Call to Juno (A Tale of Ancient Rome #3) (31 page)

F
ORTY
-F
OUR

Marcus, Rome, Spring, 396 BC

The sight of the sharp-bladed axes bound in the fasces was a reminder of Camillus’s absolute power. The fact his twenty-four lictors carried them within the city also cautioned that the dictator could order executions without trial.

The deserters from Veii were divided into groups of ten. Each soldier cast lots. One was chosen to die. The remaining nine stoned him to death. The decimation was a purification ceremony to purge the regiment of disgrace as much as a terrifying penance.

Grim faced, Camillus watched the sentence carried out in the Forum instead of the Campus. Only a week after the massacres at Nepete and Falerii, the populace of Rome was still reduced to living behind fortified walls. The dictator knew the names of each warrior who was killed, but he didn’t hail them as he would before a battle. No appeal against his verdict could be made either. His declaration to those assembled was chilling. It was a warning to all who served in the legions. “I’ll lead you to victory if you follow me. But no soldier should forget to fear me more than the enemy.”

After the decimation, Marcus followed Camillus into the Curia. The three hundred senators of Rome were absent. Given the state of emergency, the general was using the building as his headquarters.

Slanted shafts of light from slatted windows stippled the gloom of the rectangular chamber. Assured and confident, the dictator sat on a curule chair. The distinctive hinged ivory stool with its crisscrossed legs denoted his supreme authority. His frustration at being denied the chance to lead Rome had disappeared. Clad in breastplate and purple cloak, he was an impressive figure.

As usual, Marcus noticed the tension between the politicians around him. Medullinus was disgruntled. As the presiding consular general in Rome, he’d been required to appoint Camillus once the Senate recommended a dictator be appointed. How maddening it must have been to relinquish power to his fraternal rival. Camillus had never been elected consul, but as sole governor, he trumped him.

Aemilius was injured, his leg heavily bandaged, crutches resting on the floor as he sat on a stool. Before he’d ordered the retreat from Nepete, he’d plunged into the fray. A chunk of his thigh had been sliced away. His face was tinged as gray as his hair and eyebrows. He’d been shaken at the loss of so many of his hoplites. And Sempronius and his brigade had not survived. To add to his woes, Aemilius was mortified to find the error he’d made with the sacred calendar meant he’d been required to stand down from office.

Scipio was in a good mood. Camillus had declared him Master of the Horse. The honor of being appointed as second-in-command was immense. Backing the Furian in the past had proved fruitful.

Spurius was pensive, tapping his upper lip. Marcus had been surprised when Camillus had chosen Scipio over him. The tribune suspected sibling rivalry simmered below the surface after all.

Genucius was hearty, pleased Camillus was in charge. He had a chance for advancement again.

Medullinus’s voice broke through Marcus’s thoughts. “Brother, I don’t relish treating with Veii, but I think you should consider consulting the Senate about the possibility.”

“You want peace with Veii? Why? Rome isn’t on its knees. I don’t plan to grovel to Mastarna.”

“Our people huddle behind our walls,” said Spurius. “We sit in trepidation of being overrun. I’m sure we could broker reasonable terms.”

“I don’t believe there’ll be an invasion. Our spies report that the Etruscans aren’t on the warpath. I think Mastarna was exaggerating. The Veientanes were only bolstered with armies from three Rasennan cities.”

“Nevertheless, three additional city-states are enough to conquer us,” said Aemilius. “We should not be hasty about considering a truce.”

“Are you turning into a dove again? I never thought to hear you give up this conflict. Your son and his men showed extraordinary courage at Nepete. I’m sure Marcus still has the appetite to fight, even if you don’t.”

At the jibe, Aemilius’s beetling eyebrows formed a solid line, but he refrained from replying. Marcus knew his father’s bitterness in losing the wolf standard, even if the retreat was acknowledged as tactical. Titinius’s regiment had also been routed, but before the consular general had been killed, he’d ensured his army retained its pennant. At least Aemilius had been spared Postumius’s ignominy. The coward had opened his veins, his shame bleeding from him together with his life.

