Call to Juno (A Tale of Ancient Rome #3) (42 page)

Tears pricked her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, claiming her daughter and cradling her. She prayed Arruns might yet save her sons.

Pinna stepped back and returned to stand beside Camillus. Caecilia sensed her unease. The woman who’d half tamed a wolf had a conscience.

“Place Aemilia Caeciliana in a covered wagon,” called the dictator to his lictors. “I don’t want her torn to pieces by a mob before I have the chance to display her in my triumph.”

A guard shoved her to start walking. Cytheris and Tarchon fell in behind her, hands tied. All the prisoners shuffled, bodies stiff from their bonds.

As she reached the bronze doors, Caecilia stifled a sob, her throat raw. She didn’t think she could bear to see the fire pit and the evidence Vel was truly gone. All that she now possessed were memories and loss—of her people, her friends, her family, and the man she loved.

TRIUMPH

S
IXTY
-T
WO

Marcus, Rome, Summer, 396 BC

Marcus touched the scars on the inside of his wrist. He lacked the courage to dig deeper, to carve along the vein.

He relived the sword fight with Drusus constantly, shocked his friend would rather kill him than obey him. Thinking how easy it was to defeat a soldier who’d never truly recovered from his injuries. The sad memory of finally kissing the man he loved was soured by the fear he’d been too late to catch Drusus’s soul. He felt the knight’s dishonored ghost would surely haunt him forever. And he doubted the pain of losing him would ever ease.

It did not help that he had too much time to think. Until preparations for Camillus’s triumph were finalized, the troops remained camped on the Field of Mars. The Senate had not quibbled that Camillus deserved the recognition. He’d brought Rome’s greatest foe to its knees.

The sound of horses nickering outside drew Marcus from his tent. Four white stallions were hitched to a bronze chariot in the parade ground. Camillus stood on the platform beside the driver, planting his feet apart to balance himself without gripping the edges. Genucius stood nearby, surprise obvious. Marcus felt uneasy. Only the king of the gods could drive such a quadriga.

He walked to the chariot, but before he reached it, he saw Medullinus striding toward them. Aemilius and Spurius trailed behind. None of them hid their outrage.

“Brother, are you mad? You can’t ride into Rome as though you were Jupiter. Your hubris grows monumental.”

Camillus remained on the platform above them. “I’m honoring Rome’s divine ruler by choosing his sacred conveyance. I’m his mortal representative. I also pay homage to the sun god, Apollo. He and the dawn goddess granted victory to me.”

“Victory to Rome,” growled Medullinus.

The dictator shrugged. “In my triumphal march tomorrow, Rome and I are as one.”

“You’re merely a man, Furius Camillus,” said Aemilius. “And one who may find his popularity disappearing fast.”

The general’s expression darkened. He stepped down from the vehicle, waving the charioteer on. “Don’t tell me the people’s tribunes are arguing about the cost of the triumph? There’ll be four days of thanksgiving and feasting. It’s unprecedented. And I’m paying half the cost from my own plunder. The Senate agreed the State will fund the rest.”

“It’s not the expense,” said Spurius. “Calvus is spreading rumors against you. He says it’s only through his advocacy that citizens were given a share of the spoils.”

Camillus snorted. “Every Roman was given the chance to scavenge their share by decree of the Senate. They swarmed like flies on a putrid carcass the next morning after Veii had fallen. Isn’t that right, Marcus?”

The tribune nodded, remembering his shock at the invasion of civilians clogging the Via Veientana at daybreak, eager to glean their pickings.

“Calvus claims you should have granted booty to all without equivocation,” said Aemilius. “He’s gaining kudos for representing the interests of all Romans.”

Camillus exploded. “I was busy planning an attack!”

“Yet you permitted your soldiers to seize plunder without waiting for confirmation,” muttered Medullinus.

Genucius interrupted. “The general made the right decision to support the veterans.”

“Silence! I am dictator! I don’t need to justify my actions.”

