Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(2)
Tas tugged at her sleeve. “I’m already clean, Ati. And I’m old enough to go to the ceremony.”
Caecilia crouched before him. His oval, tawny eyes were solemn. “Not quite, Tas. There’ll be a vast crowd, and the rites are long and tiring.”
Some of Arnth’s doggedness emerged. “I want to see the Great Temple. I want to see Apa crowned.” Caecilia wondered if she was going to have to weather another tantrum. Her sons were becoming too pampered.
Mastarna had less patience with his oldest than his youngest. “Listen to your mother, Tas.”
At the doorway, Larce broke from Cytheris and skipped back to Caecilia. “I want to kiss you, Ati.” He reached up to peck her on the cheek. She nuzzled his hair. “I’ll give you a thousand kisses,” she whispered, “before you go to sleep.”
Caecilia watched the maid lead her sons from the chamber with its high ceiling decorated with rosettes and its walls with their horizontal stripes of red, green, and blue skirting the top and bottom. She was still grappling with living in the palace. She missed their family home. Even though they had lived in a mansion, it could not compare to the luxury of the royal residence.
Caecilia moved across to her husband with the bowl of vermilion dye. “You shouldn’t make light of the custom, Vel. This is a sacred day for you. Veii’s lucumo must color his face red in honor of Tinia, king of the gods.”
Mastarna eyed the dish disdainfully. “I’d prefer it if I was only being declared zilath for one year. I’d still be required to wear the paint, but at least I wouldn’t feel like a hypocrite. You know I’ve always protested against electing a king instead of a chief magistrate. And now I’m being crowned one to rule our city until my death.”
She sighed and moved a stool to sit close by him, placing the bowl on a repository table. She clasped his hand. “This is what the people want, Vel. They want a ruler to finish this siege without the need for annual elections. They respect you. Why, even your rivals from the Tulumnes clan have placed aside old enmities to support you when the College of Principes voted. And before that, the High Council unanimously decided you were the only candidate. It’s unprecedented.”
He glanced down at his sling. “And yet I lost my last battle to General Camillus’s Romans. More than half my army was massacred. The men of my tribe lost. I don’t deserve to be elected Veii’s leader after that.”
Caecilia squeezed his fingers. “Of course you do. You’re Veii’s greatest general. Until the Battle of Blood and Hail, you always managed to keep the supply lines free to the north. If King Kurvenas had sent reinforcements instead of shutting the gates against his own troops, I’m sure the result would have been different.”
He frowned. “I doubt it. His perfidy caused suffering, but two Roman armies had surrounded us.”
“And yet Veii did not fall. The divine Queen Uni sent hail that day to drive our enemies from the battlefield and save you. I pray to the goddess every day to favor our city over Rome.” She smiled. “She’ll favor you as king also, Vel.”
Mastarna scanned her face. “I never thought to hear a Roman condoning a monarch.”
Caecilia tensed, withdrawing her fingers from his. “I’m no longer Roman. You know that.” She rose and crossed the chamber to walk through the tall bronze doors to the tiled terrace with its fountain and rose garden. The autumn air was crisp, the sky cloudless. She drew her mantle around her as she stopped at the wall that enclosed the terrace, its massive ashlar blocks encircling the high citadel upon which the palace stood.
On the ridge across from her sat the Roman camp, the ravine between them razed of woodland, the stark snaking outline of siege works following the contours of the valleys. She knew such trenches bordered Veii for miles.
For a moment, she recalled her first sight of her new home as she traveled along the road where the Roman camp was now situated: the dizzying heights of the ridge, then the plunge to the valley to the juncture of two rivers, then up again to the plateaued city with its high arx beyond.
There were still sparse pockets of green in places. There should have been a scene of rich autumnal tints crowning the hills, or clothing dense glades, and red-and-gray tufa gorges. And beyond there should have been a patchwork of verdant undulating farmlands with flocks and herds sprinkled across meadows. Instead the Romans had felled most of the woods. The hub of roads that surrounded Veii, which led to places and lands Caecilia still hoped to see, were now deserted. Only Roman armies marched upon those trade routes now. And the rivers were bereft of boats. Trade had dwindled to nothing.
Ten years of war. Ten years of bloodshed. Ten years of conflict with the city of her birth. Rome claimed she had started a war when she’d chosen Vel Mastarna and his people. The truth was not so simple, but one thing was clear. She had never intended to betray Rome. But knowing its generals sought her destruction, she was prepared to welcome the role of traitoress now. After ten years of seeking peace, she had hardened her heart.
Mastarna appeared beside her, encircling her waist with his good arm. She faced him. “I’ve renounced my city, Vel. I seek its downfall. I am Veientane.”
He stroked her cheek. “My warrioress. I named you ‘Bellatrix’ after Orion’s star because I thought you brave, but you’ve become as fierce as any of my soldiers. I’m glad you are on Veii’s side.”