Call to Juno (A Tale of Ancient Rome #3) (41 page)

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Caecilia, Veii, Summer, 396 BC

Caecilia’s tears had dried but her eyes still watered. The chamber was hazy with fine smoke. She’d lost track of time. The light spilling from the portico into the chamber was an eerie orange. The humidity sapped energy from her.

Her wrists were raw from struggling against the rope that bound her hands. Her chest was constricted by the bonds strapping her to one leg of the altar table. A shot of pain pierced her shoulder every time she moved. After a while she recognized the futility of seeking escape. Thia’s weight on her lap numbed her legs. Her throat was parched, and her head ached from the tightness of the coronet. She was surprised that she felt such discomfort when her heart had been torn from her.

Cytheris was also bound. She’d fallen asleep, her head slumped forward. The handmaid, who could always reassure her mistress, had been at a loss to provide consolation.

A lump formed in Caecilia’s throat. She would lose Cytheris, too. She wondered if the servant would consider death preferable to slavery.

Dehydrated, Thia whined, trying everyone’s nerves. The spot of color on her cheek was still visible, her touch feverish.

At least being tied to the far end of the altar meant Caecilia could see Tarchon. At first she thought he’d slipped away, but then she noticed the rise and fall of his chest. He was groggy when he opened his eyes, his words slurred. He was confused, then incredulous, calling out to check on her. His anguished cry when he saw Sethre was tragic. With wrists and ankles tied, he shuffled on his buttocks to his beloved’s body, then lay on his side facing him, stroking the youth’s cheek with his roped hands. After a time, he fell into a torpor.

She also dozed, exhausted by weeping and worry. Each time she woke, she was disbelieving. Her anxiety for her sons thrummed inside her.

The presence of Drusus’s body in front of her was a goad. Her thoughts vacillated between hate for him and shock and sorrow over Vel. Each wave of grief was agony.

The Romans deputized to remain at the temple wandered in and out of the portico. She could see they were restless, bored with standing guard to prevent their fellow soldiers raiding the treasures in the sanctuary. One remained in the chamber ogling her, making her conscious of her clinging dress. She prayed he would obey Marcus’s order not to rape the women, remembering her horror that her cousin needed to issue the command.

When the guard’s eyes weren’t roving over her breasts, he studied the rich trappings of the sanctum, in particular, Queen Uni’s diadem, gold pectoral, and rings. She wondered if he would lever out the gems and hide them, hoping his superiors wouldn’t notice. “Pity the gold is destined for the treasury,” she murmured.

He glared at her. “Not this time; the general promised us a share.”

She was surprised, then felt nauseous, thinking of the race to collect the loot. “Then you’re missing your chance to steal your own.”

“Shut up, bitch. You’ve already caused enough trouble.”

Thia woke in fright and bawled.

“Shut her up,” he said, nudging the baby with his toe.

Caecilia cried out, helpless to hold her daughter, sorry she’d taunted him. She crooned to the baby with a hoarse, wavering voice. To her relief, Thia quieted, standing on her mother’s lap and clutching her neck, watching the guard.

She heard the scrape of boots as the guards stood to attention
outside. Startled from sleep, Cytheris uttered a small cry as twenty-
four Roman lictors marched into the chamber. Caecilia craned her neck to catch sight of her sons, heart thudding afresh when they did not appear.

Camillus was just as she remembered him. The lean wolf of Tas’s dreams. She’d been waiting for him all day. In a strange way she longed to see him. To finally meet the man who’d stalked her so she could confront him.

Even after a day of overseeing slaughter, he stood immaculate in his armor, breastplate, and leather kilt. He had removed his helmet, his long hair oiled, beard clipped. As she watched him stride to the head of his entourage, she noticed his limp was barely detectable. He frowned as he passed Drusus’s corpse, then his pace slowed when he saw Uni’s statue, his eyes widening in awe. He bowed in reverence.

Marcus was at the dictator’s side. Camillus must have forgiven him for burning Vel’s body. He cast a furtive look toward the Claudian’s body, the apple in his throat working, but his expression remained impassive.

