Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(5)
The fact the Sacred College had elected a woman to fill such a position astonished Caecilia. Even after living for years with the Veientanes, their ways could surprise her. Rasennan women were held in high esteem compared to their counterparts in Rome.
Caecilia thought of Tanchvil’s predecessor and wondered where he was. Artile Mastarna, Vel’s younger brother, was the man she hated most in the world. The former chief priest of Uni had tried to abduct Tas. She shivered, thinking how she could have lost her eldest son. The prophet had absconded from the city during the Battle of Blood and Hail. No word had reached them as to his whereabouts. She hoped he’d been set upon by Romans. She hoped he was dead.
The high priestess smoothed the folds of her pleated white chiton with its border of red spirals. Caecilia could smell the faint scent of rose water. The hatrencu was bathed in readiness for the ceremony. “I’m honored to be able to take the auspices today to determine if your reign will be blessed, sire.”
“Then let the omen be favorable,” muttered Mastarna. “I don’t want to start my rule with the populace nervous because the gods decide to be difficult. And I don’t like to be called ‘sire.’ ‘My lord’ will suffice.”
Tanchvil’s face registered shock. She was not familiar with the new king’s ungodliness. Caecilia rested her hand on Vel’s forearm. He was always skeptical of prophecies, a characteristic that made her uneasy.
“You are impious, my lord,” said Tanchvil.
Mastarna glowered. “No, I’m practical. You place a heavy onus on the sky goddess. She’ll need to provide a miracle to end this siege without assistance from the north. If I can’t save my people, then I’m an unworthy king.”
“At least there’s reassurance our city’s sins have been expiated,” said the hatrencu. “The last omen Lord Artile presaged was that Veii would remain safe if the traitor among us was punished. The death of King Kurvenas will have pleased our deities, given he engineered the demise of your army, the largest force in Veii.”
Mastarna raised his hands, palms outward. “If we’re going to speak of portents of doom, Lady Tanchvil, I’d rather you give your opinion about the flooding of Lake Albanus. My priestly brother claimed it was a premonition signifying the gods were unhappy with Rome but gave no reason why. Unless the Romans ascertain the expiation rites to assuage divine displeasure, Veii will never fall.” He stared pointedly at the hatrencu. “Artile said he knew what rituals needed to be performed. You’re our preeminent seer now that he’s no longer here. Have you also deciphered the meaning?”
The priestess seemed undaunted by Vel’s challenge. Caecilia was impressed. The rising of the lake in summer when there’d been no rain had posed a mystery. Especially since the brooks and river around it were dry. Lake Albanus lay in the crater of a volcano, fed by no sources other than its own. And then the water had risen to the top of its surrounding mountains and overflowed. Wreckage was left in its wake as it forged a path to the sea.
“Lord Artile stole the Rasennan Discipline when he left. It will be difficult to decipher the meaning without those sacred texts.”
“All principes are schooled in that codex. There are many copies of the Holy Books,” said Mastarna.
“He stole the only set of special volumes kept by the chief priest of Uni. There are copies in Velzna, the sacred capital. But we’re cut off from other Rasennan city-states. I can’t send for duplicates.”
Caecilia suddenly felt concern Veii no longer had the benefit of Artile’s skills. Despite her loathing for the priest, she had to concede his superior powers. He was a mighty haruspex, reading the intentions of the gods in the livers of beasts, and a fulgurator, master of divination of lightning sent from the heavens. Tanchvil had large shoes to fill.
Tarchon must have been sharing her thoughts. “Then we must pray Rome’s augurs remain ignorant of the portent’s meaning.”
Lady Tanchvil touched the gold torque fashioned as an eagle around her neck. “My Lord Mastarna, perhaps you should consider availing yourself of the protection of Tinia, king of the gods, and call down lightning upon Rome as a surety. As a fulgurator, I’ve the power to summon him.”
Goose bumps pimpled Caecilia’s arms. The thought of calling down lightning was a potent strategy. The practice was intriguing and terrifying. Unlike Roman Jupiter, Tinia could wield three thunderbolts. When he hurled down his spear of destruction, an enemy city would surely fall.
Tarchon gave a soft whistle. “Such a tactic is rarely employed. It takes great piety and discipline to coax Tinia’s approval. One must first induce the Veiled Ones to convince him.”
Vel remained silent. He glanced at Caecilia. Despite his disdain for those who sought celestial intervention, he was perturbed by the suggestion. “My time would be better spent planning the practicalities of breaking this siege,” he said, “rather than praying to a host of unseen deities. Rome will only fall with strategy and bloodshed. I’ve no time to rely on holy whim.”
Tanchvil’s eyes widened. “Again, you’re sacrilegious, my lord.”
“Perhaps, but I’d rather pray Commander Thefarie Ulthes bring relief to a starving city than hope the king of the gods might choose to strike our enemy’s wall.”
Tanchvil drew herself erect. Mastarna did not seem fazed at having to look up at a woman.