She covered his hand with his. Genucius was right. She loved Camillus too much to let him be ridiculed, the great general ruled by his cock instead of his brain. “Please, my Wolf. How could I ask Juno for her blessing? She may grow angry that I dare to wed you. A concubine is impure.”
“Nonsense. You will loosen your hair and sacrifice a lamb to cleanse yourself before her altar. And then, when I wed you, such a rite will never be needed again. You’ll no longer be tainted as an unmarried woman who has lain with me.”
Pinna wished it were true. She reached up and touched the scar on his cheek, tracing the line of the grooves that defined his mouth, the laughter creases around his eyes. “I must say no, my Wolf. I will not be the one to weaken you.”
Camillus stepped back, grappling with rejection. Confused as to why she would refuse his proposal when it was clear that was what she hungered for. “No one will dare challenge my strength.” He turned toward the door. “But I can’t command you.”
She grabbed his arm. “Wait! Please don’t be angry.”
He turned back to her.
She untied the ribbons and sashes so that the stola rippled to the floor, then she stepped from the crumpled circle of cloth, shivering in her night shift. “I’m content to be your concubine, my Wolf. I already have all that I could wish for.”
The loud, boastful crow of a rooster was piercing. They glanced around. A shaft of light, rosy and bright, shone through the doorway. Pinna smiled. Her goddess had once again fought back the night to ride her chariot across the sky. She held out her hand to him. “See, my Wolf, Mater Matuta is pleased with us. We can witness the start of a new day together.”
He locked his fingers through hers, watching the room fill with light.
“You’re like the sun to me, my Wolf. Fierce and bright and hot. You should worship the dawn goddess. She will bring you victory.”
“I will take all steps to placate her and the Latins.”
She looped her arms around his neck. “Her temple is derelict in Rome, my Wolf.”
He laughed, stroking her hair. “You’re persistent on her behalf.”
“I want her to protect you.”
“Perhaps she already has. My victory against the Volscians was at daybreak. It gave us an advantage of surprise. They didn’t expect the enemy to spring from the verge of darkness.”
She lowered one hand, stroking his thigh. “When you received this wound? When you fought with a spear still embedded in your flesh?”
He grasped her hand. “There is no time for that. It’s daylight.”
Pinna blocked the thought that even whores end their shift at sunrise. She walked across the room and shut the door, once again plunging them into a gloom lit only by the wavering flames of the oil lamps. She was prepared to break taboos, prepared to risk offending her deity.
Even in the half shadows, she could see his surprise as she shut the chest’s lid, then clutched two handfuls of his tunic, pulling him around. Yet he didn’t resist, smiling as she pushed him down to sit. She straddled him, knowing her influence over him would always be as a lover, not a wife.
Camillus rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t know what to do with you, Pinna. You’re stealing my soul from me.”
Her heartbeat spiked, her voice catching. He may not have said the words, but she knew he loved her. “My Wolf, you have already stolen mine.”
THIRTY-NINE
Marcus, Nepete, Spring, 396 BC
A wind was blowing, whipping up swirls of dust from the ditch that surrounded the Roman encampment. The young sentry was nervous as he approached Marcus. “Sir, there is an Etruscan delegation that wants to see the general.”
The tribune frowned and hurried to the gate. Three horsemen were surveying the stakes of the palisade. One dismounted, removing his crested horsehair helmet and tucking it under his arm. He had a satisfied smile upon his lips—far too confident for a man seeking to enter an enemy fort. Marcus ordered the gates to be opened.
“I bring a message from King Vel Mastarna,” the messenger said in crude Latin.
Marcus remained impassive, forcing himself to control both his surprise and curiosity. “You may enter, but the others must remain outside.” He rapped out an order to the sentries to close the gate again, then turned on his heel, striding toward the command tent. The Etruscan took his time to follow despite being confronted by hostile stares.
Marcus was impatient to hear what Mastarna had to say. The last word they’d received about the king’s movements was that he’d traveled to the Etruscan congress. Marcus found it intriguing that Karcuna Tulumnes rode with him. He knew there was ill will between their Houses. Now the descendant of a tyrant and Veii’s new king were allies.
Reaching the command tent, Marcus told the Veientane to remain outside while he informed his father of his arrival.
Aemilius was sitting at his desk, a hunk of cheese and a bowl of figs before him. He held a goblet of watered wine in his hand. The rigors of being on campaign had reduced the senator’s waistline, but he was never one to go without food.
“An emissary from Vel Mastarna seeks to speak to you, Father.”
The general cocked one bushy eyebrow. “Strange.”
Marcus shrugged. “He’s a smug bastard.”
The envoy gave a curt half bow once granted permission to enter. He offered the Roman general a scroll. “From King Mastarna. I’ve been ordered to wait for your reply.”
Aemilius took another swig of wine, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He gestured to the man to place the letter on his desk. “You can wait outside the gates. I’ll give you my answer after I have finished my meal.”
The Etruscan seemed unperturbed at the abrupt dismissal. “Very well, but it may well give you indigestion.”
When the herald had gone, Aemilius pushed his half-eaten meal aside and broke the seal. Color drained from his face as he scanned the words. Marcus had never seen his father so unnerved. “What does it say?”
“The entreaties of the Capenate and Faliscan delegations swayed the confederation. The Etruscan cities have pledged assistance. Their armies will bolster the Veientane forces.”
Marcus was stunned. All Etruria planned to rise. Rome’s greatest fear. “But the League has always left Veii and its allies to fend for themselves. Why the change of heart?”
“Our recent incursion into Nepetan territory must have made them nervous. They fear we may venture farther north and west.”
Marcus pointed to the letter. “What answer does Mastarna seek?”
Aemilius focused on the scroll again as though double-checking its contents. “A similar ultimatum has been sent to Titinius at Capena. He and I either agree to retreat permanently or the combined forces of Etruria will commence their march on Rome—starting with battles tomorrow on the plains outside Nepete and Capena. Karcuna Tulumes and Thefarie Ulthes have united forces with the other Etruscans as well.”
Marcus stared at him, grappling with the enormity of the threat. “What are you going to do?”