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The comforting embrace of my fellow priestesses is like an anchor amidst the storm of my labor, giving me the courage to endure the pain that threatens to consume me during the harrowing process of birth.
"Deep breaths, dear sister," instructs one maiden, holding my hand tightly. "Let the pain flow forth like a river, cleansing thee of all suffering."
"Remember your own strength," adds another adamantly.
I focus on the image of my sons, soon to be born, envisioning their faces and the love that will surely bind us together.
"Push, Rhea!" one beside exclaims, urging me onwards. "The time is nigh; your sons await you."
I heed their words, summoning every ounce of strength. The pain is overwhelming, yet so, too, is my desire to see my sons safely delivered into this world. Deep within, my muscles contract of their own accord. I push as sweat pours from my brow, and my body trembles from exertion.
"Almost there, dear sister!" encourages a voice filled with hope and anticipation. "One final effort, and you shall be rewarded with your sons."
With a primal scream, I muster the last of my energy and push once more. Suddenly, the pressure subsides, and a chorus of cries fills the air. Relief floods my body, and exhaustion settles in its wake. In the arms of two priestesses, my beautiful twin sons take their first breaths, their tiny faces flushed and wrinkled.
"Behold," whispers one of the maidens, tears of joy glistening in her eyes. "Your sons. They are perfect."
As the infants are placed gently into my arms, my heart swells with a love I have never known. Their cries subside as they gaze up at me, their blue eyes wide with wonder.
"Welcome, my children," I murmur softly, kissing them on their foreheads.
The soft glow of the candles that line the temple walls cast shadows upon my face as I cradle my newborn sons, their tiny forms nestled against my chest. Their breaths are steady and even, and their eyes are closed in peaceful slumber.
"Rhea!" a voice cries out, shattering the serenity of the moment. A priestess rushes into the room, her robes billowing behind her as she approaches me with wide, fearful eyes. "King Amulius is at the temple gates! He knows the birth took place. There must be a spy amongst us."
My heart lurches with terror, for I know well the threat my uncle, the King of our Republic, poses to my children's lives. He had my father, the original king Numitor, usurped. Then, he had my brother killed and forced me into becoming a vestal virgin so I could never bear heirs that would threaten his rule.
Swallowing hard, I clutch my two sons closer to my breast.
“Sisters," my voice doesn’t hide my desperate urgency. "We must devise a plan, lest Amulius discover and harm my sons. I will do whatever it takes to keep them safe."
They nod their support, giving me a thread of hope.
"Your bravery is commendable," the priestess who brought the news says, laying a supportive hand upon my arm. "We must depart with utmost speed if we are to evade Amulius' wrath."
"Let’s make haste," I declare while one son is being swaddled to my chest and the other to my back.
"Quickly," the priestess grips my arm with earnestness. As we embark on our dangerous journey, the temple’s shadows seem to stretch out before us, a reminder of the darkness that lies ahead.
Our wide-eyed companions encircle us, peering into the darkness to seek a safe path and spot any danger while we exit the temple and enter the forest.
Two priestesses take my sons from me when my body is too tired to carry both.
"The birth has weakened you. Lean upon us for support," another priestess offers, positioning herself beneath my arm so that I may lean against her strong shoulder.
"Thank you, my sisters." My words were barely audible above the rustling of leaves beneath our hurried footsteps.
As we venture deeper into the forest, the cloak of darkness envelops us. The moon's silvery light filters through the dense canopy above, casting eerie shadows upon the ground. The air is thick with the lingering scent of damp earth and verdant foliage and tension.
"Stay close, and speak not," one of the priestesses warns in hushed tones. "The silence of the night shall be our greatest ally in eluding our pursuers."
"Indeed," I murmur and pray to the gods that our flight remains unnoticed. It was not my will to become a servant of Vesta, but I did my duties with unfailing devotion—Vesta cannot fault me. Nor did I have any influence over Mars choosing me to bear his sons. But I will fulfill the calling of motherhood with the same commitment—if it costs me my life—and it likely will.
Chapter 2
Amulius
The year 771 BC
