Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(114)

Vel was also reluctant to rise. He stroked her arm from shoulder to wrist. “Hard to believe we’ve been married for eleven years.”

She smiled, remembering how she’d trembled under the orange veil, peering through its coarse weave to see the husband Rome had chosen for her. An eighteen-year-old virgin wed to a man nearly twice her age. And then in Veii, they’d stood beneath a gossamer veil together. A symbol of union in life and death. One day their wedding shroud would cover them for eternity. “Eleven years married. It was a lifetime ago.”

His fingers caressed her hair, then lingered on her throat. As always, he aroused her senses and desire.

“Perhaps I should never have given you the choice to return to me,” he said, voice catching. “You would be safe in Rome if not for me.”

A lump formed in her throat. “How can you say that? What kind of life would I have led there? Trapped in a loveless marriage to Drusus or exiled to a country villa by Aemilius? I don’t regret returning to you. I thank Nortia for sending you to me in the first place and then for you rescuing me.”

He cupped her chin. “What if Tinia doesn’t answer my call? I have been impious. Arrogant.”

“Stop it, Vel. There’s no point in torturing yourself with misgivings. You’re a just and wise ruler. You possess courage and daring. Tinia will heed you.”

Rolling her onto her back, he lay on her, flesh against flesh, heat matching heat. Her Atlenta pendant was a hard shape against their chests. “I need you. You are stronger than I am.”

She wrapped her legs around him. “Don’t forget,” she whispered, “that we are lions.”



Their sleep was that of childhood. Lips rosy and slightly parted, the curve of cheek against the pillow, loose limbed. Caecilia raised the lamp so she could study them. Larce lay on his side, while Arnth was on his back, arms above his head as though in surrender. Caecilia smiled, thinking her youngest son was the least likely of her children to yield.

Night still held sway. Dawn an hour away. The golden thread spun through her mantle shimmered in the torchlight as she bent to kiss her sons. She would not see them again until the morrow. The rites of Uni would last all day and late into the night.

Bleary eyed and bare footed, Semni padded from the anteroom toward her. “Do you want me to dress them, mistress? I didn’t think you wanted them at the ceremony.”

“Go back to bed. I just wished to kiss them before I left.”

Arnth did not stir at her touch, but Larce opened his eyes at her caress. “Sleep,” she murmured, pressing her lips firmly on his cheek. “Sleep.”

When she entered Tas’s room, she noticed he was awake. He sat up straight when he saw her. “Ati, there were many wolves this time in the cave. They surrounded the bull. And Queen Uni stood with her lightning bolt raised.”

Goose bumps pimpled her arms. Then she chided herself. Was it any wonder the boy dreamed of such animals? He was surrounded by the bull symbol of the House of Mastarna. And she often referred to Camillus and the generals of Rome as wolves. She placed the lamp on the side table and sat beside him, encircling him with her arms. “Ssh, it’s just a nightmare. You will grow out of them soon.”

He clung to her. “So you don’t have bad dreams anymore, Ati?”

She nodded. “That’s right, the night demon doesn’t visit me anymore.”

He shuffled down under the sheet.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my love,” she said, kissing his head.

Hathli appeared in the doorway holding Thia, who was fussing. “I can’t settle her, my lady. She has only slept for an hour or so. I’ve fed her but she won’t go to sleep.”

Caecilia grabbed her from the wet nurse, placing her palm against Thia’s forehead. “Is she feverish?”

“Yes. She is running a temperature.”

There was a spot of high color on one of Thia’s cheeks. For a moment, Caecilia panicked, thinking the scourge had returned, but the redness was not a rash but concentrated in one place.

Rocking the child, Caecilia cooed, holding her against her shoulder. The little girl calmed at her touch.

“She’s probably just teething, mistress,” said Cytheris, joining them.

Caecilia pried opened her daughter’s mouth. The lower gum was red and swollen. “But what if it’s more?”

Cytheris shook her head. “You worry too much.”

The mother was not prepared to fob off concern. “I nearly lost Larce and Arnth. I don’t want to leave a sick child.”

“Then take her with you, mistress. I’ll hold her during the rituals. Now you must hurry to join the king. I’ll bring Thia to the temple myself.”



Moonset was tarrying. The thin sliver lingered as the sun broke free of the horizon to swathe the temple grounds with pale, clear light.

The royal party entered through the gates of the sanctuary. The rites dictated that only the king, queen, and prince should enter the temple to conduct the lustration. However, Tarchon had convinced his father to allow Sethre to accompany him, insisting that regal blood also flowed through his pupil’s veins.

The royal family was clad in purple. Vel’s crown was burnished and gleaming. He carried the eagle scepter in one hand.

Caecilia straightened her own coronet with its dozens of tiny beaten gold leaves. She knew it would give her a headache by the end of the day. Earrings shaped as bunched grapes dangled beside her cheeks, a symbol of her devotion to the wine god. And to show that she also honored Uni, a peacock brooch was fastened at her shoulder. Her thick brown hair was held by a netted snood. Cytheris had no time to curl it. Lovemaking and kissing children had eaten into the hours.