Medullinus pointed to the chariot. “All this is going to your head, Brother. It’s fortunate you must stand down after you announce the date of the new elections. A man who pretends to be a god can easily think he should be a king.”

Camillus strode to his tent. “Let’s discuss this inside.” He then called to a nearby groom, “Fetch Artile.”

Marcus murmured a greeting to his father as he ducked his head and entered the tent. Aemilius smiled. He enjoyed bragging that his son had won the mural crown. His glee that Caecilia had finally been detained made Marcus uncomfortable, though. His cousin’s despair and courage had touched him after all. Hating her was no longer simple. She had been made real again.

Pinna was inside, embroidering palmettes in gold thread onto a purple toga. A purple tunic was folded next to her. At the men’s arrival, she stood, responding to Camillus’s command to serve his guests. All the politicians had grown used to her presence. Only Genucius stared at her with contempt. Marcus was astounded at how much influence she now wielded over the general. He couldn’t forget the image of her comforting “her Wolf” as he wept. It was sickening. What had happened to the man who’d warned him of the perils of falling in love?

Marcus noticed with distaste that Pinna was wearing Caecilia’s grape earrings, rings, and silver pendant. She’d not wasted her time decking herself with loot. They appeared garish on her. Having served them all, she resumed her seat, peering into the cradle next to her. Marcus stole a look at the baby. The little girl was sleeping. A pale doll with a mop of black curls and a row of tiny golden bees around her neck. Pinna resumed her work, but he could tell from the way she halfheartedly plied the needle that she was listening.

Camillus drained his cup and began pacing. “So what else are those people’s tribunes saying?”

Aemilius heaved his rumpled toga onto his shoulder. “The commoners complain they had to buy captives at auction. They say they should have been allocated.”

Camillus fumed. “Only soldiers were entitled to seize slaves. Besides, there were thousands of prisoners. Far too many for our troops to claim. There needed to be a sale. In the end those proceeds were the only ones paid into State coffers.”

Artile had entered the tent. “I fear you’re forgetting a far greater problem, Furius Camillus. You’ve failed to keep your promise to a god.”

“But the new date for the Votive Games has been proclaimed,” said Spurius. “The temple to Mater Matuta is to be reconsecrated.”

“And Juno herself has been transported to Rome,” added Camillus. “She awaits the erection of her own temple. And I ensured only surviving ordained acolytes of Uni touched her.”

Artile smoothed his eyebrow. “What about your vow to Apollo? In your people’s haste to claim their booty, no tithe was set aside for him.”

Camillus ceased pacing, color draining from his face. Head bowed, he sank onto his curule chair. The three senators looked similarly aghast.

After all his posturing, Marcus was relieved to see a glimpse of humility in the dictator. “What are we going to do, sir? How do we give one tenth when there’s not enough held in the treasury for division?”

Aemilius shook his head. “The loot should’ve been handed over to the State as is the proper process. This is what comes from breaking with custom.”

Camillus raised his head. “After my triumph I’ll resign from office. I’ve dealt with the crisis I was elected to resolve. I’ve delivered Veii to Rome. This is a matter for the Senate.”

Medullinus scowled. “And so leave a mess for the next consular generals to correct.”

Genucius snapped, “You can’t have it both ways, Medullinus. Carping that your brother should step down and then whining when he does.”

Spurius maintained his calm. “Brother, I’m afraid you can’t ignore the issue of the tithe. You’ll need to offer some advice to the Curia. You made the vow on behalf of Rome. You can’t wash your hands of it.”

Camillus frowned, then twisted around to look at Genucius. “I’m sorry, my friend. Every citizen will have to surrender one tenth of their plunder to the treasury. It’s the only way I can see to solve this.”

The plebeian flushed beet red. “You can’t ask the soldiers to do that!”

“It must apply to all, otherwise there will be insurrection.”

“He’s right, Genucius,” said Aemilius.

“I agree,” said Spurius. “But the Senate needs to be consulted first.”

