Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(59)

“Then you don’t hate her anymore?”

“No. I am past that.”

“Still, I wouldn’t trust her if I were you. Do you believe she wouldn’t reveal your secret if it suited her?”

Drusus stammered, “What do you know about my secret?”

Marcus was confused by his friend’s apprehension. “I was there that night, remember? The lupanaria.”

Drusus’s speech returned to normal. “Yes, yes, of course. The night in the brothel. I treated her badly. I’ve tried to make amends.”

Marcus frowned. “Is there something else she holds over you? She has a talent for extortion.”

The decurion straightened, dragging his fingers through his wet hair, his voice terse. “She holds the rape over me, that’s all. What I want to know is what she holds over you? You’ve never said why you really made her your concubine.”

“I told you, I took pity on her for what we did.”

“But you did nothing wrong. Just f*cked a prostitute. Why worry about that? Camillus disdains those who use whores, but it’s hardly something he’d punish you for.”

“True, but I’d gain no respect from him either.”

Drusus scowled. “I agree. Needing to force a whore who’s paid to open her legs seems cowardly. He’d think less of me. He’d probably pass me over for promotion.” His tone was bitter. “Unlike you, who seems to do no wrong in Camillus’s eyes.”

Marcus ignored his resentment. “I took her as my army wife to protect you. I didn’t want to see the little bitch maligning you to the general.”

Drusus scanned Marcus’s face. “That’s it? You let her share your bed because of me? There was no threat to you personally?”

Marcus was perspiring, as though deceit was oozing from his pores. To his relief, Drusus did not press his query but instead slapped him on the back. “You’re a true friend. And I owe my life to you twice over. First against the Volscians and then outside Veii.” He surveyed the river. “Maybe one day I will return the favor.”

There was sincerity in his voice. Wistfulness, too. Marcus knew it worried his friend that he must always be seen as the victim, not the hero. He placed Drusus’s neck in a playful headlock. “You’re the one who cut down Vel Mastarna. I surrendered my spear. How do you think I feel knowing that I owe my life to an enemy?”

Drusus ducked his head from Marcus’s hold. “One day we’ll get the chance to slay that smooth-skinned bastard. Do you remember the defixio?”

“It’s hard not to forget a night spent in a sepulcher in a storm.”

Drusus picked up a pebble and lobbed it into the water. “I recite the curse in my dreams.”

Marcus was glad that he alone knew of his friend’s use of black magic. “The death penalty awaits those who use a defixio to condemn a man.”

The decurion threw another stone with greater force. “I told you, I seek an enemy’s downfall, not another citizen’s.”

The tribune frowned. There may well be a loophole in the law, but it troubled him that his companion placed such store in superstition. Marcus rose, extending his hand. Drusus grasped it and swung himself to standing.

“We won’t need evil spirits to destroy Mastarna,” said Marcus. “One day, we’ll bring him and my cousin home to face judgment.”

Drusus hesitated. “I know we declare such things about Caecilia to Camillus. But do you truly seek her execution?”

“Of course I do. We’ve been through this before.”

“I know, but sometimes I’d like to think . . . I hope . . .”

Marcus was astounded. “Oh, for goodness sake! Do you really believe Mastarna absconded with her? And has forced himself on her all these years to sire their four children? You did not see them on the day my father compelled him to divorce her. They stood apart, but their bodies leaned toward each other as flowers turn their faces to the sun. They whispered together in Etruscan, keeping secrets from us in plain view, while their eyes traced lines of adoration from eyes to cheeks and lips.” He reached across and placed his hand on Drusus’s shoulder, knowing he needed to be harsh. “They were speaking words of love. Believe me, my friend. She’s not pining for you. So why do you persist with this fantasy?”

Drusus flushed scarlet and shrugged him away. His hands balled into fists. “Because she makes me strong! Imagining Caecilia lying with Mastarna gives me the surge that rips through my chest whenever I kill a man in battle. The blood rage. To kill or be killed. No rules to hold me. It’s as great as the flow of pleasure when my seed spurts into a whore. She gives me a reason to fight.”

Marcus stared at him, stunned at the vehemence. Drusus’s aggression was well known. He could be foolhardy in his bravery. But Mastarna’s accusation niggled. Had Drusus attacked the Veientane when his back was turned? Marcus never dared to repeat the slur to him, but now his doubt deepened. Was Drusus’s warped love for Caecilia enough to impel him to cowardice? He pushed the thought aside, ashamed at questioning his friend’s honor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know the depth of your pain.”

Drusus said nothing as he bent to pick up his corselet, retreating from the intimacy of confidences. “My groom needs to polish this.”

Marcus heard a shout. To his surprise, he saw Tatius striding toward them from the direction of the palisade. He instinctively scanned the horizon but saw no sign of an attack. “What is it, Tatius? Why your haste?”