“Tell me, is the rest of the household well?”
The Greek woman bowed her head, voice cracking. “Arruns has recovered, as has Perca, but Cook . . .”
It was the queen’s turn to murmur solace, but at her touch Cytheris stiffened, composing herself, always mindful of keeping her emotions under control.
“I’ll help you back to bed and fetch the children.”
“No, wait.” Caecilia pointed to the cista on the side table. “Bring me my paste and spatula. I can’t greet them with a red-tipped nose and puffy face. The remnants of the rash will only frighten them.”
As the servant covered tearstains with albumen and pale lips with carmine, Caecilia realized there was one more person who might not have survived. She turned her head. “And what of Aricia?”
Cytheris stopped combing. “I heard she’s well, mistress.”
Seeing the happiness on the maid’s face, Caecilia knew the time had come to cast aside distrust. She guessed Cytheris’s loyalty had stopped her from reconciling with her daughter. “You must visit her. Make peace. The plague has shown me that we must ensure words of love are not hoarded. Aricia has shown she is contrite. I’ve been stubborn in not forgiving her. And selfish in expecting you to do the same.”
Cytheris beamed, her missing dogtooth revealed, not hiding her feelings this time. “Thank you, mistress. Thank you!”
She returned her smile, then bade her bring the children to her. Settling back onto the bed, Caecilia listened to her sons’ piping, eager voices drawing closer along the corridor, and murmured a prayer of thanks to Uni for saving them.
THIRTY-FOUR
Semni, Veii, Spring, 396 BC
Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, Semni tugged at Arruns’s hand, urging him to follow her to the stairs to the upper story. He refused to budge. “Why are you leading me to the loggia?”
“I’ve something to tell you, and I don’t want anyone to hear.”
He frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
She tugged at him again. “Come on. I won’t keep you long.”
He hesitated, then let her lead him up the narrow stone steps.
At the top, she let go of his hand, walking to one of the caryatid columns sculpted in the shape of a woman. Grasping the pillar with one hand, she swung in a half circle, breathing in the fresh spring air.
Arruns moved across to her, studying her with a quizzical expression. “What is it? Why are you so happy?”
She clasped his hand, placing it on her belly. Her smile was wide. “I’m with child.”
He pulled away as though scalded. “Are you sure?”
His appalled look spoiled her delight. It wasn’t what she’d expected. “Yes, I’m sure. My flux has not come for two months.” She placed her hands against his chest, searching his face. “Aren’t you pleased? I’m going to give you another son.”
“I told you I want no child to be born into this war.” He turned and leaned against the balustrade, staring down at the ashes of a funeral pyre smoldering in the square. “The worst of the plague is over, but we’re still starving.” His hooded eyes were hard. “I told you that you should not have let me come inside you.”
Her temper flared; she didn’t want to acknowledge she’d been reckless. Instead of using vinegar and brine to wash away his seed, she’d prayed he had planted a child within her. “I didn’t think I could fall pregnant while I was breastfeeding . . . and what about the second time? And the third? You were careless, too.”
“You made me forget myself. We should never have broken our vow to the master.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “I’ve told you before, I have no more milk. We’re no longer bound by his rules.”
“That was not so when we defied him.”
She glowered at him. “So this is my fault?”
“No, it’s mine. I was weak.” He resumed his scrutiny of the forum.
Semni strode to the end of the loggia, unable to bear being near him. She’d thought his reluctance to father a child would be forgotten with the joy of the news. Instead his first thought, as always, was his duty to Lord Mastarna. She rested her forehead against a caryatid, stifling the urge to cry. In the grim world of disease and famine, the discovery she carried new life had thrilled her. For a brief moment there had been hope instead of despair; now Arruns had reminded her she was deluded. What he said was true. She would bear a child who may well have no future.
She’d been disbelieving at first, wondering how she could vomit when deprived of food. She worried she was suffering from a different symptom of the red scourge, but there was no fever or cough. Then morning after morning she woke to nausea, and remembered how she’d felt when carrying Nerie. Only this time, the queasiness stirred excitement instead of apprehension.
Absorbed in her misery, she was startled when Arruns touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Semni. It’s just that you surprised me.”
She shrugged him away, leaning back against the pillar. “So what do you want me to do? Take a hot bath and try to massage him away? Climb up and down those stairs a hundred times to try to dislodge him? And if that doesn’t work, use a rod to risk my life as well as his? Because there are no herbs left in this city to purge him from me.”
He crushed her to him. “Stop it. Don’t say such things.”
She encircled his waist. “I thought you would be pleased.”
He drew away. He was gaunt, his hook nose more prominent, dark circles beneath his eyes. His muscled body had shrunk with lack of food and exercise. He’d refused to let her nurse him at first, too proud to admit he needed help until the rigors felled him. The rash had marred his swarthy skin, even discoloring the blue tattooed snake.
“Don’t you see, Semni? Loving you and Nerie has complicated my life. It was easy before. I didn’t think about dying. I was invisible. Alone. No one to live for and no one to mourn my passing. Now I fear losing you and Nerie”—he placed his hand on her belly—“and the child of my flesh growing within you.”
She covered his hand with hers. “Don’t you think I feel the same? I thought you would die of the scourge.”
He grimaced. “We may yet all die of starvation if Lord Mastarna doesn’t arrive soon. You might not bear our son to term. Nerie may waste away.”
She wasn’t used to hearing bleakness in him. He was always so confident the king would return. But he was right. How could she nourish the baby within her if she could not feed herself? And her breasts were dry. Both Nerie and Thia had to make do with gruel. Her thoughts flickered to her son. The child who used to smile so readily was now solemn and lethargic. “Don’t say that. Tell me you still believe in the lucumo.”
Arruns turned once again to view the forum and the sanctuary of Uni beyond. “The gap in time where the king might relieve this city is closing. Falling ill to the red scourge has sown doubt in me.” He placed his hand on her stomach again. His touch was tentative. “Can I feel him stir within you?”