He glanced around to check if anyone could hear. “It’s not infatuation,” he hissed. “And don’t pretend you wouldn’t expose me to the general if you had the chance.”
As a reflex, she reached out her hand to touch his arm, then dropped it. “I told you I would never do that. Why won’t you believe me?”
“Because you’re a conniving lupa. You coerced me into making you my army wife to force me to remain silent about that night in the brothel. I wasn’t prepared to let you harm Drusus. We both know Camillus despises soldiers who go with whores. I don’t want his chance to rise in the ranks hindered by you crying rape.”
His dismissal of her suffering was cruel. She may have forgiven Drusus but she could never forget. And Marcus had been there. He’d watched his friend abuse her and done nothing. And he’d paid for her as well, made potent by imagining it was Drusus, not a woman, he was taking.
She scanned the patrician’s face: his pockmarked cheeks, the puckered tissue near his eye, the mark on the bridge of his nose. His brown eyes could be soft. He hadn’t made her his concubine because of her threats alone. He’d felt sorry for her, too. And guilty for how he’d treated her in the lupanaria. “Please, my lord, I’ve done what you asked. I’ve nursed Drusus to health. Let enmity be finished between us. We were once friends.”
“You were no friend.”
“You know that’s not true. We would talk, you and I, when we shared a bed but not our bodies.” She pointed to his forearm. She knew the flesh under his armband was not marred only by his recent wound. The skin was scored with tiny scars—self-inflicted cuts to punish him for his desire for another freeborn. “I understand your torment.”
He growled. “Spare me your sympathy, Pinna. You’ve done well in saving Drusus’s life, but your job isn’t finished. He needs to be fit enough to fight. You know the way to strengthen men’s muscles. I’ve seen you massage them and teach them exercises. Although rubbing more than the general’s neck has caused you trouble.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t think you’re safe merely because you warm his bed. I should’ve told Camillus about you when you became his mistress. If he knew the baseness of your beginnings, he’d clout you hard enough to send you flying back to Rome.”
She lowered her basket to the ground and faced him squarely. “But you didn’t tell him, did you? And you promised you wouldn’t if I helped Drusus. You allowed the general to unwittingly take a she wolf as a concubine. You claim you’re prepared to be disgraced by admitting this, but do you really want him to be a laughing stock? And, remember, to confess means you would see your closest friend shamed. Both of you should have spoken up. And now both of you have remained silent. I don’t think you’ll risk besmirching either of your characters.”
He scoffed. “Ah, this is the schemer I recognize. Not the loyal nurse.”
She gritted her teeth, wanting to pound his chest and make him understand she was tired of using her wiles. Yet, wasn’t she justified to strive to be free of poverty and oppression? Without the web of intrigue she’d woven, she would never have become her Wolf’s woman. And she had not actually caused Marcus hurt. She’d wounded his pride, not his heart. Being perceived as a cuckold in the eyes of the camp had humiliated him even if she’d never been his lover. She placed her hands on her hips. “Only because you force me to be. I just want to be left alone with the general. I’ve healed the Claudian as you asked. When will I stop being beholden to you?”
“When Claudius Drusus can ride into the fray beside me again. When we capture Caecilia and put her husband to the sword.”
She shook her head. “What happened in that battle? You didn’t hate your cousin before. I sensed you felt sorry for her. Now you’re so bitter.”
“Are you blind, Pinna? Drusus may never be a warrior again! Mastarna did that to him, but it’s Caecilia’s fault. Too many men have suffered because of her lust for the Veientane.”
He’d grown loud. Her frown caused him to lower his voice. “Caecilia should never have spurned Drusus. Never have forsaken Rome. And it riles me the Etruscan dog sought to sully his name. He claimed Drusus attacked him from behind. But Drusus’s scar is on his front. He was facing Mastarna when he was wounded.”
Marcus had told her of the accusation. She’d wondered if jealousy had driven the lovesick knight to act dishonorably. Marcus had not seen his friend inscribe the love spell. She alone knew the depth of the Claudian’s obsession. Yet she’d dismissed the slur. Why would anyone believe the account of an enemy? Drusus was reckless, but she’d never thought of him as spineless. She picked up her basket, tucking it into the crook of her arm. “May I go, my lord?”
He stared at her, words hovering on his lips, but instead of berating her further, he strode away.
Pinna was relieved. Marcus was angry but she sensed it was bluster. And she must thank unrequited love for her protection: Drusus’s for Caecilia, and Marcus’s for Drusus. It was cruel to barter in emotions but she had no other choice. No one was going to take her Wolf from her. No man was ever going to reduce her to nothing again.
THIRTEEN
It was twilight by the time she had seen to her chores. Camillus had been fed, relishing the fennel-flavored porridge; although he’d shaken his head when she’d told him it was doubly potent for having been plucked from Minerva’s skirts.
She scanned the camp as she unhooked the pot from the cooking tripod to clean it. Spirals of smoke wafted into the air from other campfires. The lowing and bleating of the animals in the enclosure behind the camp reminded her of her childhood, even though her father had never owned more than an ox to pull his plow and one nanny goat to milk.
She could hear the heavy infantrymen warming themselves around the flames, sharing jokes and tales of valor. The hoplites’ morale was always buoyed by Camillus. Every morning, the general would inspect his troops, but in the evenings he would often visit his men informally. He knew each of their names and their histories. What battles they’d fought and what scars they bore. And it was this attention that made them love him. They were commoners who were bitter against the patricians, but Camillus was forgiven his class. When he jested with them, his lineage was forgotten. These men would follow him to their deaths if he asked it.
Her Wolf did not look up as she drew back the tent flap. He sat at his desk, a lamp burning beside him. She loved his face with its aquiline nose and high forehead. As always, he was immaculately groomed. His shoulder-length hair was combed, and his short-cropped beard trimmed. His handsome hands were clean. The gold ring encircling his finger was a trophy from the Volscian who’d speared him. Despite the gravity of Camillus’s position, and the controlled violence within him, the grooves in his weathered cheeks were etched by good humor, as were the creases around his eyes.