She gazed up to a rim of light which lit the edges of a hole carved into the stone ceiling. The torchlight from the jail above did not permeate farther than a few inches into the cell below. She used the aperture as a focal point to judge time. Gray gloom in the day; feeble illumination at night.
Mildew coated the rough-hewn rock walls and floor of the chamber. Water seeped through the stone. The Carcer was built next to the Great Drain. She was glad it had not rained. The smell of ordure combined with misery and desperation. The wails of inmates languishing in other levels of the prison sent chills through her.
After a week of imprisonment, she’d grown used to the odor. But her humiliation at having to foul a corner of the cell was constant.
She’d been surprised to find a wellspring in the center of the dungeon. Dehydrated after the long journey from Veii, she’d eagerly slaked her thirst. She was regularly fed as well. A meager mess of porridge lowered on a plank through the hole once a day. There were strict orders for the victim to be kept alive for the triumph.
“Never had a woman here before,” one of the two jailors had commented when she’d been dragged into the central chamber of the Carcer. His hands had roamed over her breasts and bottom, grabbing her crotch. Her cheek was puffy and her lip split from where he’d hit her when she’d protested. She could not suppress a sob when he lowered her by the hands into the void, the pain in her shoulder excruciating.
Unable to fall asleep again, Caecilia sat up and leaned against the wall. Her shoulder was stiff and sore. Her bruises merged with the shadows. The rough woolen weave of the dress Pinna gave her was rank, the fabric damp, and her snood was ruined. She’d plaited her hair into one long, lank braid.
Physical discomfort meant little compared to the anguish that assailed her. Dreams reunited her with Vel and the children, but every time she opened her eyes, sorrow crushed her. With no chance of being reunited with Thia and her sons, she wanted to die. She longed to join Vel. Instead she faced a cruel death and a ghostly existence without him.
She mourned those alive, too, aching afresh when Tarchon had been separated from her. No farewell embrace was allowed. She wondered where they were detaining him.
At least she’d had the chance to kiss Cytheris before the maid was led to auction. With her last touch, the servant still offered comfort as they hugged each other. “You’ll be in my thoughts forever, mistress. I’ll always say a prayer for you and Lord Mastarna.”
There was cycle to her emotions. Grief, torment, and guilt. Hatred, fear, and despair.
The memory of her last moments with Vel haunted her. As did her torment when surrendering Thia. Had her sons survived? Was all their suffering her fault? Was the punishment that awaited her justified?
Her loathing for Camillus and Aemilius gave her strength to endure. Even so, she was afraid. She faced being thrown from the heights. She didn’t want to die in agony. Worse of all, she knew she’d become a specter denied reunion with her husband. She’d ensured Vel would reach Acheron. But who would prevent her body from being desecrated? Even the Atlenta myth offered no consolation. He was right. They would not live together as lions. Nor were they immortal like Fufluns and Areatha.
A flare of light drew her attention to the hole in the ceiling. A man barked at the jailor to rouse him. She was surprised to hear it was Marcus.
She heard the guard yawn. “I’ve got orders she’s not to be moved.”
“You dare question the command of a tribune? Bring her up now!”
The plank and rope hit the side of the hole, then dangled in front of her. She climbed onto the board, clinging to the cable as it jerked upward. She whimpered with pain as Marcus grabbed her under her arms and lifted her onto the floor of the upper prison.
Aghast, he scanned her injuries and deprivation. “Great Mars!”
“Ati, Ati!”
She turned, stunned to see Pinna balancing Thia on her hip. The baby stretched out her arms. Caecilia reached out to take her, but her wrists were restrained by the shackles. She grasped her daughter’s hands, kissing them.
“Remove her fetters!” Marcus growled.
The keeper hesitated. “I got orders . . .”
“She’s going nowhere. Let a mother embrace her child.”
“I’ll get into trouble.”
Marcus drew a purse from the sinus of his toga and handed it to the guard. “This will make it worth your while. I’m paying for your silence, too.”
The jailor drew the hammer from his belt and tapped the bolt to release the cuffs. He disappeared down into the lower level of the Carcer.
Freed of her irons, Caecilia clutched Thia, kissing her. The baby was not revolted by her mother’s stink, burying her face into her neck, but Pinna stood back, gagging at the prison stench. Caecilia was confused. Why was Camillus’s lover being so kind to her? And what had changed her cousin’s contempt into compassion?
“Have you news of my sons?”
“They were never found,” said Marcus.
Caecilia closed her eyes, breathing in Thia’s sweet scent, relieved her boys might yet be alive.
Marcus placed his hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been beaten. Did they . . . ?”
“No. I told them I had the pox. Believing all Etruscan women are whores, they thought it the truth. But tell me, is Tarchon safe?”
“He’s to be spared execution. Artile owns him now.”
She felt nauseous. “Please tell him I love him. Tell him his father would be proud of him. And Lusinies?”
“To be strangled.” Marcus’s voice was clipped as he glanced around. “There’s not much time. I’m not supposed to enter the city until I march in the triumph.”
“And when will that be?”
“Have they not told you? It’s tomorrow.”
Her vision blurred for a moment. Her destiny was hurtling toward her. Thia lifted her head and touched her cheek, garbling to her mother. Caecilia focused again, kissing the babe’s fingers. She turned to Pinna. “You’ll look after my daughter as you promised?”
A troubled look crossed the woman’s face.
Caecilia glanced between her two visitors. “What’s the matter?”
Marcus dragged his fingers through his cowlick. She remembered the anxious gesture. “As patriarch, my father has decreed Thia is to die.”
Her legs buckled. Marcus steadied her. “Don’t worry, Caecilia. Pinna and I aren’t going to let him harm her.”
She was unable to stop quaking. She knew Aemilius loathed her but this was beyond bitterness. “But how?”
“I’ve told him I’ll see to her death after the spectacle. In the meantime, Pinna will take Thia to safety.”
“But he’ll expect to see a body.”
“There will be proof enough to satisfy Father,” said Marcus. “Leave it to us.”
Wary, Caecilia stared at Pinna. “How do I know I can trust you? You’re Camillus’s woman.”
“No longer. I’ve left him.”
Caecilia’s respect for her rose. “Then you are wise.”