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

Calvus,” said Runny Nose. “Let’s see if he’s worth his salt as a people’s tribune and tells this patrician the madness of such a plan.”
    Pinna observed the representative of the common man. His garb appeared costly although he lacked the right to wear senatorial robes. It took riches to gain office, whether plebeian or patrician. From the scowl on his face, Pinna also suspected Calvus enjoyed clothing himself in indignation.
    “ Fine words, but we all know that Rome needs to feed its troops,” he boomed. “Soldiers are also farmers. If they fight throughout winter there will be no crops to reap come spring.”
    This time Aemilius successfully hitched his cloak higher onto his shoulder as he glowered at Calvus. “The state pays soldiers while they are on campaign. A salary that was never paid before this siege began. Remember that Rome covers annual costs but men do not serve throughout four seasons. It is time they worked for their entire wage.”
    The people’s tribune turned to the assembly, accentuating incredulity by staggering back in a mocking manner before bellowing, “A wage that is only paid by taxing us! And even then it is not enough to pay debts accrued while away at war.”
    Calvus’ defiance started a deluge of heckling. Pinna edged back on the roof. The politician seemed to enjoy riling the crowd. She could feel outrage welling and spreading.
    Aemilius listened to the jeers with a scornful expression, but Sergius and Verginius both scouted around as though mindful they might need an escape route should the mob charge the speaker’s platform.
    “ You promised we’d beat the Veientanes in a year,” yelled Green Teeth. “Soon we’ll all end up as bondsmen.”
    “ We’ll be shivering inside goatskin tents while the Veientane pricks are lying cozy in their beds!” Runny Nose’s voice cracked as he shouted.
    Pinna scanned the citizens below her. For the most part they were veterans who’d returned from fighting the Veientanes and Volscians and Aequi. Weary men who’d not seen their parents, wives and children for almost a year. Tired men, resentful of having set out in March only to return to the iciness of a Roman November to heft the yoke upon their shoulders, plant seeds of beans and barley, and lay down the vintage from their grapevines.
    Seven years ago Rome’s legions marched to conquer Veii. All thought the fighting would be over in one war season. All believed that warriors would march from home that summer and deliver the groaning granaries of the Veientanes by winter, once again satisfied at defeating another enemy who coveted the seven hills.
    Hearing Aemilius’ words stirred memories within her. The haughty nobleman spoke of a soldier’s wage but such compensation was too little for her father. A salary did not help him to escape bondage.
    Lollius had been proud to own a plot of land. A quarter acre. That was all that was needed to qualify to fight. A meager square of soil that yielded a small harvest; enough to feed his family and some to sell.
    Her father’s hands were large. Larger than any that Pinna had seen. Broad-palmed, the length between seam, knuckles and tips enormous. They were farmer’s hands, skin crusted and ingrained with dirt. Soldier’s hands—scarred, finger pads and palms calloused. When he was in a temper, which was often, Pinna and her mother would feel their hard edge.
    His kit was propped beside the hearth fire on a frayed rug in one corner of their home. It lacked greaves and corselet but boasted an oxhide helmet as well as a spear and sword that looked as though they should have long ago been melted into plowshares . There was a shield, too. It was battered but its bronze and leather strapping was polished, scoured clean of blood and brains and bowels. His armor declared him entitled to serve as a hoplite. A duty and a privilege.
    Even though she was only a child, Pinna understood that disappointment was a companion to her father’s pride.