Call to Juno (A Tale of Ancient Rome #3) (16 page)

Caecilia willed sleep to come as the heat of his body transferred to hers. There was one more secret she vowed she would never tell him. Her reticence was fed by a selfish dread. She could not bear to think he might slip the gold-and-onyx ring on his finger, praying he could again embrace Seianta. For if Vel knew what Caecilia kept silent, he might again seek the love of the wife who’d been so cruelly wronged.

N
INETEEN

Caecilia opened her eyes to muted light, her head fuzzy from lack of sleep. She reached for Vel, but the bed was empty. He always rose at dawn to train with Arruns.

Reluctant to attend to the beckoning duties of the day, she once again contemplated what had denied her slumber. Vel wanted to meet her in Acheron. But the pathways there frightened her.

As a naïve bride, she’d found the Rasennan religion seductive, promising life after death. And Artile had been adept at persuading her to worship Aita, god of the dead. The reward was tantalizing—to be one of the Blessed. Then he’d chained her to the rigors of the Calu Cult until she’d discovered the price of reanimating the dead—human sacrifice.

The image of the Phersu setting his hound on a blindfolded man at the funeral games horrified her. Those who followed Aita claimed the Masked One performed a holy rite. To Caecilia, he was merely an executioner. Vel didn’t worship the death god, but he wanted her to gain entry to Acheron. His way to achieve this was no less disturbing. The orgiastic rites of the Pacha Cult, honoring Fufluns, scared her. Tears welled. She rested the back of her hand against her eyes.

Cytheris bustled into the room with the laundry basket. “Goodness, what’s the matter, my lady?”

Caecilia wiped her eyes and sat up. The maid hastened to her side, arranging the coverlet around her mistress’s nakedness.

“Vel spoke to me about the Beyond last night. I don’t want to be initiated into the Mysteries. I don’t want to become a maenad. I can’t worship Fufluns if I’m expected to be one of the raving women during the rites.”

The handmaid climbed next to the princip, encircling her shoulders. How many times had Cytheris comforted her? She was like an older sister despite divisions of rank. Caecilia always found comfort in the warmth of the maid’s cushioned embrace.

“I keep telling you, mistress, the Spring Festival is meant to be a celebration of Fufluns’s journey from Acheron. After his sojourn there throughout winter, we thank him for breathing new life into bud and vine. There’s a procession and games and revels. It’s not meant to be frightening.”

“How can you say that? You were there the night I stumbled into the rites. I was drugged by the Divine Milk. There was pandemonium, the noise of the bullroarers deafening, the double pipes shrill. The maenad used whips. They ate the raw flesh of fawns! Are you telling me you worship Fufluns after what happened?”

“Yes, I still follow the Pacha Cult. But you must remember the Athenians attended the festival that year. Their god has a darker side than our Fufluns. He is Dionysus the Wanderer. It was they who brought the Divine Milk, which is far more powerful than the strong unwatered wine that usually sets the senses reeling.” She withdrew her arm from around her mistress. “It’s cold in here. The braziers need to be stoked. And it’s time I helped you dress.”

She gathered up Caecilia’s chitons from the night before and dropped them into the laundry basket. There was no comment as to why they were in a tangle on the floor, but the maid couldn’t hide a half smile. Then she opened the cedarwood chest that contained a rainbow of robes and drew out one of deep yellow with a blue border. “Your favorite, my lady.”

Caecilia’s nerves still thrummed as she dressed. “I’ve heard that Dionysus drove the first maenads to insanity because they refused to give up the role of devoted wives and mothers. It’s said they tore their own children apart in frenzy before becoming his devotees. I’m faithful to Uni, the mother goddess. She’s the enemy of Fufluns. If I bowed to him, she would punish me.”

Cytheris picked up a comb from the side table. “You worry too much. You always have. All are equal when seeking communion with the wine god. Such myths are spread because Greek men don’t like women drinking and acting in abandon. They would deny their wives and daughters the chance to celebrate the power of regeneration.”

