Call to Juno (A Tale of Ancient Rome #3) (43 page)

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HREE

Pinna, Rome, Summer, 396 BC

Pinna froze, heart hammering.

Confused, Camillus swung around to her. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Your concubine is a lupa. Her name is Lollia, daughter of Gnaeus Lollius. I’ve checked with the city magistrate. Her name is on the prostitutes’ roll.”

Pinna remained paralyzed, hating the hurt in her Wolf’s eyes.

He grabbed her and shook her. “Speak to me! Is this true?”

“Yes. But I didn’t lie about my father. I’m the daughter of a soldier.”

He released her, shying away as though she were a leper. He rounded on Genucius, still incredulous. “You tell me now? Why not last year when you first chanced upon her in my tent at Falerii? Didn’t you think to advise me I was plowing a field already seeded by a hundred other men?”

Genucius reddened. “She’s vicious. She keeps tally of men’s secrets.”

Pinna rubbed her arms where Camillus had grabbed her. There were so many layers to her coercion. Her threats had always been to ensure a man’s silence. Now such secrets were like chaff, choking her throat. What point was there in blurting them? Her Wolf was lost to her no matter what she said.

Anger overtook Camillus’s disbelief. “And what is your secret, Genucius? I already knew you have a weakness for whores. What is it that she holds over you to forget your friendship and duty?” He cast a disgusted look at Pinna. “Or is it what you did with her that you wanted to hide?”

Genucius tensed. “I admit I’ve a few little perversions that harlots like her cater to. But I’m prepared to bear the brunt of ridicule if it means my fellow soldiers will see the man you truly are. One who would go back on his word and deprive them of hard-won spoils while strutting in a triumph. You’ll be judged as a fool. Strung along by your junior officer’s whore.”

Camillus glared at Marcus. “You knew about this? You weren’t also tricked when you took her as your army wife?”

Marcus stood speechless.

Genucius barked at Pinna. “Tell him, you slut. Tell the general how Marcus Aemilius shared you with Claudius Drusus. Tell him how all three of us took you in that lupanaria, one after another, on the same night.”

“Drusus? What kind of sick joke is this?” Camillus grabbed Pinna again. “Is there any man in this camp you haven’t fucked?”

She sank to the ground, catching hold of his hand. “I’ve been faithful to you, my Wolf.”

He pulled his fingers from her grip. “Don’t call me that, you filthy little liar. You were prepared to cuckold Marcus in the first place.” He strode across to the tribune, thrusting his face close to his. “Genucius failed to warn me, but why didn’t you? Did you remain silent in vengeance for me stealing her from you?”

Pinna interrupted before the knight could speak. “Drusus raped me in the lupanaria. Marcus Aemilius took pity on me and made me his concubine when I told him my father’s story. He didn’t want me to tell you how his friend assaulted me.”

Genucius snorted. “Is that all? He protected you because Drusus raped you? Who would care?”

She bristled. “You claim to be such a champion of the people, Genucius. Yet you’ve been a patrician toady for years. Where were you when soldiers like my father were forced into bondage and my mother and I were reduced to prostitution?”

“Be quiet!” Camillus sank into his chair, holding his hand to his eyes as though under too bright a light. “Tell me the true reason you made her your army wife, Marcus. Did you really think I’d be concerned Drusus abused a lupa? I judge a man on how well he fights, not whether he frequents brothels.” He glowered at Pinna. “Or how he treats the whores in them.”

He might as well have wielded a cudgel against her. He had reduced her to nothing. And at last, she could winnow her emotions, blowing away the husk of her love for him. Her growing qualms since returning to Rome were justified. His charisma had hardened into arrogance and then been corrupted into hubris. “No, I won’t be silent. Marcus acted only with good intentions. He shouldn’t be punished for his kindness.”

She walked across to the cradle where Thia lay listless on her side, sucking on the corner of her sheet, pining for her mother. She’d eaten nothing other than a little honeyed milk for days. Now Aemilius wanted to kill her. And the man she thought she loved was going to let it happen. All because of their bitter hatred for Caecilia—the sins of the mother visited upon the daughter. She lifted the girl, guiding her to lay her head on her shoulder as she rocked her. “Will you save the princess?”

Camillus frowned. “Did you really think I would let you raise the child of my greatest enemy, Pinna? Besides, it’s Aemilius’s decision.”

