Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(62)
The courier shook his head again. “Aule Porsenna is dead, my lord. As are all his men.”
Mastarna straightened in his chair. “How did an entire contingent come to be killed?”
“A unit of Romans hiked cross-country and waylaid the Tarchnan zilath and his men as they traveled home. Lord Porsenna did not expect the enemy to intercept his troops in Rasennan territory. They were slaughtered, and all the plunder they’d seized from battles was retrieved by the foe.”
Shocked, Mastarna leaned back, shoulders slumped. He and Porsenna had been more than friends. The Tarchnan was his former father-in-law. Mutual grief over his daughter Seianta’s death had cemented their bond. And it was in Porsenna’s navy Vel had fought as a mercenary when he was just a youth. The scar that crossed his chest was the price paid for fighting the Syracusans on the zilath’s behalf. Now his Tarchnan friend was dead because he’d come to Veii’s aid.
Seeing the king speechless, Lusinies continued the interrogation. “But why had Porsenna withdrawn support from Thefarie? Was there some falling out between the two?”
“Rumor reached us that General Aemilius has plans for the Romans to take Nepete. As a result, Porsenna considered Veii’s conflict no longer his priority. He was concerned to return to Tarchna to strengthen its battlements should the gateway to the Rasennan cities fall.”
Caecilia glanced across to Tarchon. His siblings lived in Tarchna. And Vel would also be worried that the House of Atelinas, his mother’s family, would be endangered.
“And you, soldier. How did you come to break through the Roman siege lines?” asked Karcuna.
“Via the cuniculi tunnel network under cover of darkness.”
Feluske scrutinized the travel-worn messenger. “Have you come alone?”
“No, sir. There are ten of us camped outside the outer siege lines beyond the road to the Capena Gates. If I do not return within three days, they have orders to return to Falerii without me.”
To Caecilia’s relief, Vel recovered his composure. “And what is the state of the Roman defenses?”
“The earthworks around the northwest bridge are still strongly reinforced, but farther to the east, the trenches are in disrepair. Postumius’s soldiers are ill disciplined. Some of the forts and stockades are undermanned. You could smell the stink of their shit from the latrines even upwind. There’s been an outbreak of bowel fever. Their manpower is diminished with so many sick.”
Mastarna leaned back in his chair. “Go and clean yourself up, soldier. Eat. Await my orders.”
After the herald left the chamber, the generals erupted into a chorus of concern. Mastarna raised his hands. “One at a time.”
Lusinies sat down. “This is dire news. The only zilath from the Twelve who came to our aid has perished. And Rome threatens Nepete. No other city is going to help us now.”
Feluske shifted his weight on his seat as though to relieve pressure on his hip. “I dread saying this, my lord, but we may have to sue for peace. Supplies are diminishing. If we cede some of our farmland to the Romans, it may well appease them.”
Lusinies nodded. “Feluske is right. Both cities have suffered. A plague ravaged Rome last year. Their soldiers are weary of fighting all year round. I’m sure they would be happy to be home on their farms rather than camping under tents with a griping belly.”
A sharp pulse beat in Caecilia’s temple; she was disturbed to hear talk of capitulation. Didn’t these men know that land alone would not satisfy the Romans? The enemy would expect a reckoning, too. Would these principes require Vel to hand her over in return for supplies? “Do you think Rome would be satisfied with a scrap thrown to them like some morsel fed to a pet dog? We are dealing with a wolf that’ll tear out the throat of its prey and devour its carcass!”
Lusinies halted and stared at her, while Feluske and Karcuna swiveled their heads toward the king. Caecilia realized she’d overstepped herself in voicing her opinion. She’d grown used to independence, but in this room she had no standing. Her presence in the war chamber was on the indulgence of her husband.
Vel ignored their indignation. “You all know Caecilia speaks the truth. A few parcels of land won’t be enough for Rome. Veii would be required to bend its knee. Is that what you want? To be governed by our enemy after all we’ve endured?”
Feluske’s voice hardened in a way Caecilia had never heard before. “Will you let your pride prevent you from providing sustenance to your people, my lord? A truce could be arranged on mutual terms. After all, there was peace for twenty years until you . . .” He faltered.
Karcuna Tulumnes thumped the table. “Say it, Feluske. Until Mastarna married her. The descendant of Mamercus Aemilius, who paraded the head of my father on a spear at the battle of Fidenae.”
“Be careful how you refer to your queen, Karcuna,” growled Mastarna. “And Mamercus Aemilius killed my father, too. Veii was forced into a precarious peace after the defeat. I wedded Caecilia to maintain the truce.”
The tic in Karcuna’s cheek flickered. Despite Vel’s admonishment, he thumped the wood again. “But then you married her a second time! This war would never have begun if she’d returned to her people.”
Mastarna stood, his arms straight, his palms flat against the table. “So what do you propose? For me to surrender my wife to her executioners? You know the seeds of conflict were sown long before she escaped. And she would never have fled at all if your brother had not threatened to have her murdered and raped!”