Free The Wedding Shroud - A Tale of Ancient Rome by Elisabeth Storrs

and she eyed the roasting dinner expectantly.
    Yet at every sound that came from beyond the circle of firelight, her heart quavered, nervous at the thought that more strangers could erupt from the quietness of the evening and kill them. And yet everyone around her was unperturbed.
    Apercu, Vipinas and Pesna did not seem affronted by the presence of a woman. Their indifference was confusing.
    ‘Your cries warned us just in time,’ said Mastarna. ‘We are most thankful.’
    Apercu bowed to her briefly. Vipinas even smiled, and she was surprised to see his front teeth were made of ivory held fast by a band of gold. Pesna, however, with his straight mouth that never smiled, was clearly resentful that he’d risked his life for a Roman and had been wounded for his troubles.
    He was not alone in his predicament. She, too, had not expected to be rescued by Etruscans, the very people from whom she wished to be saved.
    Fat from the roasting hare spat and sizzled, the flames flaring white with each aberrant drop. Caecilia watched silently as her husband joked with his companions.
    Throughout the day she had noticed how the others either ignored or goaded him. She was unsure whether it was because it had always been that way or because of the marriage. Now their hostility had disappeared. They were ready to celebrate an escape from death together.
     They played with a set of golden dice that Mastarna shook from a small gilded box. There were strange letters on the side, not dots. Golden toys. A rich man’s playthings. It was a shock, this gambling, this teasing of Fate. Roman men only wagered at the Saturnalia holiday once a year.
    After a time Apercu broke off from his betting. Caecilia was relieved to see him take a salver of wine and place an offering of figs and blackberries before the fire. Pesna and Vipinas joined him in prayer and she made her own thanksgiving to the goddess Juno. Unexpectedly, their prayers were long and earnest. Pious, indeed, for a people she doubted even worshipped.
    ‘They thank the god Laran. You know him by the name Mars,’ said Mastarna. Astonished, she stared at the men as they chanted.
    Her husband did not join them.
    The perils of the day now translated to an unease. Just as she had the night before, she wondered what kind of man could neglect the rituals of his people.
    ‘Why do you not join in prayer?’
    Mastarna scrutinised the three principes. ‘When I slew those robbers, Caecilia, I gave thanks to Nortia, the blind goddess of chance who is fickle and inconstant.’ He kissed each golden die in his hand, his face settling for a moment back into the gloomy lines of yesterday. ‘As usual, she spared me.’
    Caecilia frowned, her qualms at his impiety growing, puzzled, too, why Mastarna should rue Fate’s favour.
    ‘As for a thanksgiving,’ he continued, watching her tip a libation on the flames, ‘your piety will suffice for both of us.’
    Arruns stood before her offering to pour her a drink from a jug of wine. She hastily covered her cup with her hand. ‘Patrician women do not drink wine. It is forbidden.’
    Mastarna snapped at the servant to fill her beaker with water.
    ‘I have never seen such a man,’ she said, shivering as she recalled how Arruns had sliced through the boy, pulling his blade clear as though sharpening a knife upon a whetstone. ‘Those markings on his face, is that a Veientane fashion?’
    ‘Arruns was once the Phersu. Phoenicia is his birth place, although I doubt he would even recognise his mother now, nor she him. He was tattooed by his master and given an Etruscan name.’
    ‘Phersu?’
    ‘The masked one. A man who makes sacrifice at funeral games.’
    ‘Is he a priest?’
    ‘No, he acted on behalf of the zilath, the chief magistrate and high priest of Veii. Now I retain him to protect me—and my family.’
    Draining his cup, Mastarna called for another, making it clear he was not interested in telling her more. The principes were drinking steadily,