Pinna glanced away, and Caecilia guessed there had been heartache in her decision. Then the woman recovered, reaching over to stroke Thia’s curls. “I’ll care for her as my own.”
Caecilia swallowed. It was painful to accept that this woman would be Thia’s new mother. She noticed the Atlenta pendant was tied around the baby’s neck with a short leather thong. Nestled beside it was the bulla Vel had given the baby, the sacred bees. She recalled his brief caress of Thia’s hair at the temple. He did not know it was to be his last. And he’d had no chance to bid his sons good-bye. “Do you still have the golden dice?”
Pinna nodded.
“Don’t lose them. They were her father’s. They brought us together.” Tears pricked her eyes. “For her own protection, never reveal who we were. But please tell her that her parents loved her dearly. And that her father was a great warrior.”
Pinna covered her hand. “I’ll tell her that her mother was courageous, too.”
“Her true name is Larthia,” added Caecilia. “Let her grow up knowing she was her grandmother’s namesake.”
The sound of clinking in the stairwell heralded the return of the jailor.
“We must go now, Cilla,” said Marcus. “Kiss your daughter.”
She was startled by the lilting nickname, one used in a time of confidences and brotherly love. She placed her palm against his chest. “Thank you, Marcus. But why are you doing this? I thought you hated me. You’ve repaid the blood debt twice over already.”
He stepped back at the intimate touch, his tone abrupt. “I’m not doing this for you. I do it because I don’t believe in killing children. And you must thank Pinna for us coming here tonight.”
Caecilia murmured her gratitude. The tiny woman wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
The time had come to say farewell to Thia forever. Given this second chance, Caecilia decided not to show she was distraught. She wanted her daughter to believe this parting was only for a short time. Heart pounding, she took hold of the baby’s hand, kissing it playfully before tickling her tummy. Thia responded with a gummy grin. “Go with Pinna. Be a good girl. I’ll see you soon.” She kissed the babe on the cheek and tried to hand her to Pinna.
Despite the playful tone, Thia protested. Heartbroken, Caecilia prized her away, coaxing her to let go. Finally Thia released her.
Pinna paused at the heavy wooden entrance doors. Caecilia flattened her palm and blew a kiss, sending the endearment spinning through space to Thia. She forced herself to keep smiling until she caught the last glimpse of her daughter waving good-bye with tiny dimpled fingers.
SIXTY-SIX
Marcus, Rome, Summer, 396 BC
Gulping in the crisp night air was a relief. The reek of the battlefield was nothing compared to the Carcer’s. Marcus leaned back against the stone wall of the prison and closed his eyes. He doubted he’d ever be rid of the image of Caecilia in that grim place.
He felt Pinna’s hand upon his arm. He opened his eyes. She looked pale and forlorn as she rocked the baby against her shoulder. That afternoon, reeling from her revelation, he’d been disconcerted when she’d appeared at his tent seeking help. He was astounded as to how many tiers of deceit she had practiced.
He steered her into an alleyway. “Remember what we agreed. Your past as a tomb whore has proven useful. Leave the corpse of a child from the Esquiline in my tent during the triumph. I’ll show it to my father the next day. I’ll tell him I smothered the princess.”
“But he might see the substitute isn’t Etruscan.”
“He hasn’t even bothered to look at Thia. I doubt he’ll examine her corpse. A glimpse of dark hair, a patch of skin, closed lids. It’s the deed he seeks, not the evidence.”
“Thank you for rescuing her. And for providing me with yet another fresh start. I’ll travel on to Satricum with the money you’ve given me.”
“Let me know where you settle. Then I will send more.”
“For a man who claims to despise Aemilia Caeciliana, you’ve done much to help her.”
He tensed. “I told you. It’s not for her sake but her child’s.”
“I don’t believe you. You called her ‘Cilla.’ It wasn’t a slip of the tongue but a remnant of affection.” She paused. “Why didn’t you tell her you will be her executioner?”
“Because I lack courage. But at least she’ll die knowing I played no part in hurting her daughter.” He placed his hand on Thia’s head. The baby’s hair was soft beneath his palm. He gave a faint smile and raised his eyes to Pinna’s. “It seems we have another secret to share. No one must ever know this child survived.”
“A secret without coercion. I like that.”
“And we share the risk of discovery together. Go safely. Be careful.”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. The contact shocked him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him tenderly. He caught hold of her hand. “Why didn’t you tell the general about my love for Drusus?”
“Because I promised you I wouldn’t. And once the truth I was a lupa was revealed, my fate was determined anyway. Besides, I now see Camillus was never mine to possess. And, in the end, he was not the man I fell in love with. My desire was as hopeless as yours was for Drusus.”
The pain of loss returned. “I slew him, Pinna.”
She squeezed his fingers hard. “He was deranged. He was a coward. By the gods, he tried to kill you! His obsession was greater than his friendship. Forget him. You were tormented in life because of him. Don’t bind yourself to him in death, too. Don’t let him haunt you.”
He stared at her, knowing he must heed her. He felt relief. A sense of freedom.
She drew her shawl over her head, covering Thia’s as well. “Farewell, Marcus Aemilius Mamercus. I’ll pray for you tomorrow. I’ll pray for you always. I’ll never forget you.”
Marcus thought how beauty could be made haggard in the space of one long day of devastation. The wound that Tarchon suffered at the temple was healing, but there was a fresh bruise darkening the flesh around his eye. Welts marked his arms and legs. His wrists and ankles were fettered. Artile was taking no chances.
Marcus had watched the haruspex leave his tent shortly after sunrise. The auspices needed to be taken. And he was to preside over the ceremony on the Capitoline. The procession was due to start within the hour.
Tarchon sat on the ground surrounded by the loot Artile had claimed. Chalices, paterae, and candelabras. There were sacks of coins as well. The soothsayer was now a wealthy man.
The prince raised his hands, the chains clinking. “Have you come to gloat?”
Marcus frowned, glancing over his shoulder to the tent flap, wary of being interrupted. “I don’t have much time. You’ll be loaded into one of the wagons soon.”
“To be displayed with the rest of the spoils.” Tarchon lowered his hands into his lap. “I would have thought you’d be mustering with the other officers.” He scanned the tribune’s toga and tunic. “You’re not wearing armor.”