Pinna stared after him. His concern for Camillus shamed her. Genucius had once been one of her favorites, a good-natured talker who liked to complain about his wife after his lust had been satisfied. Now she had made him hate her. As she had Marcus. And once done to Drusus. She was like poison in a well.
She pressed her hand to her breast, her heartbeat so strong she could feel it through her bones. Would her Wolf hate her one day as well? Was it better to hurt his feelings and leave him now than expose him to public humiliation later?
Yet where would she go if not to his home? Retrace her steps to the brothel? Return to degradation? The thought of losing him terrified her. She could not live without him. She drew the shawl across to shield her face and continued to the Aventine Hill.
Her Wolf’s atrium was spacious and warm. No wind whistled through cracks in its timbers. At night, the roof hole’s cover was bound tight against the cold. The cistern was filled with clean water. She’d never lived in such comfort. Her father’s hut was humble with its earthen floors, thatch roof, and mud walls.
Camillus had bestowed all the duties of a wife upon her. She stoked the hearth fire until it burned brightly and placed the boyish statuette of the Lar on the table at meal times. Yet Pinna worried she was committing sacrilege every time she touched the effigy of the spirit who guarded her Wolf’s home. She did not wish to bring misfortune on her lover. And so she baked more salt cakes than necessary to throw into the fire to thank the Lar and the goddess of the hearth. She also did not forget honey cakes and wine for the other many household spirits. As a further precaution she hid amulets in crevices. She even hung bells in the garden to ward off evil influences.
Camillus grew impatient with her. “You know how I feel about your superstitions. The spirits are not displeased at me taking you as my concubine.”
At least she was spared living with his sons. They remained in his country villa. She’d met them briefly on the journey back to Rome. Two youths on the verge of war. It was clear they doted on their father, basking in the radiance of his smile while darting looks at her behind his back. Their hostility toward the usurper of their mother’s memory was palpable.
The majordomo and housemaid would eye her when she asked them to attend to tasks. Even the porter was snobbish. Yet she told herself she’d never been a slave. Her rough peasant vowels may have jarred after their mistress’s refined accent, but if their widower master did not look down on her, why should they?
Most disturbing, she sensed his wife all around her. The matron’s touch was present in the furnishings of the house and the routine to which her servants adhered. She could not stop herself imagining her Wolf lying with the patrician woman. And she was jealous of the pride in his voice whenever he mentioned the mother of his sons.
Still shaken by her meeting with Genucius, Pinna tried to calm herself by burnishing Camillus’s armor, polishing the bronze and leather with oil and beeswax. His prowess as a warrior was always on display. His panoply dominated one side of the atrium, together with the array of silver spears, wreaths, and enemy trophies.
Today she was nervous about making a good impression. It was the first dinner party that Camillus had held since returning to the city. There had been plenty of consultations in his study at the beginning of winter. Nobles and commoners canvassed for his vote before the elections. Pinna suspected that, beneath their pure white togas, some candidates hid dirty tactics. In the end, the aristocracy succeeded. Six patricians had been elected as consular generals, among them Medullinus and Aemilius. Her Wolf’s headaches lasted for days at hearing the result.
Taught to cook simple fare by her mother, Pinna was daunted by the prospect of organizing a banquet. She’d chosen the best cuts of meat herself and scoured the market to find fresh winter fruit. She’d also directed the porter to scrub soot from the walls, and the maid to clean the hearthstone.
A blast of chill air swept through the hall, making the flames flare. Pinna heard the porter greet his master. She hastened to meet Camillus, who smiled when he saw her. Yet as he stepped into the atrium, he stumbled.
Pinna gasped, reaching to steady him. He straightened, looking down to check what he had tripped over. Pinna could not see anything that might have caused his misstep.
“My Wolf,” she urged, “it’s an ill omen to stagger on the threshold.”
A look of irritation crossed his face. “Nonsense.”
She touched her Venus shell, uneasy that he should dismiss her. “You must go outside again and reenter. You must utter a prayer to the god of safe passage. There are evil spirits that dwell in doorways.”
Seeing her agitation, he softened his stance. “Very well, I will indulge you this time.”
“And you must step into the room with your right foot.”
He turned and retraced his steps. Pinna only relaxed once he’d safely entered the atrium. She brushed the snow from his shoulders before helping him remove his toga. “Thank you, my Wolf,” she said as she knelt and swapped his boots for indoor sandals.
Rubbing his hands, Camillus scanned the room. “You make me proud, Pinna, but you don’t need to scrub away the paint. My guests will not notice a little dust.”
She smiled but thought him wrong. His guests would judge her for everything tonight. To them, she was masquerading as the mistress of his house: a housekeeper, not a matron, a bed warmer, but not the mother of heirs. She was nervous about meeting his brother Medullinus. And Genucius would be there, disapproving and resentful. As for Scipio, she would grit her teeth to cope with his surreptitious ogling.
Her Wolf stood next to the fire and warmed his hands. “Where’s Artile? In his room as usual?”
She nodded. She hated the sly, creeping creature. Ever since he’d been dismissed by the Curia, he had sulked in the house. She thought the Senate would order him to be expelled. Instead Camillus persuaded them to allow the priest to reside with him. He saw the haruspex as valuable even if his peers did not. “Is Lord Artile to attend the dinner party?”
“No. I doubt any of my guests would welcome him sharing their couch. However, I wish him to address them. I doubt they’ll like what he has to say either.”
She ventured. “What is it?”
He smiled and headed for Artile’s room. “Curious as always, Pinna. But it’s not for your ears. Tell me when the others arrive.”
TWENTY-THREE
Pinna wiped her palms down the sides of her best tunic as the majordomo ushered Scipio into the atrium. The senator was careful to hide his interest in front of his host. She helped him remove his toga, trying to keep at arms’ length to avoid inhaling his bad breath. The patrician’s liking for fermented fish garum sauce was obvious.