Caecilia sat down so the handmaid could tend to her hair. “You mean the chance to sleep with another woman’s husband.”

Cytheris pursed her lips. “It is an ecstatic union. A way for your spirit to merge with the divine. Our bodies are just instruments to achieve this.”

“I don’t want to lie with another man. I don’t want Vel to take another woman either. I couldn’t bear it.” Tears welled again. “And I don’t want Seianta to reclaim him.”

The maid stopped brushing and walked around to face her. “The master doesn’t love his first wife. He stopped loving her well before he met you.”

“Seianta suffered so much. All those dead babies.” She touched Cytheris’s hand. “I think she might punish me if she had the chance.”

“For what, mistress? What could you possibly have done wrong?”

“Kept her secret from Vel.”

“What secret?”

“One I swore I would take to the grave. Yet if I don’t believe in the Beyond, Vel will return to Seianta. Because if he knew what Artile did to her—”

Intent on the conversation, the sound of the curtain being drawn aside startled the women. Vel stood in the doorway.

His cold expression was enough to convey to Cytheris that she should leave. The maid curtsied, collecting the basket and hurrying to the door. She cast a worried look toward her mistress as she scurried past the king.

Still wearing his bronze cuirass, Mastarna’s hair was plastered to his head with sweat. “Another secret, Bellatrix? How many more surprises do you have in store for me?”

Caecilia ran to him, but when she tried to embrace him, he held her at bay. She dropped her arms to her sides.

“What did Artile do to Seianta?”

She hesitated. Vel gripped her upper arms. “Tell me!”

“Poisoned her so that your children would be weak and deformed.”

He let go and took a faltering step backward. She tried to clasp his hands. He snatched them from her.

“How do you know this? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Artile told me on the night I escaped to Fidenae. The Zeri poppy juice he gave Seianta contained a drug which ensured she wouldn’t conceive.”

He stared at her. “Why?”

“He wanted Tarchon to be your only heir, thinking he could manipulate him. But instead of merely preventing Seianta falling with child, it made her miscarry or bear—”

“Cripples like my daughter.” His voice cracked. “Or misshapen like my son. No eyes. His mouth cleaved in two. As small as my hand. Only two hours alive.”

The rawness of his grief made Caecilia twist inside. The last time she’d seen him so vulnerable was when he’d first told her the story of his children. How Artile lured Seianta into believing she could defer the death of her daughter by the Fatales Rites. Then, when the child had died, the seer convinced her to follow the Calu Cult to ensure the little girl became one of the Blessed. And all the while feeding Seianta poppy juice and poison that would lead to the birth of a grotesque little boy.

“I’m so sorry, Vel.”

He turned, gripping the edge of the footboard of the bed, his arms straight and head bowed. “Seianta blamed me for our daughter’s death because I wouldn’t let her continue the Fatales Rites. I saw her sinking into addiction to Artile’s potion. I forced her to stop. But in the end I relented because I wanted an heir. She could not bear lying with me without the Zeri.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And all the while, she was being poisoned.”

Caecilia took a deep breath. She’d trodden in Seianta’s footsteps when she’d first come to Veii. Artile had fed her fears, then uttered soft promises to quell them. He’d also slipped Zeri into the sacramental wine for the Calu Rites. Under its spell there was respite from apprehension as well as enslavement to a cycle of bliss, withdrawal, and wanting. She remembered Artile’s spiteful triumph when he’d declared the elixir had ensured any seed planted within her would be cursed.

Vel straightened as though reading her thoughts. “You also drank my brother’s potion when you were gulled by him. Was it contaminated? Is that why you didn’t conceive for a year?”

“My fate was to be either barren or sorrowing.”

With a guttural roar he shoved the pedestal washstand crashing to the floor. His cista bounced and rolled against the wall, the jewelry spilling from it. He walked to her table, sweeping aside the silver boxes with nail files and hairpins. Her glass flask of perfume shattered as it hit the floor, the floral scent exploding into the air. Pastes of carmine, albumen, and khol streaked the floor.

