Afterward, when Icilia came to her senses, the first thing she saw was Lucius standing over her in the darkened room. Her heart leaped with sudden hope. Surely he would not have come all the way from Roma if he simply intended to have the baby drowned in the Tiber, or cast into the sea.
“Brother! I was in such pain…”
He nodded. “I saw the sheets. The blood.”
“The baby—”
“A boy. Strong and healthy.” His voice was flat. It was hard to read any expression on his face. He no longer ever smiled, and the upper lid of his bad eye drooped.
“Please, brother, bring him to me!” Icilia reached up with her arms.
Lucius shook his head. “It’s best if you never see the child again.”
“What are you saying?”
“Titus Potitius came to me a few days ago. He asked me—no,
Men who had grown hoarse cheering Camillus raised their voices even louder at the sight of the statue. It was transported on a massive cart pulled by Veiian captives, among them the former priests of Juno, who had been stripped of their robes and put in shackles. The statue was made of wood, but no joinery was visible; the surface had been carved and smoothed by the finest Etruscan sculptors, and covered with bright paint and precious gilt. Juno Regina sat upon a throne, grasping a scepter in one hand and holding a libation bowl in the other, with a peacock at her feet.