Call to Juno (A Tale of Ancient Rome #3) (6 page)

S
IX

Semni, Veii, Autumn, 397 BC

Semni’s palms were sweaty. She wiped them along the sides of her chiton as she walked past the six lictors stationed in the palace courtyard. Then she nodded to two other guards standing on either side of the door to the throne room’s antechamber as she ventured inside.

There were only a few petitioners left. Edging into a corner, Semni watched the array of supplicants, noticing how the noble courtiers in their rich robes confidently entered into the throne room one by one, then emerged again, either with satisfied smiles or hunched shoulders. In comparison, the commoners were nervous in their plain garb, toque caps scrunched in their hands, bewildered as to royal protocol.

Arruns had told her to wait until the morning audience had concluded. She stood agog in the antechamber. The bronze double doors to the throne room were imposing with their heavy timber lintel and jambs. The walls were decorated with myths and legends in vivid paint.

After six weeks, Semni was starting to be less in awe of the royal residence, but the immensity and artistry of the tableaux astounded her. She, too, had once painted the Divine in the folly of love or the heroics of war. But she’d done so in miniature with a fine brush on vases, not with broad strokes upon a wall. Her eyes traveled to the large ornamental red-figured vases placed on either side of the doorway, wondering if she would ever have the opportunity to fashion such beautiful objects again.

Despite her attempts to be unobtrusive, the men in the room cast surreptitious glances at her. She showed no cleavage today, but she could not hide full breasts and rounded hips, or the curve of firm buttocks beneath her pleated blue chiton. A little over a year ago, she would have responded with a flutter of eyelashes and the moistening of her lips. And offered more if the man was comely enough. Now Arruns was the only one who filled her thoughts.

Semni crept forward, hovering at the doorway to peep inside the throne room. Garlands of ribbons adorned the walls of the great hall with its high checkered ceiling. And there was an enormous bronze-clad table laden with linen books piled between two candelabras.

The last petitioner had been seen. The high councillors rose from their ivory stools and headed toward the door. Lord Karcuna strode ahead while Lords Lusinies and Feluske sauntered in easy conversation.

Semni ducked back behind the doorjamb to let them pass. A slave followed them, carrying the water clock used to time the duration a petitioner could speak. He regarded her in puzzlement, curious as to why a wet nurse had strayed into such surroundings. To her relief, there were no other lictors present. She did not want the palace abuzz with gossip about the pardon she was asking for today.

Arruns stood next to the dais where the monarchs were seated on golden thrones, their feet resting on lavishly padded footstools. Prince Tarchon stood beside them. Queen Caecilia chatted with Cytheris.

Spying Semni, Arruns beckoned to her, his mien grim. She steeled herself, tucking her thick, wavy hair behind her ears, and smoothed her hands along her chiton again.

The hall was cold compared to the smaller antechamber. Only a few of the braziers were lit. King Mastarna did not waste fuel when his people shivered for lack of firewood.

Semni kneeled in front of the podium, but it was not until Arruns knelt beside her that the royal couple noticed there were two more supplicants.

The lucumo’s brow creased. “What’s this?”

Semni gripped Arruns’s hand. She was surprised his palm was as slippery as hers. His apprehension only fueled her own. He always seemed immune to fear. She gulped, doubting she would be able to speak other than in a hoarse whisper. Luckily, he spoke first.

“I seek to marry Semni, my lord. And to claim her son, Nerie, as my own.”

“You seek a wife, Arruns?” Lord Mastarna’s attention swung to Semni. “And a family? I never thought to see you pursue such responsibilities.” Then he chuckled. “It seems you found a pretty benefit when I left you behind while I was on campaign. I hope you’re not going to grow soft now you’ll always have a warm bed to share.”

Semni felt Arruns tense at the king’s jest. She knew how much he resented being denied the chance to accompany his master to war.

Lady Caecilia smiled at her husband. “I think you can let them stand now.” Her smile broadened as she addressed the couple. “This is wonderful news. But you are both freed; you don’t need the king’s permission to wed.”

