Call to Juno (A Tale of Ancient Rome #3) (38 page)

F
IFTY
-F
IVE

Semni, Veii, Summer, 396 BC

Semni jolted awake, her heart thumping. Had she heard a muffled scream?

She listened. Another deadened shout through the walls. More distinct. A different register. A man.

She scrambled out of bed. The light was muted in the windowless cell. Nerie was also awake. He made no sound, trembling, eyes wide, lids sticky with sleep. Semni stripped off her nightdress and pulled on her chiton before scooping him into her arms.

Ashen faced, Hathli appeared at the nursery’s doorway. Arnth hovered at the threshold of his room. Larce stood behind him, eyes like saucers, clutching the younger boy’s shoulder. Tas emerged from his chamber. His voice was high pitched. “What’s happening, Semni? Who’s making that noise?”

“I don’t know.” The nursemaid herded all the boys into the nursery where Perca sat upright on her bedroll, whistling. Semni looked around for Thia, panicked to see the cradle empty. “Where’s the princess?”

“The queen and Cytheris took her to the temple.” Hathli grasped Semni’s hand and pulled her to the side. Her fingers gripped the maid’s so hard she winced.

“We need to hide. I’ve heard those types of screams before.”

“What do you mean?”

“When my village was raided by the Romans.”

Semni’s nerves thrummed. “But we’re on the citadel. The Romans can’t get us.” She handed Nerie to her. “Dress the children. I’m going to find Arruns.”

“We need to hide now,” Hathli pleaded.

Semni shook her head. “Not until I find my husband.” She turned to the boys. “Stay here with Hathli and Perca.” She squeezed Arnth’s forearm as she passed him. “Especially you, do you understand?”

He nodded, standing next to the country girl who clasped his hand.

The corridor was dim, the torches burning low in their sconces. The palace guards who had been stationed to protect the family quarters were missing.

As Semni crept along the warren of hallways nearer to the shrieking, a voice inside her told her to run, but she forced herself to go on. She needed to find Arruns. Quivering, she flattened herself against the jamb of a courtyard doorway and peered inside.

Soldiers with conical helmets were racing through the hall. The enemy she’d seen from afar was now in front of her. How had they breached the citadel? There had been no war horns to warn of their approach.

Blood splattered the tiled floor. Dead bodies lay scattered. Dressed in light linen corselets and armed only with spears, the palace guards offered little defense. And their yells were drawing more of their colleagues from their stations throughout the complex. Running straight into their enemy’s hands. A lictor in front of the throne anteroom was trying to extract his ceremonial axe from the bundle of rods. Before he could do so, a Roman sliced his neck.

Two soldiers jostled a housemaid back and forth between them. She sobbed and begged. A third soldier, impatient with his comrades’ sport, grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her face against the wall, ripping the back of her chiton. Semni looked away, only to see another of the servants dragged by her hair across the floor, her skirts leaving a drag mark in the thick slick of blood.

A warning siren was being sounded at last. Semni’s chest hurt with the violent thudding of her heart. She searched for Arruns, scanning the bodies littering the floor. No tattooed corpse. Then she remembered. He’d been ordered to organize the procession. He would be in the stables at the back of the palace.

She turned, feet pounding along the hallways.

The boys and the maids huddled in the nursery. Nerie was whimpering, cheeks shiny with tears, nose running. Semni swung him onto her hip.

“You’re right, Hathli,” she gasped. “It’s the Romans.”

“Then there’s no time to waste. We must hide.”

“Shouldn’t we try to escape the palace?” said Perca.

“They’ll be in the forum. And we’ve four children with us. We need to hide until I can find Arruns. He’ll know what to do.”

Tas tugged at Semni’s skirt. “We could use the secret passageway to the temple. Apa and Ati are there. He will protect us.”

Semni was surprised at his coolness.

“What passageway?” asked Hathli.

“It’s in one of the storage cellars.”

There was a thud at the end of the corridor, shouts growing louder.

Larce squealed, “I don’t want the Romans to get me. I want Ati!”

Semni grasped his hand. “We’re going to play a game of hide-and-seek. Remember, we must be quiet.” She kissed Nerie’s forehead, desperate for him to stop his whining. “Ssh!” Her sharp tone silenced the child. He buried his head into her neck.

Hathli was strong enough to lift Arnth onto her hip. Tas clasped Perca’s hand. “I’ll show you the way.”

