Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(32)

“Leave it on. I want you here.”

Kneeling again, she traced the scar that curved from his shoulder to under his armpit, before trailing her hand along the lump in his clavicle where the bone had never fully mended. She moved downward, running her fingers through his chest hair, feeling the contours of his muscles, the ridges of his abdomen. Then, teasing him, she bent to graze her mouth along the indented scar on his thigh.

He grasped her with strong hands and guided her to stand and then straddle him. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed his hardness. Muscled arms wrapped around her, almost squeezing the breath from her, as he helped her to grind and rock against him.

When they’d finished, he continued to hold her tight, regaining his breath. She laid her cheek on one of his shoulders, her arms encircling his neck. Her own heart was racing. It always amazed her that he would let her mount him. A woman was supposed to be supine, a mere receptacle for a man’s semen. His back injury meant he needed her to do more. She welcomed it. He never failed to satisfy her. Or she him.

He rarely admitted their lovemaking caused him discomfort. More than once she wondered if she should offer him relief by other means, but to do so would only shock him. It was also risky. How would she explain she knew whore’s tricks without revealing she had been a whore? For that is why lupae were paid—to do what good Roman wives wouldn’t. Not that she minded such practices in the brothel or graveyard. Using hand or mouth was better than the thought of a disease that could line her womb.

He stroked her hair. “What am I going to do with you, Pinna? The sun has barely set and you’ve made me forget my duties. Next you’ll have me knowing you in daylight.”

She smiled as she swiveled from his lap and stood, extending her hand to him. “Lie down beside me for a time.” She nodded to the pile of tablets and scrolls. “All this can wait. You sleep little more than a few hours each day. No man would begrudge you a break.”

He hesitated, then, with a small shake of his head, let her lead him to their pallet.

The coolness of the autumn night now intruded after the heat of their lovemaking. She shivered and pulled the wolfskin over them as he slid in beside her. “Let me remove this now,” she said, unlacing the belt. He winced in pain but said nothing, settling on his back next to her.

Lying on her side, she laid her head against his shoulder. She relished these times. Somehow, when holding her in the wavering light of a lamp, he was inclined to talk to her. “Were you surprised to learn that it is Mater Matuta who must be placated?”

“Yes. I never thought it would be the dawn goddess who was angry.”

She placed her hand on his chest. “She brings the power of the sun. You should worship her fervently. She will bring you victory.”

“Are you counseling me in religion and war now, Pinna?”

She chewed her lip, aware she’d been too forward. Then she noticed his smile, his features half hid in shadow, half in light.

“I have family holdings in Latium,” he said. “It’s in my interest as much as Rome’s to see the land drained. I’ll be happy to see the goddess appeased.”

“My mother came from Satricum,” she said. “The town is sacred to Mater Matuta. Mama taught me to revere her.”

“Tell me about her.”

His query surprised her. She thought of her poor mother, dying of pox and madness. “Why do you ask, my Wolf?”

He stroked her cheek. “Because I wish to know all about you. She’s the one who called you ‘Pinna,’ isn’t she?”

“Yes, she called me ‘feather, her little wing.’”

“And your father’s name?”

“Lollius, Gnaeus Lollius.”

“Then your true name is ‘Lollia’?”

She inwardly cursed herself. Her given name, and her whore’s name, was inscribed on the prostitute’s roll. She wished now that she’d given an alias to the cross-eyed city magistrate when he’d registered her. “Yes, but I’ve not been called that for a long, long time. My father alone used it. ‘Pinna’ is what I like to be called.”

“And your father was forced into bondage when he couldn’t satisfy his creditors.”

“He couldn’t afford to pay the war tax, my Wolf. And most of the year he was away fighting for Rome, so my mother and I tilled the land for him. In the end Father had to sell his animals and small farm. Lastly, his armor. It wasn’t enough to pay his debts. When he was bonded, we were forced to travel to the city and find work.”

“Little citizen, it pains me that good Romans should fall on such hard times.”

She pushed aside her guilt. She didn’t deserve to be called a citizen. She’d forfeited that right when she’d become a prostitute. Yet his sympathy stirred her to challenge him. “The common soldiers are paid a salary but the tariff depletes it. Why not let them take plunder instead of giving it all to the treasury?”

“It’s not so simple. You know that. The State collects loot for the good of all. The war tax is reduced that way.”

“And yet the patricians take their own share of the spoils—treasure and land. It’s like cream added to an already sweetened dish, while booty for veterans would go partway to feed their families.”

“The nobility are liable for a greater share of the tax.”