Aemilius also had mixed feelings about his son’s achievement compared to his own failure. The tribune and his knights were the only men to retain their spears and swords. The small band of cavalry was now lauded as the Horse Shield heroes.

Marcus held reservations about being praised as such. Camillus had assigned him to his personal staff on hearing he’d cheated death. Yet how could he claim a feat of bravery when he owed his survival to mercy?

Sharing the relief and joy of discovering both he and Drusus had survived had not lasted long. His promotion threatened a deeper rift between them. The Claudian had been promoted to a head decurion for his daring ride. But such a reward was insignificant compared to being a dictator’s personal aide. And Mastarna’s accusation of cowardice continued to weigh on Marcus. Soon he was avoiding Drusus whenever he could, lacking courage to confront him.

Medullinus crossed his arms. “So what are your plans, Brother? How exactly do you propose Rome defend itself?”

“How do we defend ourselves? By attacking! Scipio will march north to call Mastarna’s bluff. And I’ll clean up the mess left by you and your fellow consular generals in the matter of the Votive Games. I’ll also assuage the gods of Latium by irrigating its floodplains.” He pointed to the haruspex. “Just as Lord Artile prescribed months ago.”

All turned to the priest. Throughout the discussions, the haruspex had given the appearance of being disinterested, examining the corner buttresses that supported the high ceiling as the men talked. Now he focused his attention on them. “General Camillus is correct. The preconditions for victory over Veii must be met as quickly as possible.”

“Such plans are all very well, Brother, but how are you to achieve them with reduced manpower?” said Medullinus. “Two of our regiments suffered heavy losses. And the third has been decimated at your decree.”

Camillus’s eyes narrowed. “I make no apology about reminding soldiers that both the desire for conquest, and the threat of punishment, must motivate a man. And lack of men will not be an issue. I’ll call for volunteers to swell the ranks of the legions. And I’ll use some retired veterans from the home guard who are still fit for battle.”

Genucius frowned, adjusting his eye patch. “The executions have unnerved many. And now you plan to call more farmers to leave their crops? For worn bones to bear the weight of armor again? If so, something will need to be done about the booty denied them. Talk of peace is upon the lips of my fellow people’s tribunes, too.”

Camillus gripped the armrests of his chair. “Why is there always resistance from the commons! There won’t be land to farm if we don’t address this crisis! And the best chance to share the spoils is to seize the vast territory of Veii. Besides, I have a reform in mind that might please you and Icilius Calvus. I’ll swell the ranks of the cavalry with eminent plebeians who can provide their own horses.”

All the patricians bristled. The gods had visited calamity on Rome when plebeian generals were chosen. Now aristocrats were expected to ride into battle with men who’d not been born to hold bit and bridle. Marcus felt disconcerted as well. Wealthy plebeians might be able to ride a horse to hunt, but it was a different matter to control a stallion in battle.

He also expected Genucius to show surprise at Camillus’s suggestion, but instead the plebeian nodded as though familiar with the prospect. “I’d be honored to be a knight. And such a proposal will go a long way to placating the people.”

Camillus turned to the patricians, not waiting to hear their complaints. “Spurius, organize engineers to see to the irrigation. I will visit Satricum to offer Rome’s apologies for its neglect of their gods and declare a date for duly consecrated games. And I’ll promise to honor Mater Matuta by restoring her temple in Rome. The Latin Pact will be renewed. Thereafter we’ll have allied troops to assist the Boar Legion at Anxur and Labicum.”

He addressed Scipio next. “As Master of the Horse, you must once again surround Nepete, Falerii, and Capena. Let’s take the fight to the Twelve and see if they indeed have a desire to breach Rome’s wall. Postumius’s deserters will go with you.”

“And what are Aemilius and I to do?” said Medullinus. “Have you forgotten we’re still consular generals?”

