Call to Juno (A Tale of Ancient Rome #3) (21 page)

The prince glanced around to Caecilia and grinned before bowing to the king. “I won’t fail you, Father.”

Rising, Caecilia smiled at her husband. She never thought the day would come when he would put such faith in his adopted son. “I will leave you men to your strategy and tactics.”

Mastarna placed his hand on her arm. “Stay.” He addressed the principes. “I expect my wife to sit on the inner council from now on. As queen, she must have a say in all decisions.”

To her relief, the councillors made no protest, not even Karcuna. She swallowed hard, unsure what to say. She’d come so far from the Roman girl who hungered to be privy to the world of men. She’d once thought that, if she had the chance to wield a sword, she might save herself from the fate of wedding an enemy. Now that foe was placing a city into her hands.

T
WENTY
-S
EVEN

Freed of her swaddling clothes, Thia lay on her back with her legs raised, trying to grab her toes. Caecilia sat on cushions on the floor beside her. Semni stood nearby, smiling. Cytheris, too, seemed content as she sat winding thread onto an amber spool.

The winter was mild, the bitter iciness of the past years forgotten. The palace was drafty, though. Caecilia was homesick for their old house, its atrium and garden made cozy by the warmth of family life. At least she’d found a smaller room within the private chambers. She had made it the family haven deep inside the palace.

She bent over and nuzzled Thia’s tummy. Her daughter’s giggles always raised her spirits. But tonight Vel would leave. Dread would again hover on the threshold of her mind. Yet she’d learned to hide heartbreak. Her tears only made their partings more difficult.

With shrill squeals, Larce and Arnth ran into the family quarters, their chase echoing through the chamber. Clad in full armor, Mastarna followed with mock ferocity, striding with enormous steps toward one and then the other, lunging to miss deliberately by inches before sweeping Arnth into his arms. Larce pounced on his back. Tas looked up from the scroll he was reading. He frowned at being distracted from his studies.

From the corner of her eye, Caecilia noticed Arruns propping his master’s shield and sword against the heavy timber doorjamb. He was inscrutable as always. Nevertheless, she knew he was hiding his disappointment the king was not taking him to war.

Noticing his lictor, Mastarna rose, shaking off his two sons, although each one latched onto his legs to hinder his movement. “I will be a little while longer, Arruns. I wish to bid farewell to my family.”

Tas studied his father’s armor and walked across. “Are you leaving us, Apa?”

Vel stroked the boy’s hair. “Yes. I’m going to ask the League of the Twelve for assistance. You must be the man of the family while I’m gone.”

Tas ducked his head away, reluctant as always to be touched. He appeared nervous at being issued with such a responsibility. “But I haven’t grown a beard yet. I can’t be a man.”

Vel glanced at Caecilia, bemused at how his firstborn always interpreted words so literally. She smiled and crouched before her son. “Don’t worry. Tarchon will look after all of us.”

“Come. I have something to give each of you,” Vel said, extracting Arnth and Larce from his legs and depositing them onto the nearest kline. “You, too, Tas.”

Disdainful of his younger brothers, the eldest prince climbed onto the divan next to them, keeping a small space apart, his tawny eyes solemn. The other two boys settled onto the plush mattress, their legs dangling, eyes wide, and shoulders straight, like two fledglings waiting for their mother to feed them.

Vel offered Caecilia his hand. “Ati and Thia also.” Intrigued, the queen lifted the baby into her arms and let him help her sit next to her sons. Larce shuffled on his bottom over to her and kissed Thia’s cheek. The baby grabbed at his nose. Caecilia put her arm around him.

The king beckoned to a servant boy who approached carrying a bronze cista by its handle. Mastarna delved into it, pulling from it three golden amulets.

“For my firstborn, Vel Mastarna Junior.” He looped the necklace over Tas’s head to nestle beside his birth charm.

The boy fingered the tiny carving. “It’s a bull like the boss on your shield.” He pointed to the pendant hanging from his father’s neck. “And your bulla.”

“Yes, the symbol of our House. And Fufluns was known to show himself as such a great beast.”

Larce leaned forward, peering at the other totems in his father’s palm. “What about me?”

“A dolphin for you. It’s sacred to Fufluns, too. After all, we need to journey over sea to reach our ancestors in Acheron.”

Keen for his turn, Arnth grabbed the bulla from his brother’s hand. “I want the dolphin!”

To avoid a squabble, Mastarna prized the talisman away and gave it back to Larce, then handed Arnth the last amulet. “For you, little soldier, I have a leopard. Its lithe grace belies the savagery within.”

Their youngest son showed it to his mother and growled like the beast. Larce eyed it. “It’s like the big cat in your bedchamber in our old house, Apa.”

“The leopard is Fufluns’s companion. It will protect us in the Beyond after we die.”

Caecilia frowned, disturbed at her husband’s choice of presents. Vel had not mentioned worshipping Fufluns to her since she’d expressed her qualms to him. Why then was he granting his sons symbols of the wine god’s protection?