She took a deep breath. She’d fought so hard to leave her past behind. But now she realized she should feel no shame. She might have been a night moth but she felt nobler than this general. She did not have the blood of a city, and now this baby, on her hands.

“All you need to know is why Drusus raped me in the first place. And that is because I saw him using black magic to damn Vel Mastarna and cast a love spell on Aemilia Caeciliana. I stole the defixios and threatened to nail them to the speakers’ platform so all Rome would learn how weak he was. I know this because I was a tomb whore. I found Drusus planting the lead sheets in a sepulcher while I was trying to find a customer on a rainy night.”

Camillus leaned back as though punched in the stomach. He stared at her, haggard. “You were a tomb whore? By the gods, I wanted to marry you! No wonder you were able to bewitch me with all your superstitions and charms.”

She straightened her shoulders. “I’m a warrior’s daughter, not an enchantress.”

Genucius crossed to Camillus and placed his hand on his shoulder. “My friend, this is worse than I imagined. We’ve both been soiled by this harlot. Our reputations will suffer if it should become public. I spoke hastily. Let’s talk about the matter of the tithe after the triumph.”

Camillus nodded, more concerned with Marcus. He shouted, “Did you know she worked in a graveyard?”

The tribune stuttered. “No, sir. If I’d known she was a night moth . . . I would never have protected her.”

His words were painful, but she could see him struggling with bewilderment. She’d not betrayed his love for Drusus. She may have been a she wolf, but she was not dangerous after all.

He dragged his eyes from her and addressed the dictator. “I admit I knew Drusus had damned Mastarna. He was besotted with my cousin. That’s why he lost control when he saw Caecilia in the temple. He disobeyed orders, then attacked me when I tried to stop him from fulfilling every part of his curse.”

Camillus unsheathed his dagger and stabbed it into the surface of the desk in front of him. “Are you also under Caecilia’s spell? Did you pander to her by burning her husband’s body? ”

Marcus’s voice wavered. “I owed Mastarna a blood debt. He spared my life and those of my men at Nepete.”

Camillus yanked out the knife and pointed it at him. “And so she demanded you cremate him.”

“No. That was my idea. I knew I could not help her or her children.” He hesitated, nodding toward Thia. “And I was right.”

The dictator rammed the dagger into the wood so it stood upright. “I can hardly deprive you of the mural crown without this becoming a scandal. So you’ll show your true loyalty to me tomorrow. You’ll be the one who throws Caecilia from the Tarpeian Rock. You’ll be her executioner.”

Pinna’s jaw dropped. He truly had become a monster. Marcus glanced across to her, then back to Camillus. The pockmarks showed clearly on his ashen cheeks, his lips white. It must have taken all his strength to stand to attention and salute. “Yes, sir.” Then he strode from the tent without a backward glance.

Camillus turned to her and straightened his arm, pointing at the tent opening. His eyes were hard, his voice low, once again the composed commander. “Take off the jewelry I gave you. You’ll leave here with only the clothes you’re wearing. And deliver that child to the House of Aemilius immediately. You’re lucky I don’t have you whipped. I want nothing more to do with you.”

Pinna trembled, overwhelmed. She was destitute. Not even possessing enough to pay a lupa’s registration fee to the city magistrate. She had come full circle. The life of a night moth loomed.

Turning her back to the two men, she laid Thia in the cradle. Then she slid the rings from her fingers and unfastened the earrings. Removing them was a relief. She felt purified. Camillus had insisted she wear them. Although she’d drawn the line at wearing the gold coronet while he’d bedded her.

She unclasped the delicate silver pendant that nestled beside her fascinum and Venus shell. The engraved huntress summoned an image of Aemilia Caeciliana to her mind. The kohl around the queen’s honey-colored eyes was smeared from where she’d wiped away tears. Faded powder revealed a purple birthmark on her throat. Camillus had called her a whore, but Pinna saw only nobility as the captive stood defiant in her sheer blood-spattered dress. And the way Caecilia spoke to him had astonished her. Her words were full of contempt and rebellion even though she was wretched. The noblewoman’s courage vanished, though, when she relinquished Thia. Pinna would forever be haunted by the mother’s mournful weeping when she took the baby from her arms.

