The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome by Elisabeth Storrs

fig tree, and the sanctuary with its holy black cippus stone and engraved pillar. The stone lions that stood vigil over King Romulus’ grave also warned that they protected consecrated ground.
    Three patricians passed by the altar and wellhead, and climbed the stairs to the stone speakers’ platform. One was clumsily draped in the purple-edged cloak of a senator, and even from a distance Pinna could see his fat bushy eyebrows were furrowed into a rigid line of gray. The other two boasted dazzling white togas signifying they were candidates in the upcoming elections. Their servants must have labored for hours to whiten the cloth with chalk.
    The shallow tiered amphitheater in the Comitium was already packed with men, the crowd spilling beyond its confines. Pinna was conscious the onlookers in front of her would not welcome a woman in this male domain. She clambered onto a canopy of a shop and then its roof tiles, cursing the hindrance of her own cumbersome toga. Below her, a couple of citizens stood talking loudly at the far fringes of the throng. Their skin was thick with scars, telling her they were veterans. Making herself comfortable on her perch, she strained to eavesdrop on their conversation. And from their derision, it was clear the two patrician candidates swathed in pristine white would be hard-pressed to sway this audience of common men.
    “ That pompous ass, Sergius, is still feuding with Verginius, you know,” sniffed one, his nostrils red, raw from blowing his nose.
    His companion nodded, picking teeth, which were rimed with green scum. “Yes, he’s as short on brains as he is on stature, but Verginius is just as stubborn. I wouldn’t vote for either of them.”
    “ Or want to serve under them if they end up being consular generals,” replied the other, wiping his snot away with the back of his hand.
    Pinna looked across to the two politicians on the curved dais. The squat, swarthy Sergius stood remote from his colleague, keeping his shoulder turned to the silver-haired Verginius. However, both men were equally disdainful as they weathered catcalls from the assembly.
    Finally the senator with the fearsome eyebrows raised his arms to call the crowd to attention. Runny Nose nudged his friend’s arm. “What’s Marcus Aemilius Mamercus doing up there? He’s retiring from office as consular general. He can’t stand again for another year. Don’t say we have to listen to ‘has-beens’ as well as ‘would-bes.’”
    Pinna concentrated on the speaker. His name was familiar. Was this the father of Marcus, the soldier who’d huddled together with Drusus in the tomb? And was he truly a general? He was far from imposing as he struggled to hitch his toga onto one shoulder.
    “ Men of Rome! Listen to me!” Despite his paunchy appearance, General Aemilius’ voice was hard-edged enough to cut through the din. The crowd settled, readying for an afternoon of oratory.
    “ Veii stands fast despite our efforts these past seven years,” he said, thumping his fist into his palm. “Each spring we labor at building forts and ramps around that city. Then winter comes. Our defense works are abandoned and when we return they have been destroyed.” He paused, taking a breath as though summoning courage. “And so it is time to establish permanent quarters! It is time for us to return immediately! Rome must suffer the hardship of fighting in winter if our enemy is to fall.”
    There was a lull, then the crowd erupted into a chorus of boos. To Pinna’s surprise, Aemilius didn’t cower from such hostility but squared his shoulders, showing the bearing of a commander despite his disheveled robes. In comparison, the immaculately clad Sergius and Verginius shifted nervously behind him.
    Out of the commotion, another man stepped onto the dais. Mouth set in a hard, grim line, he planted his feet apart, arms folded across his chest, back straight as a spear. At the sight of him, the assembly calmed.
    “ Ah, here is