The close proximity of their nearest neighbours, a dozen legionaries seated around a long table, meant that despite the clamour, their conversation could be overheard. One of them, recognisable anywhere by a nose that had been broken so many times that it resembled a piece of baker’s dough, turned around. ‘Varus is wise to that jumped-up little prick Tubero, never fear.’
‘Were you in the principia?’ asked Piso.
‘Aye. All of us were.’ He eyed his companions, who were arguing over where to go next. ‘Tubero tried to speak to Varus before the Usipetes got there, but Varus cut him off. He grilled Tullus hard enough – is that your centurion?’ He glanced at the friends, who nodded. ‘We couldn’t hear what was said, but it seemed as if Varus believed him.’
‘That’s good news,’ said Vitellius, his face brightening. Afer raised his cup in salute; so did Piso.
Broken Nose thrust out his hand. ‘Marcus Aius, Second Century, First Cohort.’ From nowhere, he produced a pair of worn bone dice. ‘Any of you like to play?’
‘Aius.’ It was one of his companions.
‘Leave me alone,’ Aius growled.
‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said the legionary. He glanced at Piso and Afer. ‘This man would gamble on two flies circling a fresh turd. Trouble is, he’s wont to pick the wrong one.’
‘Piss off,’ said Aius, but in an amicable tone. He eyed the friends. ‘Well?’
‘I’ll have a game,’ said Piso, producing his own dice. ‘Afer?’
‘Why not?’
‘Small change only,’ said Aius, dumping a little pile of asses and other low-denomination coins on the table.
Vitellius went to refill their jug. Upon his return, he joined in for a short while, but after losing several bouts to Aius, withdrew. Afer was doing better, although by the time the wine had been finished, was down somewhat on where he’d started. Piso had fared similarly, yet when his friends suggested moving on to a different tavern, he shook his head. ‘My luck will change,’ he said.
‘Of course it will,’ agreed Aius with a wink.
Afer flicked his eyes at Aius’ companions, and then the door. Piso understood that he meant it would be best if they left together. ‘Six more rolls,’ he said. ‘Fortuna’s in a good mood with me tonight.’
‘She hasn’t shown much sign of that so far,’ said Afer, but he relaxed on his seat. So too did Vitellius. ‘We’re leaving after that,’ he ordered.
‘Let’s raise the bet to five asses,’ said Aius. ‘One sestertius.’
Piso wasn’t going to back down now. ‘All right.’ Blowing on the dice, he threw them on the table. ‘Two sixes!’
Aius’ eyebrows rose. He rolled, and got a three and a two. ‘Here you go.’ He slid five asses towards Piso.
A devilment took Piso. ‘Double or quits?’
‘Why not?’ retorted Aius. ‘I’ll go first this time.’ His dice spun and turned, coming to rest on a four and a five. ‘Ha!’
Piso repeated his trick of breathing on his dice, and was rewarded with a five and a six.
With less grace than before, Aius handed over two sestertii. ‘Same odds again?’
Piso glanced at Afer, who shook ‘No’ at him. ‘Aye,’ he said.
To his delight, Piso won that bout, and the next, and the next. His friends couldn’t believe his luck – nor could Aius. His good humour – and his coinage – all but gone, he regarded Piso with a black expression. ‘I’m starting to think that you’re a cheating bastard. Those dice of yours must be weighted.’
‘They are not!’ protested Piso.
Afer leaned in close. ‘Piso. Time to go.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Aius, waving a hand. ‘We have one more throw to play.’
‘One sestertius?’ enquired Piso. That was all the money Aius had left on the table.
‘Damn it, no!’ Aius rooted in his purse, and slapped down a pair of curved bronze fasteners, the type used to hold the shoulder doubling on mail shirts in place. ‘These, against all your coins.’
The fasteners had been well made; they were graceful-looking but solid, and were worth a deal more than the money Piso had won. He turned one over, then the other. ‘M AIVS I FABRICII’ had been stamped on to one; ‘MAII I) FAB’ incised on to the other. They both said that the fasteners were the property of Marcus Aius, of the century of Fabricius, in the First Cohort.
