Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(31)
THIRTEEN
It was twilight by the time she had seen to her chores. Camillus had been fed, relishing the fennel-flavored porridge; although he’d shaken his head when she’d told him it was doubly potent for having been plucked from Minerva’s skirts.
She scanned the camp as she unhooked the pot from the cooking tripod to clean it. Spirals of smoke wafted into the air from other campfires. The lowing and bleating of the animals in the enclosure behind the camp reminded her of her childhood, even though her father had never owned more than an ox to pull his plow and one nanny goat to milk.
She could hear the heavy infantrymen warming themselves around the flames, sharing jokes and tales of valor. The hoplites’ morale was always buoyed by Camillus. Every morning, the general would inspect his troops, but in the evenings he would often visit his men informally. He knew each of their names and their histories. What battles they’d fought and what scars they bore. And it was this attention that made them love him. They were commoners who were bitter against the patricians, but Camillus was forgiven his class. When he jested with them, his lineage was forgotten. These men would follow him to their deaths if he asked it.
Her Wolf did not look up as she drew back the tent flap. He sat at his desk, a lamp burning beside him. She loved his face with its aquiline nose and high forehead. As always, he was immaculately groomed. His shoulder-length hair was combed, and his short-cropped beard trimmed. His handsome hands were clean. The gold ring encircling his finger was a trophy from the Volscian who’d speared him. Despite the gravity of Camillus’s position, and the controlled violence within him, the grooves in his weathered cheeks were etched by good humor, as were the creases around his eyes.
She stood behind him, looping her arms around his neck and placing her cheek against his soft bearded one.
“You’re distracting me,” he muttered, placing one scroll to the side and unfurling the next. “I need to finish these reports. My visit to the sanctuary has meant I’m behind with my work.”
She was not deterred. She was familiar with his moods. If he wanted her gone, she would know it in his voice. She nibbled his earlobe. “I want you, my Wolf.”
His tone was firmer. “Don’t tempt me.”
She drew back and placed her hands on his shoulders, massaging the tendons at the base of his skull while he continued to read. She peered over his shoulder as he took a tablet from the pile. His stylus dug into the wax. His script was neat and sure. She wondered what the words meant. Like most girls, she’d never been taught to read or write. “What do the reports say?”
“Nothing that would interest you. Usual army business. Inventories. Sick lists.”
She rested her chin on top of his head. “Everything you do interests me.”
He chuckled. “Then you are easily satisfied.” He turned around to face her. “Tell me, how is Claudius Drusus?”
She smiled, pleased that he didn’t resent her sitting beside the sickbed of another soldier. “His flesh is healing. I removed the final stitches today.”
“You’re a worthy nurse.”
“It will be some time before his shoulder is strong enough to hold a shield.”
“It will be hard for him if he can’t. He deserved the three silver spears I awarded him.”
Pinna knew such accolades would never be enough for Drusus. He wanted a circlet of oak leaves. Or to be rewarded the mural crown—for being the first to scale the wall of the besieged city. “He’s jealous of Marcus Aemilius even though they are closer than brothers.”
His lips curled in a half smile. “Envy fuels acts of valor.”
“So you like to pit them against each other?”
“Competition is healthy. Roman men thrive on it on the battlefield, and in the law courts, and in politics.”
“But you’re fostering rivalry between two friends.”
“You’re na?ve, Pinna. I want my men to excel. I vie to do better than my older brother, Medullinus. He’s resentful that he isn’t in office.”
“And is it the same with your younger brother?”
“Spurius? Not so much. Although he is ambitious enough.” He turned back to his desk.
She was not prepared to let him ignore her. The touch of his skin beneath her fingers had aroused her. Close proximity to him always made her tingle, a shiver of expectation running through her like a breeze caressing water. She slipped off her shoes, then untied the strings of her tunic, stepping from the circle of fabric as it pooled around her feet. Then she loosened the pins from her bun, her fine black hair falling to her waist. She walked around to stand before him, the air chilly on her skin.
He laid his stylus down and pushed back from the desk, his eyes roaming over her tiny frame with its full breasts, rounded hips, and narrow waist. “Come here.”
He pulled her to him, his fingers edging around to cup her buttocks. She bent and kissed him, her tongue prying his lips open, her hair shrouding them. She drew away and knelt before him to untie his boots and unfasten his belt buckle. He stood, lifting his tunic over his head, while she unwound his loin cloth. Finally he was naked except for the broad leather girdle that supported his back. He resented having to wear it and was careful to keep it secret. To reveal such a weakness was the real reason why he would never have bathed in the sanctuary’s pool. She half rose, ready to unlace it, but he stopped her, sitting down on his chair again.