Call to Juno (A Tale of Ancient Rome #3) (40 page)

F
IFTY
-N
INE

Semni, Veii, Summer, 396 BC

Rung after rung, Semni descended, easing down each time, worried the timber might break, not sure if she would make a misstep. The jewelry clicked and tinkled beneath her clothes. The climb was tortuous as Perca struggled and whimpered with pain. To Semni’s relief, she saw a faint light below her, then felt her foot hit earth. In front of her was a low-roofed tunnel. Dropping to her knees, she crawled through it.

A huge arm encircled her waist as Arruns hugged her. Nerie wrapped his arms around her neck. The moment of reunion was brief as her husband broke from her and gave her their son to hold.

Semni gazed up at the sheer cliff towering above her, holly trailing across its surface. She felt giddy for a moment as she realized the height from which she had descended through the shaft. Black smoke billowed above, sullying the pale-blue sky. She was surprised to see the sun was far from its zenith. She assumed ages had passed but it was still early morning.

Beyond her lay a ravine covered by a scrub of new-growth oak and beech. A short distance away, they would find the river carving a path through a series of valleys. How were they going to traverse such terrain?

The group of fugitives clustered around Arruns, frightened to step away from the circle of his protection. Semni could not help feeling despondent. Surely four children, two women, and an injured girl were too many for one man to rescue?

Arruns was surveying the scenery, too. The anxiety she’d glimpsed in the cavern had gone. “Let’s go. We need to reach the river,” he said. “I plan to steal a boat. There are traders who carry supplies for the Romans along the river. They may take us north if we pay them.”

Her eyes widened. “Or betray us. And the enemy patrol the north as well.”

“There are Romans everywhere, Semni. We can only try.”

“What about the forts?”

“There aren’t as many on this side because of the depth of the ravines and the way the river runs so close to the wall. But I’ll warrant most outposts will be unmanned. If the soldiers are allowed to claim booty, then every hoplite around here will be in the city stealing as much as he can. We need to hurry.”

Semni scanned the gaggle of women and children. “The boys are already tired.”

He glanced at his charges. “There’s not much choice. We can’t stay here.”

“We’ll stick out like sore thumbs. You, in particular.”

“Don’t give up before we’ve even started. Now, come on.”

Perca moaned as she struggled to her feet, then staggered. Arruns hefted her into his arms.

Arnth seemed to have found an extra reserve of strength. He pushed past Tas to be the first after the lictor. Tas also showed resilience. He bade Larce to remember he was a prince, as the middle brother dragged his feet and whined. Larce straightened his shoulders, his competitive spirit rising to the surface.

Aricia fell in behind the boys as they pushed through the brush. Semni and Nerie trailed at the end of the queue. Soon she heard the sound of flowing water. Arruns stopped short, keeping cover in a thicket. There was a line of new willows trailing fronds in the river, green and peaceful. Semni licked her lips. She was thirsty, her throat parched.

Arruns scanned the ridge for Romans, then signaled them forward to the willows, lowering Perca to the ground once he’d reach the trees. The party scrambled under the bower, the thin fronds forming a roof of greenery above them.

“Give me one of the necklaces,” he said.

Semni slid her hand down the neck of her dress and pulled out the queen’s pearls. She noticed Tas’s eyes widening as he recognized his mother’s possession. Arruns stuffed the jewelry into the pouch at his waist.

“Stay here. I’ll be back,” he said. “Stay hidden in the willows. Be quiet.”

She clutched his arm. “Don’t leave us.”

He peeled her fingers away and squeezed them. “I will return.” Both knew it was a tenuous promise. And if he could not keep it, they would be doomed.

Arruns threaded his way through the scrub at the edge of the bank and disappeared. After everyone had slaked their thirst, Semni leaned her back against the willow’s trunk. The clamor from the city drifted to them. She wondered if she would still hear it when she was far away, an indelible noise at the back of her mind.

