“Basati—you have to come with me! Andoni Zilar is hosting a game of Hazard tonight at the Drunken Crow. But he’ll only play againstyou.” Xabi’s eagle eyes gleamed in the golden light of the setting sun. “Zilar has challenged you to wager one hundred pounds of silver. He’s giving you the chance todoublewhat you lost last night! You can pay off your debt to Baroja. And—with side bets—I can win enough to buy Euri a wedding ring.Goazen,Basati. C’mon, let’s go!”
Cardin contemplated the wildly exuberant, heavily bearded face of his best friend. One of the intrepid knights ofle Château de Montmarinwho defended his sovereign lord Eztebe Ibarra, Xabi loved drinking and dicing as much as tilting in the lists.
Just like Cardin himself.
Remembering his vow to Gaultier, Cardin reluctantly lowered his eyes and shamefully shook his head. “I can’t. I promised to stay home tonight. No wagering. No ale. No drunken brawls in local taverns. Gaultier deserves an uninterrupted night with Dolssa. I owe him that.”
“You can get revenge on Zilar for carving up your face. Take all his bloody silver. Humiliate him in front of all his men. And win enough to get Baroja off your back.” Xabi’s lips curled up in a smug smirk. “Tonight—in honor of the high stakes in the game—the Drunken Crow is servinggolden mead.”
Cardin’s mouth went dry and his palms became damp. He loved golden mead. Almost as much as dicing. And Hazard was the most thrilling game of all.
He could examine Zilar’s dice. There’d be no chance for him to cheat again.
I’ll win back the silver I lost last night. Settle my debt with Baroja. Give Xabi the chance to buy a wedding ring for Euri.
And get back to the castle before Gaultier returns.
Cardin’s bandaged, bloodied face broke into a wicked, wolfish grin. “I never could resist golden mead.”
****
The raucous revelry inside the noisy tavern was music to Cardin’s edgy ears.
In the rear of the cavernous room, beyond the mahogany bar which lined the right wall, lively tunes floated from fiddles, flutes and rebecs. Jubilant customers chatted boisterously at crowded tables, feasting on aromatic seafood as coquettish tavern wenches served abundant mugs of golden mead.
In the center of the inn, four tables had been placed together and covered with a white tablecloth, forming a long rectangular area for dicing. Eager participants were lined up on either side, silver coins clutched in their impatient hands, greedy grins upon their avid, anxious faces.
At the far end of the gaming table stood Andoni Zilar, a snide smirk upon his scarred, sneering visage. Tall and lanky, with dark eyes and greasy black hair that reached his broad shoulders, the wealthy shipping merchant with a penchant for gambling twirled his narrow mustache and snickered as Cardin strode up to the table. “Come to lose more silver, Basati? I’ll be happy to take your hundred pounds. Because that’s the wager. Do you accept the challenge? Or are your bollocks not big enough?”
Snickers and jeers floated around the table as Cardin held Zilar’s taunting stare. “I accept the challenge. Place your wager. But before you roll, I want to inspect the dice. Can’t have you cheating.Like last night.” Although it stretched and pulled the stitches in his mutilated face, Cardin ignored the burning pain as he grinned, holding out his calloused palm.
A collective hush swept across the suddenly silent room when the musicians abruptly stopped playing. Patrons of the inn quickly gathered around to watch as Zilar and Basati— the two most competitive gamblers in all of Biarritz—provided the evening’s exciting entertainment.
Zilar scoffed and tossed the dice to Cardin, who made a theatrical display of examining them before returning the ivory-colored bone cubes for the initial roll.
“Seven is the main.” Twirling his thin, dark mustache, Zilar gloated over the good fortune of his first throw. Seven gave him the best odds ofnickingas the caster in the complicated rules of Hazard.
While the two adversaries glowered at each other with seething animosity and venomous rivalry, side wagers were quickly placed against Zilar’s next throw.
Cheers and shouts from the wildly exuberant audience reverberated across the tavern when Zilar rolled a two, thereby losing the round.
A grinning Cardin collected twenty pounds of his slimy opponent’s silver.
Dark eyes gleaming with glee, Xabi greedily scooped up the coins from his winning side bet and slid them into the black velvet pouch belted at his waist.
Zilar threw the dice again, winning the next round with a main of six and a nick of twelve. But when he lost the next two consecutive rolls, it was Cardin’s turn as caster.
Eyeing the cocky opponent who toyed with the dark hair above his sneering lip, Cardin took a long pull of mead, savoring the sweet honey flavor as much as the thrill of winning Zilar’s silver. He’d won sixty pounds so far, and with luck would win forty more. Enough to clear his stifling debt with Baroja. And get the notorious Basque moneylender off his back.
Cardin cast the dice, rolling a five for the main, and side bets were placed on whether he would nick, out, or chance. He rolled another five to nick the round and win another twenty pounds.
Xabi guffawed with gusty approval, sliding more silver coins into his black velvet pouch.
As he guzzled his goblet of mead, Cardin considered his good fortune.
He’d easily won eighty pounds of Zilar’s silver.
Too easily.
