His query surprised her. She thought of her poor mother, dying of pox and madness. “Why do you ask, my Wolf?”
He stroked her cheek. “Because I wish to know all about you. She’s the one who called you ‘Pinna,’ isn’t she?”
“Yes, she called me ‘feather, her little wing.’”
“And your father’s name?”
“Lollius, Gnaeus Lollius.”
“Then your true name is ‘Lollia’?”
She inwardly cursed herself. Her given name, and her whore’s name, was inscribed on the prostitute’s roll. She wished now that she’d given an alias to the cross-eyed city magistrate when he’d registered her. “Yes, but I’ve not been called that for a long, long time. My father alone used it. ‘Pinna’ is what I like to be called.”
“And your father was forced into bondage when he couldn’t satisfy his creditors.”
“He couldn’t afford to pay the war tax, my Wolf. And most of the year he was away fighting for Rome, so my mother and I tilled the land for him. In the end Father had to sell his animals and small farm. Lastly, his armor. It wasn’t enough to pay his debts. When he was bonded, we were forced to travel to the city and find work.”
“Little citizen, it pains me that good Romans should fall on such hard times.”
She pushed aside her guilt. She didn’t deserve to be called a citizen. She’d forfeited that right when she’d become a prostitute. Yet his sympathy stirred her to challenge him. “The common soldiers are paid a salary but the tariff depletes it. Why not let them take plunder instead of giving it all to the treasury?”
“It’s not so simple. You know that. The State collects loot for the good of all. The war tax is reduced that way.”
“And yet the patricians take their own share of the spoils—treasure and land. It’s like cream added to an already sweetened dish, while booty for veterans would go partway to feed their families.”
“The nobility are liable for a greater share of the tax.”
“Why must soldiers pay anything at all?”
“Because it’s used to fund their salaries.”
“I don’t understand. A tax to pay themselves? They are farmers who must fight all year round. Their women are left to shoulder plows and reap harvests. Debts accrue. And then . . .” Her voice caught in her throat.
He placed his arm around her. “Why do you think I struggle to defeat Veii? You saw the fertile soil of this land. Instead of destroying the crops, I’m forcing the Veientane farmers we’ve captured to work them. I learned my lesson when I razed Faliscan territory when Rome was in famine. This time I’ll feed our people instead of letting them starve.” He placed his fingers beneath her chin, making her look at him. “And Veii is filled with riches. There will be plenty to share.”
“So you plan to let your troops keep the loot? Be granted plots of land?”
He kissed her on the forehead. “That’s not for me to decide. Only the Senate has that power.”
His tone told her she should not pester him further. She hugged him, grateful he’d not silenced her.
“Tell me, how did you come to be a servant in the House of Aemilius?”
She tensed, confused again why he was enquiring about her history. She scrambled to remember what lies she’d told him already. “When my mother died, I went from house to house seeking work. Marcus Aemilius took pity on a daughter of a Roman soldier. I was first his maid and then his concubine.”
“At least you didn’t end up as a slut in a tavern or working in a bakery.”
Pinna felt uneasy. Such women were often expected to provide more services than just pouring wine or grinding grain. If he thought they were base, his contempt for a lupa would be even greater.
He did not seem to notice her lack of response, although his next question panicked her. “Tell me the truth, Pinna. How many men have you lain with?”
She’d lost count. But one thing was true; she’d never had a lover before him, never had a man possess her heart. She pondered whether to name a number. How many would he accept before he rejected her? Or should she feign she was a virgin before she met Marcus? She decided not even the general would expect that. “I will not lie, my Wolf. It was not easy after my father was placed into bondage. Men took advantage more than once of a young country girl.” Suddenly she was curious, too. “And you, my Wolf. How many women have you had?”
He hesitated. She wondered if she’d pressed too hard.
“There were servant girls in my father’s house before I was married, but once I wed I was faithful. My wife bore me two sons of whom I’m proud. By the time she died, my back pained me after I was unseated from my horse in battle.” He kissed her hair. “You make me forget that.”
“No other army wives, then?”
“My manservant saw to my armor and cooked my meals.”
She summoned up greater nerve. “And whores, my Wolf?”
He snorted. “They are for the weak. Better to keep a concubine than visit those poxy prostitutes who follow the regiment.”
His disgust made her queasy. At least her admission of lying with others hadn’t angered him. “So you don’t hate me for my past? That I’ve known other men?”
He placed his lips against her hair. “My only worry is that you have feelings for Marcus Aemilius.”
She gasped. She’d never thought jealousy would eat at him. “He means nothing to me.”
“And what of him? Does he still have feelings for you?”
“We speak because I tend to his friend. Other than that, he is cold.”
She could tell he was pleased. He sat up, looking down at her as she rolled onto her back and gazed up at him. “I want you to come with me to Rome.”
Disbelief and excitement surged. She’d always pushed aside thoughts of what would happen when his campaign ended. “I would be proud to be your servant, my Wolf.”
He laughed. “You don’t understand. I want you to live as my de facto wife in my house, my official concubine.”
She sat up. “In your house?” Then she bowed her head. “I can’t give you children, my Wolf.”
“I don’t want children. I already have two sons.”
“They might be displeased, my Wolf. They’ll think I’m dishonoring their mother’s memory.”
He stroked her cheek. “They won’t need to deal with that. They live in my country villa. They’ll reach fighting age soon. Besides, knowing you, you would try and cosset them.”
She pushed aside thoughts that his boys would only be a little younger than she was. Yet her Wolf’s age had never worried her. At fifty, Camillus was still virile. And she was attracted to his power. “Didn’t your mother cosset you?”
“There was little time for that. I hadn’t even lost all my milk teeth before I was chosen to be a camillus altar boy to the chief pontiff. My memories of childhood were of rituals, augury—and politics.”
“And that’s why you are known as ‘Camillus’ instead of your family name ‘Medullinus’ like your brothers?”
He nodded. “But enough of my story. Tell me, do you wish to come to Rome with me?”