As Marcus waited for the signal, he realized the blood debt claimed by Mastarna would now need to be repaid. Yet it was an impossible request. How could he seek clemency for Caecilia? And he tried not to think what might happen to their doomed sons and daughter. He hoped the general would only consider enslavement.
At least one child would be spared. Artile’s wheedling voice had grated on the tribune’s nerves as the Etruscan once again implored Camillus to give him Mastarna’s firstborn. The uncle had shown no concern for the fate of the other children. He’d also called for the death of the high priestess of Uni. He wanted no rival surviving to convince the goddess to remain in Veii.
The men were growing restless, keyed up with anticipation. Marcus doubted any of them had slept more than a few short hours. The soldiers immediately behind him were the twenty Horse Shield heroes. Marcus had named Drusus as his second-in-command. Tatius showed no rancor at being passed over.
Still no signal. Once again Marcus contemplated the day ahead. Camillus’s voice had been calm and heartless as he’d issued his other commands. No man was to be spared. Women and children were to be captured, or killed if they resisted. The palace, mansions, and public offices could be ransacked but not burned. All other buildings could be torched. Temples were to remain intact so the gods could be appeased before holy treasures were claimed. And most important of all, Juno’s temple must go unscathed.
In the sweltering heat, Marcus grappled with his conscience in the face of such orders. He never thought the day would come when he’d be ordered to commit mass slaughter of unarmed people. There was little comfort knowing he’d bear no responsibility for his actions. He would be obeying orders.
Drusus whispered, “How does it feel to know you’ll wear the mural crown tomorrow?”
Marcus frowned, keeping his voice low, aware he was breaching his own command to be silent. “It’s not an honor I’ll earn. I won’t be scaling the wall of a besieged fortress.”
“Whether over the wall or through a tunnel, you’ll be the first to set foot into the stronghold.”
Marcus’s temper flared. “Now isn’t the time for your envy.”
The Claudian stiffened. “I’m just stating a fact.”
“And I’ve preferred you over Tatius, even though he was more deserving. Now shut up.”
Drusus fell silent. Marcus was sorry for his terseness. Yet for weeks he’d mulled over Mastarna’s accusation. Little by little, he’d come to the conclusion Drusus may well have acted dishonorably. “Remember the general’s orders,” he murmured. “Forget your curse. Take Mastarna alive. Rome will exact retribution, not you.”
Drusus fingers dug into Marcus’s bicep. “I know my duty.”
“Get your hand off me.”
An owl hooted. The prearranged signal.
Marcus steadied himself. Drusus squeezed his arm again, no anger in his touch. “May Mars be with you, Brother.”
“And with you, Brother. Now convey the order. It’s time to go.”
The entrance to the tunnel yawned before him. Marcus willed himself to step into the pitch black, the snaking line of men behind him. Crouching, he moved forward, reaching out to touch the walls on either side of the mine. He felt pick marks hewn into the surface. The smell of stone and dirt was strong. He thought the air would be suffocating, but the temperature was even. He heard grunts as some of the men hit their heads on the low roof. Sounds were amplified in the enclosed space: shuffling boots, swords knocking against rock. The stink of sweat, rich with apprehension and excitement, soon filled his nostrils.
The passage narrowed, the roof sloping downward. Marcus got down on his hands and knees. There was no turning back now. He was hemmed in by men at his back and the darkness beyond. If one man froze in fear, or lashed out in panic, there would be chaos.
“We’re nearly there,” said Drusus. “The sap narrows before it opens to the drain.”
There was a breeze. Marcus eased forward into the low-roofed overhang at the base of the cliff. He gulped in air, relieved to be free of the tunnel. Stooping, he scanned around him. He could hear the sound of the river beyond and see dim gray light at the entrance. The sun was rising. There was no time to waste. Drusus and Tatius joined him in the rock gallery, the others forced to wait their turn.
Drusus nudged him. “The opening to the temple shaft is here.”
Fresh sweat broke out on Marcus’s brow. He was standing beneath the very citadel itself. He peered up into a small rectangular aperture in the cave roof. Rough wooden rungs were hammered into the rock and disappeared into the gloom above. There was barely enough room to allow for the breadth of a man’s shoulders. He swung his balteus over his neck so his sword dangled down his chest. He could not afford for the weapon to scrape against the side as he ascended. He hauled himself onto the bottom rung, forcing himself to reach his hand upward, then his foot, over and over into the blackness. He prayed he would not get stuck, encased in a vertical tufa tomb.
The climb seemed endless. His hands were dripping with perspiration, his tunic saturated. He was nervous that one of the rungs would break, sending him crashing into the men below. He could hear them panting with exertion, or muttering curses.
Suddenly his hand touched a smooth timber surface. The trap door. His heart thumped, blood pulsing in his temples. “I’ve reached the top. Wait for my command.”
As he shifted his balteus back over his shoulder, Marcus heard muffled conversation above him: the unmistakable bass voice of Vel Mastarna as well as feminine tones. Caecilia.
He froze. He would be the one to capture her. He would be the one to subdue the king.
“What’s happening?” murmured Drusus.
His words cut through Marcus’s shock. He focused again. His plans needed to change. He doubted Mastarna would be armed, given he was in the temple. Still, it would take more than one man to overcome him.
He leaned over and whispered to Drusus and Tatius. “The king and queen are in the temple, so Mastarna’s lictors will be close by. Tatius, you and your men attack the bodyguards and help me detain Mastarna. Drusus, you lead the other knights to the gates as planned. Be as stealthy as possible. Once we have secured the prisoners, Tatius and I will lead our turma to attack the palace. Spread the message. And remind everyone that those in purple must be spared.”
“Let me take Mastarna,” said Drusus.
“Don’t question my orders.”
The shaft buzzed with the murmuring of his commands as the message passed from the lips of one soldier to the next.
Balancing on the last rung, Marcus took a deep breath, then pressed his palms against the trap door and shoved it open.
For a moment he was blinded by light. The back of the statue loomed above him. He blinked, trying to rid his vision of the seared image of the goddess flashing before his eyes. He scrambled into the room and drew his sword, scanning for lictors, especially the tattooed Arruns. No bodyguards were visible. He could not see Mastarna, but he heard his voice coming from in front of the enormous statue.