“Rest,” she said to the boys. “We’ve a long journey ahead when Arruns returns.”

Tas remained anxious. “But what if we fall asleep? The Romans might get us.”

“Hush. We’ll watch over you,” said Aricia.

Nerie settled onto his mother’s lap. She stroked his fair hair until he fell asleep. Perca also curled up and closed her eyes. Tas remained alert, peeping through the leaves to keep watch for Arruns. The younger princes clustered beside him.

Semni covered Aricia’s hand, keeping her voice low. “Do you actually know what happened in the temple?”

The girl’s eyes brimmed with tears. “It happened so suddenly. One moment the chamber was hushed, with only the sound of Lord Mastarna invoking Uni. I couldn’t see him or the queen because the statue was in the way. Then the rug hiding the secret shaft moved. The trap door rose in front of me and was flung open. There were so many of them. I was too shocked to cry out. They were stealthy, fanning out as each one broke free of the shaft. Mother was holding Thia and screaming.”

“Did the Romans hurt them?”

Aricia covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know! I was a coward. I ran and escaped through the passage leading from the workroom. I thought I might be able to warn you to get the princes out. But then I could not open the Medusa hatch.” Tears trickled between her fingers.

She encircled Aricia’s shoulder with her arm. “I doubt you could have helped anyone. You would’ve been captured if you’d shown yourself. You were brave to try and find us.”

Aricia leaned against her shoulder. “Mother and I were going to spend time together at the feast. She said she was proud of me for training as a priestess.”

Semni squeezed her. “Then you made peace. That’s the most important thing to remember. We must pray the enemy shows mercy. And that they would not harm a baby.”

Time crawled. Semni strained to hear any sound that might herald Arruns’s return. Or worse, that Romans were approaching.

Tas suddenly turned to her. “I can see a boat.”

All of them swiveled their heads around to Semni. Somehow she had become their leader. She placed her finger to her lips before scuttling forward to peer through the branches.

A barge was approaching. A Roman soldier was in its fore, another man at the tiller.

The boat drew closer, then slowed, turning its prow to the bank. Semni wondered if she should shout to the others to run. Then she noticed the soldier’s profile—his hooked nose and the pattern of the snake upon his cheek. Arruns was wearing a Roman soldier’s helmet and breast plate. There was fresh blood on his tunic and hands. Semni was beyond caring how many other killings her husband had needed to perform to secure the vessel.

He jumped out, guiding the craft’s nose until it nudged against the bank. She crawled from her hiding place.

One by one, Arruns lifted the boys and women into the boat. Then he scooped some mud from the riverbank and smeared it across his face, covering the tattoo. He pushed off, wading in the shallows and nimbly jumping into the boat. Semni clung to the side of the prow as the craft rocked with his weight.

The trader watched them boarding, glancing around at the ridge above, and up and down stream.

“Can you trust him?” she whispered to Arruns.

“I’ve promised him more jewels if he takes us to the tributary beyond the north bridge. Then we can head overland to Lake Sabatinus and then on to Tarchna. I’m paying more than he can earn selling a shipment. We should have no trouble if I’m thought to be a Roman soldier as we pass the river stations. And there are only a few sentries on the lines.” He gazed up to the citadel. “The rest are killing unarmed men and innocents.”

For one last time, Semni gazed up at the arx. A black, hazy cloud hung over it. Ashes drifted in the air, settling on surfaces everywhere, even the skin of the water. The Romans were razing her city. A lump stuck in her throat. She would never see her home again.

Arruns lifted the heavy hides that covered the cargo hold. The space was empty. “All of you, lie down here. And make no noise. Sound carries over water. Try to sleep. This trip will take hours. I’ll give you fresh air when I think it’s safe.”

As the boys crawled inside, she thought how excited they would normally be at such an adventure. Instead they huddled together, trembling and sweaty in the stuffy confines of the crawl space.