She tucked the necklace into Thia’s clothes as she wrapped the little girl in the coverlet. As she lifted the child, the golden tesserae tumbled onto the sheet, the only playthings the little girl owned. Pinna palmed them, not prepared to let Thia go without. She knew somehow she would save this child. She’d assured Caecilia she would care for the princess. She was not going to fail her.

Turning, she found Camillus observing her. There was no sign he regretted losing her. A different man stood before her than the man she’d adored. She straightened her shoulders and thrust out her chin, emulating the Veientane queen. “No, Furius Camillus. It’s I who want nothing to do with you. I thought I’d stolen your soul, but it’s clear you have no soul to steal.”

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Semni, Tarchna, Summer, 396 BC

Feet sunk into sand, Semni watched the rush and spread of water, intrigued by the surge and pull at her ankles. The susurration and rhythm of each wave hypnotized her.

She’d not expected the enormity of the sea. How it stretched to an empty horizon, its color, its sound. How it was living and breathing.

Nerie stood beside her, dancing on the spot, lifting each foot, and laughing as the water rushed in and out. Then he bumped down, scooped up a handful, and watched the wet sand drip onto his legs before the water once again covered them.

The tot was the only one who’d recovered from the events of the last week. His terror had subsided as soon as the refugees arrived in Tarchna, happy enough to be sleeping on a bed between his parents.

Semni wished having a roof over her head, and plenty of food, could heal her as easily. She’d washed off the blood and changed her clothes, but she dreaded nights when bad dreams would assail her, and mornings when she realized, day after day, they were real.

The voyage under the stifling hides took its toll. By the time the barge glided under the last bridge to reach the tributary north, all of them had been dull eyed and dehydrated. There had been moments of tension when they passed each river fort, but as Arruns had predicted, the Romans were too preoccupied with plundering Veii. Free at last to breathe in smokeless air, the fugitives had huddled in the stern of the boat to watch the dark forest silhouettes glide by. Semni had observed the pale twilight sky, trying not to look back at the dark cloud hovering over her home.

They must have made a strange sight. A tattooed Phoenician with a family that bore no resemblance to him. Semni worried they were too conspicuous. When challenged, Arruns said they were migrants heading for the rich lands of the coast. The queen’s jewelry secured safe passage. And clean clothes and supplies. They bought a wagon in a village near Lake Sabatinus, joining the traffic heading west toward the Tolfa Hills.

Sighting Tarchna took her breath away. Acropolis and necropolis stood opposite each other. The living observing their ancestors. The dead protecting their descendants. And beyond, six miles below on the plain, stretched the blue-green Tyrhennian Sea and the bustling docks and emporiums of Port Gravisca.

When the king’s uncle, Lord Atelinas, found them on his threshold, there was shock, then rejoicing. Vel Mastarna would be mourned, but at least his sons were reunited with kin. And the servants who’d saved the princes were offered refuge in the household. Yet to Semni, being granted asylum did not assuage grief. Her memories of her last day at Veii were constant, drifting through her mind like the shadows of clouds scudding over hillsides on summer breezes.

Taking Nerie by the hand, she helped him to toddle up the beach to where Arnth and Larce knelt digging. Perca sat cross-legged beside them, staring blankly. Semni wondered if the maid would ever recover from her ordeal. Arruns was the only man from whom she did not cringe.

On their flight, rumors were overheard as fellow travelers exchanged news as well as wineskins. Veii was no more. The king had died. The queen was due to be executed in Rome. Semni tried to keep the news from small ears. Nevertheless, the boys sensed that the worst had happened to their parents. Larce cried himself to sleep every night, calling for his mother. Arnth’s tears were less frequent, but at every request, he was defiant and challenging.

Tas sat apart from his brothers on the beach, tracing spirals in the sand with one finger. He did not need to be told. His amber eyes would meet hers, sorrow glazing them even when not brimming with tears.

Semni also agonized over Thia. What had happened to the baby she’d nursed for one year? She could only pray the Romans would show her mercy, even if they had not spared her parents.

Aricia was collecting seashells on the shore, crouching to examine them. Her face was drawn, haunted by not knowing the fates of Cytheris and Lady Tanchvil. Even though word had reached Tarchna that Queen Uni was now Juno Regina in Rome, Aricia still wore the white-and-red robes of a cepen. Uni’s high priest at Gravisca had welcomed her as his acolyte. She wondered how the girl could serve a deity who’d committed immortal treachery.