“And lucky to remain so. You’ll assist Scipio. And Aemilius will act as prefect of Rome. His survivors can swell the ranks of the home guard for the time being. I will take Titinius’s men with me south.”

Aemilius glared. “I’m to be denied an active command, then?”

“You’re badly wounded. Given your age, there’s no shame in leading the home guard. And Calvus and his cronies may continue to stir up unrest. I’ll need a calm head here.”

Aemilius pursed his lips but said nothing again. Marcus doubted his father appreciated the reminder of his advancing years.

“And Veii?” asked Spurius. “Who’s to command there?”

“No one. I want to lure Mastarna into a false sense of security. Once Rome has expiated its transgressions, and all our warfronts are under control, I’ll once again turn my sights on his city. And when I do, I’ll be the one to conquer it.”

“Again I question how this is to be done,” drawled Medullinus.

Camillus stood. “Freed from all other conflicts, our two legions and our allies will attack the northwest bridge. I’ll lead a force of six thousand men to swarm over the wall of Veii at its weakest point.”

“You only have six months, Brother,” said Medullinus, brushing his thinning hair across his pate. “Where’s the money to fund these strategies? How are already weary soldiers expected to continue fighting?”

“We need to push through exhaustion. Respite will come with victory. As will riches. In the meantime, the Senate must allow me to exhaust the treasury’s coffers.” He jabbed his finger at Medullinus. “And not you, nor anyone else, can stand in my way.”

Marcus sensed the shock of those present. The consular general stood. “Careful, Brother. Rome does not tolerate despots.”

“We all need to calm down,” said Spurius. “Camillus is right. It’s time to cast aside past grievances and jealousies for the good of Rome. He’s been given half a year. Let’s not question his authority.”

Scipio added, “Listen to Spurius. Camillus needs men who will stand beside him, not undermine him.”

Medullinus looked as though he’d been forced to drink a nas
ty-tasting tonic. “Very well. I will put enmity aside for the sake of the Republic.”

Aemilius winced as he reached for his crutches, leaning on one to help him stand. “Your goals are bold, Camillus. And audacity may be our only chance. I’ll support you for six months. But if Veii is not taken by then, I’ll be proposing the Senate consider peace talks.”

The dictator frowned, then nodded. “Accepted. But I don’t plan to fail.” He pointed to the doorway. “Go. You have your orders.” He beckoned to Spurius. “You stay. We need to discuss our plans.”

As the generals turned, Genucius rose from his stool. In the flurry of the others’ exchange, he’d been forgotten. “And what are my orders?”

Camillus swiveled around. He seemed disconcerted he’d overlooked the politician. “You’re now a knight. As Master of the Horse, Scipio will determine your role, given he’s in charge of all Roman cavalries.”

“So I’m not to be given a regiment? I thought . . . I thought . . .”

“Oh, and what exactly did you think?”

Genucius’s brow furrowed. Then his voice hardened. “I thought you’d show good faith to the commons by appointing me as a general.” He glanced across to Scipio. “It seems you would prefer a patrician with a weak spear arm to a man who helped you take the northwest bridge in the Battle of Blood and Hail.”

Scipio scowled at the insult. Marcus thought it imprudent for the new knight to denigrate the general who would lead him.

Camillus didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m giving you and all wealthy men of your class the chance to prove yourselves as knights. Isn’t that fair?”

Genucius stood to attention and saluted, but his sullen expression rivaled that of Medullinus’s. The plebeian had been accused of doing favors for Camillus before. Had the dictator not repaid him in kind?

As the soldiers departed, Camillus signaled to Spurius and Artile to draw up stools beside him, gesturing to Marcus to join them. And as the tribune took his seat, he couldn’t help wondering whether the dictator enjoyed ruffling feathers, challenging those around him, keeping them on edge, and reminding each of them that he now ruled them.

F
ORTY
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IVE

Caecilia, Veii, Spring, 396 BC

The sound of cheering outside the palace startled Caecilia. Crouched beside her younger sons, she paused in the game of ships and heads. Larce was also distracted as he knelt on the terrace tiles, poised to flip the coin. “What are they shouting about, Ati?”

