“Behold the palace of the great King Vel Mastarna.”
She opened her eyes at Artile’s deep voice. She glanced across to him and realized he was speaking to himself. Then she raised her eyes and gasped at the vast edifice before her.
The convoy halted, lining up in readiness for its cargo. Artile climbed down from the cart and headed to the portico without waiting for her. She scurried after him, noticing Camillus’s groom holding the general’s white stallion at the bottom of the broad set of steps.
“Pinna!” Marcus ran up the steps behind her. He was splattered with blood, his face filthy. “What are you doing here?”
“The general sent for me.”
He scowled. “Come on, then. I’ve only just returned from the city.”
Now she chased both men as they hastened through an impressive courtyard. Once again, she averted her eyes from the gore around her, following the men through tall bronze doors into a room whose walls were covered with murals.
A group of knights were milling around a closed set of studded double doors to a further room. She expected the soldiers to be buoyant after their victory; instead they were preoccupied, muttering to each other. The stink of them filled the air, their faces and clothes covered in soot, their arms stained red to the elbows. Artile did not even glance at them. He was agitated, wringing his hands. Pinna realized he must be anxious to see if Tarchon and the little prince had survived.
Marcus strode over to the cavalrymen, who saluted. “What’s going on here?”
“We delivered some treasure to General Camillus. Now he and General Genucius have locked the doors,” said a decurion, eying Pinna askance. “No one is to enter other than the concubine and priest.”
Marcus hammered on the bronze. One massive door opened a fraction. Genucius acknowledged the tribune with a nod. “Ah, Marcus. Come inside, too.”
The one-eyed commander shut the door once Pinna and the two men edged through the gap. Her mouth dropped open. She’d entered the heart of the realm. Before her was a huge throne on a dais with a smaller throne beside it. And in front of the podium, her Wolf sat on his curule chair, helmet on the floor beside him, cradling his head with his hands. Next to him was a pile of gold coins stacked higher than a man.
Tearing her eyes from the loot, Pinna ran to her lover’s side and prized his hands from his face. Camillus raised his head. His expression was harrowed. His eyes were brimming with tears.
“What is it, my Wolf? Are you ill?”
He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, then gripped her fingers. “Have you seen what I’ve done, Pinna? How the dead litter the avenues and squares? It’s taken me all day to traverse every corner of the city. And all around me for miles were weapons, bodies, and lamentation.”
Love for him welled. After witnessing his fervor yesterday, she expected him to be jubilant and callous. “You’ve won a great victory, my Wolf.”
He searched her face. “Have I? I didn’t win a battle. I trapped them like fish in a dam, then spiked them one by one.”
“Remember you defeated the armies stationed here, my Wolf. You overcame warriors.”
“Soldiers roused from slumber in the early morn before they had time to don armor. Scrambling to orientate themselves, waking to a nightmare. There were a few pockets of armed resistance. Most were easily quelled. Only the old campaigner, Lusinies, managed to mount a credible defense.”
“As you planned. Remember the dawn goddess is on your side.”
To her surprise he wrapped his arms around her, burying his forehead between her breasts. “Divine favor that overwhelms me. See the coins? They are but a glimpse of the riches held in the treasury.”
She glanced over his head to Caius Genucius. He stood stroking his thick beard, eyes hard with hate. Marcus rubbed his puckered scar, then looked away. Artile waited behind a bronze-clad table laden with scrolls, impatient, brimful with questions.
She bent and whispered, “Rome will thank you for this conquest, my Wolf. You’ve delivered wealth that will help both rich and poor. Hunger will no longer stalk us. Would Juno have answered your call if she’d not wished the Veientanes to be defeated?”
She felt the tension in his body ease. He released her and rose, cupping her face between his palms. “As always, you know how to soothe me.”
Artile was querulous. “Where’s Tarchon? And Prince Tas?”
The general ignored him, focusing on Marcus. “What happened? Your messenger told me Vel Mastarna is dead.”
Artile gasped. “My brother, dead? I thought he was to be captured!” He walked across to the tribune, seizing his forearm. “Is Tarchon dead, too?”
Marcus shucked him off.
Camillus roared. “Silence! I don’t care about that mollis. Let Marcus Aemilius speak. Was Mastarna armed? Did he put up a fight?”
Marcus hesitated, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. Pinna wondered why he was so nervous.
“We found him at prayer when we broke into the temple. He wore no armor. In the confusion, he was fatally wounded.”
“Who killed him?”
“Claudius Drusus.”
Camillus’s face suffused with color. “So the man who swore vengeance forgot his orders! Where is he now?”
There was pain in the tribune’s voice. “Dead, sir. I killed him.”
The general grunted in surprise. Pinna’s pulse quickened.
“Drusus attacked me when I commanded him not to behead the king,” continued Marcus. “So I defended myself. I wish he’d heeded me . . .” His lowered his head, his words trailing away.
Seeing his officer’s distress, Camillus stepped across to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. “I feel for you, Marcus. He was your friend. But what you did was justified. Drusus placed personal feelings above Rome’s.”
Marcus raised his head. “I burned his body, sir.”
“Drusus’s?”
“No, Vel Mastarna’s.”
Camillus shoved the tribune’s shoulder. “What!”
“I killed Drusus to stop him mutilating the king’s body. I couldn’t take the chance others would as well. Mastarna always treated our dead with respect.”
“You’ve denied me the chance to look on him one last time! To display a conquered leader to our people!”
Marcus fell to one knee, head bowed. “I accept my punishment, sir. But there was no direct order concerning Mastarna’s corpse. I burned him in a cooking pit. He deserved better.”
“At least tell me you showed no mercy to your cousin.”
“She’s in the temple with Prince Tarchon.”
Artile interrupted, his voice hopeful. “Then he’s alive?
“He was breathing when I left him. I knocked him unconscious.”
“Then let me go to him.”
Camillus curled his lip. “Your brother lies dead, and your city in ruins—and all you worry about is a lover who spurned you?”
“I don’t weep for my brother. Nor for his bitch. I’m the master of the House of Mastarna now.”
“Have you seen the destruction about you? You’re master of nothing.”