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?”