Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(25)

The priest was studying the general. “Perhaps you should seek its salutary benefits given your constant headaches, Furius Camillus. And the old injury to your leg.”

Pinna held her breath. Her Wolf had first gained fame when, as a young warrior, he’d continued to fight a battle with a spear embedded in his thigh. Many remarked on his valor but never his slight limp. He hated to be seen as weak. And he never complained of it aching.

Camillus tensed and swiveled around. “What soldier removes his armor when a foe lurks on the door step?”

Marcus directed attention back to the pantheon, rubbing the scar that puckered the skin at the corner of one eye. “So Minerva is worshipped here also?”

“Yes, this sanctuary is hers, but many divinities share the space in harmony. Apollo is among them. His mantic powers are channeled here. It’s a place for prophecies.” He turned to the altar at the opposite end of the sanctuary. “Let’s ascertain if Aplu concurs with my interpretation. And that I have not incurred Uni’s anger.”

The men moved toward the wing-shaped altar next to the sacrificial pit that connected the quick with the dead. A soldier emerged from one of the service buildings, restraining a pig by a leash. Pinna did not follow after them. As a woman, she knew better than to expect to be present at a blood sacrifice. She was glad to be spared the sight of the holy butchery.

The sun had burned away the cool edge to the early morning. Ignoring the squeal of the beast as Artile conducted his ceremony, Pinna wandered through the sanctuary, inspecting the large votive statues. She stood in front of Minerva. With an owl perched on one shoulder, the deity held a broad shield. The concubine bowed her head, finding it strange to stand on level ground with a goddess.

The divinity’s skirts were almost hidden by overgrown fennel, its yellow flowers bright against the green. Pinna smiled. The herb could season her Wolf’s dinner as well as soothe his aches. And it was said a plant growing at the feet of a statue was even more potent as a medicine. As she broke off some branches, her attention was drawn to a trench next to the sanctuary wall. There were hundreds of small votives heaped within. Each was inscribed with a prayer in peculiar writing. Some were broken—shards of spent promises. They must have been dumped there by the priests to make room for new ones to be offered to the gods.

As Apollo was the god of medicine, most of the figurines were formed in the shape of body parts: toes, hands, even a phallus for one who sought to cure his impotence. She noticed a swaddled baby. Had the infant been ill, or was the gift an invocation to bear a healthy one? A strange shape caught Pinna’s eye—a replica of a womb. Had this woman been barren? Did she seek succor in childbirth?

Laying aside the fennel, she sat cross-legged on the grass to inspect the grotesque figurine. Her thoughts returned to the brothel. The hollow looks of some lupae were not just because of the misery of their profession. The pimp would force them to abandon their infants on the Esquiline for the crows and dogs. And in the yards of some lupanariae, the vegetables were sustained by a rich compost of dead babies.

When she was a whore, Pinna had been thankful she’d not borne a child. As an emaciated night moth plying her trade outside the city wall, she rarely experienced her courses. Over time her womb pain told her she was barren. But now she wanted to bear her Wolf’s son. The yearning to be a mother was a deep ache within her.

Camillus’s voice broke through her thoughts. The men had returned to the steps of the temple. “Well, priest, tell us the answer to appeasing the gods, since you claim Apollo has sent a favorable omen.”

Pinna rose and crept closer.

The soothsayer walked over to the pool. “Do you know how this basin is full of water when there has been no rain?”

“Get to the point, priest.”

“Before you razed our crops, our fields were verdant even in drought. The Rasenna know how to harness the power of water by irrigating dry land or draining swamps.”

Camillus sat down on the step of the portico, removing his conical hide helmet and placing it beside him. “Go on.”

The Veientane once again drew their attention to the healing pool. “This basin is fed by an underground channel running outside the wall. There are many of these cuniculi that crisscross our fields underground. Our engineers have also carved vast galleries from rock to divert the Cremera River to avoid flooding.”

The general leaned forward. “All very enlightening, but what has this to do with the portent at Lake Albanus?”

The haruspex smoothed his eyebrow. “If I tell you, will you let me travel to the holy spring at Velzna? I do not relish being your servant forever.”

Camillus laughed. “Don’t try and bargain. Tell me now, or those soft hands of yours will soon be caked with dirt and your back striped by a whip.”

Artile’s voice was thick with resentment. “The waters of the lake have inundated Latium. Where once there were fields, there are only floodplains. Mater Matuta is the Latins’ ancient goddess. She has been neglected by Rome. You need to placate her. Draw off the waters and disperse them so that they no longer flow into the sea. You will also please Neptunus, the god of water. The land of Rome’s allies will be made arable again. And the goddess of the dawn will give her blessing for Rome to conquer Veii.”

Pinna gasped, astounded. Mater Matuta was more powerful than she had ever dreamed.

Camillus tapped his ring. “That’s all very well, but how is that to be achieved?”