“You underestimate yourself, my lord,” said Feluske. “And I think Queen Caecilia’s call to arms gives hope we might yet attack Rome instead of merely defending our walls.”
Caecilia flinched, aware Vel would not welcome being reminded of her declaration. There was an edge of irritation in his voice. “My wife’s goal is premature.”
At his words, Feluske and Lusinies exchanged glances. Karcuna’s eyes narrowed. She could feel his scrutiny before he addressed Mastarna. “My family has always believed Rome should be conquered. Rasennan kings should rule there again.”
Vel bristled. “And how do you suggest we do that? Camillus has strengthened the siege lines with stone. And there are few chances for us to engage in skirmishes. The Romans remain secure behind forts and trenches. It’s a stalemate.”
“So we continue to sit here and do nothing?” pressed Karcuna. “Our warriors grow restless.”
Caecilia frowned. The general may have sworn fealty, but he was not above challenging his ruler.
“Camillus will soon relinquish command,” said Mastarna. “In the changeover period with his successor, the cordon will slacken, and food will be able to be bartered through the stockades.”
Lusinies nodded his head. “And we shouldn’t forget Rome has many enemies. Multiple war fronts may well prove too much with their resources stretched thin.”
Karcuna crossed his arms. “But that situation has been the same now for years. It doesn’t stop the Romans besieging us. They covet Veii’s land most. And instead of his usual tactic of razing crops, Camillus is now coercing Veientane farmers to till their land. Daughters and wives are raped if the men resist. The grain grown will feed Rome, not us.” The princip turned to Feluske and Lusinies as though expecting them to also challenge the lucumo. “Meanwhile we sit here starving.”
The older men avoided his gaze. Caecilia was pleased they still sided with their king. Yet she sensed Vel’s anger growing at his strategy being questioned. “We must survive until December. It’s time all the principes share their reserves of food just as I do. Let them distribute it to the needier among us.”
The three councillors stared at him, saying nothing.
Karcuna turned his attention back to Caecilia. “And what does our queen say? Your wife wants us to march on Rome, my lord. She shows more iron than most.”
Caecilia bit the inside of her lip, aware of the princip’s implied criticism of Mastarna. It was never her intention to cause Vel embarrassment. She was also surprised Karcuna sought her opinion. She was used to the men of the Tulumnes family spitting venom at her. “My exhortation was to boost morale. I agree with my husband that Veii must be relieved first.”
Karcuna smiled slyly. “Then you don’t believe Rome should fall as you declared.”
This time it was she who bridled. His words echoed his predecessors’ distrust for her. In the past, the Tulumnes clan asserted she was a traitor because she wouldn’t vow to destroy Rome. She’d often wondered how she could be doubly treasonous when both foes accused her of perfidy.
Having remained quiet throughout the discussion, Tarchon now stood. “I’m sick of Caecilia’s loyalty being questioned.”
“Enough!” Mastarna cut across his son’s defense. “All this talk of conquest is futile. You’re forgetting we need the support of the League of the Twelve Rasennan cities. Without extra forces, Veii won’t succeed. All the Rasenna must rise. And that’s unlikely. Our pleas for support have fallen on deaf ears for a decade now.”
Caecilia leaned across to Vel. “Perhaps it’s time to adjourn to the banquet,” she said loud enough for the others to hear.
He glanced at her, then nodded and rose. “My wife is right. Enough talk of war. Let’s enjoy the feast.”
The councillors bowed and headed toward the door, but Tarchon called out unexpectedly, “Lord Karcuna, could you stay behind?”
The tall man turned, a look of surprise on his face.
“What’s this about, Tarchon?” Mastarna growled.
“I wish to make a formal application to become Sethre Kurvenas’s mentor. Lord Karcuna is his guardian now King Kurvenas is dead.”
Caecilia took a deep breath, wishing her stepson had not opened himself up for humiliation. This was not the time to make a case to become the lover of the grieving son of the murdered lucumo.
Karcuna stiffened, addressing Mastarna instead of the prince. “King Kurvenas didn’t approve of Sethre becoming the beloved of your adopted son. I must honor his wishes as a father.”
Caecilia thought Mastarna would concur. Instead, to her surprise, he gave his son his support. “I believe Prince Tarchon’s desire to foster links between our Houses has merit.”
The councillor cocked his head to the side, his tone less than deferential. “It’s enough that I bend my knee to you, my lord. I don’t think my young cousin need be tainted by Tarchon’s reputation.”
“Oh, and what would that be?”
Karcuna’s eyes traveled along Tarchon’s figure, treating him as though he was some specimen who could neither speak nor feel. “Why hasn’t he married? Where are his children? He’s a soft one. I can’t risk Sethre’s reputation.”
Mastarna stood. “We’ve made gains here tonight, Karcuna. Don’t lose them by denigrating my son.”
The princip’s cheek twitched. “I merely speak what all know. You were about to shun him yourself when Lord Artile took him as his beloved. And Tarchon is far from eligible to act as a mentor. He fails to meet the required standards. He’s only thirty. He’s never held high office. He isn’t married. His war record is patchy. And there’s no guarantee he would relinquish his role when the boy has grown a beard.”
Caecilia’s winced to hear Tarchon’s shortcomings so brutally listed.
Mastarna tensed beside her at the litany.
Tarchon descended the dais to stand opposite the princip, hands on his hips. “I’m a prince of Veii, and I sit on the king’s council. Isn’t that status enough?” He placed his hand on his thigh. “And beneath these robes my leg has only just healed from the wound I suffered in the Battle of Blood and Hail. No man has ever questioned my courage.”
Karcuna stepped back, running a hand through his hair. He continued to eye Tarchon, unable to control a spasm in his cheek. “Sethre is not fifteen years old as is the usual age for a pupil. He is nineteen.”
“I understand Sethre will cease to be my pupil when required,” Tarchon added.
The councillor continued to study him, then nodded. “I will think on it, then. But in the meantime you must stay away from my ward.”
Tarchon was respectful instead of defiant. “I’ll accept any terms you set, Lord Karcuna. I’m grateful to be considered.” He cast a look over his shoulder to Caecilia, wanting her to share his success. She smiled at him although she was worried. She knew him too well. It would be hard for him to surrender Sethre when the boy reached full manhood. He was in love with the youth.