The party of women and children ran along the colonnade alongside the terrace, winding through narrow corridors until they reached the steps leading down to the storage complex.

The air was cooler underground, shafts of light piercing the gloom at intervals through small light wells cut into the passage walls. With its huge half-sunken pithoi, the cellar was eerie. There was a ripe smell of hops and a dusty smell of grain. Most of the vessels were now filled to the brim. Semni closed the door behind them.

The Medusa’s glare was hidden by two crossed planks of wood nailed into the terra-cotta cover. Semni gulped. She’d forgotten the portal had been blocked.

Hathli noticed her hesitation as she lowered Arnth to the floor. “Is that the entrance?”

Larce let go of Semni’s hand and ran to the hatch. “It’s locked!”

Tas was studying the gorgon, too. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t used the tunnel, it would still be open.”

Nerie was whimpering again. Semni jiggled him on her hip. She scanned the storeroom, searching for something to force off the slats. There was an iron bar on the side bench used to lever open the stoppers of the pithoi. She eased Nerie to the ground and tried to lift one. It was too heavy for her. Nerie dogged her steps, crying to be cuddled again.

Hathli, farm bred, hefted the bar and wedged the end under one of the boards. It would not shift. “We need a man.”

Semni tried to calm herself. She couldn’t believe they were only the width of two pieces of timber from safety. “I’m going to find Arruns.”

“It’s too dangerous,” said Perca. “He could be anywhere.”

“He might be in the stables.”

Hathli placed her hand on Semni’s arm. “You’ll be swept along in the crush of those trying to flee outside. The Romans may already be in the side streets.”

“But they’ll find us in this cellar if they look hard enough!” said Perca.

Indecision paralyzed Semni at the thought of leaving Nerie. And yet they were trapped if she didn’t find Arruns. She surveyed the stricken faces of the three boys. “Ssh, Perca, you’re scaring the children. And Arruns will be trying to reach us, too. I know him.” She kissed Nerie, prizing his fingers away to hand him to Hathli.

Semni headed to the corridor to the service lane. Servants were crowded in the warren. The enemy was starting to infiltrate the inner bowels of the palace. If she did not locate Arruns fast, she would be cut off from the children.

When she reached the exit, she stood to the side to let the crush of fugitives spew into the street. She smelled smoke. Curls of it spiraled into the air. The shrieking in the palace was nothing compared to the frenzied screams outside. She glanced down the road to the forum. She didn’t think her heart could beat any harder or faster. It hurt to breathe. The square was teeming with Roman hoplites.

She turned the opposite way to the stables. She could hear the horses whinnying in alarm. Two grooms rushed past her.

A hand gripped her shoulder. She jumped in fright, then closed her eyes, expecting the slice of a blade or to be pushed to the ground and raped. Instead she heard Arruns’s urgent voice as he pulled her around and hugged her. “Thank the gods!”

Before she could reply, he yanked her into the stable and closed the doors. “Where are Nerie and the princes?”

“They’re hiding in the pithoi cellar. With Perca and Hathli.”

He glanced in the direction of the temple. “The king and queen . . . the sanctuary must be overrun by now.”

“It’s your family who must come first. And the princes.”

“Don’t you think I’ve wanted to search for you? I couldn’t make any headway through the service door with all those people blocking it.”

A fresh wave of screaming distracted them. Semni peered through the crack between the stable doors. Romans were disgorging from the service exit, hacking at the Veientanes choking the street. A woman screamed over and over. Each shriek higher in pitch, jarring Semni’s nerves. She cowered beside Arruns. “What are we going to do? How are we going to get back to Nerie?”

Arruns rose. “The delivery chute. We can reach it through the yard.”

He flung open the stable doors, then ran back along the stalls, unlatching each gate and standing back to allow the panicked horses to escape. Then he held Semni close, protecting her from being trampled as he let the animals gallop into the lane to add to the mayhem. “They’ll be a distraction as we cross the yard.”

Her fear enabled her to keep pace with him as they raced to the chute in the palace wall. Semni peered into the service area below. She could hear Roman voices talking to each other, then moving off. “They’re searching the storerooms!”

Arruns drew his dagger from his sheath. “We’ve surprise on our side. Follow me.” He ducked his head as he crouched and ran down the ramp. Semni scurried down the incline, too.

“Stay close,” he whispered. “Keep your back to the wall until you get a chance to run to the cellar.”

