Call to Juno (A Tale of Ancient Rome #3) (35 page)

He finished the letter, rolling it and pushing it into a cylinder. “I don’t have time to cope with such disputes.”

“It’s not like you to have no opinion.”

He took the stick from her and smeared the wax on the papyrus. “You’re always so persistent. Very well, I hope the Curia heeds Genucius’s case. Veii is too large a prize not to share.”

“Then let it be so, my Wolf! Your men would be grateful. And, after all, you are dictator. Your decisions can’t be countermanded by the Senate.”

He laughed. “Would you approve of me then, little citizen? Do you think your father would, too?”

“He would’ve been honored to fight under your command.”

“Then I’ll think on it.” He pressed his carnelian stamp into the wax, then stood and walked to the tent flap, handing the letter to his messenger outside.

Pinna focused on tidying his desk, glancing at the map upon which Artile had marked all the tunnels, the secrets to a city’s annihilation.

Camillus stepped behind her, looping his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder as he also scanned the chart. “Do you truly think the dawn goddess will bless me?”

It was the first hint of doubt she’d heard from him in a long time. She was relieved arrogance had not seeped entirely through him. “Of course Mater Matuta will grant you victory, my Wolf. And you’ll have the light of the longest day to achieve it.”

“You make me strong,” he murmured, kissing the nape of her neck, one hand cupping her breast, the other hitching up his leather kilt and tunic.

Pinna smiled and flipped up the back of her dress. She bent forward, knocking aside the paperweights as she stretched out and braced herself against the desk, ready to enjoy his power, exulting in her own.

F
IFTY

Caecilia, Veii, Summer, 396 BC

Mastarna stood at the terrace wall, arms straight as he gripped the stone edge. He surveyed the horizon to the main Roman camp. Innocuous puffs of smoke drifted from the cooking fires. “I wonder what Camillus is up to. I have reports he’s shut the stockades. All the Romans seem to be holed up in their forts or camps.”

Caecilia rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. “It’s suspicious. Why take Nepete yet only keep Scipio manning a skeleton force? Why lead an army of reinforcements to Veii if he plans no action?”

“I don’t know. But Camillus is wasting time. Even with the influx of our farmers seeking refuge again, we’ve enough supplies with careful rationing. And we’ve ample water and fuel. Our citadel is unassailable. We can wait out the remaining months of his dictatorship, then once again negotiate for peace. A lasting truce is inevitable.”

He continued to observe the encampment. Despite his assurances, Caecilia knew he was worried. His features were drawn from fatigue. There were more strands of silver at the sides of his dark, close-cropped curls. The failure of the peace talks rankled, but with ensuing months of freedom from the siege, it seemed Rome might be relenting. Caecilia had looked forward to summer with its azure skies and cicada song. But it was only a respite, not a release from conflict. On the kalends of June, the warning siren sounded. The Veientanes crowded along the length of the walls to stare at the Roman regiment returning. And at the head of the troops rode General Genucius. Morale deflated as swiftly as it had been buoyed. The gains made in the north had been lost. Vel was bitter that he had been taken by surprise.

Soon the entrances to the city were clogged with farmworkers and their families, hopes ruined that they might heft scythes for the autumn harvest. Travelers and traders on the thoroughfares ringing the plateau fled. Lock bolts were hammered into place on the double gates around the city. Vel immediately commanded Lusinies to strengthen the northwest bridge. The guards on the Uni, Tinia, and Minerva Gates were doubled. Archers were detailed to stand watch on the towers and spread themselves along the ramparts of the curtain walls. Raiding parties were sent on sorties. The race was on to reach the siege lines and cut off the Romans from beginning their repair work. However, the skirmishers made little headway. They faced the same obstacle of hilly terrain that had hampered the Romans from launching a frontal assault for a decade.

To Vel’s frustration, Genucius managed to retake possession of the main camp and the quarry across the river. Caecilia thought it strange that the Roman general wasn’t intent on tightening the cordon around Veii as had Camillus before him. He seemed unconcerned about letting trade trickle through the stockades. However, he did begin shoring up the trenches with stone despite Vel ordering forays to disrupt his engineers.

“Ati! Arnth is squashing me!”

