“No one would dare to touch them.”
“Yet I’ve noticed that their ration of grain has been cut. Those geese are getting awfully skinny. Soon there’ll be no meat on them worth eating. Better to eat them now, while they can still give us some sustenance.”
“People would sooner eat the dogs!”
“But the dogs at least serve a function. They keep vigil at night, along with the sentries. My old master was especially fond of goose liver. He said it was quite delicious.”
“Pennatus, what terrible things you say!”
He snuggled close. “Like the things I whisper in your ear when I’m inside you?”
She shivered, and clutched his sex, which was full and firm in her hand. They had finished only moments ago, and already he was stiff again. He cupped her breast and kissed her nipple. A wave of sheer pleasure rippled through her.
She sighed. “Long before anyone considers eating the sacred geese, Camillus will come.”
This was the hope on everyone’s lips. Only a few days earlier, an intrepid soldier from the outside, Pontius Cominius, had managed to pass through the Gaul’s defenses and reach the defenders on the Capitoline. He had filled his tunic with bits of cork and floated down the Tiber, and then, by night, stole through the streets and scaled the Capitoline at a point so craggy and steep that the Gauls kept no watch on it. The Roman sentry who witnessed his arrival had been amazed to see a human scrambling like a spider up the sheer rock face, and even more amazed when the man called out to him in Latin. Pontius Cominius brought word that the Roman forces were gradually regrouping under the leadership of the exiled Camillus, who requested that the handful of senators trapped atop the Capitoline should formally invest him with the powers of a dictator. The senators had sent Pontius Cominius back to Camillus with a pledge of their full support and promises to pray for his victory. Had the messenger passed safely through the Gallic forces to return to Camillus? No one knew, but the news from outside had brought fresh hope to the Capitoline. Camillus was on the march and might arrive any day. Camillus, the conqueror of Veii, would rescue them and drive the Gauls from Roma!
Pennatus rolled away from her, onto his back. His member became noticeably more pliant in her hand. “And then what? You shall go back to being a Vestal, and I shall go back to being a slave.”
The sweat turned cold on Pinaria’s body. She released his sex and pulled the coverlet over her breasts. The future that Pennatus suggested-a resumption of the way things had been before the Gauls came-was far less horrible than the one she envisioned. Pinaria knew all too well what was done to a Vestal found guilty of breaking her vow, and what was done to the Vestal’s lover.
“Who can say what the future will bring?” she whispered. “Who knew that Camillus would be exiled, or that Brennus and the Gauls would come and change everything? Who knew that you would become my lover-who could imagine such a thing! Who knew that I…”
The sudden break in her voice caused him to furrow his brow. “Go on, Pinaria. What were you about to say?”
She drew a sharp breath. “I may be mistaken. It may be the strain of the siege that caused the interruption. I think that this happens to women sometimes-when there’s a terrible crisis, or if they go hungry…”
“Pinaria, what are you saying?”
“The full moon has come and gone, and come again, and yet…no blood flowed from inside me. I don’t know much about such things-but even I know what it means when a woman’s menses is interrupted!”
He rose onto his elbows and stared at her. Shadows hid his face. “Are you with child?”
“I don’t know, not for certain. As I said, perhaps there’s another explanation…”
He moved closer. The moonlight revealed his awestruck expression. “But this is wonderful! Terrible and wonderful, at the same time!”
Pinaria shivered and hugged herself. “Sooner or later, it will begin to show. What will I do then?”
“Perhaps no one will notice.”
“Not notice? I shall grow fatter while everyone else grows thinner!”
“You can loosen your robes. You can say that you need seclusion. I’ll wait on you, and not let anyone else approach. And maybe Camillus will come soon, and set us free, and we can leave the Capitoline-”
“And go where? I could never hide my condition among the others in the House of the Vestals.”
“Then we shall go into hiding. Or run away. We’ll flee up to Gaul and live among godless savages! I don’t know what we’ll do, Pinaria, but we’ll think of something. It’s just as you said, no one can know what the future will bring.”