“You once sailed upon the sea, didn’t you, Apa?” said Tas.

“Yes, I was a mercenary for the zilath of Tarchna. I helped him to fight the Syracusans.”

“And you saw dolphins?”

“Yes, carving a path through water.”

“I have dreams about a bull,” Tas said, unexpectedly. “A wolf springs from a cave to attack it. The bull pierces the wolf with its horn, but then the wolf leaps onto its back and sinks its fangs into its hindquarters. Queen Uni watches them.”

Mastarna looked at Caecilia, his brow creasing. He turned back to Tas. “And tell us. Who wins this battle?”

“I don’t know. I always wake before I see which animal wins.”

Caecilia frowned. The boy often had nightmares. There was a darkness that existed within him, fears that could not be tamed. His brooding silence gave credence to his nickname, Tas, “the Silent One.” Hearing he was suffering from this nightmare in the isolation of his room, she felt a pang of guilt. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

To her surprise, Tas clenched his fists and glared at her. “Because I wasn’t scared! Even though I saw the blood upon the horns, the flesh beneath the claws. I’m not a baby anymore, Ati.”

His father patted him on the shoulder. “That’s right. Dreams can’t hurt you. And men should never be afraid of a little gore.”

Tas stared at him. “But demons can harm you after you die, Apa. That’s why we must sacrifice to Aita, the god who rules Acheron.”

“And did Uncle Artile tell you that?” The boy nodded. “Yes, Apa. When Aricia used to take me to see him.”

Caecilia felt a stab of concern. What legacy had the priest left? He had molded their son’s mind for almost a year. Could the lessons taught him ever be unlearned? The Calu Death Cult was fearful and oppressive. Tas had been tutored in dread while being fed on dreams of being a seer—a tug-of-war between the perils of the Beyond and the heady elation of communing with the gods.

“Forget what your uncle told you,” said Vel. “Fufluns protects us. You need not follow the Calu Cult.”

Behind them, Arruns coughed to gain attention. “Master, it will soon be sunset; you need to prepare to leave for the Capena Gates.”

“Tell Lord Karcuna I’ll join him presently. I want to bid farewell to the queen and princess first.”

The guard bowed. Caecilia could see his concern at the length of the king’s farewells. The attack was scheduled to take place in the dead hours of the night, but this required organization and commands to be issued first.

Mastarna took Thia from Caecilia, lifting her above his head with straight arms. The little girl’s body went rigid.

Larce laughed. “She looks as though she’s flying.”

Vel swooped the baby down again to Caecilia’s lap. “Remove the Atlenta pendant, Bellatrix. The amulet is rightly yours. I’ve had something special made for our daughter to replace it.”

He drew a necklace from the cista. Three tiny gold bees were strung upon a chain. An insect sacred to Fufluns. “Honey brings sweetness to our lives.” He kissed Thia’s fingers as she reached up to touch the shiny gift. “And you are the sweetest of all, my princess.”

Caecilia unclasped the silver Atlenta pendant, then fastened the bee amulet around her daughter’s neck. Now all four children had gained the wine god’s protection against the evil eye.

Mastarna returned his attention to the boys. “It’s time for me to say good-bye to you, my sons.”

There were howls of protest from the younger boys. Tas stepped down from the kline. Arnth scrambled to his feet on the couch and launched himself across to his father.

Vel laughed, catching him. “Be good, little soldier.”

Larce opened his arms. “I will miss you, Apa.”

“I, also, small one.” He squeezed both until they giggled. Tas hung back, saluting him instead.

“No hug for me, then, Tas?”

“I’m too old.”

“But I’m not.” The father grabbed him so that Tas was pressed against the others, a jumble of squirming bodies against muscled biceps.

Quieting, Mastarna let them go and touched each of the bullas around their necks in turn. “Make me proud. Protect your mother and sister.”

“Like the dolphin,” said Larce, raising his bulla.

“Leopard,” shouted Arnth.

“No, like the bull,” said Tas, gaze intense. “Because it is the strongest of all.”

T
WENTY
-E
IGHT

Once the boys had gone, Vel sat down on the couch beside Caecilia and delved into the cista again. “I have something for you, too, Bellatrix.”

“So many treasures today,” she said, sensing the gift would also be a totem of the wine god.

The boon was a silver mirror of exquisite beauty. Two figures were engraved on its back. Two lovers embracing, gazing into each other’s eyes, lips almost touching. The names etched beside them were “Fufluns” and “Areatha.” She was torn between gratitude and disquiet as she kissed him a thank-you.

“The divine couple are devoted to each other,” he said, stroking her cheek. “As are we.”

“So the god who inspires infidelity is faithful to his wife?”

Vel slipped his arm around her waist. “Yes. He is a paradox. A dying god.”

She scanned his face. “Why do you now turn to him instead of Nortia?”

His expression was as serious as Tas’s. “Because I have changed ever since you told me of the dice throw, Bellatrix. You’ve set me a challenge. I can’t save Veii until I first conquer Rome.”

