Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(95)
And then she heard: “Etruria is rising! Etruria is rising!”
Her heart thumped, disbelieving her city was being invaded. A voice within her told her to avoid the turmoil of the throng, but she knew safety lay behind the citadel on the Arx. Leaving her basket, she merged into the press of people entering the Capitoline precinct. Ululating, women clambered up the steps of the Great Temple to beseech protection from Jupiter, clutching their children.
Pinna sought the shelter of thick masonry instead. She continued running through the sacred enclosure until she reached the rise to the citadel.
Siren blasts rent the air, fueling the chaos. The crush thickened as the crowd from the Forum now converged with the others on Clivus Capitolinus. Pinna panted with the exertion of keeping pace as the crowd ascended to the other peak. A woman next to her fell. Pinna tried to reach her but was pushed forward before she could help her. The victim’s cries were muffled by the din of the stampede.
On the citadel, soldiers herded people through the gates, shouting at them to hurry, their anxiety adding to the hysteria.
Once inside the Arx’s wall, the mob spread into the fortress’s environs. The injured sat holding bleeding foreheads or cradling broken limbs. Others called out the names of loved ones from whom they’d been separated. Women wept. Children wailed. The horns continued.
Pinna climbed higher up the hill, driven by a need to escape as one would from rising floodwaters. She knew there was no possibility of the entire population crowding into the Arx. The high walls of the Palatine would have to serve as a refuge, too.
The troops of the home guard were busy checking the breastwork. The thought of relying on these scarred veterans made her nervous. Over forty-five years of age, they could no longer serve in the front lines. Yet were there enough of them to defend the city from the might of Etruria? Rome was not impregnable. It could not survive a siege.
Trembling, she listened for the sound of an earsplitting battle yell and the thunder of hooves. But no battle horns sounded. No drums. No barking from the dogs of war. If the Etruscans were launching an offense, it was a silent one.
More soldiers appeared, yelling at everyone to cease their lament. They gave reassurance that Camillus had doubled the guard around the city walls. And there was now a cordon of troops protecting the Forum. The Palatine was also secure. No enemy had yet been sighted.
Intent on facing her fears, Pinna picked her way through the seated groups to the highest point of the Arx. Another trumpet sounded. This time the notes were familiar. They declared the return of a Roman army. At the sound, others in the citadel started to head for the ramparts. Pinna asked permission from a sentinel to stand at the wall.
An army was assembling on the Field of Mars. To her relief, their helmets were plain and conical, not bronze and crested. She scanned the ranks. There were no spears raised, no shields held in battle readiness. Then she spied the wolf standard.
A soldier hurried past. Pinna called after him. “Why have those troops returned?”
“General Postumius ordered a retreat from Veii. There has been a massacre at Nepete. The League of the Twelve has joined Vel Mastarna in the north. Even with the outer siege lines manned, there is no way the regiment at Veii could withstand an assault.”
Pinna’s nerves jangled. There was no foe at the gates but there was one on the march. And if an entire Roman army had deserted in terror, then what chance had Rome?
She peered down, hoping to catch a sight of Camillus riding out to meet Postumius. And as dread gnawed at her, she wondered if her Wolf would be thrilled or daunted that he finally had his crisis.
FORTY-THREE
Caecilia, Veii, Spring, 396 BC
Caecilia shivered as she stood in the deserted Roman camp. Many of the tents had been knocked over in the panic of retreat, leaving a jumble of guy ropes, pegs, and hides. Cooking pots hung on tripods over campfires that were burning low, plumes of smoke wafting lazily above them. Chickens strutted amid the mess, pecking at cold porridge in the bowls.
Other tents remained intact, pegged in precise rows waiting for their occupants to return. Inside were hand mills, camp ovens, plates, cups, and spoons. Only the rumpled blankets strewn across pallets were evidence of the Romans waking to terror.
Lusinies’s troops were moving through the detritus, collecting abandoned weapons. A shield lay on the ground, one half burnished, the other dull, indicating its owner had been disturbed midtask. Caecilia was incredulous, knowing each piece of armor was a prized possession. She thought of the shame that awaited the fugitives who had left them behind.
She had woken to the insistent blasts of Roman war horns. Hurrying to the terrace wall, she was astonished to see hoplites running from the main camp to join a swarming exodus on the Via Veientana.
What had struck fear into the foe? She had closed her eyes, listening for a countermelody to herald the approach of a Veientane army, but she heard no tune from Rasennan tubas.
Tarchon’s grin had been broad as he joined her on the terrace. “The Romans are retreating.”
“I can see. What has happened? Is it Vel?”
“There is no sign of his troops, but our scouts report the enemy are fleeing from the forts around the entire perimeter of the city. Both the outer and inner siege lines have been deserted. It’s as though they believe demons are nipping at their heels.”
She was stunned. What had tipped the balance?
The white flag of the command tent fluttered in the breeze. Inside, the general’s desk was covered with scrolls listing inventory in the quartermaster’s store. The tedium of the siege had reduced a warrior to an office clerk. After two years, this camp had become a permanent township.