“Please, Vel. You’re frightening me.”

He halted, his fingers clenched. “I will find him and kill him.”

Caecilia crossed to him, her palm covering his balled fist. “Can’t you see why I never told you about this? I knew you wouldn’t be able to control your rage. I didn’t want to see you executed for murder.”

He pulled away, cradling the elbow of his injured arm. “Any judge would say I was justified.”

“Perhaps, but I didn’t want to risk it. I’m glad your brother is no longer in Veii.”

“You should have told me. First the dice throw, and now this. How can I trust you, Bellatrix?”

Blood drained from her face. “Please don’t say that. There was another reason I didn’t speak.”

“What?” he growled. “What excuse is there this time?”

“Because . . . because I knew that if you discovered Artile had caused Seianta’s pain, you would forgive her. Maybe even yearn for her again.”

His expression softened as he cupped her face in his hands. “Have you so little faith in me? My love for Seianta lies in ashes; it can’t be rekindled.”

She pressed herself against him, the cold metal of his armor hard against her.

He wrapped his arms around her, his cheek resting on her hair. “Promise me there are no more secrets.”

“None,” she murmured. “Never again.”

They held each other, smashed glass and cosmetics scattered around them, the scent of lilies heavy in the air. Caecilia’s heartbeat slowed, relief flooding through her. Every bittersweet lie at last exposed.

T
WENTY

Semni, Veii, Winter, 397 BC

Clasping Nerie’s hand and cradling Thia in the crook of one arm, Semni smiled as she headed to the family chamber. Given the princes’ high-pitched squeals, she suspected the king was visiting them. Her mouth dropped open as she passed through the doorway. Aricia sat on a chair, Larce and Arnth capering around her. Semni scanned the room to find the junior nursemaid, Perca. Timid as always, the thirteen-year-old was standing to the side, whistling softly with a worried look.

Tas was perched on a stool beside the visitor, enrapt. Goose bumps prickled Semni’s skin as she remembered how Aricia had stoked the boy’s fervor before. She didn’t understand why he would be so eager to meet her again; the last time he’d seen his former nursemaid, he’d been scared by her urgent pleas to flee while a battle was raging. The patterns of affection forged from birth under her care must have been hard to erase.

“What are you doing here?” Semni let go of Nerie’s hand and strode over to the boys, pushing Larce behind her to a howl of protest. Then she grasped Arnth’s elbow and dragged him beside her.

“Perca, get over here!” She handed the baby to the maid. “Take the children to the nursery.” She glared at Tas. “You, too.”

The boy stuck out his chin. “No.”

His insolence stung. She thought they had formed a special bond. Now with the appearance of Aricia, such affinity had taken second place.

The cepen rose, wobbling. “Don’t worry, Semni. I don’t plan to snatch him. I just wanted to see him.” She looked across to the younger boys. “I miss all of them.”

Larce tugged at Semni’s chiton. “Why are you so angry? Please let us stay.”

She patted his curls. “Do as I say, young master. I need to talk to Aricia alone.”

The prince’s shoulders slumped, but obedient, he followed Perca as she gripped the hand of the squirming Arnth.

Semni swung Nerie onto her hip. He clung to her, alarmed by the stridency in her voice. She glared at the seven-year-old prince. “Do as I say, Tas. Go with the others.”

Again he made no attempt to move. Aricia crouched down and stroked the boy’s cheek. “Listen to her, my pet. You can tell me more about your dream another time.”

The endearment grated. She felt a knot in her stomach at how quickly the two had fallen into intimacy. “What dream?”

“The wolf and the bull that are fighting underground. Queen Uni is watching them.”

Semni wasn’t prepared to interrogate him further about his vision in front of the novice priestess. “Why aren’t you with your tutor? Have you run away from him again?”

“No, he has a stomachache and is lying in bed. He told me to practice my writing by myself.” He pointed to a wooden and wax tablet on the table.

