Semni murmured. “By Arruns?”
She nodded. “Lord Mastarna had sent him to watch over me. And he’s done so ever since.” She bent her head toward Semni in a conspiratorial manner. “I think I was almost as afraid of him as the Gaul. His tattoo and his silence were foreboding.” She straightened again. “I’ve since grown very fond of him. I admire him for his loyalty. I’ll never forget how he leaped twenty feet from the wall to save his master in the battle. How he hurled a spear to knock down my husband’s assailant.”
Semni was intrigued to hear more of this woman’s past. “Mistress, what did you mean when you said you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t believe in redemption?”
The princip laid the lyre and plectrum on the table. “I was foolish when I was a bride of eighteen. I hurt my husband. But, like you, I rued my mistakes. Fear can make one do stupid things.”
“Mistress, I can’t believe you would willingly harm Lord Mastarna.”
The queen’s brow furrowed. “I wounded his heart but he forgave me. I was so frightened when I came here. Surrounded by my enemies and separated from my people. I believed I might never see Rome again. And then Lord Artile lied in telling me I would bear monsters. I used the Fatales Rites to try and defer my destiny to fall with child.”
Semni was shocked at the revelation but not surprised at the priest’s malevolence. “You did not want to bear Lord Mastarna’s sons?”
“I told you I was unwise. Then I learned how truly evil Artile is. I’m fortunate Uni forgave me for my stupidity and blessed me instead with four healthy children. Fortunate also that I chose Veii and its freedoms.”
“What do you mean ‘freedoms’?”
She smiled. “Roman women are the possessions of men. There you can be killed with impunity by your father or husband for drinking wine. And sharing a man’s dining couch is not even contemplated. The Romans think I am decadent and wicked because I chose to live here willingly after war was declared.”
Semni frowned in puzzlement, thinking she would not have lived very long if she’d grown up in Rome. Her father, and her old husband, would have had ample reason to punish her for enjoying a good vintage.
Thia had finished at the breast. Semni shifted her to feed on the other side, but Lady Caecilia placed her hand on the maid’s arm. “She is sated. Leave some for your son.”
She murmured her thanks and carefully lifted Thia into the queen’s arms. The mother placed the infant against her shoulder, rubbing her back, enjoying the feel of the nestling warmth. Semni could not help herself asking more questions. “But why were you married to Lord Mastarna in the first place. Rome and Veii are enemies.”
“My Uncle Aemilius and other Roman consular generals arranged the union to seal a truce. I was at their mercy. I left all whom I knew behind. I was separated from the customs and laws and religion of my people.”
Semni felt a wave of sympathy. “Why didn’t your father protect you, mistress? Why did nobody help you?”
“My father had died. I was my uncle’s chattel to do with as he pleased. General Camillus feigned concern, though. Although, in truth, he’d hoped I’d be made a hostage to give Rome an excuse to declare war.”
“But why you, mistress? Why did the Romans choose you?”
She gave a little laugh although there was no humor in it. “Ah, that’s complicated. My father was a wealthy plebeian and my mother a patrician. After both of them died, my Uncle Aemilius adopted me as his daughter so that I would have status enough to wed Lord Mastarna. And my plebeian roots also satisfied the ordinary people who were always feuding with the rich. I became a symbol of a unified Rome. Aemilia Caeciliana. Half noble, half common. My marriage was to stave off Rome’s hunger. It needed Veii’s grain after many years of drought. And in return, Veii gained access to the southern trade routes at Fidenae that Rome controlled.”
Semni was surprised to hear the elegant woman beside her had the blood of common people running through her veins. She studied her. She was not beautiful with her narrow nose and wide, generous mouth. And without her usual cosmetics, the ugly purple birthmark on her throat was stark against the pallor of her skin, yet the striking hazel color of her eyes drew Semni’s attention more than the blemish. Her flowing robes clung to a lithe frame. Semni was conscious of her own curves, feeling her body coarse compared to the noblewoman’s.
Noticing the wet nurse’s scrutiny, the princip touched her birthmark. “The naevus is ugly, isn’t it? But my husband has taught me not to mind it. To him it’s a sign of a fortunate marriage, while my father claimed it portended my life would have ups and downs. Both have been right.”
Thia let out a burp. Both women smiled.
“Do you miss your Roman family, my lady?”
Lady Caecilia did not reply as she laid Thia in her cradle with its embroidered pillows and kissed her cheek. Semni wondered if she’d heard her. But when the queen straightened, the sour note in her voice returned. “The only person whom I loved in Rome was my cousin Marcus. And he tried to kill Lord Mastarna. And said I was dead to him. As for my uncle, he’s tried to conquer this city for ten years in order to capture and execute me.” She rearranged her thick woolen mantle around her shoulders. “The only regret I have is that I can’t lay roses on my father’s grave. My prayers for him must be at long distance, although I make sure I honor him steadfastly.”
“And your mother, my lady?”
She did not reply; instead, she stepped back from the cradle and walked to the doorway where, pausing, she drew back the heavy curtain. “My patrician mother hated me, Semni. She died when I was eight years old. I only have memories of her cold voice and even icier touch. I don’t grieve for her.” The brief interlude of shared confidences had ended. “Now it’s time to greet my sons.”
Nerie stirred, calling out. Semni scooped him into her arms and sat down on the chair, offering him her breast. She pondered Lady Caecilia’s story, trying to imagine the terror of being thrust into a threatening world. Their lives were so different and yet there were echoes, too. Semni had also been married against her will. Her father had no qualms about wedding a girl of thirteen to a sixty-year-old man. She also had no links to her family. Her parents were dead, and her siblings had shunned her—although she had brought such exile on herself. And it was clear the folly of youth was not constrained by rank. The queen’s confession was equal in weight with her own.