“I don’t know. Stay here.”

Arnth was unimpressed at being ordered to remain behind. Semni was quick to place her hands on his shoulders to restrain him from following his mother. “Come, little masters. Let’s keep playing.” Her expression was also curious, though, as was Perca’s as she rocked Thia in her cradle.

Caecilia hurried toward the palace courtyard, Arruns following her. As she reached the atrium, she saw Tarchon emerge from the throne room, also puzzled.

A grinning Lusinies strode in from the portico. “It’s Lord Mastarna!”

Caecilia did not wait to hear more.

An expectant crowd had gathered in the square, leaving a path clear to the double gates of Uni. Their cheers reached a crescendo as two riders maneuvered their way through the portal and then trotted toward the palace. There was no mistaking the king as he sat astride the great gray. Alongside him, Sethre Kurvenas rode his horse with confident grace.

Mastarna reined in his mount, swinging down to stand in front of his wife. He pulled off his padded helmet, letting it drop to the ground. Aching for him, Caecilia stepped close, taking in the smell of sweat and dust, metal and leather. He pulled her to him, pressing her so hard against the bronze of his corselet she thought her ribs might crack. At her gasp, he released her.

The crowd around them hooted and cheered. Ignoring them, Caecilia inspected him, checking for injury, but she saw no new scars. His tanned face was grimy, thick stubble shadowing his jaw. He looked so hearty. No gaunt lines or sickly pallor. He was the first healthy person she’d seen in a long, long time.

His dark eyes were soft with pity as he scanned her emaciated frame and hollow cheeks. He rested his fingers on her throat, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone before cradling her face between callused hands. “My sweet Bellatrix, there’s nothing left of you.”

She raised her hands to cup his face. “I hold everything between my palms.”

Her kiss was hungry, telling him she was not just starved for food. Then, smiling, she drew back and ran her hand along the contours of the muscle cuirass. “You need to take this off.”

He stroked her cheek, saying the familiar refrain, “Don’t worry, I plan to.” Then he leaned his forehead against hers. “And our children?”

“Alive.”

“Praise the gods.”

He turned and surveyed the people around them. “Veientanes, the routes to the north are open. Supply wagons will arrive soon. Eat well and drink deeply!”

They roared in reply.

Vel looped his arm around Caecilia’s waist and escorted her up the steps, nodding acknowledgment to Arruns. The lictor bowed, a half smile on his lips.

Sethre dismounted and followed. Tarchon stood beaming on the portico, his eyes glued on the youth. However, when the royal couple reached the prince, he opened his arms wide to his father. Caecilia stepped aside as Tarchon hugged Vel. It was the first time she’d seen them embrace.

“I feared I’d never see you again, Father.”

The king broke from him, clearly surprised at the heartfelt reception.

Caecilia smiled. “Is it any wonder your son should be pleased to see you?”

Mastarna’s reserve disappeared. He thumped Tarchon on the back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Lusinies added his welcome, clapping the king on the shoulder and gesturing toward the war council room. “Welcome back, my lord. Let’s talk while we wait for refreshments.”

As they entered the chamber, Tarchon placed his arm around Sethre’s shoulders. Caecilia glanced at Vel to see his reaction, but he seemed unconcerned. In the thrill of reunion such a breach could be overlooked.

Sethre removed his helmet. His chin was covered in wiry stubble. And there were stitches puckering a wound along the side of his face. The green warrior had been blooded and would soon grow a full beard. He was allowed to remain as the group settled around the council table.

Caecilia sat next to Vel, who covered his hand with hers. “Where’s Feluske?”

“Dead from the red scourge, my lord,” said Lusinies. “Plague and starvation have stalked us. The desertion of the Roman troops only a week ago came as a welcome surprise. Your victory at Nepete saved us. The news of the League’s approach instilled fear in them.”