Arruns squeezed Semni’s hand. His grip was powerful. She doubted he meant to hurt her. “Semni has something to confess to you before I can marry her.”

Lord Mastarna gestured the applicants to stand. “What is this revelation?”

Semni’s knees buckled a little as she rose. Arruns steadied her. This time the pressure of the Phoenician’s grip was bearable, but she could sense his anxiety hadn’t lessened. She bowed her head. “My lord and lady, I seek forgiveness. For I said nothing when Aricia took Master Tas to see Lord Artile.”

Caecilia frowned. “But you stopped her absconding with our son. I’ll always be grateful you saved him. Tas would be in Velzna with the haruspex if not for you.”

Perspiration pricked Semni’s scalp. She concentrated on addressing her mistress, but she felt the king’s gaze boring into her. “No, I mean before the day of the Battle of Blood and Hail. I knew Aricia was taking Tas to see his uncle for many months through a secret passageway to the Great Temple. I didn’t help her, but I did nothing to stop her.” She let go of Arruns’s hand, falling to her knees again. “I did wrong in not telling you. Please forgive me.”

Semni heard Cytheris gasp. The queen’s face paled, shock in her round hazel eyes.

Lord Mastarna stood and roared. “Forgive you! My priestly brother tried to turn our son against us. Filled his head with dreams of being a great seer. Our seven-year-old son could have been lost to us forever—both in mind and in body.”

Semni cringed. The king’s mellifluous voice was harsh with rage.

Lady Caecilia gripped the armrests of her chair, her knuckles white. “Why Semni? Why?”

“When Aricia was your sons’ nursemaid, she saved me from destitution by bringing me to the House of Mastarna. My husband had divorced me because I’d borne a bastard child. My family had shunned me. She found me starving near the Great Temple on a night when she’d brought Tas through the tunnel from your house. She was kind to me, so I felt obliged to keep her secret. And then, after a time, I was trapped by my own silence. It was too late to speak out without being punished. I didn’t want to be cast out again to be homeless. I didn’t want Nerie to starve.” She steepled her fingers. “I was foolish and selfish, then I realized my mistake. So I stopped her taking Tas. Please, please, forgive me.”

Lady Caecilia’s voice was full of hurt. Semni had heard the tone before, on the day the princip realized Aricia had betrayed her, the slave she’d freed and protected since the maid was tiny.

“It was I who was kind to you. I heard Aricia’s plea to grant you succor. I gave you a job and clothes and food and shelter. And then you repaid me with treachery? Your duty was to Lord Mastarna. To me. To our House. Not to the scheming nursemaid!”

Semni’s face burned with shame. “And I’m loyal to you. I’ll be loyal to you forever.”

“Get up!” The veins in the king’s neck were protruding, his ugly scarred face flushed. His eyes that regarded his children so fondly were now hard and black and cold.

Arruns helped Semni to stand. She glanced at him. “Take courage,” he whispered in his thick accent, but she noticed there was a sheen of sweat on his tattooed features. She clamped her teeth together, trying to stop them from chattering. She crossed her arms, hugging herself. She was beyond speech.

Lady Caecilia leaned forward. “Did you know that Aricia is a priestess of Uni, Semni? Lord Artile deserted her, but Lady Tanchvil now employs her. If Aricia still plots to steal Tas’s mind, then how do I know you won’t conspire with her again?”

“She is still here?” Semni cast a look at Arruns, who was also frowning at the news. “Believe me, mistress, I want nothing more to do with her. I am faithful to you.”

Prince Tarchon was also studying the wet nurse with a shocked expression before turning to the king. “We should take no chances, Father. The palace is riddled with hidden passageways. We need to seal the entrances. Lord Artile’s knowledge of the tunnels under this citadel was expert, and the nursemaid was his avid student.”

The prince’s interruption only seemed to irritate the king. “I was aware of the secret way to the Great Temple in my own home. I can guess why you have knowledge of those in the palace.”

