Cepens were busy preparing for the purification ceremony. Some scoured the stone killing table. Others stacked pitch-laced timber in the fire pits. Iron spits were erected, ready to roast the meat. Vats were being filled with wine.
As Caecilia passed through the precinct, she noticed the air was thick with a musky bovine scent. Not yet drugged, the white bulls snorted and shifted in the corral. Acolytes were threading bells onto ribbons, ready to decorate the beasts once the victims were tamed. The sacred geese waddled at liberty, honking in indignation when attendants chivied them out of the way.
Twelve black-clad lictors stationed themselves along the portico. Arruns had been left to organize his remaining men to ensure security throughout the parade to the northern forum. There General Lusinies would greet the king and queen at the end of the royal couple’s journey to greet all their subjects on this special day.
Tanchvil greeted the party at the doorway to Uni’s cell. A silver diadem crowned her loose, long gray hair. Her cloak was scarlet, painted with figures of Uni and Tinia. The dusting of kohl on her eyelashes gave a mystical quality to her gaze.
Cytheris ascended the steps with Thia. The princess was dressed in purple as befitting her station. The girl was asleep at last, worn out by her crying. Vel raised one eyebrow when he saw her. “Why is my little princess here?”
“She has a fever,” said Caecilia. “I don’t want to leave her out of my sight.”
He frowned. “This is no place for a child.”
“Uni is a mother goddess. I’m sure she would not be displeased we seek her protection for our daughter.”
He gave a small smile and stroked Thia’s hair.
Dawn’s light had not yet fully infiltrated Uni’s chamber. The cell was dim, the torches on the wall sconces still burning, although a slanted shaft of light streamed through the doorway, capturing dust motes. The room was cool but the air already hinted of another hot summer’s day.
As Caecilia crossed the threshold, she saw the eagle on its perch. The bird lifted his wings, shuffling on the pole to adjust its grip. He was unhooded, his stare unblinking. She stepped back in alarm, noticing he was unrestrained.
“Don’t fear, my lady,” said Tanchvil. “Antar is obedient when untethered. I only sheath his eyes when there is a crowd.” The priestess fed the bird a morsel from a pouch tied around her waist. Vel’s entreaty would ride on the raptor’s wings at noon.
The bronze-sheathed altar table was covered with the paraphernalia of worship: sacrificial knives and paterae of wine, milk, and flour. Two exquisite amber votives of Tinia and Uni were placed beside them. One page of a linen book lay unfolded. Tanchvil was ready to consult the Book of Fate.
High on its pedestal, the statue of Uni loomed above all, her head nearly touching the rafter. The deity was clad in a new goatskin cloak, and her pleated chiton was freshly painted. She, too, wore a crown of gold. In the gloom, Caecilia thought the maternal softness so evident in the divinity’s expression had hardened. She was more warrioress than mother today, brandishing her lightning bolt like a spear. Caecilia felt apprehensive, remembering how dangerous Uni could be.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Aricia through the open doorway to the workroom and beckoned to Cytheris. “Go and speak to your daughter before the ceremony begins.”
“Thank you, mistress.” The handmaid hastened to greet the girl. However, the visit was cut short when Tanchvil rapped out an order. Aricia squeezed her mother’s hand and limped back into the workshop. Disappointed, Cytheris took her place at the side of the chamber, rocking the princess.
“Come. It’s time to purify yourself,” said Tanchvil, pouring water into a salver and directing the king to wash his hands. “Remember, the preparatory prayers must be accurate, my lord.”
Caecilia knew there would be a grueling litany of perfected sentences. She hoped her husband would curb his impatience with reciting them. He needed to show as much reverence to Uni and Tinia as he did with Fufluns.
The shaft of sun had expanded to fill the entire sanctum. Caecilia was already perspiring with the humidity. Tarchon and Sethre took their places at the far side of the statue. She smiled to see how fine they looked together. Two noblemen, two warriors, two lovers.
Vel laid the eagle scepter on the altar and knelt on an embroidered cushion, extending his palm to her. “Come join me, Bellatrix. We will do this together.”
“My lord, you must make the prayers of expiation by yourself first,” cautioned Tanchvil.
“I wish my wife by my side. She’ll prove once and for all she has renounced her birthplace and seeks its destruction. It will be powerful proof to Queen Uni that Aemilia Caeciliana is faithful to her, and to Veii.”
The high priestess bowed her head. “Let it be.”
Caecilia knelt beside him, craning her neck to look up at the goddess.
Tanchvil handed Vel a patera of milk. “Begin, my lord.”
The king of Veii lifted the dish high in offering. His voice was deep, loud, and clear. “O Divine Uni. Queen of queens. Mother of Veii. Hear my prayers. I humbly offer the milk of life in expiation. Forgive me for my neglect. I beseech you to protect your people. And if you are so willing, I implore you to bless my quest to ask Tinia to call down lightning on Rome.”
FIFTY-THREE
Marcus, Veii, Summer, 396 BC
Lark would soon exchange places with nightingale as Marcus and his cavalry assembled in the quarry under the cover of night. The dark hour before cockcrow was stifling.
All one hundred men knew their orders: Climb the shaft and break into the temple. Make their way to the top and bottom double Gates of Uni and overcome the sentries. Attack the palace and capture the royal family.
Marcus hoped no sentinel on the arx had acute enough eyesight to spy his brigade. They could not risk using torches. Only the light of the quarter moon illuminated the area.
His knights were not the only men waiting in the dark. To the west, north, and east, units of soldiers were assembled in tunnels ready to erupt through the drains into the heart of the city. To further hide the ruse, Camillus had ordered a simultaneous attack to be launched on the wall around the plateau. Marcus imagined bewildered citizens running to defend the gates, puzzled by the reckless assault when not a single Roman soldier had moved from his post for days. The barrage of noise and confusion as hoplites hurled grappling hooks, or thudded ladders against tufa stone, would divert attention from the imminent danger within.