Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(122)
They crept closer to the Medusa chamber. With the prospect of a Roman looming at any time, the distance seemed miles. Suddenly, Semni heard laughter coming from one of the wine cellars. The door had been wrenched open, the lock broken. Three soldiers emerged. Arruns pulled her into one of the smaller storerooms. She held her breath as the enemy passed inches from them.
Arruns signaled her to follow him again. Holding her breath, she dashed past the wine cellar. There were no shouts. No footsteps running after her.
The pithoi chamber was only two more rooms away. Semni felt the urge to rush ahead, but as they neared it she noticed the door was open. Arruns halted and placed his hand across her mouth, warning her not to cry out. Her stomach twisted. For this time it was not Latin voices she heard but grunting, brutal and primal, and a girl sobbing “no, no, no.”
FIFTY-SIX
Caecilia, Veii, Summer, 396 BC
“Get up, Caecilia.”
Marcus had returned from his inspection of the sanctuary.
Thia clutched her mother and whimpered, hiding her face. Cytheris tightened her grip on her mistress’s arm. Caecilia glared at him. “I won’t leave Vel.”
“Do as I say!”
His demand reminded her what it was to be a Roman woman. A spurt of anger shot through her. “What are you going to do, Marcus? Drag me away like Drusus did? It will be easy. I’m weak.”
“Shut up. Do you think you can protect him forever? There are more than Drusus who want your husband to be a tormented ghost.”
She swallowed, realizing her defense of Vel had been in vain. The dictator may have been deprived of the chance to execute a vanquished king, but he still had an opportunity to degrade his foe.
“Please, don’t let Camillus desecrate his body! He must be cremated with due honor.”
Marcus reached down and grasped her by her upper arms, forcing her to stand. Then he released her. She staggered a little, unsure whether he would reinforce his order with a slap.
“I’m not going to let him be decapitated.”
She swayed, faint headed, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “You won’t?”
“I believe in paying a debt.” He spat out the words.
He made no sense. “Debt?”
“You know what I’m talking about. The blood debt I owe Mastarna.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Didn’t he tell you? In return for sparing my life at Nepete, I’m obliged to grant you a favor. I doubt there’s much I can do for you other than save Mastarna from mutilation.”
She was astonished. The husband who’d chided her for keeping secrets had kept one from her. Gratitude surged through her that Vel would try to protect her. “But how can you prevent his body being defiled?”
“Burn him in one of the fire pits outside. It seems your people were preparing for a monumental sacrifice today.”
She glanced up to Uni. Their attempts to appease the goddess had come too late. “Then let’s do it quickly.”
Marcus bent his knees to haul Mastarna onto his shoulders. He grunted with the effort of lifting the deadweight but managed to heft Vel from the floor. As he swung around to the door, the golden dice tumbled from a fold of the king’s twisted cloak. Caecilia gasped and hurried to collect them.
Thia broke free of Cytheris and toddled to her mother, clutching at her chiton. “Hush,” Caecilia murmured, “I’ll be back soon. Here, play with Apa’s dice.”
As Thia settled beside Cytheris with her playthings, Caecilia noticed Marcus scrutinizing the child. “Hurry up,” he said when he realized he’d been observed. “We need to do this now.”
Caecilia walked to the doors, not caring that one edge of her mantle trailed through puddles of milk and blood. She skirted Drusus’s corpse, seething, as she passed across the threshold.
The fearful din which had been muffled by the temple walls now assaulted her in a barrage: yells of triumph, shrieks of terror, the wailing of women, and the pitiful crying of children.
The grounds of the sanctuary were littered with acolytes who’d been cut down while tending to sacred tasks. A murderous sacrilege. The bulls reared in their corral, bellowing and butting each other in alarm. The sacred geese honked and flapped.
Three of Marcus’s men stood guard behind the closed precinct gates, denying refuge to those fleeing from soldiers in the forum. The enemy numbers seemed to have swollen a hundredfold.
Her gaze traveled to the palace next door. Once again, she felt powerless. Her sons were inside, vulnerable. She could only pray Arruns might protect them—and that Camillus’s soldiers would not forget their orders.
She dragged her eyes from the square, concentrating on following Marcus. For now, Vel was all that mattered. She swallowed, realizing she must pick her way through the dead lictors sprawled across the porch. Their rods and axes had not been enough to counter swords and surprise. She gasped when she saw Tanchvil among them. The priestess’s throat was slit, her gray hair soaked in the blood pooling around her. “What type of men kill innocent women?” she shouted.
Marcus paused as he descended the steps. Head craned forward, he was sweating with the effort of lugging Vel. He barked at her to keep going, but Caecilia sensed his uneasiness at her question.
As she hurried after him, she glanced back at the two other Romans stationed on either side of the temple doorway. They were staring after their commander, expressions quizzical.