There was a strained silence. Semni understood Lord Mastarna’s disapproval. Aricia and she had often giggled at the thought of Lord Tarchon skulking underground to see Sethre Kurvenas when the youth lived in the royal residence. Their affair was a scandal.

Lady Caecilia interrupted, unable to hide her concern. “It’s important that Tarchon identifies the palace tunnels now.”

The prince crossed to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Caecilia. A sphinx symbol is marked on the wall near the hidden entrances. I should be able to find them.” He turned to his father. “But there’s a reason for their existence. Some provide access to the drainage system, but others are engineered as escape routes. Kings long past have seen them as a guarantee of safety.”

Lord Mastarna snorted. “If our enemies ever breach this citadel, I’ll face them bearing arms, not scurrying through the dark like a rat.”

The prince stiffened. “Then I’ll organize a search immediately. I’ll ensure they’re boarded up by tomorrow.” He bowed. “May I be excused?”

Semni saw Lady Caecilia mouth a silent thank-you to her stepson after he’d been dismissed.

The lucumo pointed to a spot in front of him. “Come here, Semni.” Her stomach lurched.

“My blood runs cold when I think I might have survived a battle only to find my son had been abducted by evil.” He gestured to the empty chair that the prince had vacated. “Did you know Lord Artile corrupted Prince Tarchon when he was only a child? I pray my brother was speaking the truth when he denied tainting Tas in that way.”

Semni felt nauseous at the thought she may have been party to the little boy’s corruption.

The monarch stood, pushing aside his footrest as he walked to the edge of the dais. Semni shrank back as he towered above her on the platform, anxious he might step down and strike her.

“And so I’ll show no clemency toward you today. You’ll be taken from here and birched before you are cast into the street. My compassion is saved only for Nerie. Your son will remain under my roof.”

A sob rose in her throat. She had hoped her honesty would spare her; instead, the judgment she most feared had been meted.

Lady Caecilia rose and touched her husband’s arm. “This is too harsh. She is only seventeen.”

The king shrugged her away. Even in her distress, Semni was confused. He always treated his wife with respect. To have him disregard her was ominous—an indication of the depth of his fury. What hope was there of reprieve when even Lady Caecilia could not sway him?

Arruns slipped his arm around Semni’s waist. She clung to him, weeping. For a moment she hated him for forcing her to confess. His duty to the master had been greater than his love for her. “Why did you make me do this?” she whispered. “Why couldn’t you have let well enough alone?”

“Calm yourself.” The certainty in his voice gave her pause. She took a deep breath and ceased her sobbing.

The king fixed his gaze on Arruns. “And what have you to say? Instead of informing us of this woman’s treachery, you remained silent. I thought you were trustworthy, Arruns. Now it seems you value a pretty face over fidelity.”

The Phoenician tensed at being accused of disloyalty by the man for whom he’d risked his life throughout all those years. His words were deliberate, as though he’d rehearsed them.

“I only heard of Semni’s transgression after the battle. I waited until your coronation was over so you weren’t distracted from affairs of state. And I made it clear to Semni that I wouldn’t wed her unless she admitted her guilt.”

Lord Mastarna studied the bodyguard, the anger in his tone lessening. “Then I excuse you for keeping this from me. But this girl is undeserving to be your wife. I’m doing you a favor in expelling her.” He offered his arm to Lady Caecilia. “This audience is over. I’ve nothing more to say.”

The queen seemed reluctant to leave. Her hesitation reminded Semni that once the king had left the throne room she’d be led away and whipped. She wondered which of the lictors would exact the sentence. Whether they would let her kiss Nerie before she was ejected. Whether Arruns would be made to watch.

“Master, wait.” Arruns’s tone was more of a demand than an entreaty. The familiarity of his address was also a reminder that he’d long served the princip.

Lord Mastarna paused. He nodded assent.

“I saved your life in the Battle of Blood and Hail,” said the Phoenician, his gaze traveling across to the queen. “And I once stopped bandits murdering Lady Caecilia. I call upon the blood debt both of you owe me. I do not do so lightly.” He bent his head, humble again. “I ask that you pardon Semni so that I might take her as my wife.”