Call to Juno (A Tale of Ancient Rome #3) (30 page)

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Pinna, Rome, Spring, 396 BC

The market was congested, its air laden with aromas of basil, chives, and dill. Barrows were bright with the colors of asparagus and radish. An array of geese and partridges hung from their feet, heads dangling, while salted fish lay heaped in baskets.

Pinna walked through streets clogged with traffic. The calls of vendors were noisy and insistent. There was a feeling of good humor among the shoppers. News that the riddle of Lake Albanus had been answered was on everyone’s lips. The key to placating the gods was known. Veii was destined to fall.

She listened to snippets of conversations that made her swell with pride.

“With Camillus now an interrex, Rome will soon be back on course.”

“Why didn’t the Senate listen to him before?”

“We need him to be a consular general again.”

There was also talk of the wondrous Etruscan soothsayer. Artile was no longer hidden. He’d taken his place beside Camillus this morning as both men traveled in an open carriage to the Forum. The seer preened, superior again. The senators had declared he was correct to have advised Rome to irrigate the Latium floodplains.

There was another reason for the buzz of excitement. A debate was to be held in the Comitium even though the calendar did not prescribe the holding of an assembly. The Forum teemed with male citizens gathered to listen to the speakers.

Yesterday, after the long spring evening ended, Camillus had returned home from the Curia elated. He’d taken her breath away as he’d hugged her, his exultation infectious. Pinna shared a sense of his power. It was as potent as a drug, as thrilling as a surge of desire. “Elections are to be called, Pinna. I’ll stand as a candidate. I’ll lead an army again.”

He’d ripped the joint of pork kept aside for him. He drank no wine, wanting to keep clearheaded. And then he’d taken her, voracious and urgent, before falling into a dead sleep. Three hours later he’d risen to plan his address to the citizens of Rome. She knew he wished he could be declared dictator. But there was no emergency, only good tidings. With the secret of Lake Albanus revealed, the steps Rome needed to defeat its enemy were clear.

She glanced up to the looming heights of the Capitoline Hill. Having been privy to the discussions of the Furian brothers, Pinna was keen to watch Camillus in the Comitium today. And so she decided to scale the Hundred Steps to see if she could spy him from above as he addressed the convention. She would not be able to hear him, but there would be satisfaction in seeing her lover on the speakers’ platform.

Threading her way through the hustle and bustle, she reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked upward, daunted at climbing them with a heavy basket. She was puffing by the time she reached the top.

She gazed beyond the sanctuary’s wall to study the portico of the Great Temple and its pediment. At the apex, Jupiter rode his quadriga with its four white horses. An image of the red-and-black-columned temple of Uni skimmed her memory. In Veii, Queen Juno challenged Rome’s divine ruler in magnificence. Would the Veientane counterpart submit to being Jupiter’s consort when her city was captured?

Pinna glanced sideways to the Tarpeian Rock. She shivered at the sight of the barren ground at the cliff’s edge. She imagined Aemilia Caeciliana sobbing for mercy as she struggled not to be thrown off. It would be a horrible death. A flight of terror, then the pain of hitting the ground, back and neck broken.

Curbing her thoughts, she concentrated on looking beyond the place of execution. On the twin peak opposite, the fortified citadel on the Arx Capitolina was lit by full sun. Pinna saw sentinels at the guard posts keeping an eye on the city below, while others scanned the horizon beyond the outer wall, ever wary of external threat.

She scanned the vista of the seven hills. Her own past could be plotted here in the swells and dips of land: the dank caves of the Esquiline where she and Mama huddled in destitution, the lupanaria on the Aventine, and Camillus’s house on the Palatine. The history of her degradation and salvation lay side by side.

She surveyed the swarm of people below. The market produce was bright with color, but otherwise Rome was shrouded in somber hues. Constant war had taken its toll. She recognized the dark togas of grieving fathers, sons, and brothers. And widows could be identified wearing double-folded cloaks, one end thrown over their shoulders. A symbol of mourning. An emblem of pride. Their husbands had died for Rome.

The Comitium was packed. Each tier of the circular arena was crammed with citizens, while senators congregated on the Curia steps, shuffling to make space to view the orators. The Republic on display.

A number of politicians had mounted the speakers’ platform. Even from a distance she could recognize her Wolf. Medullinus stood together with Scipio and Spurius, the two other interreges who would govern until the elections were called. The tall, straight-spined Calvus was also there. Pinna could not see his expression, but his manner conveyed his usual contempt of patricians. He stood apart from the four others.