Semni settled Nerie next to Larce and Arnth, then walked across to sit next to Tas, giving him company but not expecting conversation.

Noticing the pair, Aricia ceased her inspection of the shells and limped over to join them. She slipped her arm around the prince’s shoulders. “You must stop brooding, my pet.”

“Apa and Ati are dead, aren’t they?”

The two girls glanced at each other over his head.

Semni squeezed his hand. “We’ll not lie to you, Tas. Word has come that your father was killed. The Romans are to execute your mother soon. Be brave. You’re the eldest and must be an example to your brothers. It’s up to all of us to honor their memory. And one day you will wreak vengeance.”

Aricia kissed his hair. “Lord Atelinas has told us he’ll hold funeral games for them soon. They won’t be forgotten, my pet. Not while we revere them every year at the festival of our ancestors.”

Tas clenched his fists, his voice choked. “If I was a soothsayer I would have known what my dream meant. The wolves in the cave were the Romans in the tunnel. I should’ve warned Apa.”

“No one expected you to interpret the omen,” said Semni. “And not even Lady Tanchvil understood what it meant. She thought it was a nightmare, not a vision.”

Aricia bent her head close to his. “One day you’ll be trained to be a haruspex and fulgurator, Tas. Then you’ll have the power to interpret divine will. Your fame will spread to every city within the Twelve.”

It was the first time in days Semni had seen his eyes light up. “I will become a great seer?”

Aricia nodded. “I’m sure the high priest will give you tuition.”

Semni glared at her over the boy’s head, then touched Tas’s knee. “Go and play with the others. Enjoy this day in the sunshine and stop worrying about such matters.”

He glanced across to the princes, reluctant to finish the conversation. Aricia had seen Semni’s disapproval, though. She kissed the top of his head again. “Go, my pet. We will talk of this later.”

When he was out of earshot, Semni rounded on her. “Now is not the time to put such ideas into his head!”

“He’s talented. With training . . .”

“He’s just a little boy who has lost his parents. By the gods! Let us finish mourning first!” Frustrated, she marched away.

A lone figure was standing at the water’s edge at the far end of the beach, watching two ships passing in the sea lane beyond the shore. Their sails were full, prows carving the waves, their wash foaming behind them.

Arruns unfastened his belt, letting his long kilt drop, then strode into the water until he stood waist deep before diving beneath the flat green surface.

Thinking he might drown, Semni sprinted toward him, kicking up sand. Reaching his pile of clothes, she waited anxiously for him to resurface.

His head appeared, then he began swimming, gliding through the water with easy strokes.

Her breathing eased when she saw him heading back. Water streamed from his massive shoulders as he waded toward her, the snake revealed.

“I was worried you’d sink.”

He frowned. “I’m a strong swimmer. I was in no danger.” He picked up his kilt, wrapping it around him, and sat on the sand. Bending his knees, he rested his elbows on them, staring at the horizon, squinting against the glare.

Normally taciturn, he’d become morose since arriving in Tarchna. Surliness was his armor. No matter how much she sought his caresses, he was distant. She understood he was grieving but she wanted him to share his sorrow with her.

She sat beside him and leaned her head against his shoulder. The biremes sailed farther away, oars dipping. The beat of the drum as the overseer kept the rowers in rhythm grew fainter. She sensed longing in him. “Do you want to return to Sidon?”

He shook his head. “The princes need both of us.” He glanced at her thickening waist. “And our son is yet to be born.”

She was relieved. She couldn’t bear it if he became a sailor and left Nerie and her for months on end. In the terror of the last week, the child growing within her had been a tiny glimmer of hope, a small piece of comfort. “At least he will not be born into war.”

As if on cue, she felt the baby move, heralding his presence. She gasped, pressing her hand to her belly.

Arruns turned around, quizzical.

Another tiny nudge. “I’ve quickened.”

He focused on her stomach. “Can I feel him?”

She smiled, untying her sash, and hiked up her chiton. His roughened palm was cool against her rounded flesh. She prayed their son would once again stretch his limbs.

The baby stirred. And Barekbaal the Canaanite, known as Arruns, the man who had saved the heirs of the House of Mastarna, the warrior with the serpent tattoo and the courage of a lion, raised his head and smiled.