Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(135)

Genucius interrupted. “The general made the right decision to support the veterans.”

“Silence! I am dictator! I don’t need to justify my actions.”

Medullinus pointed to the chariot. “All this is going to your head, Brother. It’s fortunate you must stand down after you announce the date of the new elections. A man who pretends to be a god can easily think he should be a king.”

Camillus strode to his tent. “Let’s discuss this inside.” He then called to a nearby groom, “Fetch Artile.”

Marcus murmured a greeting to his father as he ducked his head and entered the tent. Aemilius smiled. He enjoyed bragging that his son had won the mural crown. His glee that Caecilia had finally been detained made Marcus uncomfortable, though. His cousin’s despair and courage had touched him after all. Hating her was no longer simple. She had been made real again.

Pinna was inside, embroidering palmettes in gold thread onto a purple toga. A purple tunic was folded next to her. At the men’s arrival, she stood, responding to Camillus’s command to serve his guests. All the politicians had grown used to her presence. Only Genucius stared at her with contempt. Marcus was astounded at how much influence she now wielded over the general. He couldn’t forget the image of her comforting “her Wolf” as he wept. It was sickening. What had happened to the man who’d warned him of the perils of falling in love?

Marcus noticed with distaste that Pinna was wearing Caecilia’s grape earrings, rings, and silver pendant. She’d not wasted her time decking herself with loot. They appeared garish on her. Having served them all, she resumed her seat, peering into the cradle next to her. Marcus stole a look at the baby. The little girl was sleeping. A pale doll with a mop of black curls and a row of tiny golden bees around her neck. Pinna resumed her work, but he could tell from the way she halfheartedly plied the needle that she was listening.

Camillus drained his cup and began pacing. “So what else are those people’s tribunes saying?”

Aemilius heaved his rumpled toga onto his shoulder. “The commoners complain they had to buy captives at auction. They say they should have been allocated.”

Camillus fumed. “Only soldiers were entitled to seize slaves. Besides, there were thousands of prisoners. Far too many for our troops to claim. There needed to be a sale. In the end those proceeds were the only ones paid into State coffers.”

Artile had entered the tent. “I fear you’re forgetting a far greater problem, Furius Camillus. You’ve failed to keep your promise to a god.”

“But the new date for the Votive Games has been proclaimed,” said Spurius. “The temple to Mater Matuta is to be reconsecrated.”

“And Juno herself has been transported to Rome,” added Camillus. “She awaits the erection of her own temple. And I ensured only surviving ordained acolytes of Uni touched her.”

Artile smoothed his eyebrow. “What about your vow to Apollo? In your people’s haste to claim their booty, no tithe was set aside for him.”

Camillus ceased pacing, color draining from his face. Head bowed, he sank onto his curule chair. The three senators looked similarly aghast.

After all his posturing, Marcus was relieved to see a glimpse of humility in the dictator. “What are we going to do, sir? How do we give one tenth when there’s not enough held in the treasury for division?”

Aemilius shook his head. “The loot should’ve been handed over to the State as is the proper process. This is what comes from breaking with custom.”

Camillus raised his head. “After my triumph I’ll resign from office. I’ve dealt with the crisis I was elected to resolve. I’ve delivered Veii to Rome. This is a matter for the Senate.”

Medullinus scowled. “And so leave a mess for the next consular generals to correct.”

Genucius snapped, “You can’t have it both ways, Medullinus. Carping that your brother should step down and then whining when he does.”

Spurius maintained his calm. “Brother, I’m afraid you can’t ignore the issue of the tithe. You’ll need to offer some advice to the Curia. You made the vow on behalf of Rome. You can’t wash your hands of it.”

Camillus frowned, then twisted around to look at Genucius. “I’m sorry, my friend. Every citizen will have to surrender one tenth of their plunder to the treasury. It’s the only way I can see to solve this.”

The plebeian flushed beet red. “You can’t ask the soldiers to do that!”

“It must apply to all, otherwise there will be insurrection.”

“He’s right, Genucius,” said Aemilius.

“I agree,” said Spurius. “But the Senate needs to be consulted first.”

Camillus turned to his older brother. “What say you?” Medullinus nodded, but Marcus saw his satisfied look at the dictator’s predicament.

“Do you think Apollo will be satisfied with such tribute?” Camillus asked Artile.

“Yes, if all Rome contributes, your contract with the deity will be kept.”

“Very well then, I’ll announce it after my triumph.”

“And so we come back to your spectacle,” said Medullinus.

Spurius frowned. “He’s merely being prudent. Let the people enjoy their holiday before receiving the bad news. Otherwise, there may be a riot.”