Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(132)
She also dozed, exhausted by weeping and worry. Each time she woke, she was disbelieving. Her anxiety for her sons thrummed inside her.
The presence of Drusus’s body in front of her was a goad. Her thoughts vacillated between hate for him and shock and sorrow over Vel. Each wave of grief was agony.
The Romans deputized to remain at the temple wandered in and out of the portico. She could see they were restless, bored with standing guard to prevent their fellow soldiers raiding the treasures in the sanctuary. One remained in the chamber ogling her, making her conscious of her clinging dress. She prayed he would obey Marcus’s order not to rape the women, remembering her horror that her cousin needed to issue the command.
When the guard’s eyes weren’t roving over her breasts, he studied the rich trappings of the sanctum, in particular, Queen Uni’s diadem, gold pectoral, and rings. She wondered if he would lever out the gems and hide them, hoping his superiors wouldn’t notice. “Pity the gold is destined for the treasury,” she murmured.
He glared at her. “Not this time; the general promised us a share.”
She was surprised, then felt nauseous, thinking of the race to collect the loot. “Then you’re missing your chance to steal your own.”
“Shut up, bitch. You’ve already caused enough trouble.”
Thia woke in fright and bawled.
“Shut her up,” he said, nudging the baby with his toe.
Caecilia cried out, helpless to hold her daughter, sorry she’d taunted him. She crooned to the baby with a hoarse, wavering voice. To her relief, Thia quieted, standing on her mother’s lap and clutching her neck, watching the guard.
She heard the scrape of boots as the guards stood to attention outside. Startled from sleep, Cytheris uttered a small cry as twenty-four Roman lictors marched into the chamber. Caecilia craned her neck to catch sight of her sons, heart thudding afresh when they did not appear.
Camillus was just as she remembered him. The lean wolf of Tas’s dreams. She’d been waiting for him all day. In a strange way she longed to see him. To finally meet the man who’d stalked her so she could confront him.
Even after a day of overseeing slaughter, he stood immaculate in his armor, breastplate, and leather kilt. He had removed his helmet, his long hair oiled, beard clipped. As she watched him stride to the head of his entourage, she noticed his limp was barely detectable. He frowned as he passed Drusus’s corpse, then his pace slowed when he saw Uni’s statue, his eyes widening in awe. He bowed in reverence.
Marcus was at the dictator’s side. Camillus must have forgiven him for burning Vel’s body. He cast a furtive look toward the Claudian’s body, the apple in his throat working, but his expression remained impassive.
A woman crept through the doorway and stood behind the general. Her pretty heart-shaped face was pale, the high arched eyebrows furrowed in a line as she took in the death around her. Caecilia was surprised to see a female amid warriors. Who was she?
The woman also gazed upward in wonder at Uni. But as she turned her attention to Caecilia, the queen saw pity in her eyes, the first she’d seen from a Roman. Even when Marcus had helped her, he’d done so with resentment.
Camillus regarded the queen coolly as he picked up the eagle scepter from the altar table. He snapped his fingers to signal one of his lictors to set up his ivory chair. The dictator took his seat.
Caecilia forced herself to revert to Latin, her mother tongue, which she now considered an enemy’s language. “I want to see my sons.”
The dictator raised one eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re in the position to make demands, Aemilia Caeciliana.”
She knew he wanted her to beg. She doubted it would make a difference. She glanced across to Marcus, hoping he would give her a hint that the boys were safe. He avoided her gaze, stony faced. She wondered why she should expect comfort from him. He’d kept his vow to Mastarna. He owed her nothing more. Her gaze traveled to the woman, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Caecilia was unsure if she’d seen correctly. Yet the faint encouragement did not quell her anxiety.
Thia whimpered, tightening her grip.
“Let me hold my daughter. Do you think I’m capable of doing harm with my hands freed?”
Camillus hesitated. His companion murmured behind him. He appeared irritated at her interjection but gestured to the guard to untie the ropes. Again Caecilia was surprised. How did this female come to have such influence? Her shapely figure suggested the general probably enjoyed her, but she was clearly more than a bedmate.
Words of thanks stuck in her throat. She wrapped her arms around Thia’s waist, kissing her. The baby settled on her lap, quiet but quivering. Caecilia returned her attention to Camillus, staring him down.
He laughed. “Do you think I’m frightened of a woman glaring at me?”
“I think only a coward slaughters unarmed people. You haven’t won a battle here today. Trickery, not bravery, delivered Veii into your hands.”
A hint of irritation flickered in his eyes. She’d seen it before at Fidenae years ago. She liked the fact she got under his skin.
He studied her from head to toe. She refused to feel ashamed. She was not prepared to be drawn back into Rome’s rules and judgments. She was a Rasennan wife, not a Roman matron.
“Look at you with your sheer clothes and painted face. I didn’t think a prostitute could become a monarch.” Camillus turned to his men and smiled. They sniggered in appreciation.