Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(116)
Lark would soon exchange places with nightingale as Marcus and his cavalry assembled in the quarry under the cover of night. The dark hour before cockcrow was stifling.
All one hundred men knew their orders: Climb the shaft and break into the temple. Make their way to the top and bottom double Gates of Uni and overcome the sentries. Attack the palace and capture the royal family.
Marcus hoped no sentinel on the arx had acute enough eyesight to spy his brigade. They could not risk using torches. Only the light of the quarter moon illuminated the area.
His knights were not the only men waiting in the dark. To the west, north, and east, units of soldiers were assembled in tunnels ready to erupt through the drains into the heart of the city. To further hide the ruse, Camillus had ordered a simultaneous attack to be launched on the wall around the plateau. Marcus imagined bewildered citizens running to defend the gates, puzzled by the reckless assault when not a single Roman soldier had moved from his post for days. The barrage of noise and confusion as hoplites hurled grappling hooks, or thudded ladders against tufa stone, would divert attention from the imminent danger within.
As Marcus waited for the signal, he realized the blood debt claimed by Mastarna would now need to be repaid. Yet it was an impossible request. How could he seek clemency for Caecilia? And he tried not to think what might happen to their doomed sons and daughter. He hoped the general would only consider enslavement.
At least one child would be spared. Artile’s wheedling voice had grated on the tribune’s nerves as the Etruscan once again implored Camillus to give him Mastarna’s firstborn. The uncle had shown no concern for the fate of the other children. He’d also called for the death of the high priestess of Uni. He wanted no rival surviving to convince the goddess to remain in Veii.
The men were growing restless, keyed up with anticipation. Marcus doubted any of them had slept more than a few short hours. The soldiers immediately behind him were the twenty Horse Shield heroes. Marcus had named Drusus as his second-in-command. Tatius showed no rancor at being passed over.
Still no signal. Once again Marcus contemplated the day ahead. Camillus’s voice had been calm and heartless as he’d issued his other commands. No man was to be spared. Women and children were to be captured, or killed if they resisted. The palace, mansions, and public offices could be ransacked but not burned. All other buildings could be torched. Temples were to remain intact so the gods could be appeased before holy treasures were claimed. And most important of all, Juno’s temple must go unscathed.
In the sweltering heat, Marcus grappled with his conscience in the face of such orders. He never thought the day would come when he’d be ordered to commit mass slaughter of unarmed people. There was little comfort knowing he’d bear no responsibility for his actions. He would be obeying orders.
Drusus whispered, “How does it feel to know you’ll wear the mural crown tomorrow?”
Marcus frowned, keeping his voice low, aware he was breaching his own command to be silent. “It’s not an honor I’ll earn. I won’t be scaling the wall of a besieged fortress.”
“Whether over the wall or through a tunnel, you’ll be the first to set foot into the stronghold.”
Marcus’s temper flared. “Now isn’t the time for your envy.”
The Claudian stiffened. “I’m just stating a fact.”
“And I’ve preferred you over Tatius, even though he was more deserving. Now shut up.”
Drusus fell silent. Marcus was sorry for his terseness. Yet for weeks he’d mulled over Mastarna’s accusation. Little by little, he’d come to the conclusion Drusus may well have acted dishonorably. “Remember the general’s orders,” he murmured. “Forget your curse. Take Mastarna alive. Rome will exact retribution, not you.”
Drusus fingers dug into Marcus’s bicep. “I know my duty.”
“Get your hand off me.”
An owl hooted. The prearranged signal.
Marcus steadied himself. Drusus squeezed his arm again, no anger in his touch. “May Mars be with you, Brother.”
“And with you, Brother. Now convey the order. It’s time to go.”
The entrance to the tunnel yawned before him. Marcus willed himself to step into the pitch black, the snaking line of men behind him. Crouching, he moved forward, reaching out to touch the walls on either side of the mine. He felt pick marks hewn into the surface. The smell of stone and dirt was strong. He thought the air would be suffocating, but the temperature was even. He heard grunts as some of the men hit their heads on the low roof. Sounds were amplified in the enclosed space: shuffling boots, swords knocking against rock. The stink of sweat, rich with apprehension and excitement, soon filled his nostrils.
The passage narrowed, the roof sloping downward. Marcus got down on his hands and knees. There was no turning back now. He was hemmed in by men at his back and the darkness beyond. If one man froze in fear, or lashed out in panic, there would be chaos.
“We’re nearly there,” said Drusus. “The sap narrows before it opens to the drain.”
There was a breeze. Marcus eased forward into the low-roofed overhang at the base of the cliff. He gulped in air, relieved to be free of the tunnel. Stooping, he scanned around him. He could hear the sound of the river beyond and see dim gray light at the entrance. The sun was rising. There was no time to waste. Drusus and Tatius joined him in the rock gallery, the others forced to wait their turn.