A woman crept through the doorway and stood behind the general. Her pretty heart-shaped face was pale, the high arched eyebrows furrowed in a line as she took in the death around her. Caecilia was surprised to see a female amid warriors. Who was she?

The woman also gazed upward in wonder at Uni. But as she turned her attention to Caecilia, the queen saw pity in her eyes, the first she’d seen from a Roman. Even when Marcus had helped her, he’d done so with resentment.

Camillus regarded the queen coolly as he picked up the eagle scepter from the altar table. He snapped his fingers to signal one of his lictors to set up his ivory chair. The dictator took his seat.

Caecilia forced herself to revert to Latin, her mother tongue, which she now considered an enemy’s language. “I want to see my sons.”

The dictator raised one eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re in the position to make demands, Aemilia Caeciliana.”

She knew he wanted her to beg. She doubted it would make a difference. She glanced across to Marcus, hoping he would give her a hint that the boys were safe. He avoided her gaze, stony faced. She wondered why she should expect comfort from him. He’d kept his vow to Mastarna. He owed her nothing more. Her gaze traveled to the woman, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Caecilia was unsure if she’d seen correctly. Yet the faint encouragement did not quell her anxiety.

Thia whimpered, tightening her grip.

“Let me hold my daughter. Do you think I’m capable of doing harm with my hands freed?”

Camillus hesitated. His companion murmured behind him. He appeared irritated at her interjection but gestured to the guard to untie the ropes. Again Caecilia was surprised. How did this female come to have such influence? Her shapely figure suggested the general probably enjoyed her, but she was clearly more than a bedmate.

Words of thanks stuck in her throat. She wrapped her arms around Thia’s waist, kissing her. The baby settled on her lap, quiet but quivering. Caecilia returned her attention to Camillus, staring him down.

He laughed. “Do you think I’m frightened of a woman glaring at me?”

“I think only a coward slaughters unarmed people. You haven’t won a battle here today. Trickery, not bravery, delivered Veii into your hands.”

A hint of irritation flickered in his eyes. She’d seen it before at Fidenae years ago. She liked the fact she got under his skin.

He studied her from head to toe. She refused to feel ashamed. She was not prepared to be drawn back into Rome’s rules and judgments. She was a Rasennan wife, not a Roman matron.

“Look at you with your sheer clothes and painted face. I didn’t think a prostitute could become a monarch.” Camillus turned to his men and smiled. They sniggered in appreciation.

Caecilia stuck out her chin. “I am no whore but a univira. Faithful to one man.”

He sneered. “I doubt it. But any number of my men can soon relieve you of that distinction.”

The woman behind him gasped. He turned and gave her a stern look.

Caecilia was determined not to show her fear. “I’m proud of who I am. Proud to be Veientane. I have no regrets I chose Veii.”

“Husbands have a habit of dying, Caecilia. That’s why you should have returned to your uncle’s house. You should never have forsaken Rome.”

“At least Vel Mastarna was spared the humiliation of being paraded at your triumph. And strangled at its conclusion.”

Marcus tensed. Camillus also stiffened, looking across to the tribune, then back to her. “Regrettable, but at least I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you executed.”

She clenched her fists to hide her trembling. “Better a traitor to Rome than the martyr you wanted to make me.”

“So you think yourself innocent? That you are some poor scapegoat?”

“No. I sought Rome’s destruction.” She swiveled her head to scan each person in the room. “Gladly.”

“So you confess?”

“As if there will be any trial.”

“You forfeited that privilege long ago. The Carcer dungeon awaits you, as does a view from the Tarpeian Rock.”

As she tried to push thoughts of a brutal death aside, she noticed someone entering the sanctum from the corner of her eye.

She felt as though she’d been stabbed. Artile walked to Uni’s statue and bowed with the conceited mien of the holiest of servants. She wondered how he didn’t stagger with the burden of so many dead dragged behind him.

His eyes rested on her, gloating. Then his gaze traveled to the pool of Mastarna’s blood in front of the altar without blinking. When he spied Tarchon, though, he panicked. He rushed to him, stepping in front of Sethre, and pressed two fingers against the prince’s neck. He relaxed at finding a pulse then glared at Marcus. “You could’ve killed him.”