Semni lay in the gloom under the hides, Nerie next to her. She could hear the sound of the vessel splashing through water, the creak of the sail. The fumes from the resin that caulked the boat’s timbers were strong. She hoped they would not suffocate.

After a time, she became drowsy, struggling to keep awake. Her eyelids drooped, then shut. As sleep overwhelmed her, her last thought was whether she would wake to the land of the living or the world of the Beyond.

S
IXTY

Pinna, Veii, Summer, 396 BC

All day Pinna waited in the camp, staring across to the high fortress, sick in the stomach, and sick at heart.

The shouts of alarm had been faint at first, drifting across the heavy humid air of the valley. By midday, the suffering cries swelled in volume. Now it was late afternoon, and the torment had not abated.

As always on a day of battle, the army wives congregated together, gaining comfort in each other’s presence as they did their chores. Despite the ingenuity of the general’s plan, they still worried their men might not return. Pinna did not join them; instead she walked to the bluff to observe the plateau. She doubted her lover would be injured. Mater Matuta would guard him.

Although nauseated, she remained riveted on the invasion unfolding before her. In the distance, she spied tiny figures throwing ropes over the curtain walls. Others leaped in desperation, risking broken bones instead of death by sword or spear. Their efforts were fruitless; soldiers awaited them.

From her high point, she saw the pall of smoke massing like a storm cloud as though Juno was raining down destruction. The dark sky made it hard to keep track of time. The hours stretched. The longest of days was an agony. The divine queen had truly been enticed from her home.

With no breeze, the smoke eventually floated to the camp, coating the tents with ash. And all the while Pinna pondered that her lover’s ambition had now been made tangible. The residue settling on her hair was the cinders of a dying people, and a dying city.

She heard the rumble of wagons behind her, the crack of whips and muleteers shouting. A rider headed toward her, reining in his horse. His face was blackened by grime, his visage like some demon, runnels of scarlet streaking his face.

“General Camillus wants you to go to him.”

“Then the Veientanes have surrendered?”

He laughed. “Surrendered? Veii has been conquered! Now the general has issued orders no unarmed men will be killed. Only those determined to bear weapons risk death.”

“But why does he want me?”

“He didn’t say. Only that you and Artile Mastarna should come to the palace.” He pointed to the carts. “We have orders to start collecting the spoils to transport to Rome.”

She hurried across to the convoy. Artile was already seated on the first wagon. He did not acknowledge her. His attention was solely on the concrete consequences of his treachery. His complexion was tinged green.

The driver urged the donkeys forward. Pinna gripped the seat beneath her as the cart bumped over the rutted road descending into the valley.

By the time she crossed the ford, she’d vomited twice. From the heights, the enemy had appeared small, but now she saw the corpses of those who’d tried to escape. She was shocked to see the river running red.

As she ascended the plateau to the city, she was assaulted by a discordant lament rising above an undercurrent of babbling misery. Eyes watering from smoke, she gazed up at the carved lions decorating the towers flanking the great oaken gates. The watchful guardians had failed their city today, rendered impotent by invaders from within. Artile did not bother to glance up at the stone beasts. There was a smear of sick on his mouth. His hands clenched in his lap.

The carts trundled into the main avenue of the city. Suddenly Pinna comprehended the enormity of her Wolf’s achievement. Rome seemed like some country town compared to this metropolis. The sight would have thrilled her if she didn’t have to witness the atrocities around her. She clutched the fascinum on her necklace. For the first time ever, she doubted her belief in Mater Matuta. It was hard to believe two mother goddesses could preside over such cruelty.

Fires had died down, buildings smoldering, their frames skeletal and scorched. Children were wandering, searching for mothers and fathers, their howling pitiful. Others tugged at bloodstained skirts, expecting an embrace that would forever be denied. Soldiers were scavenging, stealing from both the dead and the living. Others were rounding up prisoners. The female captives stood cowering, ropes around their necks. There were no elderly or frail in view.

