Caecilia, Veii, Summer, 396 BC
Mastarna stood at the terrace wall, arms straight as he gripped the stone edge. He surveyed the horizon to the main Roman camp. Innocuous puffs of smoke drifted from the cooking fires. “I wonder what Camillus is up to. I have reports he’s shut the stockades. All the Romans seem to be holed up in their forts or camps.”
Caecilia rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. “It’s suspicious. Why take Nepete yet only keep Scipio manning a skeleton force? Why lead an army of reinforcements to Veii if he plans no action?”
“I don’t know. But Camillus is wasting time. Even with the influx of our farmers seeking refuge again, we’ve enough supplies with careful rationing. And we’ve ample water and fuel. Our citadel is unassailable. We can wait out the remaining months of his dictatorship, then once again negotiate for peace. A lasting truce is inevitable.”
He continued to observe the encampment. Despite his assurances, Caecilia knew he was worried. His features were drawn from fatigue. There were more strands of silver at the sides of his dark, close-cropped curls. The failure of the peace talks rankled, but with ensuing months of freedom from the siege, it seemed Rome might be relenting. Caecilia had looked forward to summer with its azure skies and cicada song. But it was only a respite, not a release from conflict. On the kalends of June, the warning siren sounded. The Veientanes crowded along the length of the walls to stare at the Roman regiment returning. And at the head of the troops rode General Genucius. Morale deflated as swiftly as it had been buoyed. The gains made in the north had been lost. Vel was bitter that he had been taken by surprise.
Soon the entrances to the city were clogged with farmworkers and their families, hopes ruined that they might heft scythes for the autumn harvest. Travelers and traders on the thoroughfares ringing the plateau fled. Lock bolts were hammered into place on the double gates around the city. Vel immediately commanded Lusinies to strengthen the northwest bridge. The guards on the Uni, Tinia, and Minerva Gates were doubled. Archers were detailed to stand watch on the towers and spread themselves along the ramparts of the curtain walls. Raiding parties were sent on sorties. The race was on to reach the siege lines and cut off the Romans from beginning their repair work. However, the skirmishers made little headway. They faced the same obstacle of hilly terrain that had hampered the Romans from launching a frontal assault for a decade.
To Vel’s frustration, Genucius managed to retake possession of the main camp and the quarry across the river. Caecilia thought it strange that the Roman general wasn’t intent on tightening the cordon around Veii as had Camillus before him. He seemed unconcerned about letting trade trickle through the stockades. However, he did begin shoring up the trenches with stone despite Vel ordering forays to disrupt his engineers.
“Ati! Arnth is squashing me!”
The parents turned. The younger boys were playing leapfrog on the terrace, but Arnth had chosen to bring Larce crashing to the ground instead of vaulting over him. Sitting on a wicker chair at the loom, Cytheris raised one eyebrow at the familiar commotion but continued with her weaving. Perca hastened across to disentangle the brothers, but Arnth, stubborn as always, refused to budge.
Caecilia glanced across to Tas. He and Tarchon sat, heads close, discussing the Book of Fate. The boy hunched forward, listening to his half brother, oblivious to his younger siblings. His excitement at Vel letting him study the Holy Books had banished his discontent. All principes were required to read the Etruscan Discipline, even if only some were trained in its intricacies. Tarchon had been counseled, though, not to blow on the smoldering coals of Artile’s promises and set Tas’s obsession to be a seer aflame.
Mastarna drew the golden dice from the sinus of his tebenna. Caecilia was pleased that he’d resumed carrying them.
“Here, play with these,” he said, extracting Arnth and handing the tesserae to Larce first. The older boy beamed at the unexpected preference, while the younger, used to being his father’s favorite, stuck out his lower lip.
Just woken from slumber, Thia was chattering gibberish to Semni. Larce was the only one who was privy to his sister’s secret language, translating what the baby said and amazed that everyone else was clueless.
Freeing Thia of her swaddling bands, Semni set the baby on the floor. The girl grasped the nursemaid’s skirts, pulling herself to stand on wobbly legs. Then she tottered precariously across to Hathli, her new wet nurse. The stocky young widow steadied the child, turning her around and directing her back to Semni as a game.
Thick ankled and broad waisted, Hathli had sought refuge when her farmer husband was killed in a Roman raid. Then her sorrow doubled when her baby died in the plague. When the queen heard of her plight, pity filled her.
Mastarna smiled as he headed toward his daughter. He bent down and opened his arms. “Come, my princess.”
The little girl smiled, revealing gummy gaps between a sparse scattering of small white teeth. “Apa,” she chirped. She encircled her father’s neck with chubby arms. There was no sign of the skinny, fretful baby of weeks before. Hathli’s milk had nourished her back to health, although Thia was still smaller than most children nearly one year of age.
Vel planted a kiss on his daughter’s cheek, then blew a raspberry, causing greater mirth and a torrent of garbling. He smiled at his wife. “What’s she saying?” Caecilia shrugged. “I don’t know, but she’s giving you a lot of advice.”
“Just like her mother,” he said, grabbing his wife around the waist. “Ah, there’s nothing quite like holding the two women in my life.”
Caecilia smiled and reached up to smooth Thia’s mop of tight curls. The little girl grasped her fingers, looking between father and mother to continue her conversation with them both.
Arruns approached. “Master, Lady Tanchvil is here to see you.”
Vel frowned at the unexpected visit. “Tell the high priestess I’ll see her in the council chamber.” He handed Thia to Hathli, calling to Tarchon, “Join us, too.”
Tas looked up, disappointed at his lesson being cut short. “May I go with you, Apa?”
“No. Keep reading. Tarchon won’t be long.”
Tarchon tousled the boy’s hair. “Your father is right. And I’ll be testing you when I return.”
As always, Caecilia was struck by Tanchvil’s grace as Arruns escorted the hatrencu into the council chamber. However, the augur was far from composed. She was wringing her hands, each long finger adorned with rings of gold.
Mastarna nodded and gestured for her to sit at the far end of the table. “Why do you seek an audience?”
“I’ve determined the meaning of the prodigy at Lake Albanus, my lord. The codex you brought me from the Sacred College at Velzna has been helpful.”