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.
SIXTY
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.