Camillus turned to his older brother. “What say you?” Medullinus nodded, but Marcus saw his satisfied look at the dictator’s predicament.

“Do you think Apollo will be satisfied with such tribute?” Camillus asked Artile.

“Yes, if all Rome contributes, your contract with the deity will be kept.”

“Very well then, I’ll announce it after my triumph.”

“And so we come back to your spectacle,” said Medullinus.

Spurius frowned. “He’s merely being prudent. Let the people enjoy their holiday before receiving the bad news. Otherwise, there may be a riot.”

Aemilius put his hand on Medullinus’s arm. “Your brother deserves the accolade. He delivered the traitoress to us.”

Camillus smiled. “How does it feel to see your niece in the Carcer, Aemilius?”

“Deeply satisfying. Especially when she’s executed tomorrow.”

The dictator glanced across to the baby. “And the princess? What do you want to do with her? Artile has no interest in keeping her as a slave. After all, she is your grandniece.”

Aemilius’s gaze hovered over the child’s sleeping form. “I don’t plan to raise a half-breed foe. And I want no reminder of the shame Caecilia brought on my House. The brat will be exposed on the Esquiline.”

Marcus was stunned. His father had never expressed such an intention before.

“No!” Pinna rushed to Camillus. “You said the royal children would not be harmed!”

Aemilius glowered at her. “How dare you speak?” He transferred his scowl to Camillus. “Isn’t it time you controlled your woman?”

Taking Pinna by the elbow, Camillus pushed her behind him. “Exposing the child seems extreme, Aemilius.”

“I’m the patriarch of my family. She’s my kin. And just a girl. It’s no one’s business but my own.”

Pinna made to speak again, but Camillus snapped, “Be quiet. Go back to your sewing.”

Marcus was not prepared to be silenced. “Father, please reconsider. The princess can be given to one of our servant girls to raise. Don’t kill her. She can be sold as a slave when she’s old enough if you don’t want her under your roof.”

Aemilius walked to the tent flap. “If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.”

Marcus bridled but said no more, thinking how cruel it was the little girl’s fate should be left to his father and the priest. Again, he waited for Camillus to countermand Aemilius; instead the dictator nodded, announcing that Pinna would deliver the child to the senator’s house after the triumph.

Medullinus and Spurius rose. Also callous, they offered no opinion as to Aemilius’s edict. Artile followed, not even glancing at the doomed baby.

Stricken, Pinna rocked the cradle, murmuring to the child who’d woken.

Caius Genucius remained rooted to the spot. He was sweating profusely, drops glistening on the black mat of hair protruding from his tunic.

Marcus turned to go.

“Wait, Marcus Aemilius,” said Genucius. “I want you to hear this.”

Confused, the tribune glanced across to Camillus, who signaled him to stay.

Genucius crossed his arms and fixed his gaze on the general. “Are you really going to recommend the veterans pay a tenth part to the treasury?”

“I can’t see a way around it. The army took the cream; the civilians, the dregs. To satisfy Apollo, the tithe has to be genuine.”

The plebeian stepped closer. Marcus was surprised at his threatening stance.

“How long do you think you can manipulate me?”

Camillus tensed. “What do you mean?”

“Making me a knight but denying me a cavalry command at Nepete. I’ve always supported your patrician causes to the detriment of my class. But this is important to me. For the first time in Rome’s history, poor foot sloggers have seized their fair share. They should keep it. Let the city idlers surrender their lot.”

“So you’d rather anger Apollo?”

“No, I’d rather the knights pay more. I saw the wagon loads of booty your handpicked horsemen were able to claim.”

Camillus became heated. “Your hoardings from the conquest are far from meager.”

“You should be made accountable for this negligence!”

“And you know a dictator is immune from prosecution!”

Genucius rubbed perspiration from his face. He pointed at Pinna. “Then know this. All this time you’ve been bedding a whore. Your faithful tribune and your piece of cunni have been plotting behind your back. And once I spread the news, you, the great vir triumphalis, will become the laughing stock of Rome.”