Head aching, Pinna closed her eyes. The surfeit of butchery was too much to bear.

“Behold the palace of the great King Vel Mastarna.”

She opened her eyes at Artile’s deep voice. She glanced across to him and realized he was speaking to himself. Then she raised her eyes and gasped at the vast edifice before her.

The convoy halted, lining up in readiness for its cargo. Artile climbed down from the cart and headed to the portico without waiting for her. She scurried after him, noticing Camillus’s groom holding the general’s white stallion at the bottom of the broad set of steps.

“Pinna!” Marcus ran up the steps behind her. He was splattered with blood, his face filthy. “What are you doing here?”

“The general sent for me.”

He scowled. “Come on, then. I’ve only just returned from the city.”

Now she chased both men as they hastened through an impressive courtyard. Once again, she averted her eyes from the gore around her, following the men through tall bronze doors into a room whose walls were covered with murals.

A group of knights were milling around a closed set of studded double doors to a further room. She expected the soldiers to be buoyant after their victory; instead they were preoccupied, muttering to each other. The stink of them filled the air, their faces and clothes covered in soot, their arms stained red to the elbows. Artile did not even glance at them. He was agitated, wringing his hands. Pinna realized he must be anxious to see if Tarchon and the little prince had survived.

Marcus strode over to the cavalrymen, who saluted. “What’s going on here?”

“We delivered some treasure to General Camillus. Now he and General Genucius have locked the doors,” said a decurion, eying Pinna askance. “No one is to enter other than the concubine and priest.”

Marcus hammered on the bronze. One massive door opened a fraction. Genucius acknowledged the tribune with a nod. “Ah, Marcus. Come inside, too.”

The one-eyed commander shut the door once Pinna and the two men edged through the gap. Her mouth dropped open. She’d entered the heart of the realm. Before her was a huge throne on a dais with a smaller throne beside it. And in front of the podium, her Wolf sat on his curule chair, helmet on the floor beside him, cradling his head with his hands. Next to him was a pile of gold coins stacked higher than a man.

Tearing her eyes from the loot, Pinna ran to her lover’s side and prized his hands from his face. Camillus raised his head. His expression was harrowed. His eyes were brimming with tears.

“What is it, my Wolf? Are you ill?”

He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, then gripped her fingers. “Have you seen what I’ve done, Pinna? How the dead litter the avenues and squares? It’s taken me all day to traverse every corner of the city. And all around me for miles were weapons, bodies, and lamentation.”

Love for him welled. After witnessing his fervor yesterday, she expected him to be jubilant and callous. “You’ve won a great victory, my Wolf.”

He searched her face. “Have I? I didn’t win a battle. I trapped them like fish in a dam, then spiked them one by one.”

“Remember you defeated the armies stationed here, my Wolf. You overcame warriors.”

“Soldiers roused from slumber in the early morn before they had time to don armor. Scrambling to orientate themselves, waking to a nightmare. There were a few pockets of armed resistance. Most were easily quelled. Only the old campaigner, Lusinies, managed to mount a credible defense.”

“As you planned. Remember the dawn goddess is on your side.”

To her surprise he wrapped his arms around her, burying his forehead between her breasts. “Divine favor that overwhelms me. See the coins? They are but a glimpse of the riches held in the treasury.”

She glanced over his head to Caius Genucius. He stood stroking his thick beard, eyes hard with hate. Marcus rubbed his puckered scar, then looked away. Artile waited behind a bronze-clad table laden with scrolls, impatient, brimful with questions.

She bent and whispered, “Rome will thank you for this conquest, my Wolf. You’ve delivered wealth that will help both rich and poor. Hunger will no longer stalk us. Would Juno have answered your call if she’d not wished the Veientanes to be defeated?”

She felt the tension in his body ease. He released her and rose, cupping her face between his palms. “As always, you know how to soothe me.”

