Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(16)
“Master, wait.” Arruns’s tone was more of a demand than an entreaty. The familiarity of his address was also a reminder that he’d long served the princip.
Lord Mastarna paused. He nodded assent.
“I saved your life in the Battle of Blood and Hail,” said the Phoenician, his gaze traveling across to the queen. “And I once stopped bandits murdering Lady Caecilia. I call upon the blood debt both of you owe me. I do not do so lightly.” He bent his head, humble again. “I ask that you pardon Semni so that I might take her as my wife.”
Amazed at her lover’s request, the girl looked expectantly at the king. Nonplussed, the lucumo swiveled around to the queen.
Lady Caecilia nodded. “It’s true. We owe Arruns our lives. And he’s one of our most faithful servants.”
“And what of the girl? She’s far from truthful.”
“My first thoughts were also to punish her. But Semni proved she saw the error of her ways when she rescued Tas. And I can’t have her death on my conscience. For she will perish without a family to harbor her. And I don’t want a decent woman to become a whore so that she might eat. Nor a mother to be separated from her baby.”
The king’s expression softened as he scanned her face. “So you believe in redemption?”
She smiled. “I would not be in Veii if I didn’t.”
The king’s lips curved upward briefly before he turned to his servants. “Very well, Arruns, I’ll honor the debt. The girl may stay. And I can’t stop you marrying her, but I warn against it. However, if she betrays us again, you’ll also be dismissed.”
Arruns bowed. “Thank you, my lord. And the birching?”
The queen squeezed the king’s forearm. Semni was thankful the noblewoman was prepared to chip away at her husband’s judgments. Nevertheless, the lucumo’s exasperation was evident. “No thrashing either, then.”
The wet nurse sighed in relief. Her gratitude toward the queen was overwhelming. She vowed silently she would spend her days proving she could be trusted. But it was the king she needed to win over. She stepped forward, kneeling and kissing his feet. “Thank you, my lord, thank you. I’ll nourish the princess as though she were my own. I’ll care for the princes.”
Lord Mastarna stepped back at her groveling. “Do you think I would have a woman like you caring for my children? You’re not to go near them. You can work in the kitchen again.”
Semni leaned back on her heels. Lady Caecilia made a clucking noise and helped the girl to her feet. Her tone was impatient. “Of course she will. Thia is thriving. Semni nurses our daughter with milk and with love. And our sons adore her.”
Arruns stood to attention. “I will vouch for her, my lord. Please let her remain as a wet nurse.”
The king scowled in frustration at his edicts being undermined. “I see yet again I’m to be overruled by the queen. Very well, Semni may continue to suckle my daughter, but there is one proviso. A wet nurse’s milk is soured by lying with a man. I don’t want my little princess to take a bitter mouthful.” He glared at the Phoenician. “So if you want Semni to continue working in the nursery, you will not lie with her until Thia is weaned.” He turned and glared at his wife. “And in this I will not be countermanded.”
Semni gasped. Having been threatened by a bleak future, she knew the penalty was mild, but it didn’t stop her feeling injustice that she was to be denied consummation. She cast a beseeching look at the queen, but Lady Caecilia shook her head, not prepared to champion the maid’s case any further.
Arruns remained impassive. “As you wish, my lord.”
Not waiting to escort his wife, Lord Mastarna stepped from the dais and strode ahead. Lady Caecilia took her time proceeding through the hall, although she seemed disconcerted the king had left her in his wake.
As soon as the monarchs had left the chamber, Arruns wrapped his arms around Semni. “It’s done. I am proud of you.”
Exhausted, she laid her head on his shoulder. As she did so, she noticed one person lagging behind. It was Cytheris. The handmaid’s pockmarked face was furious. Semni knew that she felt the shame of being the mother of a betrayer. No forgiveness dwelt within her for Aricia. And with the confession today, Semni suspected that she would find no pity from the woman she called the Gorgon.
SEVEN
The kitchen was noisy with the bustle of slaves attending to the preparation of the midday meal. King Mastarna had invited Generals Lusinies and Feluske to dine. There would be no repast that night, though. The time had ended when rich families dined twice a day.
Two naked boys were turning a row of rabbits on a spit over an enormous brazier. A kitchen maid was chopping onions at a table, her eyes streaming. Cook, cheeks still chubby despite less food, was cracking walnuts with a hammer. A flute player was trilling his pipe. In a world at war, the Rasenna could still add melody to their work.
Semni and Arruns entered the kitchen to this scene of industry and aromas. Another maid emerged from the door to the storerooms where the harvest of past years had been preserved: olives and figs, oil and salt. The reserves in the royal cellars were slowly diminishing. The livestock also.
The servants, absorbed in their labor, took no notice of the wet nurse and lictor. Semni searched the room for Nerie, expecting to see the one-year-old sitting on the bench, playing with his favorite ladle with its lion-shaped handle. Her son was nowhere to be seen. Panic seized her at the thought that he’d wandered off into the maze of cellars or ventured as far as the stables at the rear of the palace. Arruns was also scanning the kitchen. “Where’s Nerie?”