***
Tanaquil hadn't waited to see the execution. She could stomach most things, but watching a man pushed off a precipice was something she could manage without. Convincing Ancus Marcius to return home was another matter. He felt he was completely restored; and he was all for marching up the rock himself. It was only an appeal to spare young Secunda the sight of the execution that swayed him.
He was pleased to see Tarquinius, when the younger man had returned from the execution. “Done,” Tarquinius said simply, and gave no more detail.
The king's smile was tight, his eyes cold. “Pity I wasn't there.” He looked across at Tanaquil; he'll sulk about that for a good week, she thought. “Still, I'm glad young Quintus wasn't a parricide.”
“Quite,” said Tarquinius. “He seems a nice enough young man. I was thinking of taking him on to run the olive farm. Now his name's been cleared.”
“I'm glad he wasn't a parricide,” the king said, and it was clear he hadn't been listening to Tarquinius. “It's a nasty crime, parricide. Not something I'd want to have to judge.” His eyes had gone distant again, and for a moment Tanaquil thought damn, I'm going to have to get him to bed before he embarrasses himself; but then he blinked a couple of times, and the old Ancus Marcius was back, planning improvements to the city's water supplies, drafting a trade treaty with the Greeks of Poseidonia, looking forward to a military campaign in the new year that she knew he would never lead.
But at supper that evening, he began to drift off into that state of vagueness she recognised, and when she suggested it was time to rest, he put up no resistance. Secunda took her father out, leaving the gathered councillors with no leader.
Some left as soon as they saw he had gone; others stayed, and Tanaquil noticed a number of small groups coalescing. Some of the men joined one group, others drifted between various groups, staying a while to talk, then moved on. The pattern was different from other evenings; Manius for instance was standing with Faustus, though he'd been closer to Tarquinius since the saltings business, while Tarquinius seemed to have attracted a couple of the Faliscans, whose sharp beards were waggling as they hectored him. It's politics, she thought; this is going to get interesting. Shall I stir it up?
She didn't have to. Faustus did.
"Lucius is planning to sell Rome to Tarchna," he said. "We all know that. It's just a question of the terms. And whether Ancus Macius lives long enough to do it."
"You think Tarchna would buy it?" she said, keeping her voice smooth, insinuating. "Why would Tarchna need to buy a city in the middle of nowhere?"
"A city of winners."
"Oh yes, a city of men who like putting on military parades. I think you'll find Tarchna isn't much impressed."
Further down the table, someone shouted, "What about Veii?"
"Yes, them too," said Faustus. "They might pay more. But we could conquer them tomorrow, like this..." He snapped his fingers dismissively.
"Do make your mind up, Faustus. You're being tiresome. Is it Tarchna, or Veii, or both? Or do you think the Gauls are preparing a counter-bid?"
"It hardly matters! Rome will be sold, on way or another, unless Ancus dies first.!"
That shocked even Faustus' supporters. The room was suddenly hushed. She waited, sliding her eyes slowly towards him, counting to three, waiting till her eyes rested squarely on his face before she spoke.
"That's close to treason." It was like dropping a stone into a pond. A big splash. But it would be the ripples that counted.