nbs
p; Father glared at him. “You haven’t had the will to find one because you’re weak. Even your mistress, you only kept her because she pressured you, not because you wanted her. Women will expose your secrets. You trust them too easily, and – ”
Speaking of Edna, he had his own house in this city and need not endure his father’s nightly rages. “I’ll take care of the legate.” Victor strode out the door.
The evening star rose as the hedge of the Hermes Street house brushed Cara’s arm.
Eric pointed the greasy man to the front entrance. “Go in. Say you saw the woman at market and must buy her. If anyone questions you, act drunk. If you try to run off with this gold or the woman….” Eric raised his naked blade and it gleamed in the moonlight.
The greasy man nodded and walked to the door.
The hedge poked into Cara’s back as a sleepy porter let the man in.
Eric groaned. “What do we do if they don’t sell her?”
“Victor said last year that the Ocellis were short on coin, and we’re overpaying by half.”
A while later, the greasy man emerged, a parchment in his hand. Venus followed him.
“Here, have her,” the man shoved Venus through the darkness, “and I want my dice.”
Cara dropped them into his hand and the greasy man threw the parchment at Eric and stalked off.
Eric looked at Venus. “I’ll sign this granting you manumission.”
Venus extended a parchment.
The moon lit the page. The Ides of Iulio blazed the page in dark letters, the date a fortnight in the future.
“This is the layout of my father’s house and Victor’s handwriting,” Eric said.
Venus stepped closer. “Victor has hired an assassin. On that date, he’ll enter through the bath house window at midday and lay in wait in the gardens until the sun’s set. After killing your father and brother, he’ll exit through the main gate disguised as a porter.”
“Good luck to them with that.” Eric thrust the manumission parchment into Venus’ hands. “My father has an army of guards surrounding that house.”
The three of them walked down dark streets until the dock loomed ahead. Eric strode up a gangway and pounded on a ship captain’s door. The man emerged, eyes bleary. They whispered words and Eric handed him gold. Then he took a pen from the ship captain and signed the manumission parchment. “See she doesn’t leave this ship until you sail.”
The ship captain nodded.
As Venus’ foot touched the gangway, she glanced back. “May the gods bless you for your deeds this night.”
Cara took Eric’s hand and they moved back into the shadows. “Excellent military strategy tonight. Are you sure you never were a tribune?”
“I suppose I did plan that out, didn’t I?” His voice bounced off dark hovels. “Are you going to take up swindling after your extraordinary performance tonight?”
“Never again.”
“My feelings on military strategy.” Eric puckered his brow. “I hope I didn’t miss anything.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” Cara squeezed his hand. “Do we have enough denarii left to send a swift messenger to your father?”
Eric nodded. “We need to collect our babe from that less-than-competent-looking girl you handed her to first.”
“Paloma is almost at the age where she could have a babe. I’m sure things went well.”
Soon the river gave way to dark streets and they came to the little yard where Cara had collected washing dozens of times before. Paloma burst through the door.
A swaddled and sleeping Lucia lay in Paloma’s arms. “All your babe did was cry. All night. I even offered her goat milk, and she spat it out.”
“She looks asleep now.” Eric reached for his daughter.
“Yes, now. Now, after I’m so riled up I’ll never sleep again.”
Cara patted Paloma’s heaving back. “Remember that before you ever so much as look at a man with his enticing words and enchanting kisses. This is the result.”
Eric snaked his free arm around Cara’s waist. “Ecce, I thought you liked me, wife.”
“I do, but she should know this.”
As the moon rose higher, Victor kicked the door to his own house open. His father’s infuriating disposition or no, he did have to find a desperate man to throw that discus.
Edna threw her arms around his neck. Her tunica hung low, revealing the only part of her childbirth had enhanced, but then she opened her lips. “Remember my younger brother?”
“No.” Victor collapsed on the damask couch.
“You must. Kelwyn came to the training grounds often.”
Victor struggled with his sandal ties.
She knelt and loosened them. “The authorities in Londinium are going to execute Kelwyn. He came here to check on me, then stole.” Edna started weeping, streaking the cosmetics on her skin.
Shoving an overly silky pillow to the side, Victor flopped back on the couch. “He shouldn’t have stolen.”
“Victor!” Edna grabbed his hand. “You can’t intend to let Kelwyn die?”
