The Golden Dice - A Tale of Ancient Rome (41 page)

“
What it portends no augur can say. But Rome needs to be cautious. The Sibylline Books are to be consulted as to how to placate the deities.”

He picked up the dagger again. “Marcus Aemilius has also sent word that my opponents are making use of both the miracle and calamities. They say the gods have been offended and are meting punishment upon us—sending us a harsh winter and now a fierce summer; spreading famine and now smiting us with plague.”

“
Because there are five plebeian generals?”

Camillus stabbed the blade into the table. “The patricians say that families of distinction have been ignored and high office debased. They hate that common men lead Rome’s legions as ably as any noble.” He worked the point so it splintered the wood. “Yet in truth we have made more gains this year than any other. And there has been no bickering among the generals as there was between Sergius and Verginius. We share our strategies instead of hoarding them.” He yanked out the knife and stabbed the timber again. Pinna wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her of such matters or merely trying to convince himself of his argument. “The present consular generals should be gaining credit for their efforts, not criticism. This so-called explanation for the current misfortune stinks of human jealousy as much as divine disapproval.”

Pinna closed her palm around her luck charms again, disturbed by both his impiety and his frustration. “Don’t you believe the gods speak to us through signs, my lord?”

He rammed the dagger into the surface, leaving it standing upright.

“
Of course I do. I take the auspices before every battle. I pray to Mars to grant me courage and to Fortuna for her protection.” To her surprise he leaned his elbows on the table, pressing his palms against his eyes, his fury ebbing. “It is my fault that Rome despairs. I should be punished, not the people. I brought this plague upon them. The blood of many is on my hands.”

His anguish was unexpected. He was always so strong in mind, so certain. Pinna knelt at his feet, drawing his hands from his brow. “My lord, I do not know why the gods sent such portents but our city’s suffering is not your fault.”

Shoulders hunched, Camillus scanned her face. “But it is. Can’t you see? Because of my decision to burn the harvest the famine has not eased. Starving peasants are flocking to the city begging for food. With none to spare, they are dying in the streets, rats gnawing at their bodies. The heat of the summer sun soon makes their flesh putrid. The messenger said the stink of the plague lingers over the forum and streets. That they are dying in their hundreds.”

Straightening his back, he tapped his ring. Pinna doubted he even noticed his tell. She placed her hand over his, halting the movement. “My lord, you have told us many times to endure all the gods send us, whether it is prosperity or hardship. To believe that both make us stronger.” She squeezed his hand. “You were right to raze Faliscan fields so our foe starves. Romans will survive the plague and famine. And hunger for our enemies’ land will overcome that in our bellies.”

The corner of his lips turned upwards for a brief moment. “You have been listening again. I have to be more careful.” He looked down to where her hand still held his. Embarrassed, she released him.

Camillus massaged his temples. “Rhetoric is useful to urge men into battle. But this time my words were hollow. I have put all Rome in danger including my family. What if they should die? The loss of my sons would be unbearable. They are all to me.”

His sons. Pinna had heard that they would soon be old enough to be warriors, reminding her that this man could be her father. And yet she did not think of him that way, so different was he to Lollius. Vital instead of defeated.

What would it be like to bear children? She was so young when she became a night moth she had not even had a flux. And then later she was too scrawny to have them often. Nevertheless, Fusca made her wear a pouch containing cock’s blood and testes as a precaution. At sixteen the amulet’s power had failed her twice although wormwood and rue had not. She did not regret ridding herself of those babies. In the brothel, her womb pain told her she was barren. “And your wife, my lord? Would you grieve for her also?”

“
I already mourn for her, Pinna. She died two years ago.”

“
And did you love her?” Pinna said the words without thinking.

Camillus rested his hands on the table and studied her without responding.

“
I’m sorry, my lord, you need not answer.”

He leaned back. “Did I love my wife? No, Pinna. I don’t indulge in such an emotion. It is for women. But she was a fine citizen from a noble family. Our marriage brought me both prestige and political advantage. And I was proud of her when she gave me two healthy sons. I miss her.”

Tongue-tied, Pinna stood up and turned to leave, until she heard him groan. “My lord, what is it?”

“
My back.”

She hastened to stand behind him. “I think that’s why you have the headache. Your backbone is very stiff. The tension spreads upwards. Take off your tunic and I’ll rub it.”

He paused, surprising her. She did not expect him to be modest. He flinched again at another spasm. Sighing, he pulled his clothes over his head.

As he stripped she saw the cause of his reluctance. He wore a broad heavy leather belt around his waist above his loincloth to support his back. Outwardly this man’s pose was martial, but now she saw that he must suffer pain each day and hide it.

The temperature was falling with the approach of evening but it was still hot and stuffy within the tent. Pinna pulled the wolf skin off the bed so that it would be cooler. “Lie down on your stomach.”

Wincing, the general obeyed her.

She knelt beside him. “I’ll need to remove the belt.”

He nodded and she unlaced it, letting it thud to the floor.

She tried not to study him but she could not help it. In the forum she’d wondered what his body would look like, what scars were hidden by his robes. She found his torso was compact and lean, the muscles of his stomach defined. Under the thick thatch of hair his chest was impressive for someone his age. Here was no stripling but a man. She glanced at his thigh. The scar was deep, the gash puckered where the sinew had snapped and not fully mended. There was also a semicircular scar from his shoulder to under his left armpit as though someone had sliced a line along the edge of his corselet.

