Marcus was startled, unsure whether he imagined the intimacy of the prince’s touch or the adoration in his young companion’s gaze. Were these two lovers? He remembered his conversation with Artile as they waited for the ferry. How the seer hated his brother for turning his beloved against him. He’d felt disgust that day for the priest’s corruption of Tarchon. Was the prince following the example set by his uncle with an inappropriate relationship of his own?
Camillus’s expression darkened as he studied the pair. “Vel Mastarna has sent the descendant of a king who murdered four Roman envoys? Is this some kind of mockery? I would’ve thought he would try to avoid reminding me of such bloody diplomacy.”
Tarchon raised his hand in pacification. “My father is prepared to risk the lives of the sons of two royal houses. The grandnephew of King Tulumnes comes to treat in good faith, unlike his ancestor. Both Sethre’s and my forebears were slain at the command of Mamercus Aemilius. We put such history aside for the sake of peace. Let’s not tally the list of those who should be avenged on either side. If we do, then this war will be without end.”
Camillus glared at the prince but motioned to the chair opposite him. “Take a seat.”
A servant boy hurried forward to serve wine.
The ambassador sipped his drink. Marcus admired how the Veientane had diffused a fiery start to the conference.
Tarchon scanned the atrium, then turned back to face the two Romans. “You have humble quarters for a dictator.”
“I’m no king. I’ve no need for luxury.”
“Still, I thought a visiting prince would be met in finer surroundings. I was surprised when word was sent that I would not address your Senate.”
“As dictator, I chose to deal with this matter. Tell me, what are Veii’s terms?”
“As before. Grain in return for access to trade routes. And, of course, withdrawal of your troops from Veientane territory.”
The dictator tapped his gold ring. “What makes you think Rome wants your accord?”
Tarchon smiled. “Because the Wolf Legion lost its standard in the north. Because the Boar Legion struggles against enemies in the south and east. And because there is likely to be dissension between your classes as a result. How are you going to feed your people when all its farmers are bearing weapons?”
Camillus shrugged his shoulders. “A hungry belly does not worry Rome. And one defeat does not mean the loss of a war.”
“I saw the flight from Veii myself. It seems Roman soldiers are adept at running backward.” Tarchon’s gaze moved to Marcus, once again assessing him for longer than the tribune found comfortable. “Except for Marcus Aemilius, of course. The Horse Shield hero. Your fame has spread.”
The tribune didn’t respond.
Camillus gestured to a servant to pour more wine. “Marcus is but one of many brave Romans who are prepared to fight. And those who deserted have borne the brunt of my ire. The decimation has provided a lesson to the legions.”
Tarchon exchanged glances with Sethre before responding. “You reduced your army in punishment?”
“Sometimes harsh measures are necessary to remind a man of his duty. But I have no concerns about numbers. I’ve raised an extra levy, and the Latin Pact will provide us with allies. General Scipio has already mustered a force to ride north again.”
“Do you forget that the League is now supporting us?”
“Ah, but I heard your Etruscan brethren have lost interest in Veii’s cause.”
“There are still enough to assist us.”
“Perhaps, but not enough to stoke Rome’s fears that it will be invaded.”
The prince frowned. “So you’re prepared to let this war continue? You Romans must grow weary of running on the spot! Ten years of combat and hundreds of your men killed for no gain.”
Camillus stood. “I fear you have made a fruitless journey.”
Tarchon stared up at him, surprise in his sloe eyes. “But it’s the Senate that determines if Rome is to be at war or peace.”
“A dictator has extraordinary powers. And I’ve been given a mission”—the general crossed his arms—“to conquer Veii.”
Tarchon rose. “You’ll never breach our walls. Your efforts will be wasted.”
“Your city was on the brink of capitulation not long ago.”
“Only after more than a year of deprivation. You have less than six months to succeed. We’ve supplies enough to see us through. And summer is upon us. Hot months without rain will take its toll on your people. You will soon beg for our wheat.”
“There’s little point in us continuing. I see now that Vel Mastarna was never sincere. He’s insulted me by sending two emissaries who are molles—and one of them the relative of a murderous king!”
Tarchon clenched his jaw. “You’ve squandered our time. You should’ve advised us that I couldn’t address the Senate.”
Camillus pointed to the urn. “Take your gift. I’ll collect it when I ride into your citadel. Why should I be satisfied with one vase when there is a palace of riches to fill our treasury?”
The prince glared at the dictator, then turned on his heel, barking at his servants to collect the tribute. Sethre hastened after him. Stony eyed, Arruns retrieved the envoys’ helmets and swords from the lictors and handed them to his masters.
Astounded at how the negotiations had descended into vitriol, Marcus watched Tarchon strap on his helmet and help Sethre adjust his balteus and sword. Then the ambassadors stormed out into the encroaching night to commence the dangerous journey home.
After dismissing his lictors, Camillus dragged back the curtain to the study. “Lord Artile, come join us.”
The priest hovered at the threshold, his shoulders slumped. The arrogance in his dark, liquid eyes had been replaced by dismay. Marcus was surprised at the extent of his despondency as the seer sank into the seat left vacant by the prince. Marcus drew up a chair beside him.
Camillus scowled at the haruspex. “What’s the matter with you? Are you perturbed to see the man you corrupted has taken a beloved of his own?”
Artile looked up. “You know Tarchon and I were lovers?”
“I make it my business to glean all I can about the motives of a traitor. Marcus told me how you resent your brother and Caecilia for encouraging Tarchon to spurn you. I found it distasteful that you could betray a city because of a lover’s quarrel, but I ignored your depravity because of your talents.” He paused. “Or has your treachery always been predicated on some sordid love triangle? Did you know about the prince’s passion for Sethre Kurvenas before you deserted Veii?”
The priest sighed. “I’d hoped it was an infatuation that would pass. I see today the boy has bewitched him.”
Camillus snorted. “See, Marcus, I told you love makes a man weak. And a mollis even weaker.”
His jibe jolted Artile from his mood. “It would pay you not to insult me. Especially since I can tell you how to destroy Veii without waiting to muster a force of six thousand men.”
It took a moment for Marcus to register his words. So, too, the general. Then Camillus erupted. He stood and seized Artile by the scruff of his sheepskin cloak, dragging the priest to stand. “Are you saying you’ve only been half a traitor but now are willing to assume the entire role? Tell me what you know!”
Artile blanched, frozen under the dictator’s grip. “I will, I will, just let me go.”