Through her shock, she heard Thia. The baby was hysterical. She looked beyond the edge of the statue to the back corner of the chamber. White faced, Cytheris tried to hold fast the wriggling child whose arms were outstretched to her mother.
Terrified to leave Vel, she called to Thia to stay with Cytheris. The maid nodded, stricken, as she cast glances between the queen and toward the workroom where her own daughter might lie dead. In a fresh rush of panic, Caecilia realized her sons were also in danger at the palace.
She returned her attention to the dueling soldiers. Marcus had gained the advantage, driving his friend back to one of the bronze doors with unrelenting blows. Then he stopped, panting. “By Great Mars, yield. I don’t want to kill you.”
The Claudian’s eyes were manic. He yelled and lunged. Marcus feinted to the side. Then, as his attacker readjusted his aim, Marcus drove his sword into Drusus’s armpit to his heart.
Drusus’s weapon slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. He crumpled to his knees. Marcus dropped his sword and knelt, hugging him, holding him upright. The dead man’s head flopped forward against his shoulder, his arms limp. Marcus lowered him to the floor. Then he knelt beside him, letting out a moan as agonized as a wounded animal’s.
Caecilia rolled off Vel and sat cross-legged behind him, lifting his head onto her lap. She felt no pity for either her cousin or Drusus. She hissed at Marcus. “I thank the gods you stopped him.”
“You mean ‘killed him.’”
She nodded, defiant. “Yes. For killing him.”
“You destroyed him long before I wielded the death blow.”
She was astounded. “Why? There was nothing between us.”
“For you, yes, but he loved you.”
She was stung. How dare he blame her for the torment of a man who’d killed Vel. “I’m not responsible for his delusion. Nor for his cowardice!”
Marcus opened his mouth to speak but was distracted by the bucktoothed knight who’d accosted Drusus earlier. The soldier’s surprise passed quickly enough at seeing his commander beside his dead friend. He placed his hand on the tribune’s shoulder, his tone deferential. “I saw Claudius Drusus kill the king, sir. He disobeyed orders. Wait until General Camillus hears Mastarna is dead.”
Marcus grimaced. “I shouldn’t have killed Drusus. But he lost his senses. He attacked me.”
“You did him a favor, sir. A cudgeling awaited him.” He glared at Caecilia. “The general made it clear not to kill the king—or her.”
Tatius’s insult galvanized Marcus. He stood and scanned the group of soldiers. “Are the lictors dead?”
“Yes. There were only twelve of them, though. The others must be at the palace. All the priests are dead, too.”
“And the two turmae Drusus was supposed to lead to the gates?”
“Every man acted as per your command. I sent them ahead. The infantry should be pouring through the Gates of Uni soon enough. Now we await your orders.”
Caecilia was stunned. “But how? How have you breached our walls?”
“Through the drains. And once inside, our men will open the gates around the city to our comrades outside.”
Her stomach lurched. There would be no place for citizens to retreat. The citadel fortress was no longer a refuge.
Marcus turned back to Tatius. She was chilled by her cousin’s sanguine calm. Drusus was forgotten. His mind was on fresh butchery. “Leave five of the Horse Shield squadron with me to guard the sanctuary. I’ll hold Caecilia here. The rest of your men attack the palace as planned. Make sure you secure the treasury. And find the princes. Now go!”
The clawing within Caecilia’s chest was excruciating. “Please, Marcus! Don’t let them kill my sons!”
He snapped at her. “You heard. There are orders to spare your family.”
Her relief was fleeting. The boys would wake to sunlight and terror. And she was not there to protect them. Then her anxiety peaked again. “Are they only to be saved so Camillus can execute them at his triumph?”
Marcus flinched. “I don’t know what the general has determined for your children. I only know the fate that awaits you.”
She sucked in her breath, his bluntness reminding her how much he hated her. Shaken, she watched Tatius single out five soldiers to remain behind. Then the officer saluted Marcus and led the other knights from the temple.
“I’ll be back,” said Marcus to her. “I’m going to check the precincts.” He signaled his men to go outside to the portico. He delayed following immediately, though, and instead kneeled again beside Drusus, belatedly placing his mouth on the dead man’s in the hope of breathing in his soul. The kiss lasted longer than customary. The gesture puzzled Caecilia, as did Marcus’s expression. There was a look of sorrowful love as well as regret.
Thia’s howling had been reduced to whining. Cytheris held the baby against her shoulder, tears streaming down her face. Caecilia beckoned to her. The maid rose on shaking legs, stumbling over to the queen and sinking down beside her. She handed her the princess. “I’m going to see if Aricia is alive.”
Caecilia clasped Thia, kissing her wet cheeks. Her daughter clung to her for a moment but then reached one hand down toward Vel. Not wanting the babe to be smeared with her father’s blood, Caecilia shifted her higher. A fresh wave of disbelief and loss overwhelmed her. Thia wailed, “Apa, Apa.” Realizing her own bloodied hands had already stained the child, Caecilia lowered the baby to the floor. Thia put her arm around Vel’s neck, her cheek against his. When he did not respond, she chattered to him, tugging one of the bullas on his neck chain.
“Hush. Apa is sleeping.” Caecilia guided Thia to lie down next to her. The baby placed her head on her mother’s thigh, her hand stretched out to touch her father’s hair. Tears welled, but Caecilia fought them back. She needed to draw on hatred until she also held her sons in her arms.
She scanned the chamber. The statue obscured her view of the back of the room. What had happened to Tarchon and Sethre? There was no sign of Tanchvil either. She suspected only the eagle had escaped unscathed.
Cytheris appeared, expression confused. “Aricia is not in the workroom.”
Caecilia gripped Cytheris’s hand. “The secret passageway. She must have used it. Thank the gods, she may yet be safe. But what of Tarchon and Sethre?”
The handmaid sat on the floor next to her. “The prince is unconscious. They’ve tied his hands and feet. Sethre is dead. And I saw Lady Tanchvil run out of the chamber when the eagle flew away.”