She glanced up to Uni. Their attempts to appease the goddess had come too late. “Then let’s do it quickly.”
Marcus bent his knees to haul Mastarna onto his shoulders. He grunted with the effort of lifting the deadweight but managed to heft Vel from the floor. As he swung around to the door, the golden dice tumbled from a fold of the king’s twisted cloak. Caecilia gasped and hurried to collect them.
Thia broke free of Cytheris and toddled to her mother, clutching at her chiton. “Hush,” Caecilia murmured, “I’ll be back soon. Here, play with Apa’s dice.”
As Thia settled beside Cytheris with her playthings, Caecilia noticed Marcus scrutinizing the child. “Hurry up,” he said when he realized he’d been observed. “We need to do this now.”
Caecilia walked to the doors, not caring that one edge of her mantle trailed through puddles of milk and blood. She skirted Drusus’s corpse, seething, as she passed across the threshold.
The fearful din which had been muffled by the temple walls now assaulted her in a barrage: yells of triumph, shrieks of terror, the wailing of women, and the pitiful crying of children.
The grounds of the sanctuary were littered with acolytes who’d been cut down while tending to sacred tasks. A murderous sacrilege. The bulls reared in their corral, bellowing and butting each other in alarm. The sacred geese honked and flapped.
Three of Marcus’s men stood guard behind the closed precinct gates, denying refuge to those fleeing from soldiers in the forum. The enemy numbers seemed to have swollen a hundredfold.
Her gaze traveled to the palace next door. Once again, she felt powerless. Her sons were inside, vulnerable. She could only pray Arruns might protect them—and that Camillus’s soldiers would not forget their orders.
She dragged her eyes from the square, concentrating on following Marcus. For now, Vel was all that mattered. She swallowed, realizing she must pick her way through the dead lictors sprawled across the porch. Their rods and axes had not been enough to counter swords and surprise. She gasped when she saw Tanchvil among them. The priestess’s throat was slit, her gray hair soaked in the blood pooling around her. “What type of men kill innocent women?” she shouted.
Marcus paused as he descended the steps. Head craned forward, he was sweating with the effort of lugging Vel. He barked at her to keep going, but Caecilia sensed his uneasiness at her question.
As she hurried after him, she glanced back at the two other Romans stationed on either side of the temple doorway. They were staring after their commander, expressions quizzical.
Marcus carried Mastarna’s body over to one of the fire pits. Kicking the metal spit aside, he dumped the dead monarch on the pile of timber. Caecilia bit her lip, thinking how Vel should have been borne on a bier and lowered with reverence onto his pyre. She thought, too, that she should have bathed and anointed him, wrapping him in a shroud; instead her husband was swathed in bloodied purple and would be burned on a cooking fire.
She stepped down into the pit and crouched next to Vel. The stink of the pitch-covered logs burned her throat. She arranged the tebenna around him as best she could to hide his wound, trying to ignore how the cloth was stiff with blood. She clasped his hand and kissed his fingers before pressing his palm against her cheek. His battered features were relaxed. There was no sign he had suffered.
“There is no time for this,” said Marcus, grabbing one of the torches that flared beside the pit.
She ignored him. She was not going to be rushed in saying her farewell. “I’ll see you soon enough, my love,” she murmured, kissing Vel’s lips. “I look forward to your embrace.”
Marcus stepped into the pit beside her and grabbed her forearm, holding the brand aloft in his other hand. “Enough.” His voice was edgy as he glanced toward the Romans at the gates. It dawned on her he was disobeying orders.
“What are you going to tell Camillus?”
He pulled her to standing. “Do you want me to help you or not?”
She glanced across to the guards. “What about your men?”
“They’re loyal to me. And your husband spared their lives at Nepete as well.”
Caecilia was distracted by the sight of tendrils of smoke threading their way through the humid air of the sanctuary. She looked across to the precinct gates again. Flames were eating through a roof of a tavern in the forum. Her heartbeat spiked. It wouldn’t take long for the fire to spread to the palace.
Now it was her turn to grip him. “Please, you must find my sons.”
“How much more do you expect of me, Caecilia? I told you Camillus has said to spare them.”
“Fires are being set. They may yet be in peril. Please, bring them to me.”
He yanked his arm away. “I’ve repaid the debt. And the general gave orders not to burn the palace.”
She cast another stricken look toward the inn. “By the gods! My children are your kin! Aemilian blood flows in them. Fire is fickle. Do you want the innocent to die? You saw Thia. She is but a babe. And Arnth is only nearing three, and Larce five. Tas is eight. They will be in our private quarters next to the terrace. They each wear golden bullas.”
He hesitated. “Very well, I’ll do what I can once I’ve finished here, but I give no guarantee.” He stepped from the pit. “Now come on.”
She gazed down at Vel. He appeared peaceful for a man robbed of life. She gulped, fighting to control her tears. “Fufluns, protect him. Guard him on his journey.”
“Come, Caecilia.” Marcus leaned down, offering her his hand. She stared at his extended fingers for a moment, then accepted his assistance. The act of kindness was brief. As though scalded, the cousins dropped each other’s hands as soon as she’d clambered out of the pit.
“Better not watch.” He put the torch to the timber.
For years she’d prepared herself to bid her last good-bye to her husband on his pyre. But when she saw the flames take hold, she lost courage. She would never be ready. She could not stand to see and smell Vel burn. She turned her back and walked away, unable to bear witness.
On the portico again, she rediscovered her nerve. She turned to face the precinct. The fire in the pit was raging. From a distance she could see the outline of Vel’s body in the blaze. Suddenly, through her grief and shock, she felt satisfaction and pride. Her lover would be whole when he dined at the banquet with his ancestors. He would not be a ghost haunting the razed ruins of his city. He would be a king when Aita greeted him in Acheron. He was saved.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Semni, Veii, Summer, 396 BC
Arruns removed his hand from Semni’s mouth and moved into the cellar’s doorway. She hesitated, scared to look inside but needing to check if Nerie was safe.
A Roman was straddling Perca, his back to the door, his hairy rump pale. He grunted with each thrust. The girl was struggling and begging.