“Go and find your brothers. Now!”

Tas hesitated, looking at Aricia. She smiled and nodded assurance. “Go, my pet. Do as Semni says.”

The boy submitted with reluctant footsteps. At the doorway, he turned, avoiding the wet nurse to gaze directly at Aricia. He smiled, showing his new front teeth. “So I’ll be the greatest fulgurator in Veii one day? I’ll understand the gods’ wishes in lightning and thunder.”

“Yes, my pet. And a haruspex skilled in reading the livers of beasts.”

“Even though Apa says I must be a warrior?”

Semni sensed she was losing control. “Go!”

Once the boy had disappeared, she rounded on Aricia. “How dare you fill his head with nonsense again! How dare you cross the threshold of the House of Mastarna after what you did!”

“I came with Lady Tanchvil. She’s visiting the king and queen. I thought I could ask for their pardon, but they refused to see me.”

“So you decided to defy them again and find Tas.”

“It was you I wanted to find. I want your forgiveness. I want to seek my mother’s, too. There are so many whom I’ve wronged.”

Semni was disarmed by the girl’s candor. An image surfaced of the uncertain nursemaid who’d shared shy confidences and sought Semni’s love: an innocent with a crush on a rebel.

She glanced toward the doorway, aware that proximity to Aricia would unfairly condemn her if she were seen. Yet she was curious how this girl had survived after being evicted by Lady Caecilia, then deserted by the manipulative priest. “What happened with Lord Artile?”

“He betrayed me. He promised me he would make me his acolyte. He promised to teach me how to read so I might study the Holy Books. But he never planned to take me to Velzna to see the sacred spring. He used me to get to Tas. When I failed to bring the prince to him, he absconded, carrying the codex with him.”

“How did he escape?”

“There’s a shaft beneath the statue of Queen Uni in her temple. It leads to the bottom of the citadel cliff. And Artile knows the tunnels that snake through the ravines and hills that lead out of the city.” Tears pricked her eyes, the memory raw. “I hope the Romans caught him.”

Semni shivered, recalling the seer’s spellbinding eyes and voice, how he could cajole and flatter, or instill dread. Aricia had been enticed by him as easily as Semni had once seduced men with fluttering eyelashes and coy smiles. She pressed Nerie’s head to her shoulder, rocking him. He nestled close, sucking his thumb.

Aricia lifted the hem of her red-bordered chiton to reveal one leg. The flesh on the shin was marred by a long scar. “He was so angry when I failed to bring Tas to him.” She brushed the tears from her eyes. “The blows of his rod broke my bone.”

Sympathy welled at the sight of the injury. Semni was aware of others as well—the weals left by Cytheris’s whipping. Aricia had truly been punished for her transgression, both in body and in mind.

The girl reached for Semni’s hand, lifting it and laying her cheek against the palm. “I’ve been so foolish.”

Semni knew she should pull away, but her friend’s anguish stopped her. “Yet your dream has come true. How did you come to be Lady Tanchvil’s acolyte?”

Aricia’s smile was radiant. For a moment Semni wondered if the pain of betrayal had been replaced by a fresh infatuation.

“The cepens at the temple found me after Artile had beaten me. They tended to my wounds and let me stay in their workroom. Then Lady Tanchvil was appointed as the high priestess.” She picked up Tas’s writing tablet. “She took pity on me. She’s training me to join the College of Priestesses who serve Queen Uni.” Digging the stylus into the wax surface, she added some lettering. “I can read and write now.” She held out the tablet to her. “See, I’ve written your name.”

A pang of jealousy hit Semni. A new world was opening to Aricia while her own was shrinking.

Aricia reached over and stroked Nerie’s fair hair. “I hear Arruns has claimed Nerie as his son. You must be pleased.”

