Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(84)

The guest glanced down at her, as though first noticing her.

Medullinus snorted. “Yes, I can imagine just how skilled she is.”

Spurius looked first at one brother and then the other, confused at their exchange.

She waited for her Wolf to introduce her as his concubine. Or at least put Medullinus in his place. Instead he ignored the jibe and signaled to her to attend to Spurius. “Rub his neck.”

Hurt that he would ask her to perform so intimate a task, Pinna sat back on her heels. Medullinus smirked. Determined not to show she was humiliated, she rose, keeping her expression blank, and stepped behind the emissary. Pressing her fingers into the base of his neck, she tested whether it was bone as well as muscle that was damaged. He tensed as she touched a sore spot, then his shoulders relaxed as she eased into the massage. He said nothing to her, prepared to accept the ministrations without further acknowledging her.

Camillus dragged his armchair closer. He sat with legs apart, hands on each knee, leaning forward. “What did the oracle say about Lake Albanus?”

“As always, the Pythia spoke in a trance, the fumes of the great chasm enveloping her. But Apollo’s priests interpreted her words. They said that the dawn goddess, Mater Matuta, had been neglected. That Rome had offended the gods of Latium by the wrongful observance of the rites.”

Astounded, Pinna twisted her head to look at Artile. The smile on his face was triumphant. Camillus also grinned, beckoning to him to come forward. The priest sauntered across.

Medullinus couldn’t hide his shock. He also leaned forward, gripping Spurius’s forearms. “And the expiation rites? What were prescribed?”

“That the waters of Lake Albanus must be dispersed so they no longer mingle with the sea. Only then will the gods be appeased, and Rome will conquer Veii.”

The consular general leaned back as though he’d received a blow.

Camillus cocked his head to one side and laughed. “Well, it seems Artile has been right all along, Medullinus.”

Spurius scanned the soothsayer from head to toe, taking in the features of the foe with his unbearded chin, oval eyes, and long ankle-length tunic. “You’re Artile Mastarna? The Veientane seer?”

Unperturbed at such scrutiny, the Etruscan met the Roman’s gaze.

Medullinus smoothed his hair over his bald patch. “There’s much for you to catch up on, Spurius. Our brother here decided to value the word of a traitor.”

Camillus crossed his arms. “One who has proved his reputation was not exaggerated.”

Pinna stopped massaging Spurius’s neck as he swiveled to look at his older brothers in turn, then turned his gaze back to the haruspex. “What’s going on here?”

Camillus stood. “I’ll tell you what’s happening. I captured Artile back in late summer after the Battle of Blood and Hail. It’s now spring, almost a year later. The answer to Lake Albanus has been known all this time. Instead of heeding me, the Senate shunned the seer and ignored my advice. The precondition for victory over Veii could have been fulfilled by now.”

Medullinus pressed his lips into a straight line and muttered, “He was a traitor.”

“That’s right. He was betraying Veii. Why not take advantage of it?”

“You think Veii would be conquered by now? You think you should’ve been made dictator? There was no crisis to demand such an appointment. Only your ambition.”

“I warned you the date of the Votive Games had been wrongly proclaimed. I advised you to court our allies and drain the floodplains.” He thumped the desk beside him. “It’s time someone competent was governing Rome.”

Medullinus stood, balling his hands. “Be careful who you call incompetent, Brother. The Senate and I acted prudently. I make no apologies for that.”

“Will you concede now that new elections must be held? That those in power who declared the wrong date for the games must stand down?”

“We don’t need to vacate office. We can make reparations to Latium and begin the irrigation of Lake Albanus.”

Spurius gingerly rose and pushed between them, a hand against each of their chests. “Stop it. The Furian brothers should stand shoulder to shoulder, not pitted against each other like dogs. Let us look ahead now. Rome has the chance to grasp victory at last.”

Pinna stared at the peacemaker. Had it always been thus? Had he pulled apart his squabbling siblings in a time of skinned knees and tree climbing? He could not claim the same glory as his older brothers, but he was both an esteemed augur and politician.

Artile broke through their argument. “Tell me, Spurius Furius Medullinus, did the oracle give the delegation any more advice?”

Spurius stared at him. “Why, yes.”

“A tithe for Apollo, perhaps.”

The ambassador’s jaw dropped. “You’re right, one tenth of the spoils taken at Veii must be sent back to Delphi in tribute.”

Once again, Medullinus appeared startled, then his expression changed. There was grudging respect in his voice. “You are indeed prescient, Artile Mastarna.”

The haruspex caressed the crescent fibula at his throat. His despondency and resentment had vanished. “I think the Curia should acknowledge my powers.”

Medullinus grimaced as though tasting gall. “Don’t expect us to grovel to you.”

Camillus picked up a fresh scroll and stylus from his desk. “I think Artile should be afforded due respect once Spurius and the other envoys formally confirm that he was correct.” He offered the papyrus sheet to Medullinus. “Call a special meeting of the Senate. And this time, I will address it with the greatest seer that Rome has ever known at my side. I plan to propose that an interregnum be established so that fresh elections can be held. I will ask that the irrigation of Lake Albanus be commissioned without delay.”