Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(57)

“No!” Medullinus sat down on the couch and pointed to his bare feet. “Call that woman of yours and tell her to bring me my sandals!”

Pinna retreated, anxious not to be discovered listening. She’d only gone a few steps, though, when her Wolf stepped into the corridor. “Eavesdropping as usual. You heard him; he wants to leave.”

She stooped and picked up the sandals from the row beside the doorway. Medullinus snatched the pair from her, his spite turning to her as he slipped on the thongs. “You do yourself no favors, Brother, by consorting with this peasant girl.”

Pinna tensed, uncomfortable at becoming the center of attention.

Camillus tensed. “She’s the daughter of a veteran who was sold into bondage due to this city’s failure to support its soldiers.”

The consular general rolled his eyes. “Don’t say you’ve become a bleeding heart as well. At least promise me you have no plans to wed her. You’ll be a laughing stock if you do. And threaten your sons’ inheritance if she bears more children.”

Pinna flushed scarlet. She felt trapped, paralyzed by humiliation.

“There’s no law forbidding a senator marrying his concubine. And Pinna is unable to bear children.”

Medullinus’s gaze raked over her again. “Whether you’re plowing a fertile or barren field, you’re still seen as weak to fall for a pretty face and some juicy cunni.”

The consular general headed for the doorway. Camillus grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him around. “I could always best you in a fight when we were young. I’ll do so again if you insult her.”

Medullinus shrugged him away, then gestured toward the Veientane. “You’re bringing our House into disrepute. People are already questioning your judgment.” Not waiting for a response, he stormed into the corridor.

Embarrassed by the siblings’ argument, Scipio followed, his head down. Pinna heard the clip-clop of his sandals on the tiled floor as he hurried toward the atrium.

Artile smoothed one eyebrow as he observed the descent of the dinner party into disaster. He seemed vexed rather than amused, though. Once again, his counsel had been ignored. He flinched but said nothing when Camillus barked at him to go to his room.

Genucius glared at Pinna, lips pursed. She turned her head, unable to deal with his silent censure.

Her Wolf placed his hand on the plebeian’s back. “I will not forget your loyalty, Genucius. Together we reduced Mastarna’s army at the Battle of Blood and Hail. I believe there’ll come a time when I’ll be dictator. And when I am, I’ll ensure you’re made a knight.”

Genucius was taken aback. “A knight?”

Camillus smiled. “A dictator can bypass Senate and Assembly. I see no reason why wealthy plebeians who provide their own horses can’t be equestrians. I’ll make sure you lead a regiment.”

The men grasped each other’s forearms. Genucius nodded. “Patrician and plebeian, shoulder to shoulder.”

Camillus pulled his friend close. “And you’ll do what you can to keep Calvus in check? Our alliance remains firm?”

Genucius nodded again. “Yes. Our friendship remains strong. If necessary, I will not let Calvus succeed in vetoing any troops—provided you support my ambitions to once again hold power.”

Pinna was astonished. Was it bribery or loyalty she was witnessing? Either way, both men had strengthened their bond. She stooped and handed Genucius his sandals. He regarded her and then Camillus. For a fleeting fraction, she sensed he was going to speak out; instead he thanked her for his shoes.

When the men left, Pinna called to the maid to help her tidy the room. Thoughts spun in her mind about the night’s revelations and altercations. And then, in the clatter of clearing dishes and wine cups, she felt a surge of happiness. Her Wolf had defended her to his brother. And he’d not derided the suggestion that he take her as his lawful wife.





TWENTY-FOUR



Marcus, Falerii, Winter, 397 BC

The icy burn bit into Marcus’s flesh as he dived under the water and resurfaced. He swam with strong, energetic breaststrokes to ward off the cold.

Around him, the men of his brigade griped as they waded into the river, shivering and crossing their arms before they submerged and joined their commander in the exercise.

Drusus dived after his friend, yelling at him to set up a race to the far bank into deeper waters. Marcus eased up to let his competitor draw even. Furious splashing and kicking ensued until both glided to the edge, Marcus’s fingertips touching first. Drusus laughed and cursed, then challenged him again, turning to give himself a head start. He streaked away. Marcus yelled in protest, and a new contest began.

Drusus reached the shallows first and stood, waist deep. Marcus caught up, also standing, and gave him a thump on the back, calling him a cheat. His companion smiled and shrugged, then dived into the river, doing another lap. Marcus noticed Drusus did not seem hampered by his weak shoulder when buoyed by the current. However, the joint was a latent concern. It had been dislocated so many times that another knock could wrench it from its socket. Marcus doubted the knight had strength to wield a shield as a bludgeon if forced into hand-to-hand fighting. Aemilius must have thought the same. He’d promoted Tatius to head decurion instead of the Claudian.

Marcus hated to see his friend’s frustration at being passed over. Pinna claimed Drusus was jealous of him. But it was a friendly rivalry, not based on spite. She did not understand that nobles jockeyed for position. If anything, Drusus had greater chances than he did in the future: His father and uncles were dead. He was the head of an extremely wealthy house. He held the potential to broker deals and buy favors if he could manage to control his moods and temper.