He slipped beneath the coverlet and lay next to her. His hand sought hers and held it tightly. Together, they stared into the dark corners of the room. “I know you’re afraid,” he said. “Afraid of what the others will do to us if they find out. But…is it more than that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you unhappy because…because it’s the child of a slave inside you?”
“Pennatus! I never expected to carry any man’s child. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I never said I was unhappy-”
“Because…because there’s something about me that you don’t know. It might make a difference.”
She turned to face him. She touched his cheek and looked into his eyes, which reflected the pale moonlight. “I know that you’re very brave, Pennatus. And very funny. And wicked sometimes-the things you say! I know that you’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met, and that I love you. And I know that you love me. Such a precious thing, this love between us! Sometimes I think it must be a gift from the goddess, even though I know that’s impossible. I could never regret that you’ve given me a child, Pennatus. I only wish-”
“I wish things were different, too. I wish that you weren’t a Vestal. I wish that I wasn’t born a slave! If it weren’t for the bitterness of fate, I might have been as high-born as you, Pinaria. I have the blood of patricians in me.”
“What do you mean?”
“This talisman I wear-it’s more than it appears to be. And so am I!” He held up the image of Fascinus. The black amulet gleamed dully in the moonlight. “It’s not made of lead, Pinaria. It’s only been dipped in lead, to hide what’s beneath, so that no master would bother to take it. If you scratch through the lead, you can see the pure yellow gleam underneath. It’s made of gold, Pinaria. It’s an heirloom. It’s very ancient, older than Roma itself-older than all the gods and goddesses of Roma! Fascinus was here first, even before Jupiter.”
She shook her head. “More blasphemy, Pennatus? This isn’t funny.”
“It’s neither blasphemy nor a joke. It’s the truth, Pinaria. Before she died, my mother told me where I came from and who I really am. I was born a slave, yes, and so was she, but her father was the son of Titus Potitius, a Roman of the most ancient patrician blood, and Icilia, the sister of Lucius Icilius, who was a tribune of the plebs. The son of Titus Potitius and Icilia was illegitimate, and he was made a slave at birth because of the spite of his uncle. But even as a slave, he wore the talisman of the Potitii around his neck, and Titus Potitius himself, in secret, told him the tale of his birth. That slave passed the talisman on to his daughter, my mother. She was born a slave in the household of Icilius, but was later sold to my master, in whose house I was born. Before she died, she passed the talisman to me. It represents the god Fascinus, the most ancient deity worshipped by mortals in Roma. Fascinus was known even before Hercules and Jupiter, and long before the gods who came to us by way of the Greeks.”
Pinaria was silent for a long time. “You never told me this before.”
“It’s my deepest secret, Pinaria.”
“You scoff at the gods.”
“I believe in Fascinus!”
“You mock the freeborn. You laugh at the vanity of patricians.”
“I am a patrician-by blood if not by birth! Titus Potitius was my great-grandfather. Don’t you see, Pinaria, the child inside you isn’t the
offspring of a nobody, a slave who came from nowhere, who has no ancestors worthy of remembrance. The child inside you carries the blood of the first settlers of Roma, from both his mother and his father. Whatever others may say, and whatever the law may call me, you need not be ashamed of the child. You can be proud, even if you must be proud in secret!”
“Pennatus! I feel no shame for what we’ve done, or what’s resulted from it. Perhaps it’s not even sinful. If Vesta is truly gone, and all the gods have left their temples here on the Capitoline, it may be that your god Fascinus holds sway in Roma, all alone, as he once did long ago, and you and I are doing his bidding, and everything is proper. Who can say, in a world where everything can change in the blink of an eye? No, Pennatus, I’m not ashamed. But I am fearful, for you, and for me, and for the child.” She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to tell you. Some impulse came over me and made me speak. I had thought to keep it to myself, until I was sure, or else…”
She bit her tongue and said no more. Why tell Pennatus where her thoughts had led whenever she considered the child that might be growing inside her? There were ways to rid a woman’s womb of an unwanted baby. Pinaria had a vague notion that there were potions that could be drunk, some of them dangerously poisonous, or that a slender wand, perhaps made of supple willow, might be inserted into her body to bring about the desired expulsion. But Pinaria had no sure knowledge of such matters, and there was no one she could ask for advice or assistance, and there was no way to obtain such a potion. There was not a single willow tree on the Capitoline! And now that she had told Pennatus about the child, and he had responded by sharing his deepest secret with her, and had shown an almost fierce pride in the act of giving her a child…
She shook her head. The voice of the holy Vestal that still dwelled inside her whispered, What a thing, that a slave should be proud of his offspring! What a world, where a Vestal could delude herself into thinking that her pregnancy might please a god!
