“So I’m not to be given a regiment? I thought . . . I thought . . .”
“Oh, and what exactly did you think?”
Genucius’s brow furrowed. Then his voice hardened. “I thought you’d show good faith to the commons by appointing me as a general.” He glanced across to Scipio. “It seems you would prefer a patrician with a weak spear arm to a man who helped you take the northwest bridge in the Battle of Blood and Hail.”
Scipio scowled at the insult. Marcus thought it imprudent for the new knight to denigrate the general who would lead him.
Camillus didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m giving you and all wealthy men of your class the chance to prove yourselves as knights. Isn’t that fair?”
Genucius stood to attention and saluted, but his sullen expression rivaled that of Medullinus’s. The plebeian had been accused of doing favors for Camillus before. Had the dictator not repaid him in kind?
As the soldiers departed, Camillus signaled to Spurius and Artile to draw up stools beside him, gesturing to Marcus to join them. And as the tribune took his seat, he couldn’t help wondering whether the dictator enjoyed ruffling feathers, challenging those around him, keeping them on edge, and reminding each of them that he now ruled them.
FORTY-FIVE
Caecilia, Veii, Spring, 396 BC
The sound of cheering outside the palace startled Caecilia. Crouched beside her younger sons, she paused in the game of ships and heads. Larce was also distracted as he knelt on the terrace tiles, poised to flip the coin. “What are they shouting about, Ati?”
“I don’t know. Stay here.”
Arnth was unimpressed at being ordered to remain behind. Semni was quick to place her hands on his shoulders to restrain him from following his mother. “Come, little masters. Let’s keep playing.” Her expression was also curious, though, as was Perca’s as she rocked Thia in her cradle.
Caecilia hurried toward the palace courtyard, Arruns following her. As she reached the atrium, she saw Tarchon emerge from the throne room, also puzzled.
A grinning Lusinies strode in from the portico. “It’s Lord Mastarna!”
Caecilia did not wait to hear more.
An expectant crowd had gathered in the square, leaving a path clear to the double gates of Uni. Their cheers reached a crescendo as two riders maneuvered their way through the portal and then trotted toward the palace. There was no mistaking the king as he sat astride the great gray. Alongside him, Sethre Kurvenas rode his horse with confident grace.
Mastarna reined in his mount, swinging down to stand in front of his wife. He pulled off his padded helmet, letting it drop to the ground. Aching for him, Caecilia stepped close, taking in the smell of sweat and dust, metal and leather. He pulled her to him, pressing her so hard against the bronze of his corselet she thought her ribs might crack. At her gasp, he released her.
The crowd around them hooted and cheered. Ignoring them, Caecilia inspected him, checking for injury, but she saw no new scars. His tanned face was grimy, thick stubble shadowing his jaw. He looked so hearty. No gaunt lines or sickly pallor. He was the first healthy person she’d seen in a long, long time.
His dark eyes were soft with pity as he scanned her emaciated frame and hollow cheeks. He rested his fingers on her throat, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone before cradling her face between callused hands. “My sweet Bellatrix, there’s nothing left of you.”
She raised her hands to cup his face. “I hold everything between my palms.”
Her kiss was hungry, telling him she was not just starved for food. Then, smiling, she drew back and ran her hand along the contours of the muscle cuirass. “You need to take this off.”
He stroked her cheek, saying the familiar refrain, “Don’t worry, I plan to.” Then he leaned his forehead against hers. “And our children?”
“Alive.”
“Praise the gods.”
He turned and surveyed the people around them. “Veientanes, the routes to the north are open. Supply wagons will arrive soon. Eat well and drink deeply!”
They roared in reply.
Vel looped his arm around Caecilia’s waist and escorted her up the steps, nodding acknowledgment to Arruns. The lictor bowed, a half smile on his lips.
Sethre dismounted and followed. Tarchon stood beaming on the portico, his eyes glued on the youth. However, when the royal couple reached the prince, he opened his arms wide to his father. Caecilia stepped aside as Tarchon hugged Vel. It was the first time she’d seen them embrace.
“I feared I’d never see you again, Father.”
The king broke from him, clearly surprised at the heartfelt reception.
Caecilia smiled. “Is it any wonder your son should be pleased to see you?”
Mastarna’s reserve disappeared. He thumped Tarchon on the back. “It’s good to see you, too.”
Lusinies added his welcome, clapping the king on the shoulder and gesturing toward the war council room. “Welcome back, my lord. Let’s talk while we wait for refreshments.”
As they entered the chamber, Tarchon placed his arm around Sethre’s shoulders. Caecilia glanced at Vel to see his reaction, but he seemed unconcerned. In the thrill of reunion such a breach could be overlooked.
Sethre removed his helmet. His chin was covered in wiry stubble. And there were stitches puckering a wound along the side of his face. The green warrior had been blooded and would soon grow a full beard. He was allowed to remain as the group settled around the council table.
Caecilia sat next to Vel, who covered his hand with hers. “Where’s Feluske?”
“Dead from the red scourge, my lord,” said Lusinies. “Plague and starvation have stalked us. The desertion of the Roman troops only a week ago came as a welcome surprise. Your victory at Nepete saved us. The news of the League’s approach instilled fear in them.”
“But you’re wrong,” blurted Sethre. “The Twelve do not stand behind us.”
Mastarna cast a stern look at his aide, unimpressed he’d spoken without consent. “I’m afraid what Sethre says is true. The Faliscans and Capenates approached the congress this time with some success. An agreement was reached that any city that wished to spare men to assist Veii and its allies was free to do so. We gained ancillary forces from three. However, the northern cities are now concerned with a more immediate threat than the Romans.”
“What threat?” asked Tarchon.
“The Gauls are grouping at the River Padus. They are insinuating themselves ever southward just as the Romans are attempting to spread north.”