There were more guards at the top of the stairs. They cordoned her off from the mob that flanked the road leading to the Capitoline sanctuary. Despite the escort, some people managed to lob rotten fruit. She winced at the blows, crooking her arm to protect her face. At least they were not stones.
A trickle of sweat slid between her breasts, a sheen coating her brow. As she approached the precinct, her gaze was drawn to the graceful lines of Jupiter’s temple which nearly rivaled Queen Uni’s. Now the traitor goddess was biding her time until her new home was built. Caecilia wondered if the Veientane divinity regretted taking a footstep across the Tiber. She would reside in a sanctuary lesser in grandeur than her temple in Veii. Camillus had dubbed her Juno Regina, but the deity was now merely Jupiter’s consort. She would be relegated to the Aventine instead of residing in resplendence with him. Or would the divine Roman king feel threatened that the foreign goddess might usurp him?
Caecilia walked past the long line of wagons containing treasure to be consecrated to the great and mighty god. She swallowed hard, seeing the heaped panoplies of the Rasennan warriors who’d been felled by a stealthy attack.
And then she saw Tarchon. He stood up in the tray of a cart, raising his chained wrists to wave to her. She could see his mouth moving but couldn’t hear him above the yells of abuse. His eye was blackened. Artile was already punishing him. She shouted that she loved him. Told him to remain strong. The words were engulfed by the tumult.
One guard shoved her, not prepared to let her dally. Her eyes widened as she spied the gold quadriga and four white stallions next to the temple steps. And there on the portico Camillus sat in his curule chair, flanked by a group of politicians.
Seeing his red-painted face and purple robes sent a shiver through her. Apart from the laurel wreath, it could have been a Rasennan king. Tears welled as she thought of how Vel hated the vermilion, and how little fingers could make a mess with the dye.
She scanned the men around him. Scipio. Genucius. Aemilius. The Furian brothers. Marcus also, wearing the mural crown. He glanced away when he saw her scrutiny. In broad daylight he wasn’t as brave as he had been in the darkness of a jail.
Her gaze returned to Camillus and the man on his right-hand side. Not a soldier or senator but a soothsayer. Loathing rose in her to see Artile’s smugness.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her trembling, then drew her shoulders erect, imagining herself in her favorite chiton of yellow with fine leather boots and decked in jewels.
At the dictator’s signal, a trumpet sounded. Camillus stood, lifting his arms to command quiet. Silence rippled across the crowd.
His eyes raked over her. “Did you see the fate of Lusinies, Aemilia Caeciliana? It’s a shame I can’t display your husband’s body. The true enemy commander in chief.”
“He’s safe from your reach. He’s been spared dishonor. And Lusinies died knowing he was subdued by an enemy who feared facing him in battle.”
Camillus sat down and leaned his weight on one arm of his backless ivory chair. “No matter how many times you accuse me of cowardice, one thing is certain. The gods chose us. And I have the satisfaction of seeing Veii’s queen executed, even if I was denied the chance to strangle its king.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the quadriga, her cuffs clanking as she gestured toward Camillus’s head. “Do you plan to replace the laurel wreath with a crown? After all, you emulate Mighty Jupiter himself.”
He flinched. “I have no wish to be a monarch.”
From the corner of her eye, she could see the patricians stiffen or murmur into another’s ear.
“I thought a stint in the Tullanium would have taught you some humility, Caecilia.”
Her stubbornness emerged. Anger also quelled some of her nerves. She turned to Aemilius, the man who’d washed his hands of her so he could grasp power. “You’ve grown long in the tooth, Uncle. Do you still consider yourself a warrior? How does it feel to murder a kinswoman?”
“I disowned you long ago.”
“Yet you’ve enjoyed my inheritance ever since. My father was a wealthy man.”
Her scorn dented his composure. “And he’d be ashamed of you. Today you’ll get what you deserve. You sullied both the Caecilian and Aemilian names. Your lust has brought catastrophe upon you and all whom you loved. You should have heeded the lessons learned as a child. Divine law preserves Rome. Even Veii’s goddess has confirmed that. At least go to your death showing contrition for your treachery.”
Caecilia scanned the self-righteous faces in front of her. Aemilius’s taunt about her father stung but she had no remorse. She would not apologize. “It’s the priest who is the traitor here. The blood of a multitude is on his hands. And you would be fools to trust him.”
Artile smiled, then said in Etruscan, “On the contrary, the deaths of thousands are on your head. You defied Nortia. Rome was always your destiny. You angered Uni and so caused Veii’s destruction. I will enjoy watching you die, Sister.”
His gibe struck home but she pushed it away. “Chains will not make Tarchon love you, Artile. All you’ll ever know is his hatred. And you can never have Tas. He is safe. Remember that when I haunt you.”
Camillus held up his hand, impatient with the exchange in a foreign tongue. “Enough,” he barked. “Aemilia Caeciliana, I sentence you to death for sedition.” He turned to Marcus. “Take her to the cliff and throw her off.”
A pain shot through her chest as she stared at the tribune. “You? You are to kill me?”
“I’ve been so commanded,” he rasped. His soft brown eyes were those of the youth of the past.
“Marcus Aemilius shouldn’t have shown mercy to your husband,” said Camillus. “And so he’ll now show his loyalty to me and Rome”—he gestured to Aemilius—“and to his father, family, and clan.”
Suddenly Caecilia did feel regret. After all he’d done, her cousin did not deserve this. It should’ve been one of the practiced guards who did the deed.
Camillus motioned to Aemilius and Artile. “Let members of both Roman and Etruscan families witness her death.”
The dictator walked down the steps into the precinct followed by the priest and senator. The rest of the nobles remained on the portico. In the sanctuary, people began chanting Caecilia’s name.
Quaking, she realized her life was now measured by the number of steps she’d take to the edge. Marcus fell in beside her as they followed Camillus.
The air was thick with incense from huge cauldrons in the precinct. It would be a scent that clung to her as she died. As they exited through the gates of the sanctuary, they passed the flawless, white cows that were tethered to a post next to the altar.
The Forum stretched before her. The Comitium, Temple of Vesta, and Curia surrounded by the seven hills. Viewing them made her realize how small Rome was compared to the world she’d lived in for a decade. The memory of her first sight of Veii as she sat in the hooped cart on the Via Veientana flashed into her mind. The majestic city on the plateau rising above the wooded ravines.