The dictator raised one eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re in the position to make demands, Aemilia Caeciliana.”
She knew he wanted her to beg. She doubted it would make a difference. She glanced across to Marcus, hoping he would give her a hint that the boys were safe. He avoided her gaze, stony faced. She wondered why she should expect comfort from him. He’d kept his vow to Mastarna. He owed her nothing more. Her gaze traveled to the woman, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Caecilia was unsure if she’d seen correctly. Yet the faint encouragement did not quell her anxiety.
Thia whimpered, tightening her grip.
“Let me hold my daughter. Do you think I’m capable of doing harm with my hands freed?”
Camillus hesitated. His companion murmured behind him. He appeared irritated at her interjection but gestured to the guard to untie the ropes. Again Caecilia was surprised. How did this female come to have such influence? Her shapely figure suggested the general probably enjoyed her, but she was clearly more than a bedmate.
Words of thanks stuck in her throat. She wrapped her arms around Thia’s waist, kissing her. The baby settled on her lap, quiet but quivering. Caecilia returned her attention to Camillus, staring him down.
He laughed. “Do you think I’m frightened of a woman glaring at me?”
“I think only a coward slaughters unarmed people. You haven’t won a battle here today. Trickery, not bravery, delivered Veii into your hands.”
A hint of irritation flickered in his eyes. She’d seen it before at Fidenae years ago. She liked the fact she got under his skin.
He studied her from head to toe. She refused to feel ashamed. She was not prepared to be drawn back into Rome’s rules and judgments. She was a Rasennan wife, not a Roman matron.
“Look at you with your sheer clothes and painted face. I didn’t think a prostitute could become a monarch.” Camillus turned to his men and smiled. They sniggered in appreciation.
Caecilia stuck out her chin. “I am no whore but a univira. Faithful to one man.”
He sneered. “I doubt it. But any number of my men can soon relieve you of that distinction.”
The woman behind him gasped. He turned and gave her a stern look.
Caecilia was determined not to show her fear. “I’m proud of who I am. Proud to be Veientane. I have no regrets I chose Veii.”
“Husbands have a habit of dying, Caecilia. That’s why you should have returned to your uncle’s house. You should never have forsaken Rome.”
“At least Vel Mastarna was spared the humiliation of being paraded at your triumph. And strangled at its conclusion.”
Marcus tensed. Camillus also stiffened, looking across to the tribune, then back to her. “Regrettable, but at least I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you executed.”
She clenched her fists to hide her trembling. “Better a traitor to Rome than the martyr you wanted to make me.”
“So you think yourself innocent? That you are some poor scapegoat?”
“No. I sought Rome’s destruction.” She swiveled her head to scan each person in the room. “Gladly.”
“So you confess?”
“As if there will be any trial.”
“You forfeited that privilege long ago. The Carcer dungeon awaits you, as does a view from the Tarpeian Rock.”
As she tried to push thoughts of a brutal death aside, she noticed someone entering the sanctum from the corner of her eye.
She felt as though she’d been stabbed. Artile walked to Uni’s statue and bowed with the conceited mien of the holiest of servants. She wondered how he didn’t stagger with the burden of so many dead dragged behind him.
His eyes rested on her, gloating. Then his gaze traveled to the pool of Mastarna’s blood in front of the altar without blinking. When he spied Tarchon, though, he panicked. He rushed to him, stepping in front of Sethre, and pressed two fingers against the prince’s neck. He relaxed at finding a pulse then glared at Marcus. “You could’ve killed him.”
Camillus barked, “Leave him. I have more concerns than worrying about your pet.”
Tarchon opened his eyes at the priest’s touch. Dazed, he took a few moments to recognize who hovered above him. When he realized, he struggled to sit, shock apparent. Then his face contorted with fury as he tried to break free from his bindings. “You bastard!”
Startled, Artile stood out of his reach.
Tarchon inched closer to Sethre, sliding his palms around one of the youth’s lifeless hands, then defiant, he raised it to his lips.
The seer flinched, anger replacing his dismay.
Tarchon called to Camillus. “Rome must have been desperate to listen to this dog. He’s not only betrayed his city but his own flesh and blood.”
“Lord Artile is now a patriot of Rome. Your father should have taken care not to foster enmity with his brother.”
“I don’t know what lies he’s told you, but he’s a poisoner and pervert. There’s good reason why my father despised him. As do I.”
A look of distaste crossed Camillus’s face. “I have little interest in such accusations.” He beckoned to the haruspex. “Get over here.”
Artile bristled at the command but obeyed. Caecilia was pleased to see the priest had become a lackey. However, the haruspex’s haughtiness was restored when he studied her.
“Ah, Sister, I always told you that your fate led back to Rome. This is what becomes of flouting Nortia.”
She gritted her teeth, hating he was right. “At least I’ll be dragged to Rome instead of slinking there like a rat. I have not betrayed my people.”
The priest scowled. “You’re not Veientane. And Queen Uni chose to abandon her city because of you.”
She frowned, twisting around to stare up at the goddess. “What do you mean?”
Camillus stood, pointing the scepter in one hand at the statue. “I called Uni to desert Veii. I promised her a temple in Rome as Juno Regina. She answered my prayer.”
Caecilia heard Cytheris’s sharp intake of breath and Tarchon’s grunt of disbelief. She hugged Thia. What he said was fanciful, and yet it must be true. The mother goddess had been neglected and was unforgiving. The attempts to placate her had come too late.
Camillus walked around the altar table and knelt before the effigy. “O Mighty Jupiter and Juno Regina, I thank you for your favor. Know that this conquest was not unjust but of necessity to defend my people. Yet if you consider some retribution due for such devastation, I beseech you to spare Rome and let any penance fall upon my own head.”
Wheeling around, he began to rise, but his foot caught in his cloak. Stumbling, he pitched forward, grabbing the edge of the altar to prevent falling. The scepter clattered to the floor.
“My Wolf!” The woman ran to his side, grasping his forearm.