of the ravine. Her Wolf was encouraging new growth after years of harvesting the forests for fuel and forts.
Camillus rode his horse ahead, while Marcus, as head decurion, organized his turma of thirty knights to form an escort around them. The journey today would be perilous. The road and river were companions, running close by the wall of Veii. Too close, at times. The Roman lines were reinforced in such places but were under constant threat from skirmish and arrow fire.
At intervals, they passed large stone domes. After years of neglect, grass covered the massive Etruscan burial mounds. The abandoned tombs were a chilling sight, with their yawning, darkened doorways. Yet despite her trepidation about traversing through the cemeteries, Pinna admired the size of the tumuli. The sturdy columbaria that housed the ashes of the well-to-do in Rome bore no comparison to these splendid sepulchers.
Camillus reined his stallion to walk beside the cart and pointed to a group of statues seated above the doorway of one of the mounds—gods and goddesses on thrones. “Which deities are these?”
Artile studied the images briefly before responding. “They are not gods but ancestors.”
“You revere women?” The general’s voice echoed Pinna’s own surprise.
“The Rasenna venerate both bloodlines. Our male and female forebears protect our families and clans.”
Camillus said nothing, steering his horse to walk abreast of Marcus. Pinna was less able to dismiss the sight, turning in wonder to view the sculpture of an Etruscan woman who was considered an eternal guardian. And suddenly she couldn’t help wondering about the reputation of Veientane women. How could a mother, daughter, or sister be a heroine as well as depraved?
The sanctuary was situated near a crossroad where there had once been meetings, markets, and commerce. The area was now deserted. Smithy forges lay abandoned. Shops were derelict. The only activity was that of Roman sentries patrolling the area.
Pinna held her breath when she realized that, to reach the sanctuary’s gates, they must pass along a section of the road that ran flush against the city’s perimeter. The tufa blocks were enormous, each one as tall as a man and as wide as a giant. There was no mortar between them. Thick, impenetrable, timeless. Panic seized her as she spied the Veientane’s own sentinels on watch. The wagon driver urged the donkeys to a trot, while the escort of knights clustered around the cart, shields raised to ward off any arrows. No missiles were fired, though. She exhaled in relief as the party passed through the wide portal into the temple grounds, leaving the horsemen of the turma to station themselves around the boundary.
The serenity inside was a shock. Its greenness. After being surrounded by the wasteland around the camp and the stridency of military life, a place of calm and verdure was difficult to absorb.
A three-cell temple dominated the triangular enclosure. Its pediment was resplendent with the figure of a horse with winged shoes among gods and heroes. Pinna tilted her head to scan the roof decorations with medusa faces backed by fluted shells.
Camillus and Marcus stood some distance from the temple portico studying the complex. They were dressed in armor, hands resting on their sword hilts. She hoped the gods would not be offended by the sight of burnished bronze in a place of peace.
Artile beckoned to the general. His pale face was animated as he pointed to four statues on the roof ridge of the temple. The figures were perched on high pedestals, greater than life size, wondrous. “I’ll call the deities by Roman names so you can better recognize them. The sun god, Apollo, stands accosting Herculeus for catching the golden hind of Diana. Mercurius and Latona witness the confrontation. These votives were created by Vulca, the Veientane sculptor who crafted the statue of your Jupiter riding his quadriga atop the Capitoline temple in Rome. On the
Camillus rode his horse ahead, while Marcus, as head decurion, organized his turma of thirty knights to form an escort around them. The journey today would be perilous. The road and river were companions, running close by the wall of Veii. Too close, at times. The Roman lines were reinforced in such places but were under constant threat from skirmish and arrow fire.
At intervals, they passed large stone domes. After years of neglect, grass covered the massive Etruscan burial mounds. The abandoned tombs were a chilling sight, with their yawning, darkened doorways. Yet despite her trepidation about traversing through the cemeteries, Pinna admired the size of the tumuli. The sturdy columbaria that housed the ashes of the well-to-do in Rome bore no comparison to these splendid sepulchers.
Camillus reined his stallion to walk beside the cart and pointed to a group of statues seated above the doorway of one of the mounds—gods and goddesses on thrones. “Which deities are these?”
Artile studied the images briefly before responding. “They are not gods but ancestors.”
“You revere women?” The general’s voice echoed Pinna’s own surprise.
“The Rasenna venerate both bloodlines. Our male and female forebears protect our families and clans.”
Camillus said nothing, steering his horse to walk abreast of Marcus. Pinna was less able to dismiss the sight, turning in wonder to view the sculpture of an Etruscan woman who was considered an eternal guardian. And suddenly she couldn’t help wondering about the reputation of Veientane women. How could a mother, daughter, or sister be a heroine as well as depraved?
The sanctuary was situated near a crossroad where there had once been meetings, markets, and commerce. The area was now deserted. Smithy forges lay abandoned. Shops were derelict. The only activity was that of Roman sentries patrolling the area.
Pinna held her breath when she realized that, to reach the sanctuary’s gates, they must pass along a section of the road that ran flush against the city’s perimeter. The tufa blocks were enormous, each one as tall as a man and as wide as a giant. There was no mortar between them. Thick, impenetrable, timeless. Panic seized her as she spied the Veientane’s own sentinels on watch. The wagon driver urged the donkeys to a trot, while the escort of knights clustered around the cart, shields raised to ward off any arrows. No missiles were fired, though. She exhaled in relief as the party passed through the wide portal into the temple grounds, leaving the horsemen of the turma to station themselves around the boundary.
The serenity inside was a shock. Its greenness. After being surrounded by the wasteland around the camp and the stridency of military life, a place of calm and verdure was difficult to absorb.
A three-cell temple dominated the triangular enclosure. Its pediment was resplendent with the figure of a horse with winged shoes among gods and heroes. Pinna tilted her head to scan the roof decorations with medusa faces backed by fluted shells.
Camillus and Marcus stood some distance from the temple portico studying the complex. They were dressed in armor, hands resting on their sword hilts. She hoped the gods would not be offended by the sight of burnished bronze in a place of peace.
Artile beckoned to the general. His pale face was animated as he pointed to four statues on the roof ridge of the temple. The figures were perched on high pedestals, greater than life size, wondrous. “I’ll call the deities by Roman names so you can better recognize them. The sun god, Apollo, stands accosting Herculeus for catching the golden hind of Diana. Mercurius and Latona witness the confrontation. These votives were created by Vulca, the Veientane sculptor who crafted the statue of your Jupiter riding his quadriga atop the Capitoline temple in Rome. On the
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