Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(83)

Semni pressed her hand to his chest. “What’s the sea like?”

“An endless stretch of water. It changes color depending on the sea god’s moods—from blue and light green in the sunlight to dark green or black with storms.” He swiveled his head to look at her. “If we survive this war, I might be able to take you and our children to the coast. Lord Mastarna may choose to visit his mother’s people in Tarchna.”

She liked that he spoke with confidence. “We are freed, Arruns. We can leave the House of Mastarna if we wish. We could travel to Canaan. And along the way I could see the cities where my vases used to be exported: Rhodes and Athens, even Carthage.”

His expression clouded. “Leave the House of Mastarna?”

“Yes. We aren’t bound to the king and queen forever.”

He shook his head. “My past can’t be recovered, no matter what you say. I would feel a foreigner in my own birthplace. Do you think I could become a trader in purple again when the red of those I’ve killed stains my hands?”

“Your duty is to your family now. Just as there is new life growing within me, there can be a fresh beginning for us if we can survive.”

Brooding, Arruns fell silent, staring across the forum.

She regretted speaking. She didn’t want the happiness of the wedding to dissolve. “I’m sorry. It’s enough that you love me. It’s enough that we’ll be a family together living in peace in Veii.”

He swung around, hugging her like a drowning man grasping for something to keep him afloat. Speaking of possibilities had only heightened the fragility of their existence. It was time to hold each other and defy death through passion. Semni placed her cheek against his untattooed cheek, touching the unmarked skin of Barekbaal, the man from Sidon, who loved the sea. “Husband, let’s go to bed. You have a job to do.”





THIRTY-SEVEN



Pinna, Rome, Spring, 396 BC

Pinna settled beside the hearth fire and threaded the needle to begin her mending. The atrium was filled with the mellow light of the afternoon. She enjoyed the spring warmth and the routine of the task, her fingers busy but her mind at rest.

When she heard the sound of the outer street door opening, she took no notice. Her Wolf was due to return from his day at the law courts. The majordomo duly hurried to greet the master.

Raised voices caught her attention. Camillus and Medullinus emerged with a third man, whom they supported around the waist. The visitor’s toga was thick with dust, his face sunburned and gaunt as he hobbled between them. Camillus called to her, “Where’s Artile?”

The question was answered as the Etruscan emerged from his cubicle. He hovered in the doorway, curiosity plain upon his features.

Camillus rapped out orders from over his shoulder. “Come into the study. My brother Spurius has returned from Delphi.” Then to the majordomo and Pinna each in turn, “Get some wine,” and, “Bring water to wash his feet.”

For a moment resentment spiked at being commanded as though she were a servant. As his concubine, she’d not expected to tend to another man. Surely the maid was more suitable for such a job. Would Camillus ever have ordered his wife to kneel before any other than him?

By the time she entered the study, she’d suppressed her indignation. At least she had an opportunity to once again listen to the senators in plain view.

Spurius was slumped in an armchair, his toga heaped on the floor. Dark rings of perspiration stained his tunic under his armpits. His face was lined with exhaustion. Medullinus drew up a stool beside him. Camillus also appeared troubled to see his younger brother in such a condition. He poured a goblet of wine to the brim. The traveler drank it in one long gulp, then gave it back to be refilled.

The family resemblance of the three siblings was striking with their aristocratic profiles and compact, lean physiques. Even in his tiredness, Pinna could tell Spurius had the military bearing of a man accustomed to issuing orders and having them obeyed.

Artile lurked next to the bookshelves, scrutinizing the Romans. His expression was apprehensive. His future lay in the hands of the weakened Spurius. Had Apollo given the same advice to the Roman delegation?

Pinna placed the ewer and jug at the guest’s feet. Then she kneeled to unlace his boots which were caked with grime. She wrinkled her nose at his stink but took her time, wanting to linger as long as possible.

Guiding one of Spurius’s feet onto her lap, she wiped his soles and callused heels, then his dirt-spattered calves and ankles. The skin was scratched and bruised. As she wrung out the cloth, the water turned murky.

“We were shipwrecked on our return,” he said. “We’re lucky to be alive. It’s taken over a month to secure passage to Rome.”

Camillus clamped his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Then we must give thanks for your safe return. We were worried when you were away for so long.”

“Our case was not dealt with immediately. We had to wait throughout winter until Apollo returned to Delphi.” Spurius rubbed the back of his neck and winced.

Camillus sat down in a chair opposite him. “What’s the matter?”

Spurius grimaced at another spasm of pain. “It’s nothing. I was thrown when the ship struck ground. My neck was jarred.”

“Then Pinna will help you. She’s skilled at massage.”