Suddenly, in the quiet stillness of the night, one of Juno’s sacred geese let out a loud, blaring honk. The unexpected noise broke the tension between them. Pennatus laughed. Pinaria managed a crooked smile.
The goose honked again, and then again.
“If that keeps up, a certain goose is likely to get plucked, sacred to Juno or not,” muttered Pennatus. He brought his lips to hers. They kissed. He moved to embrace her, then drew back. The single goose had been joined by others making the same abrupt, braying racket. “A good thing we’re not trying to sleep!”
“It’s the sentry’s fault, waking them up by calling the all-clear,” said Pinaria.
“But that was a long time ago. Long enough for the geese to fall asleep again.” Pennatus frowned. “Maybe long enough for the sentry to fall asleep…”
The honking of the geese continued.
“Stay here,” whispered Pennatus. “Lock the door after I leave. There’ll be others up, awakened by the geese. I may not be able to return tonight without being seen. Kiss me, Pinaria!”
Pennatus tore himself from her arms, reached for his sword-Dorso had insisted on arming him, despite his status-and slipped out the door. He waited until he heard her drop the lock into place, then hurried toward the sentry post beyond the goose pen.
The rocky face of the Capitoline was very steep at that point-indeed, it was the very place where Pontius Cominius had made his impossible ascent. But of course, the ascent of Pontius Cominius had not been impossible; if he could do it, so could others. On a moonlit night, might a company of Gauls be able to find the footholds and handholds by which Pontius Cominius had reached the top of the Capitoline?
It seemed impossible. And surely, in the stillness of the night, a sentry would hear anyone making such an ascent, and peer over the side to see them long before they reached the top. Unless…
The geese continued to honk.
Pennatus saw the sentry, standing at his post at the cliff’s edge-then realized that the figure dimly lit by the moon was not the sentry, but a Gaul! While Pennatus watched, two other Gauls appeared, clambering over the ledge and standing upright.
His blood froze. He tightened his grip on the sword. He had never actually used such a weapon, except in practice with Dorso. He gripped the image of Fascinus and did something he had never done before: He whispered a prayer for courage and strength.
“Out of my way, slave!” An armor-clad figure knocked him aside and rushed past him. Pennatus recognized Marcus Manlius, a friend of Dorso’s and a former consul. The grizzled veteran rushed headlong toward the Gauls. Giving a great shout, he struck the foremost with his shield. The man staggered back and fell screaming from the cliff, taking the other two with him.
More Gauls scrambled over the edge. Manlius struck with his shield and stabbed with his sword. Pennatus gave a cry and ran to join him.
His sword struck metal with a deafening clang. He lunged again and struck flesh. The sickening impact seemed to travel into his arm and all through his body. Pennatus had scarcely ever caused another man to bleed, much less killed a man. Under moonlight, the blood on the paving stones was glistening and black.
He heard a shout, turned, and saw Dorso. The warrior slashed his sword against the exposed neck of a Gaul with such force that he nearly decapitated the man. A fountain of blood erupted from the wound. The look on Dorso’s face was ferocious and frightening, filled with utter hatred. The Gauls had destroyed his city, driven away his gods, ruined his world. Now, at last, Dorso had a chance to bring death and suffering on at least a few of the Gauls in return.
What had the Gauls done to Pennatus? Their invasion had brought him unexpected freedom, a friendship he could never have known before, and a love he would never have dared to imagine. He feared the Gauls, but he could never hate them as Dorso did. Then he thought of Pinaria. If the Capitoline was taken, all would be lost. Pinaria, the most exquisite and perfect thing in all the world-what might they do to Pinaria?
