“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
“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,
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.