The parents turned. The younger boys were playing leapfrog on the terrace, but Arnth had chosen to bring Larce crashing to the ground instead of vaulting over him. Sitting on a wicker chair at the loom, Cytheris raised one eyebrow at the familiar commotion but continued with her weaving. Perca hastened across to disentangle the brothers, but Arnth, stubborn as always, refused to budge.

Caecilia glanced across to Tas. He and Tarchon sat, heads close, discussing the Book of Fate. The boy hunched forward, listening to his half brother, oblivious to his younger siblings. His excitement at Vel letting him study the Holy Books had banished his discontent. All principes were required to read the Etruscan Discipline, even if only some were trained in its intricacies. Tarchon had been counseled, though, not to blow on the smoldering coals of Artile’s promises and set Tas’s obsession to be a seer aflame.

Mastarna drew the golden dice from the sinus of his tebenna. Caecilia was pleased that he’d resumed carrying them.

“Here, play with these,” he said, extracting Arnth and handing the tesserae to Larce first. The older boy beamed at the unexpected preference, while the younger, used to being his father’s favorite, stuck out his lower lip.

Just woken from slumber, Thia was chattering gibberish to Semni. Larce was the only one who was privy to his sister’s secret language, translating what the baby said and amazed that everyone else was clueless.

Freeing Thia of her swaddling bands, Semni set the baby on the floor. The girl grasped the nursemaid’s skirts, pulling herself to stand on wobbly legs. Then she tottered precariously across to Hathli, her new wet nurse. The stocky young widow steadied the child, turning her around and directing her back to Semni as a game.

Thick ankled and broad waisted, Hathli had sought refuge when her farmer husband was killed in a Roman raid. Then her sorrow doubled when her baby died in the plague. When the queen heard of her plight, pity filled her.

Mastarna smiled as he headed toward his daughter. He bent down and opened his arms. “Come, my princess.”

The little girl smiled, revealing gummy gaps between a sparse scattering of small white teeth. “Apa,” she chirped. She encircled her father’s neck with chubby arms. There was no sign of the skinny, fretful baby of weeks before. Hathli’s milk had nourished her back to health, although Thia was still smaller than most children nearly one year of age.

Vel planted a kiss on his daughter’s cheek, then blew a raspberry, causing greater mirth and a torrent of garbling. He smiled at his wife. “What’s she saying?” Caecilia shrugged. “I don’t know, but she’s giving you a lot of advice.”

“Just like her mother,” he said, grabbing his wife around the waist. “Ah, there’s nothing quite like holding the two women in my life.”

Caecilia smiled and reached up to smooth Thia’s mop of tight curls. The little girl grasped her fingers, looking between father and mother to continue her conversation with them both.

Arruns approached. “Master, Lady Tanchvil is here to see you.”

Vel frowned at the unexpected visit. “Tell the high priestess I’ll see her in the council chamber.” He handed Thia to Hathli, calling to Tarchon, “Join us, too.”

Tas looked up, disappointed at his lesson being cut short. “May I go with you, Apa?”

“No. Keep reading. Tarchon won’t be long.”

Tarchon tousled the boy’s hair. “Your father is right. And I’ll be testing you when I return.”

As always, Caecilia was struck by Tanchvil’s grace as Arruns escorted the hatrencu into the council chamber. However, the augur was far from composed. She was wringing her hands, each long finger adorned with rings of gold.

Mastarna nodded and gestured for her to sit at the far end of the table. “Why do you seek an audience?”

“I’ve determined the meaning of the prodigy at Lake Albanus, my lord. The codex you brought me from the Sacred College at Velzna has been helpful.”

“And what does the portent signify?”

“The rising of the waters was a warning to Rome that they’d neglected Mater Matuta and Nethuns.”

“And what are the expiation rites for such transgressions?” said Tarchon.

“That’s what concerns me. The waters of the lake must be drawn off so they no longer reach the sea. If this is achieved, then Veii will fall to Rome.”

Tarchon turned to the king. “We heard the Latins have drained their floodplains. I thought it no more than irrigation. But now . . .”

Mastarna grimaced. “It seems they were diverting the water for holy purpose. No wonder the Latin tribes have joined forces with Rome again to hold the Aequians and Volscians in check.”

Caecilia cast an alarmed look at her husband. “But how did Camillus know the answer to placating the gods? The Roman magistrates only have recourse to the three Sibylline Books. Those texts are limited on such matters.”