Miraculously, the Gaul who had been struck by Dorso was still alive, staggering this way and that. With a great cry, Pennatus ran toward him, raised his blade, and finished what Dorso had started. The Gaul’s head went flying through space. It disappeared beyond the precipice, where yet more Gauls were climbing over the edge.
The geese cackled madly. Men shouted and screamed. Suddenly there were many more Gauls and just as many Romans. What started as a skirmish abruptly became a battle, with clanging swords all around and blood everywhere. The moonlit battle seemed incredibly intense and yet utterly unreal to Pennatus, like a strange dream; yet it was no stranger-and no more dangerous-than the waking dream in which Pennatus had become the secret lover of a fallen Vestal.
The Gauls were repulsed. For being the first to rush to the Romans’ defense, Marcus Manlius was declared a hero, and rewarded with extra rations of bread and wine. A full ration of grain was also restored to the sacred geese, whose honking had alerted the defenders.
As for the sentries on duty that night, the military commanders at first declared that all would be put to death for negligence. So would the dogs who kept vigil with them. It was presumed they had all fallen asleep at their posts, including the dogs, since not a single dog barked. The geese had proven to be better sentinels!
Dorso argued against the mass punishment, pointing out that the Romans could ill afford to lose so many men, and among the common soldiers there was a great outcry. It was decided that only the sentry responsible for the area where the assault took place would be punished.
The man denied that he had fallen asleep. In the stillness of the night, he said, he had heard a man and a woman talking. Distracted and bored, he wandered from his post, toward the Temple of Jupiter, trying to figure out where the voices came from. His excuse gained him no sympathy. He was hurled to his death from the ledge where the Gauls had staged their attack. As a token punishment, a single guard dog was also thrown from the cliff.
The Romans increased their vigilance. So did the Gauls, who were determined that no mor
e messengers should reach the Capitoline from the outside world.
Throughout the winter, the occupation and the siege continued. Rain brought fresh drinking water to the Romans, but food grew scarcer.
“If only it would rain fish,” said Pennatus one day, watching a downpour from beneath the pediment of the Temple of Jupiter.
“Or honey cakes!” said Dorso.
“Or bits of dried beef!” said Marcus Manlius, who had a fondness for military rations.
The situation atop the Capitoline grew more and more desperate, but so did the circumstances of the Gauls. Having never dwelled in a city, they understood nothing about sanitation and the disposal of their own wastes. They made a pigsty of Roma, and a plague broke out among them. So many died so quickly that the survivors gave up on burying the bodies separately, but instead piled the corpses in heaps and set fire to them.
Once again, as earlier in the siege, flames and columns of smoke surrounded the Capitoline. The sight of the flaming pyres was ghastly. The smoke and the stench from the burning bodies was stifling. As Pennatus wryly commented to Dorso, “These Gauls have a madness for burning. Having torched all the houses, now they set fire to each other!”
The Gauls also grew hungry. Early in the siege, they carelessly burned several warehouses full of grain. They sorely missed that grain now. Though the Romans on the Capitoline could not know it, the forces of Camillus had taken control of much of the countryside, and the Gauls could no longer go raiding at will to replenish their stores. The city which they had claimed as a prize was becoming a trap and a tomb.
Publicly, Pinaria joined in the daily prayers that Camillus would soon arrive and rescue them. Privately, she lived in constant fear. She did everything she could to hide the visible evidence of her pregnancy. She had so far succeeded, perhaps because the child growing inside her was small and undernourished. But what would happen when she gave birth? Even if she could hide in her room and deliver the child in secret, how could she conceal a crying baby? Could she bear to kill the child immediately after it was born? Babies were allowed to die every day, especially if they were imperfect, but even the most unfeeling mother did not kill an unwanted baby with her own hands; it was taken from her and left in an open place to die from exposure to the elements or wild beasts. The quickest and easiest way to dispose of the child would be to throw it from the Capitoline, but even that might prove impossible, because such a close watch was kept at all points of the perimeter. Would Pennatus do it, if she asked him? What a terrible thing, to ask a father to murder his own child!
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