He shoved her away. “When’s the execution date?” A piercing ache cut through his head. For simple theft, a word from a patrician and paying the debt should release the youth.
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
Splendid, yet another task to accomplish. “Very well, I’ll talk to the jailer tomorrow.”
“Promise?” Edna flickered her wet eyelashes up.
Victor started to nod. Wait, this Kelwyn stood to lose his life. One couldn’t get more desperate than that, and Eric had taught the youth how to throw a discus.
Edna launched herself into his lap. “I love you, Victor! Always.”
Victor groaned.
The baby, which Edna said was his, screamed from the next room.
Head pounding, he stretched out on the couch. He’d had too much wine, or was it dread to know that before two more suns set he’d get his first taste of killing? Eric might find some piddling happiness in destitution and virtue, but for great happiness, one needed wealth and power.
He would kill to get them.
Chapter 28
The second morning after that surreal night of gambling, Cara opened her eyes to sunshine.
Dock work would have started an hour ago, but Eric stood inside the house yet, wearing a linen tunic. “Since we saved my father and brother this week, I was thinking we should celebrate.”
Cara brought a fistful of cloak up to stifle her yawn. “How?”
“Someone from the pentathlon left this note for me last night.” Eric held up a tablet. A thin snake, head reared up, fangs protruding, imprinted the wax. “My name’s still on their list from last year, so I don’t have to pay the fee to compete. I’m leaving now to warm up, but I’ll meet you in the wooded area on the right side of the amphitheater.”
Cara dropped her hand to the pallet. “That’s marvelous.”
Red brightened Eric’s tanned face. “I have all those accounts to do, and if I don’t work, I don’t get paid, and there’s still Lycaon’s six hundred denarii, and Lucia must have screamed and woken you a dozen times last night. Aren’t you going to yell at me?”
“She’s teething, I think, but why would I yell at you?”
“The pentathlon’s for men of means, which I could be if I accepted my father’s help. You should yell at me that I can’t go unless I swallow my pride and reconcile with him.”
“Or those who have the swiftness of Hermes and the strength of Hercules.” Scooting to a seated position, Cara picked up Lucia.
“I don’t even get a prize for winning, just a laurel wreath that will fade by the next day.”
“And glory. You said you wanted that.” Cara tucked her feet underneath her.
Squatting next to the pallet, Eric perused her. “I figured out how you’re different from women in my family. You’re devious.”
“What?” She stripped Lucia’s soiled clothes off her.
“You don’t yell at me li
ke Gwen or Mother would. You tell me I’m Hercules and Cicero, then my wits stop working and I start doing whatever you say.”
“That’s not devious. You are heroic and astute.”
He held up his hand. “Stop! I’m not changing my mind about taking my father’s money.”
She hadn’t even mentioned his father. “I’m not trying to manipulate you.”
He pursed his brow. “Maybe you don’t have to try. Maybe it just happens.”
“All I want is your happiness. If working for Atticus Orca is what you want, then I want that too.” Could that possibly be what Eric truly wanted? She ran her gaze over his face.
Frustration mounted on his features. “Can you please yell at me? It would really help my resolve to defy my father if you yelled at me right now.”
“Why would I yell at you? You’re noble and – ”
“I’m going to the pentathlon.” He turned on his heel. At the door, he looked back. “The spectators arrive three hours after the contestants. You could yell at me for making you walk to the stadium alone.”
“I’m not going to yell at you.”
He groaned, but his eyes smiled at her. “It was worth a try.” He walked out the door.
Was he reconciling with his familia like any sane person would or wasn’t he? She’d worry about that another day. Today one of Eric’s dreams would come true.
Cara hummed a tune to Lucia as she strolled through the crowd. She circled right through forested ground and climbed a hill. When she crested it, a valley stretched below, amphitheater seats carved into the earthen embankment.
People already packed the amphitheater, the sound of cheers and chattering mixed with the cries of food hawkers and the smell of salted meat.
Someone touched her shoulder. She whirled around. Eric. She smiled.
A frown tugged down his mouth. “My father’s down there in the stands. I’m not reconciling with him just because he’s here.”
The Paterculis here? Edna hadn’t exaggerated the Paterculis’ eagerness to find their son. “Where are our seats?” She caught his hand.
“All right, after I win, I’ll do as you asked and say salve, but that doesn’t mean I’m reconciling with him.”
When Gambling (Love and Warfare Series Book 2) Page 33