‘But if I win, and someone finds me with them, I’ll get accused of being a thief,’ objected Piso.
‘You can scratch out my name easy enough, and have your own marked in on top. Don’t worry about it, however. You’re going to lose.’ Shaking the dice in his fist, Aius flipped them on to the table. A smile spread across his face. ‘Not bad. Two fours.’
Piso was about to throw his own dice when Aius offered his. ‘Use these.’
It was clear that there would be a fight if he didn’t. With a shrug, Piso accepted the bone cubes, shook them to and fro, and let fly. The first dice came to a stop at the edge of the table – a four – but the second fell to the floor. He glanced at Aius, who had an unpleasant grin on his face. ‘Invalid throw,’ he said.
‘Very well.’ Bending down, Piso was annoyed to see a six staring up at him. Cupping both hands around the dice this time, he rolled them about for a count of two and let go. His heart thumped in his chest as the dice skated over the surface, coming to rest by Aius’ folded arms.
‘A four and a five. With my own dice. What an old bitch Fortuna is,’ Aius growled.
‘It was bad luck, right enough. Maybe you’ll fare better next time.’ Piso picked up the fasteners and Aius’ last coin, and feeling the need to avoid trouble, stood. ‘See you around.’
Over the next hour or two, the three friends wandered the streets, devoured some greasy food from an open-fronted restaurant and had a couple more drinks. There had been no sign throughout of Aius or his comrades, and Piso had almost forgotten them. He had told his story multiple times, and was about to begin it yet again, when Afer could take no more. ‘We were there, Piso, and saw you win, over and over. It was good fortune, but we don’t need to hear about it for the rest of the damn night!’
‘Fair enough,’ replied Piso, a little put out. His disgruntlement vanished ten paces later, outside one of the better brothels in the vicus. A sign hanging over the entrance depicted a painted phallus, and one of its whores stood half-clad in the doorway, entreating male passers-by to come in. ‘Got enough coin to go in here?’ he asked his comrades.
‘Aye – if you’re paying,’ retorted Afer.
Vitellius was quick to chime in. ‘I wouldn’t say no either.’
‘Piss off, the pair of you,’ grumbled Piso, turning away. ‘I’m not wasting my winnings on you.’
His comrades’ ribbing continued for a distance down the street. None of the three noticed Aius and several of his companions emerge from the brothel, recognise them, and summon the rest of their group from a restaurant opposite. Like a pack of dogs stalking a cat, they crept up behind the trio.
The first Piso knew of it was when Vitellius, who was a little way behind, let out a sharp cry. In the same moment, a carter steering an ox-drawn wagon laden with bricks walked out of a side street, cutting him and Afer off from their friend. Desperate to reach Vitellius – it was clear from the shouted curses and cries of pain that he was being attacked – Piso scrambled under the cart on his hands and knees, between its front and back wheels. All he could see beyond was a mass of legs, kicking at a prone shape. ‘Vitellius!’ Driving forward, Piso grabbed the nearest man round the lower legs and took him tumbling to the ground. Letting go, he swept another off his feet in the same manner and managed to punch another in the balls. Shouts and roars told him that Afer was doing some damage too, but their enemies had realised what was going on. Piso found himself surrounded by four legionaries. Light cast by the torches burning outside a tavern revealed one to be Aius. ‘Thought you could take the piss out of the First Cohort and get away with it, did you?’ Aius cried.
That was how he’d got his friends to come along so readily, thought Piso. Protest was futile. Resistance was futile too, but he couldn’t just stand there. ‘Fuck you, Aius!’ he roared, and threw himself at the broken-nosed legionary. He landed two good punches, one to the belly and another to the face, when something hit him on the side of the head. Stars burst across his vision, and Piso felt his knees fold. At once the blows started to rain down. Before the pain took over, he had a brief thought that Vitellius had done a far better job of saving him in Aliso than he had of Vitellius here. Poor old Afer was getting it too, all because he hadn’t just walked away from the damn dice.