Her words brought the wet nurse to her senses. The conversation must end. Once again, Aricia was compromising her. “You need to leave. Do you want me to be punished again because of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I confessed to the king and queen that I remained silent about your secret visits with Tas and Lord Artile. And now Arruns refuses to marry me because Lord Mastarna has forbidden us to lie together until Thia is weaned. I’m denied happiness because I placed loyalty to you above this House. I won’t risk breaching that duty again. I will be telling Lady Caecilia you visited here to see the princes. And you must promise me you won’t try to do so again.”

Aricia was aghast. “I’m so sorry. I want so much for you to pardon me. Can you find compassion in your heart?”

“What are
you
doing here?”

Both girls swiveled around. Cytheris stood in the doorway. The older woman glared at Semni. “Did you let her see Tas again? Touch the children?”

The wooden tablet thudded to the floor as Aricia limped to Cytheris, kneeling with difficulty before her. “Mother, I’ve come to beg forgiveness.” She reached up to take her hand, but Cytheris placed her arms behind her back. Her pockmarked face was rigid with disapproval, her eyes stony. The Gorgon had returned. She ignored her daughter, addressing Semni again. “Did she see Tas?”

The nurse raised her hands in protest. “I sent the princes away as soon as I saw her.”

Cytheris seized a handful of Aricia’s black ringlets and tugged them. “Get up and get out. You are not welcome here—ever.”

The girl lurched to her feet. “Please. I have changed. I want to make amends.”

Cytheris released her hair. “You’re the one who wanted no more of me. Who spat out words of hatred. Who betrayed a mistress who’d only ever shown you kindness.”

“You disowned me, too. Beat me. But now I’m contrite.”

Cytheris tutted. “I don’t believe you. I can never trust you again.” She turned to Semni. “I thought you’d learned your lesson. Wait until the mistress hears you’ve let her sneak in here.”

Semni was indignant. “I didn’t let her in! And I told her to leave as soon as I saw her. Ask Perca.”

Aricia collected her red shawl from the chair and wrapped it around her before covering her head. There was sadness in her slumped shoulders as she headed toward the hallway. “Don’t blame Semni, mother. She asked me to go as soon as she saw me. Do not fear. You will not see me here again.”

When her daughter had gone, Cytheris walked to a chair, gripping its back, her eyes closed as though in pain.

Semni walked to her. She didn’t believe Cytheris hated Aricia. She’d seen her distress after Lady Caecilia cast the girl into the street. Yet the show of emotion had been fleeting. Cytheris was expert at hiding her feelings, a hard veneer protecting them from view. Today, though, Semni wondered if there would come a time when the lacquer would erode and Cytheris’s regret and hurt would be on display.

Nerie reached out and touched the handmaid’s frizzy hair. She opened her eyes, catching hold of the boy’s fingers and kissing them. Had she ever done the same to her own daughter?

“Why can’t you forgive her?”

“And you can? After Aricia caused you and Arruns heartache?”

Semni hesitated, thinking carefully. Hating Aricia was not as simple as Cytheris thought. “Yes. I think I can. I know what it’s like to be remorseful and yet unforgiven because of my own foolishness. And now I’m grateful I’ve been given another chance. I don’t begrudge your daughter the same. Not when she was the first person to overlook my faults.”

Cytheris grew less adamant. “How can I forgive her unless Lady Caecilia finds it in her heart to grant mercy? Aricia must first convince the mistress that she is worthy.”

Semni doubted the queen would ever forgive Aricia. “I’ll go and tell her what happened.”

“Wait.”

Cytheris crouched and picked up Tas’s tablet, her long ankle-length plait snaking along the floor. “Why was she holding this?”

“She was showing me she could write. Lady Tanchvil is teaching her.”

Cytheris raised her eyebrows. “Then she is still full of dreams and nonsense. The College of Priestesses of Uni is not going to accept a half-blood freedwoman into its ranks.” She rose, placing the tablet on the chair.

Semni shrugged her shoulders. “She might surprise us.” She walked to the doorway with Nerie, expecting the Greek woman to follow. Instead Cytheris lingered, tracing the letters in the wax, smiling. Her pride was plain to see.