“And you saw dolphins?”
“Yes, carving a path through water.”
“I have dreams about a bull,” Tas said, unexpectedly. “A wolf springs from a cave to attack it. The bull pierces the wolf with its horn, but then the wolf leaps onto its back and sinks its fangs into its hindquarters. Queen Uni watches them.”
Mastarna looked at Caecilia, his brow creasing. He turned back to Tas. “And tell us. Who wins this battle?”
“I don’t know. I always wake before I see which animal wins.”
Caecilia frowned. The boy often had nightmares. There was a darkness that existed within him, fears that could not be tamed. His brooding silence gave credence to his nickname, Tas, “the Silent One.” Hearing he was suffering from this nightmare in the isolation of his room, she felt a pang of guilt. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
To her surprise, Tas clenched his fists and glared at her. “Because I wasn’t scared! Even though I saw the blood upon the horns, the flesh beneath the claws. I’m not a baby anymore, Ati.”
His father patted him on the shoulder. “That’s right. Dreams can’t hurt you. And men should never be afraid of a little gore.”
Tas stared at him. “But demons can harm you after you die, Apa. That’s why we must sacrifice to Aita, the god who rules Acheron.”
“And did Uncle Artile tell you that?” The boy nodded. “Yes, Apa. When Aricia used to take me to see him.”
Caecilia felt a stab of concern. What legacy had the priest left? He had molded their son’s mind for almost a year. Could the lessons taught him ever be unlearned? The Calu Death Cult was fearful and oppressive. Tas had been tutored in dread while being fed on dreams of being a seer—a tug-of-war between the perils of the Beyond and the heady elation of communing with the gods.
“Forget what your uncle told you,” said Vel. “Fufluns protects us. You need not follow the Calu Cult.”
Behind them, Arruns coughed to gain attention. “Master, it will soon be sunset; you need to prepare to leave for the Capena Gates.”
“Tell Lord Karcuna I’ll join him presently. I want to bid farewell to the queen and princess first.”
The guard bowed. Caecilia could see his concern at the length of the king’s farewells. The attack was scheduled to take place in the dead hours of the night, but this required organization and commands to be issued first.
Mastarna took Thia from Caecilia, lifting her above his head with straight arms. The little girl’s body went rigid.
Larce laughed. “She looks as though she’s flying.”
Vel swooped the baby down again to Caecilia’s lap. “Remove the Atlenta pendant, Bellatrix. The amulet is rightly yours. I’ve had something special made for our daughter to replace it.”
He drew a necklace from the cista. Three tiny gold bees were strung upon a chain. An insect sacred to Fufluns. “Honey brings sweetness to our lives.” He kissed Thia’s fingers as she reached up to touch the shiny gift. “And you are the sweetest of all, my princess.”
Caecilia unclasped the silver Atlenta pendant, then fastened the bee amulet around her daughter’s neck. Now all four children had gained the wine god’s protection against the evil eye.
Mastarna returned his attention to the boys. “It’s time for me to say good-bye to you, my sons.”
There were howls of protest from the younger boys. Tas stepped down from the kline. Arnth scrambled to his feet on the couch and launched himself across to his father.
Vel laughed, catching him. “Be good, little soldier.”
Larce opened his arms. “I will miss you, Apa.”
“I, also, small one.” He squeezed both until they giggled. Tas hung back, saluting him instead.
“No hug for me, then, Tas?”
“I’m too old.”
“But I’m not.” The father grabbed him so that Tas was pressed against the others, a jumble of squirming bodies against muscled biceps.
Quieting, Mastarna let them go and touched each of the bullas around their necks in turn. “Make me proud. Protect your mother and sister.”
“Like the dolphin,” said Larce, raising his bulla.
“Leopard,” shouted Arnth.
“No, like the bull,” said Tas, gaze intense. “Because it is the strongest of all.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Once the boys had gone, Vel sat down on the couch beside Caecilia and delved into the cista again. “I have something for you, too, Bellatrix.”
“So many treasures today,” she said, sensing the gift would also be a totem of the wine god.
The boon was a silver mirror of exquisite beauty. Two figures were engraved on its back. Two lovers embracing, gazing into each other’s eyes, lips almost touching. The names etched beside them were “Fufluns” and “Areatha.” She was torn between gratitude and disquiet as she kissed him a thank-you.
“The divine couple are devoted to each other,” he said, stroking her cheek. “As are we.”
“So the god who inspires infidelity is faithful to his wife?”
Vel slipped his arm around her waist. “Yes. He is a paradox. A dying god.”
She scanned his face. “Why do you now turn to him instead of Nortia?”
His expression was as serious as Tas’s. “Because I have changed ever since you told me of the dice throw, Bellatrix. You’ve set me a challenge. I can’t save Veii until I first conquer Rome.”
Once again, Caecilia regretted telling him her secret. She hated the pressure she’d placed on him. Yet the thought of worshiping Fufluns troubled her. “Vel, I’ve seen what’s required to submit to the wine god. I can’t follow him. Please don’t ask that of me.”
He cupped her chin in his hand. “The rites of the Spring Festival you attended were not the way of the Rasenna.”
“People were beyond drunk. They were possessed, screaming out the god’s name, beseeching him to reveal himself as they rutted.”
“The divinity offers contact with him through elation. He is a communicant between the living and dead.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “He also has the power to enchant and bring joy through the bounty of the vine. You know that well enough. I’ve seen you merry on wine and no sign that you don’t welcome it.”
“There is a difference between good humor and frenzy.”
“Wine is Fufluns’s gift, Bellatrix. Granted, it can fuel deeds of violence and lust, but it can also make a poor man feel rich, a slave free, and the weak powerful. Under its sway you are no longer fearful. There is candor, too, and forgetfulness of woe.”
Listening to him filled her with growing unease. She remembered how her pulse had quickened when he declared he was planning to conquer Rome. Now her heartbeat raced at his defense of the deity. Had he always felt this way and kept it from her? Had he always resented her depriving him of ecstatic union?