Smoothing the oil across his broad back and shoulders, she worried if she could make a difference to his pain. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the heels of her palms between his shoulder blades with all her weight, causing him to grunt as he expelled air. He lifted his head. “Careful.”

“
I’m too little to hurt you.”

He lay facedown again. “Maybe, but you have hands like iron.”

She worked in quiet, the only sound that of his exhalations as she pushed down on him with short, sharp jabs, slowly inching up his spine to the base of his skull, feeling his muscles relax beneath her fingers and his vertebrae loosen. Then, when she thought she could achieve no more with her pummeling, she smoothed her hands across his skin, spreading the oil, massaging him with easy stroking until she was finished.

He remained still for a time. When he turned over he was smiling.

“
Is the pain less, my lord?”

“
Yes. The aching has stopped.”

“
I am glad.”

Night had fallen in the time it had taken to tend him. He lay watching her as she stood and lit a lamp, placing it on the floor beside the pallet. “Pinna. Such an odd name. But I don’t see you as a chick’s feather, soft and downy. You are a pinion, light but strong. I like that about you.”

She blushed, pleased to be admired, not quite sure what to say.

He raised himself onto one elbow and looked up at her. “Come, sit by me.”

Pinna hesitated. Since Marcus had departed to Rome the general had sought her services often. Sometimes she even fancied his headaches were not as troublesome as he claimed. Yet he made no advances, not even flirting. Did he want her after all?

He offered her his hand. Pulse quickening she held it and sat down, her longing for him overwhelming.

“
You know, just because I do not believe a man should fall in love doesn’t mean I don’t feel desire.” His fingers glided along her arm. She shivered, the tingling sensation foreign to her. “You told me once that Marcus Aemilius did not love you, but do you love him?”

She bowed her head, wanting to blurt out that she had no lover, only a patron. Yet she had declared her fealty. She’d promised to be faithful.

He ran his fingers along her shoulder to her throat. Pinna closed her eyes at his touch. There was no need to use oil to wet her as she did in the brothel. Breathing deeply, she pushed thoughts of Marcus away. And yet she knew she must be careful of seeming wanton. “He is a good man, my lord.”

“
That is not what I asked.”

She met his gaze. “Then no, I do not love him.”

Camillus stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “I want you, Pinna. Lie with me.”

Pinna had never kissed a man even though many had forced kisses on her. She bent and brushed his mouth with her lips. His were warm, his beard soft. No whiskery jowls or probing sour tongue. For a moment she was clumsy, then she became eager.

He lifted her so she sat astride him. Pinna drew back, surprised. She had let men groan and thrust within her, or turn her on her belly, or use her as if she were a boy. There were men, too, who liked her to straddle them, but she had never, ever, ridden a soldier. A warrior would never show such weakness. Now a general was letting her act the lover, not the bride. The thought took her breath away as much as the touch of his hands upon her. It took a man such as Camillus not to be ashamed.

He was impatient with her hesitation. With hurried fingers, he reached up to undo the ties of her tunic. She slipped it over her head while he unwound his loincloth. After raising herself slightly on her haunches, she settled, moaning as he entered her. Then, straight-armed and flat-palmed against his chest, she began to rock.

The tent was inky black except for the small circle of light that oil and flame provided. Darkness had always been a refuge, a wall protecting Pinna’s soul from her body. It had protected her as well from seeing her clients, even though she still felt and heard and smelled them: their sweat and weight, the stink of their breath, their shoving pricks, their piggish grunts.

This time it was as though the darkness was painting her. His hands were gentle despite calloused pads and palms. They were firm, too, as he held her hips or cupped her breasts. She hoped his groans were of pleasure rather than pain. She closed her eyes and lifted her face upwards, feeling his hardness, grinding, lost in sensation. The brothel whores claimed that sometimes a woman could reach as high as a man. Pinna doubted them. Now it was happening. She felt herself unfurling then bursting inside.

Panting, she slumped forward and rested her head against his shoulder, their bodies slick with sweat and balsam. Camillus rolled her over beside him and she realized that he had finished also. This, too, amazed her. She always knew the exact moment when a man had spent himself within her. This time he’d made her forget everything other than the freedom of surging, soaring.

Breath calming, heartbeat slowing, she lay with his arm around her. In the dim circle of light she saw that the deep grooves upon his bearded cheek and the furrow upon his brow had disappeared, and the creases around his eyes had relaxed into good humor.

The languor of the embrace was unsettling. What did he expect of her? She had never encouraged a client to stay in her bed after their business had been conducted. “Should I go, my lord?”

He laughed. “Why would you do that?”

“
No reason.” She smiled and stretched her body along the length of his side in the narrow bed. “And your back, does it hurt you?”

He laughed again. “Yes. But it was worth it.”

Strands of her hair had loosened from its knot. He stroked them. “So soft. Sleek as fur.”

She smoothed her hand across his chest, fingering the lump in his collarbone and tracing a line along the curved scar around his shoulder. “How did you get these?”

“
Aequians. One tried to thrust his dagger into my gullet. Luckily he missed but his blow struck armor and the force broke bone. The other tried to ram his sword through my armpit to pierce my heart.”