They edged into the corridor. Semni gasped when she saw a Roman striding toward them. He halted in surprise. Arruns attacked before the soldier could raise his sword, thumping into him and knocking him to the ground. Then he drove his dagger into the man’s gullet. Blood spouted from the sliced artery. Semni shuddered when she felt the warmth of the fluid hit her arm. The speed of the attack was as shocking as the expertise of her husband at killing. Arruns’s face was spattered, but he remained impassive, flicking the blood away from his eyes. He gestured her to continue. She took a deep breath and forced herself onward, almost treading on his heels in her efforts to remain near him.

They crept closer to the Medusa chamber. With the prospect of a Roman looming at any time, the distance seemed miles. Suddenly, Semni heard laughter coming from one of the wine cellars. The door had been wrenched open, the lock broken. Three soldiers emerged. Arruns pulled her into one of the smaller storerooms. She held her breath as the enemy passed inches from them.

Arruns signaled her to follow him again. Holding her breath, she dashed past the wine cellar. There were no shouts. No footsteps running after her.

The pithoi chamber was only two more rooms away. Semni felt the urge to rush ahead, but as they neared it she noticed the door was open. Arruns halted and placed his hand across her mouth, warning her not to cry out. Her stomach twisted. For this time it was not Latin voices she heard but grunting, brutal and primal, and a girl sobbing “no, no, no.”

F
IFTY
-S
IX

Caecilia, Veii, Summer, 396 BC

“Get up, Caecilia.”

Marcus had returned from his inspection of the sanctuary.

Thia clutched her mother and whimpered, hiding her face. Cytheris tightened her grip on her mistress’s arm. Caecilia glared at him. “I won’t leave Vel.”

“Do as I say!”

His demand reminded her what it was to be a Roman woman. A spurt of anger shot through her. “What are you going to do, Marcus? Drag me away like Drusus did? It will be easy. I’m weak.”

“Shut up. Do you think you can protect him forever? There are more than Drusus who want your husband to be a tormented ghost.”

She swallowed, realizing her defense of Vel had been in vain. The dictator may have been deprived of the chance to execute a
vanquished king, but he still had an opportunity to degrade his foe.

“Please, don’t let Camillus desecrate his body! He must be cremated with due honor.”

Marcus reached down and grasped her by her upper arms, forcing her to stand. Then he released her. She staggered a little, unsure whether he would reinforce his order with a slap.

“I’m not going to let him be decapitated.”

She swayed, faint headed, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “You won’t?”

“I believe in paying a debt.” He spat out the words.

He made no sense. “Debt?”

“You know what I’m talking about. The blood debt I owe Mastarna.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Didn’t he tell you? In return for sparing my life at Nepete, I’m obliged to grant you a favor. I doubt there’s much I can do for you other than save Mastarna from mutilation.”

She was astonished. The husband who’d chided her for keeping secrets had kept one from her. Gratitude surged through her that Vel would try to protect her. “But how can you prevent his body being defiled?”

“Burn him in one of the fire pits outside. It seems your people were preparing for a monumental sacrifice today.”

She glanced up to Uni. Their attempts to appease the goddess had come too late. “Then let’s do it quickly.”

Marcus bent his knees to haul Mastarna onto his shoulders. He grunted with the effort of lifting the deadweight but managed to heft Vel from the floor. As he swung around to the door, the golden dice tumbled from a fold of the king’s twisted cloak. Caecilia gasped and hurried to collect them.

Thia broke free of Cytheris and toddled to her mother, clutching at her chiton. “Hush,” Caecilia murmured, “I’ll be back soon. Here, play with Apa’s dice.”

As Thia settled beside Cytheris with her playthings, Caecilia noticed Marcus scrutinizing the child. “Hurry up,” he said when he realized he’d been observed. “We need to do this now.”

Caecilia walked to the doors, not caring that one edge of her mantle trailed through puddles of milk and blood. She skirted Drusus’s corpse, seething, as she passed across the threshold.

The fearful din which had been muffled by the temple walls now assaulted her in a barrage: yells of triumph, shrieks of terror, the wailing of women, and the pitiful crying of children.

The grounds of the sanctuary were littered with acolytes who’d been cut down while tending to sacred tasks. A murderous sacrilege. The bulls reared in their corral, bellowing and butting each other in alarm. The sacred geese honked and flapped.

Three of Marcus’s men stood guard behind the closed precinct gates, denying refuge to those fleeing from soldiers in the forum. The enemy numbers seemed to have swollen a hundredfold.