“That’s true,” said Tanchvil. “But the oracle at Delphi might have been consulted.”

Caecilia rubbed her temple, her head aching. Could it be true Veii might fall? “But why would our gods allow Veii’s destruction, Lady Tanchvil? Why would they favor Rome?”

There was reproach in the hatrencu’s voice. “You most of all must be aware that Queen Uni has been disregarded. The wine god is now revered more than her. Her festival on the kalends was forgotten. Instead the Mysteries of the Pacha Cult took precedence. It’s dangerous to displease her.”

Guilt surged through Caecilia, realizing she’d forgotten to worship Uni in the wake of the Feast of Fufluns.

Images of the initiation rites flashed through her mind. The Mysteries had not been as frightening as she’d feared. The games preceding it had recalled a time when Veii was carefree: a chariot race, a discus contest, jugglers and acrobats. And the procession into the woods to give offerings to Fufluns had been joyful. The masked actors following the high priest were dressed as maenads and satyrs. The nymphs danced and capered while the horse-tailed men stalked them, the leather phalluses tied around their waists jiggling. The pomp wended its way through ravine and woodland, leaving afternoon sun behind and greeting evening shadows. Holding their thyrsus staffs and torches aloft, the worshippers created a moving carpet of light up to the altar. The roasted aroma of the sacrificial goats was mouthwatering as the supplicants sated their hunger.

The wine had been unwatered. Strong and heady. Sweetened with honey. The first sip had tasted like fire. Caecilia refilled the drinking horn many times, seeking intoxication as quickly as possible. Giddy and laughing, her heartbeat was captured by the rhythm of the drums. Music enveloped her. Her senses thrummed with the moan of bullroarers, clash of cymbals, and trill of double pipes. Euphoric, she danced, eyes closed, snapping her head back and forth. Singing and gyrating, the revelers packed tight around her, their faces hidden by the guise of beast or satyr.

Kneeling before the enormous ivy-entwined mask of the wine god, she drank the holy milk that would purify her as she revered the sacred phallus. From the eyeholes of her mask, her vision was restricted, the terra-cotta pressing against her face. She could hear herself breathing. And when she stared into the blank eyes of the divinity’s mask, she was liberated; she was no longer Caecilia.

Perspiration coated her from dancing too close to the bonfire, her sheer chiton clung to her flesh. Then he found her, wearing his bull’s head mask, his half-naked body also slick with sweat. He’d carried her into the bracken. And there, lying on his goatskin, he taught her to see Fufluns. Her mind and soul merged with the divinity, her body an instrument to channel the god’s spirit. When the elation ebbed, she grew greedy, needing the exquisite rush and heat and ecstasy again. Not satisfied with just one encounter. But the half bull was as possessive as he was potent. In the morning, she could not recall other than his lust as she woke, head aching, naked on his cloak, his arms around her.

Now the memory of the festival caused Caecilia to flush under Tanchvil’s scrutiny. Yet should the followers of the Pacha Cult be ashamed of worshiping the dying god? Was Uni so jealous that she would seek to punish Veii because some sought epiphany? Surely there was room in the heavens for both immortals to be worshiped side by side? “I concede I’ve neglected Queen Uni, but it was with no malice. I still love and revere her.”

“And as the chief priest of Veii,” said Vel, “I seek to honor all deities and cults. However, I regret my failure to observe the mother goddess’s rituals. I’ll declare a holy day on the summer solstice to seek both her forgiveness and her blessing.”

Tanchvil caressed the outstretched wings of the eagle on her torque. “I’m grateful, my lord. As the people will be when they hear. But the news of Lake Albanus is a dire warning. I fear you’ll need to do more than beseech the divine Uni for her pardon. Veii must convince the gods that it’s worthy of being saved.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?”

“Observe the Fatales Rites. Call down lightning on Rome as I suggested before. Let me send my eagle, Antar, to the Veiled Ones to convince Tinia to hurl down his thunderbolt of destruction. Veii’s fate may yet be deferred and disaster averted.”

“I’ve already told you I don’t believe in interfering with Fate. Nortia sets her course. She’s fickle and changeable. We might as well beat our hands against air than attempt to persuade her. And the Veiled Ones seldom arm the king of the gods with lethal lightning.”