Suddenly, a horseman galloped toward the platform. There was something familiar about him. From the wide, angular shoulders and length of his body, she thought it was Drusus. The crowd parted to let him through lest they be trampled. The politicians moved to the edge of the podium and bent to listen to him.

A trumpet sounded in the distance. A short succession of urgent blasts. Pinna frowned, looking toward the source of the sound. It was a siren from the watchman on the Janiculum Hill across the Tiber. Pinna’s heartbeat quickened as the sentry on the Arx echoed the frenzied alarm. It was a warning signal. Rome was under attack.

Panic exploded. Women screamed as the crowd in the Forum shoved each other to head toward the citadel. Pinna glanced toward the markets. Stalls were pushed over, awnings pitching sideways, feet tripping on tangled ropes, barrows of vegetables sent flying.

Like a mice plague, people emerged from pot-holed alleyways, offices, shops, and houses. All possessed the same intent: to reach the safety of the three-sided Capitoline cliffs and the fortress on the Arx. Pinna watched in horror as the throng converged on the Sacred Way, jostling and elbowing each other, jamming the Clivus Capitolinus, the single dusty road from the Forum.

Pinna searched for her Wolf. He’d commanded Drusus to dismount and was now sitting astride the steed’s back. Managing the reins, he controlled the beast in the roiling crowd, digging his heels to urge the animal to charge toward the Aventine’s vulnerable gates. He was shouting at people to stand aside, not attempting to avoid anyone in the stallion’s path. There was much for him to organize. Makeshift wooden bridges across the Tiber needed to be dismantled. The gates around the perimeter locked. The ramparts manned.

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.

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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.

She walked outside to join Tarchon. Cows with full udders lowed in the enclosure. To her dismay, she saw Veientane peasants tethered there as well, yokes around their necks and shackles on their ankles. As Lusinies’s soldiers freed them from their bonds, they wept at the sight of their liberators. She hurried to them, murmuring words of reassurance. The freed captives acknowledged their queen with feeble smiles as they were lifted into wagons to return to the city.

Tarchon clasped her hand. “Come with me.”

He led her to the ridge opposite the arx. It was strange to look at the citadel from this perspective. She felt satisfaction. The jewel in the crown of Etruria was safe.

Singing drifted from the city. The voices of the Veientanes, so long subdued, now filled the air. The townsfolk could make their pilgrimages to lay the ashes of their loved ones outside the sacred boundary. No longer would urns be the only full containers in otherwise empty pantries.

The regent pointed to the patchwork of fields. “Just think, Caecilia, the harvest will no longer be claimed by Rome. Our granaries will be full.”

She smiled, glad that balance had been restored.

A wagon train manned by Lusinies’s men passed them. One cart was laden with produce and barrels of wine. Caecilia was overwhelmed by the rich scents of fruit and vegetables. Tarchon pinched two apples and handed her one. The flavor exploded in her mouth. She never thought a simple fruit would taste like ambrosia.

The prince finished his apple, eating the core and spitting out the pips. “I’ve placed a guard on the Roman camps while I arrange for supplies to be distributed. The wooden forts will be hacked down to provide fuel, too. I don’t want a riot when the people try to recover what they can in a frenzy. There must be some order to our recovery.”

She studied him, impressed with his foresight. The city could not afford to descend into its own type of chaos. “Your father would be proud of you.”

“Do you think so?”

She nodded, looking around her again. “Why do you think the Romans fled?”

“We will know soon enough. In the meantime, let’s enjoy freedom. And if Mastarna has succeeded in the north, trade will once again flow. We’ll be able to feed our people.”

She slipped her arm around his waist. “I pray he and Sethre are safe.”

He grew serious. “I worry for him. He is untested in war . . .”

She squeezed him, forgetting her own fears for her husband. “Let’s not dwell on shadows that are yet to show substance.”

The effort of happiness was tiring. Dizzy, she sagged against him. Tarchon called to one of the wagons to halt and lifted her onto it. She felt better when seated. Gazing across the valley, she breathed in freedom. Above the citadel a flock of starlings swooped and dipped, the formation merging and parting, a winged revel. It had been months since birds had flown over the citadel. It was as though they sensed the danger was over. Caecilia smiled. She did not need Tanchvil’s skill at divination to know it was indeed a good omen.