Her gaze traveled to the palace next door. Once again, she felt powerless. Her sons were inside, vulnerable. She could only pray Arruns might protect them—and that Camillus’s soldiers would not forget their orders.

She dragged her eyes from the square, concentrating on following Marcus. For now, Vel was all that mattered. She swallowed, realizing she must pick her way through the dead lictors sprawled across the porch. Their rods and axes had not been enough to counter swords and surprise. She gasped when she saw Tanchvil among them. The priestess’s throat was slit, her gray hair soaked in the blood pooling around her. “What type of men kill innocent women?” she shouted.

Marcus paused as he descended the steps. Head craned forward, he was sweating with the effort of lugging Vel. He barked at her to keep going, but Caecilia sensed his uneasiness at her question.

As she hurried after him, she glanced back at the two other Romans stationed on either side of the temple doorway. They were staring after their commander, expressions quizzical.

Marcus carried Mastarna’s body over to one of the fire pits. Kicking the metal spit aside, he dumped the dead monarch on the pile of timber. Caecilia bit her lip, thinking how Vel should have been borne on a bier and lowered with reverence onto his pyre. She thought, too, that she should have bathed and anointed him, wrapping him in a shroud; instead her husband was swathed in bloodied purple and would be burned on a cooking fire.

She stepped down into the pit and crouched next to Vel. The stink of the pitch-covered logs burned her throat. She arranged the tebenna around him as best she could to hide his wound, trying to ignore how the cloth was stiff with blood. She clasped his hand and kissed his fingers before pressing his palm against her cheek. His battered features were relaxed. There was no sign he had suffered.

“There is no time for this,” said Marcus, grabbing one of the torches that flared beside the pit.

She ignored him. She was not going to be rushed in saying her farewell. “I’ll see you soon enough, my love,” she murmured, kissing Vel’s lips. “I look forward to your embrace.”

Marcus stepped into the pit beside her and grabbed her forearm, holding the brand aloft in his other hand. “Enough.” His voice was edgy as he glanced toward the Romans at the gates. It dawned on her he was disobeying orders.

“What are you going to tell Camillus?”

He pulled her to standing. “Do you want me to help you or not?”

She glanced across to the guards. “What about your men?”

“They’re loyal to me. And your husband spared their lives at Nepete as well.”

Caecilia was distracted by the sight of tendrils of smoke threading their way through the humid air of the sanctuary. She looked across to the precinct gates again. Flames were eating through a roof of a tavern in the forum. Her heartbeat spiked. It wouldn’t take long for the fire to spread to the palace.

Now it was her turn to grip him. “Please, you must find my sons.”

“How much more do you expect of me, Caecilia? I told you Camillus has said to spare them.”

“Fires are being set. They may yet be in peril. Please, bring them to me.”

He yanked his arm away. “I’ve repaid the debt. And the general gave orders not to burn the palace.”

She cast another stricken look toward the inn. “By the gods! My children are your kin! Aemilian blood flows in them. Fire is fickle. Do you want the innocent to die? You saw Thia. She is but a babe. And Arnth is only nearing three, and Larce five. Tas is eight. They will be in our private quarters next to the terrace. They each wear golden bullas.”

He hesitated. “Very well, I’ll do what I can once I’ve finished
here, but I give no guarantee.” He stepped from the pit. “Now come on.”

She gazed down at Vel. He appeared peaceful for a man robbed of life. She gulped, fighting to control her tears. “Fufluns, protect him. Guard him on his journey.”

“Come, Caecilia.” Marcus leaned down, offering her his hand. She stared at his extended fingers for a moment, then accepted his assistance. The act of kindness was brief. As though scalded, the cousins dropped each other’s hands as soon as she’d clambered out of the pit.

“Better not watch.” He put the torch to the timber.

For years she’d prepared herself to bid her last good-bye to her husband on his pyre. But when she saw the flames take hold, she lost courage. She would never be ready. She could not stand to see and smell Vel burn. She turned her back and walked away, unable to bear witness.

On the portico again, she rediscovered her nerve. She turned to face the precinct. The fire in the pit was raging. From a distance she could see the outline of Vel’s body in the blaze. Suddenly, through her grief and shock, she felt satisfaction and pride. Her lover would be whole when he dined at the banquet with his ancestors. He would not be a ghost haunting the razed ruins of his city. He would be a king when Aita greeted him in Acheron. He was saved.