Camillus barked, “Leave him. I have more concerns than worrying about your pet.”

Tarchon opened his eyes at the priest’s touch. Dazed, he took a few moments to recognize who hovered above him. When he realized, he struggled to sit, shock apparent. Then his face contorted with fury as he tried to break free from his bindings. “You bastard!”

Startled, Artile stood out of his reach.

Tarchon inched closer to Sethre, sliding his palms around one of the youth’s lifeless hands, then defiant, he raised it to his lips.

The seer flinched, anger replacing his dismay.

Tarchon called to Camillus. “Rome must have been desperate to listen to this dog. He’s not only betrayed his city but his own flesh and blood.”

“Lord Artile is now a patriot of Rome. Your father should have taken care not to foster enmity with his brother.”

“I don’t know what lies he’s told you, but he’s a poisoner and pervert. There’s good reason why my father despised him. As do I.”

A look of distaste crossed Camillus’s face. “I have little interest in such accusations.” He beckoned to the haruspex. “Get over here.”

Artile bristled at the command but obeyed. Caecilia was pleased to see the priest had become a lackey. However, the haruspex’s haughtiness was restored when he studied her.

“Ah, Sister, I always told you that your fate led back to Rome. This is what becomes of flouting Nortia.”

She gritted her teeth, hating he was right. “At least I’ll be dragged to Rome instead of slinking there like a rat. I have not betrayed my people.”

The priest scowled. “You’re not Veientane. And Queen Uni chose to abandon her city because of you.”

She frowned, twisting around to stare up at the goddess. “What do you mean?”

Camillus stood, pointing the scepter in one hand at the statue. “I called Uni to desert Veii. I promised her a temple in Rome as Juno Regina. She answered my prayer.”

Caecilia heard Cytheris’s sharp intake of breath and Tarchon’s grunt of disbelief. She hugged Thia. What he said was fanciful, and yet it must be true. The mother goddess had been neglected and was unforgiving. The attempts to placate her had come too late.

Camillus walked around the altar table and knelt before the effigy. “O Mighty Jupiter and Juno Regina, I thank you for your favor. Know that this conquest was not unjust but of necessity to defend my people. Yet if you consider some retribution due for such devastation, I beseech you to spare Rome and let any penance fall upon my own head.”

Wheeling around, he began to rise, but his foot caught in his cloak. Stumbling, he pitched forward, grabbing the edge of the altar to prevent falling. The scepter clattered to the floor.

“My Wolf!” The woman ran to his side, grasping his forearm.

He steadied himself and shrugged her away. “Leave me be, Pinna.” It was clear he was unnerved, taking a moment to recover his composure. Then he straightened his shoulders and smoothed his cloak as he turned to the others with a smile. “My prayer is granted! A slight fall is my atonement for the greatest good fortune.”

The anxious look on the woman’s face remained. As did Artile’s frown. Camillus ignored them. He picked up the scepter and walked around the table to stand in front of Caecilia again.

“The time has come for you to return to Rome.” He signaled two lictors to come forward. “Give the child to Pinna. And bind the queen’s hands again. Lead her and Prince Tarchon to the camp. Take the maidservant, too.”

Caecilia screamed, straining against the ropes around her chest. “No, please, don’t take my baby. Tell me if my sons are alive!”

At her mother’s panic, Thia shrieked. Cytheris started to sob. Tarchon shouted abuse.

Pinna hurried across to Camillus. “Please, my Wolf, let her keep her daughter a little longer.” She touched his arm, coaxing him. “Please.”

His glare softened. “Very well. But don’t feel too sorry for her. Her heartbreak is deserved.”

Caecilia felt a wave of gratitude toward the woman who now approached her. She surrendered Thia to her while the lictor untied the ropes. Her limbs cramping, the queen wobbled as she rose to her feet. The dice fell from her lap. She bent and retrieved them. For a moment, black dots swam before her eyes as she straightened. She felt Pinna clasp her elbow to help her, bending close. “The princes have not been found either dead or alive.”