Artile was querulous. “Where’s Tarchon? And Prince Tas?”

The general ignored him, focusing on Marcus. “What happened? Your messenger told me Vel Mastarna is dead.”

Artile gasped. “My brother, dead? I thought he was to be captured!” He walked across to the tribune, seizing his forearm. “Is Tarchon dead, too?”

Marcus shucked him off.

Camillus roared. “Silence! I don’t care about that mollis. Let Marcus Aemilius speak. Was Mastarna armed? Did he put up a fight?”

Marcus hesitated, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. Pinna wondered why he was so nervous.

“We found him at prayer when we broke into the temple. He wore no armor. In the confusion, he was fatally wounded.”

“Who killed him?”

“Claudius Drusus.”

Camillus’s face suffused with color. “So the man who swore vengeance forgot his orders! Where is he now?”

There was pain in the tribune’s voice. “Dead, sir. I killed him.”

The general grunted in surprise. Pinna’s pulse quickened.

“Drusus attacked me when I commanded him not to behead the king,” continued Marcus. “So I defended myself. I wish he’d heeded me . . .” His lowered his head, his words trailing away.

Seeing his officer’s distress, Camillus stepped across to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. “I feel for you, Marcus. He was your friend. But what you did was justified. Drusus placed personal feelings above Rome’s.”

Marcus raised his head. “I burned his body, sir.”

“Drusus’s?”

“No, Vel Mastarna’s.”

Camillus shoved the tribune’s shoulder. “What!”

“I killed Drusus to stop him mutilating the king’s body. I couldn’t take the chance others would as well. Mastarna always treated our dead with respect.”

“You’ve denied me the chance to look on him one last time! To display a conquered leader to our people!”

Marcus fell to one knee, head bowed. “I accept my punishment, sir. But there was no direct order concerning Mastarna’s corpse. I burned him in a cooking pit. He deserved better.”

“At least tell me you showed no mercy to your cousin.”

“She’s in the temple with Prince Tarchon.”

Artile interrupted, his voice hopeful. “Then he’s alive?

“He was breathing when I left him. I knocked him unconscious.”

“Then let me go to him.”

Camillus curled his lip. “Your brother lies dead, and your city in ruins—and all you worry about is a lover who spurned you?”

“I don’t weep for my brother. Nor for his bitch. I’m the master of the House of Mastarna now.”

“Have you seen the destruction about you? You’re master of nothing.”

The haruspex stared at him, the hollow look returning. “What about Vel Mastarna Junior?”

The dictator returned to his chair and picked up his helmet. “Your nephews have disappeared. I expect they’ll turn up. There’s no place to hide. Whether they will be alive remains to be seen.”

“There are escape tunnels. Tas knows of them.”

The general spoke sharply. “Tunnels? I thought you’d pointed out all of them.”

“I told you about the main one to the temple. There’s a warren of others on the arx that are too difficult to access.” Artile’s agitation increased. “Tas is only eight. He’ll need help. The Phoenician lictor must have slipped the net with the boys.” He pressed his palms together in supplication. “Please send out a search party. They couldn’t have gone far.”

The general buckled his helmet. “I’m not going to waste time on a manhunt. They could be anywhere by now. The invasion has lasted all day. The princes fled this morning.”

“You’re unwise, general. Boys are little foes who’ll grow into warriors. And girls breed soldiers to wreak vengeance. Mastarna’s children should not go free.”

Camillus hesitated, then was dismissive. “I doubt they’ll make it through the siege lines.” He straightened his cloak. Self-doubt had vanished. “I’ve more important matters to deal with. It’s time to speak to the captive queen.” He offered Pinna his arm. “Come. You must accompany me to the temple as well.”

Pleased her Wolf had not forgotten her, the concubine walked past the officers clustered around the now open doorway. Curiosity trickled through her disquiet. After a decade of wondering, she was about to meet Aemilia Caeciliana.