Once again, Caecilia regretted telling him her secret. She hated the pressure she’d placed on him. Yet the thought of worshiping Fufluns troubled her. “Vel, I’ve seen what’s required to submit to the wine god. I can’t follow him. Please don’t ask that of me.”

He cupped her chin in his hand. “The rites of the Spring Festival you attended were not the way of the Rasenna.”

“People were beyond drunk. They were possessed, screaming out the god’s name, beseeching him to reveal himself as they rutted.”

“The divinity offers contact with him through elation. He is a communicant between the living and dead.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “He also has the power to enchant and bring joy through the bounty of the vine. You know that well enough. I’ve seen you merry on wine and no sign that you don’t welcome it.”

“There is a difference between good humor and frenzy.”

“Wine is Fufluns’s gift, Bellatrix. Granted, it can fuel deeds of violence and lust, but it can also make a poor man feel rich, a slave free, and the weak powerful. Under its sway you are no longer fearful. There is candor, too, and forgetfulness of woe.”

Listening to him filled her with growing unease. She remembered how her pulse had quickened when he declared he was planning to conquer Rome. Now her heartbeat raced at his defense of the deity. Had he always felt this way and kept it from her? Had he always resented her depriving him of ecstatic union?

“So what are you saying, Vel? Do you want me to forsake my belief in Uni so I can worship him? The goddess stands for all that Fufluns isn’t. I revere her as the protectress of married women. She has sheltered me through the birth of each of our children. She saved Veii, and you, in the Battle of Blood and Hail.”

“Of course not,” he said, his impatience evident. “But don’t you understand? There is good and evil in all of us, even the gods. They have loves and wants and hatreds as intense as any mortal. And you know there is violence within me just as there is love for you and our children. Even Uni has her darker side. She can be vengeful and hostile.”

He tried to draw her closer, but she placed one hand against his cuirass. “Why, Vel? Why your fervor for this god?”

He grasped her shoulders. “Because I’ve been thinking more of death. Not just mine, but yours. And our children’s. I want the comfort of knowing we’ll meet again in the Beyond. I want you to believe in my afterlife, not in the cheerless existence of your Roman dead.”

Stunned by his desperate tone, Caecilia slipped from the kline, a flush of heat spreading through her. Mastarna had never asked her to forsake her religion, the last and only link to her birthplace. A Roman death required no reckoning or retribution. She would merge with the mass of ancestral spirits, no longer an individual, but one with many: freed from emotions, devoid of bliss or woe, love or hatred. “At least there are no perils awaiting me when I become a Shade.”

He shook her. “But our children and I will need to appease you once you join such a host. There is a reason why the Roman dead are called the Good Ones. It’s a name to placate them from rising to torment the living.”

Caecilia steadied herself. She felt as though she were treading a pathway to a past where there had only been differences between them. He was asking her to make a choice she thought he’d never demand. “Have I held you back from your worship all these years?”

“No. I promised to respect your beliefs. I also lacked piety myself, but now . . .”

“But now you seek to conquer Rome.”

“Yes, the stakes are higher. Either Veii succeeds or it is destroyed.” He lowered his voice. “We are destroyed.”

She was truly frightened now. Mastarna seldom admitted he was afraid. His bravado was reassuring even if she teased him for being vain. The fact that he always survived, always returned, kept her hope alive. “You’ve taunted Nortia so many times, Vel. I didn’t think you feared death.”

He rubbed his brow with his fist, the gesture sharp. “Of course I feel my stomach tighten every time I lower my helmet and raise my shield. And pray for courage like every other man. But this is different.” He hugged her. “Don’t you understand? I never know if I’ll return to find you or our children taken by plague—or that Rome has breached our wall. Not only do I fear losing you while I’m alive but also after I’m slain. To believe we will meet again in the Beyond is a consolation, even if our bodies may never lie together in a grave.”

She rested her head against his chest, the bronze of his corselet denying her the warmth of his body. “I don’t know what to do.”

He kissed her hair. “Bellatrix, I can’t force you to follow Fufluns, but please consider giving libation to him and kneeling before his shrine while I’m away. Remember there were many things here that repelled you that you now enjoy. Perhaps you can accept this, too. And then,” he whispered, “at the next festival after I return, we might seek communion together under the stars.”

Caecilia froze. She did not want to meet his eyes, to let him see her doubt that she could ever surrender to his faith. For even if for divine purpose, how could she watch him climax with others at Fufluns’s feasts? How could she welcome lying with another man behind a mask?

Outside, the timekeeper called the hour, startling them. The inevitable melancholy of farewell stole over her. She picked up the Atlenta pendant from the divan and showed it to him. “I’ll wear this to protect me while you’re gone. Atlenta has long kept me safe. And, remember, we will be lions after we die.”

Mastarna hesitated, his request hanging between them, then he smiled and kissed her a sad, deep, sweet good-bye. “Yes, Bellatrix, we will dwell in paradise together.”