Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(118)

Then, like some grotesque apparition, mouth wide with his roar, Claudius Drusus rounded the altar, sword held high.

Stunned, Vel took too long to react before beginning to rise. Hampered by his tebenna cloak, he changed his mind, launching himself at Drusus. The crown fell from his head, crashing to the floor and rolling away, as he tackled the Roman around the knees.

Drusus fell backward. Mastarna threw himself on top of him, punching his face. Blood spurted from the Roman’s broken nose but he wasn’t deterred. He grappled with the king, thrashing and bucking until he dislodged him. Then, scrambling to his feet, Drusus kicked Mastarna’s right upper arm as Vel again tried to stand, his heavy cloak tangled around him. Before his rival could rise, the knight gripped the hilt of the sword in both hands and plunged the blade between Mastarna’s neck and shoulder. Vel uttered a soft moan as the point tore through cartilage and muscle into his rib cage to pierce his heart. He toppled to the side, his body thudding on the tiles.

Dumbstruck, Caecilia watched Drusus retract his sword through her husband’s flesh. Blood gushed out, spattering the floor, splattering her skirts. The murderer stood over his victim, his chest heaving.

A dry sob bruised her throat as she crawled over to Vel, trying to prop him up, but his weight was too heavy. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.” She shook him, trying to rouse him. Then, more frenzied, she gripped his blood-soaked tebenna, her hands reddening as she clenched the purple cloth.

Drusus grasped her shoulder and wrenched her away. His eyes roved over her, his breath ragged. She’d forgotten how tall and lean he was. Another wolf. She could tell there was something broken inside him. He shook her. “He’s made you into a harlot!”

Suddenly another soldier stopped beside him, shoving him in the back. “You weren’t supposed to kill the king.”

Drusus twisted around. “Lead the men to the gates, Tatius. I’ve unfinished business here.”

As the two knights argued, Caecilia tended to Vel. She cupped his face, kissing him. She said his name over and over, calling him back to her. From the corner of her eye, she saw the soldier called Tatius leave.

Drusus yanked her away and raised his weapon again. “Get off. It’s time for retribution. Your husband will be a headless ghost.”

Risking the downward arc of the sword, she threw herself onto Vel, covering his body with hers, hugging him tight. “No!”

Drusus jerked her shoulder but she clung on. He dug his fingers into her flesh. She felt her muscles tear, but she held fast, ignoring the pain, desperate to protect her husband. “Stop, please stop!”

She shrieked as he increased the pressure on her shoulder. She felt herself giving way. Then he let go as someone barreled into him, sending him sprawling.

“I told you not to kill him!”

She drew back. Marcus was standing over Drusus. The last time she’d seen him had been from the distance of the wall. Now, inches from him, she was struck by his size. A broad-shouldered killer. Once again, she clung to Vel, willing him to be alive. “He’s a coward, Marcus. He’s slain a king while in prayer. Now he seeks to mutilate him.”

Drusus lumbered to his feet. “I swore I’d kill him, and I have.”

Marcus growled. “It’s bad enough you’ve disobeyed orders. Do you want to deliver Mastarna to Camillus in pieces?”

Drusus pointed at Caecilia with his sword. Blood dripped from his nose, mouth, and chin, the neck of his tunic saturated with it, his arms slick with sweat. “Look at her painted face and whorish clothes. He did that to her! I intend to make my curse come true.” He took a step forward, blade poised to hack at Vel. Marcus blocked him.

“Leave him alone!”

“Get out of my way!”

Drusus pointed his weapon at Marcus. “You think you’re better than me. But I won’t be ordered around by you.” He thrust at the tribune with his sword. Marcus grunted in surprise but parried the blow. His skill only enraged Drusus, who charged. Metal clanged and grated. Caecilia stared in bewilderment. She thought they were lifelong friends.

Through her shock, she heard Thia. The baby was hysterical. She looked beyond the edge of the statue to the back corner of the chamber. White faced, Cytheris tried to hold fast the wriggling child whose arms were outstretched to her mother.

Terrified to leave Vel, she called to Thia to stay with Cytheris. The maid nodded, stricken, as she cast glances between the queen and toward the workroom where her own daughter might lie dead. In a fresh rush of panic, Caecilia realized her sons were also in danger at the palace.

She returned her attention to the dueling soldiers. Marcus had gained the advantage, driving his friend back to one of the bronze doors with unrelenting blows. Then he stopped, panting. “By Great Mars, yield. I don’t want to kill you.”

The Claudian’s eyes were manic. He yelled and lunged. Marcus feinted to the side. Then, as his attacker readjusted his aim, Marcus drove his sword into Drusus’s armpit to his heart.

Drusus’s weapon slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. He crumpled to his knees. Marcus dropped his sword and knelt, hugging him, holding him upright. The dead man’s head flopped forward against his shoulder, his arms limp. Marcus lowered him to the floor. Then he knelt beside him, letting out a moan as agonized as a wounded animal’s.

Caecilia rolled off Vel and sat cross-legged behind him, lifting his head onto her lap. She felt no pity for either her cousin or Drusus. She hissed at Marcus. “I thank the gods you stopped him.”