“But you’re wrong,” blurted Sethre. “The Twelve do not stand behind us.”

Mastarna cast a stern look at his aide, unimpressed he’d spoken without consent. “I’m afraid what Sethre says is true. The Faliscans and Capenates approached the congress this time with some success. An agreement was reached that any city that wished to spare men to assist Veii and its allies was free to do so. We gained ancillary forces from three. However, the northern cities are now concerned with a more immediate threat than the Romans.”

“What threat?” asked Tarchon.

“The Gauls are grouping at the River Padus. They are insinuating themselves ever southward just as the Romans are attempting to spread north.”

Caecilia was stunned. There had been peaceful trade between the Rasenna and Gauls for years. What had caused them to become warlike? Did they, like the Romans, now covet the fertile pastures of the League? “So Postumius’s force deserted for no other reason than rumor?”

Mastarna nodded. “So it seems. The tale of the rising of the Twelve proved to be as potent as an advancing army. But with the help of the other three Rasennan cities, Karcuna and I scored a decisive victory at Nepete. Thefarie did the same at Capena against Titinius, who was slain. The roads south were clogged with soldiers scurrying back to Rome.” He squeezed Caecilia’s hand. “Aemilius and Marcus were among them.”

“So there will be no force to invade Rome?”

Mastarna frowned. “There’s no need, Bellatrix. It will be some time before our foe recovers both its pride and strength.”

A sense of foreboding spread through her. With news of the confederation’s support, she’d believed her destiny was secure. Now, once again, the fickle goddess had set her wheel of fortune spinning in a different direction. “So no advantage can be gained from your victories after all?”

“Advantage? Of course there was benefit in our success. Our allies are now free from the Roman menace. And the northern trade routes are open. When I heard the Romans had deserted I rode ahead.”

Her unease deepened. “So Rome will remain unconquered, then.”

Mastarna stared at her. “There’s opportunity for peace now, Bellatrix. Do you still want bloodshed when Veii is no longer surrounded? You’re a fiercer warrior than I.”

She withdrew her hand from under his. “I’m not ashamed to want the Rasenna to once again rule Rome. What if the enemy returns and the wolf once again bays outside our door? Three of the Twelve are with us. Why not command Thefarie and Karcuna to continue on with those allies?” She looked at Lusinies. “Why not muster all Veii’s tribes to fight?”

She saw Vel’s shock at her challenge. He scanned the thin frames of Tarchon and Lusinies before returning to meet her eyes. “And what type of men are we to lead, Bellatrix? Feluske is dead. We would lead a force of armed scarecrows. And without all in the Brotherhood, there’s no chance of taking and holding Rome.”

She reddened, ashamed she should press him. He was fit and healthy, but she could see the strain in his eyes. Who was she to urge a general to follow her strategy? What right did she have to strive for conquest just because she feared she’d taunted Fate?

“Then you believe the Romans are defeated, Father. That they will not return?” said Tarchon.

Mastarna dragged his attention from his wife. “I doubt it. We’re in a position of power once again. And this war depletes Rome’s resources and costs lives, too. The Romans suffered heavy losses in the north before they retreated. Let’s see if they have any resolve to begin again once we’ve dismantled their fortifications. Let’s see if the common soldier has the appetite to pay more war tax while shivering in winter and sweltering in summer far from home.”

The sound of children’s voices raised in excitement cut through the somberness of the conversation. Mastarna’s frown vanished. He stood, gesturing Arruns to allow the princes to enter.

There was a scrape of chairs as the others also rose to bow and then depart the room.

Vel clasped Caecilia’s hand. “Don’t worry, Bellatrix, I believe Nortia has spared us.”

Larce and Arnth rushed in, clambering over their father, who let them haul him to the floor: the great warrior conquered by a puny assault. Even Tas joined in, standing behind his father and wrapping his arms around his neck. And as Vel pulled Caecilia down to join the jumble of boys, she pushed apprehension aside to delight in the moment of sweet and heady reunion.