Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
Etruscans (16 page)
“Would you know a spy if you saw one?”
“I am sure I would.”
“And would the Etruscans send a mute woman and a mere youth to do their spying?”
“Perhaps not,” Severus reluctantly conceded. “But they look hungry to me, particularly the woman. They look like the sort of beggars who will rob you blind.”
“You always were a good judge of character,” Propertius replied sarcastically.
“And here you are displaying your foolishness to the rest of the Senate and in front of the king.”
“As it happens, Severus, that young man over there saved my life. That's all the recommendation he needs. In addition, however, he has some very interesting talents. You'll be sitting next to him at table tonight; I suggest you ask him what he thinks of Rome's streets.” The trader gave his brother a cryptic smile.
When at last a yellow-haired slave announced “Tarquinius Superbius, King of Rome!” Horatrim turned eagerly toward the door. The person who entered was a profound disappointment. Although he wore a robe of royal purple and was flanked by a towering pair of Numidian slaves, Tarquin the Superb was a skinny little man with a nose like a vulture and the eyes of a ferret.
“So that is what kings look like,” Horatrim whispered to Propertius.
The Roman chuckled. “That's what
this
king looks like, but he's hardly typical. Anyone with the right bloodlines can become king if he's determined enough or crafty enough or wealthy enough.”
this
king looks like, but he's hardly typical. Anyone with the right bloodlines can become king if he's determined enough or crafty enough or wealthy enough.”
“Which is Tarquinius Superbius?” Horatrim wondered. “Determined, crafty, or wealthy?”
“All three,” Propertius replied. “In addition, his father
was once king of Rome himself. He was the late lamented Tarquinius Priscus of the tribe of the Tarquins.”
was once king of Rome himself. He was the late lamented Tarquinius Priscus of the tribe of the Tarquins.”
As soon as the king had been greeted effusively, all females with the exception of the hostess were ushered from the room. This, Horatrim understood, was the Roman custom, although Livia threw a wistful parting glance over her shoulder as she left and made sure Horatrim saw her flutter her eyelashes at him.
One other female did remain however. When a slave tried to lead Vesi away, her eyes came alive.
I stay,
said that peculiar, sibilant voice.
said that peculiar, sibilant voice.
The slave threw a questioning look toward Propertius.
That one has no power over me
, the voice announced.
, the voice announced.
A silence fell over the room.
When the moon hangs by its horns, a trader will pass Through the gate and a king will dance with the black goat.
Now all heads were turned toward Vesi. The voice did not seem to come from her mouth in the normal way, for her lips did not move. Rather, it issued from some cavern deep within her, echoing eerily as if it had traveled a great distance through subterranean passageways.
Khebet the Aegyptian sat bolt upright on his couch.
“What did she say?” Tarquinius demanded to know, blinking shortsightedly at the woman. “Is there something wrong with her?”
Delphia immediately shoved the slave aside and put her own arm around the Etruscan woman. “Vesi,” she told the king, “is a seer of visions. She described my grandmother in her tomb with details she could not possibly have known.”
Propertius added, “This is a very holy woman, Lord Tarquinius. One of the reasons for tonight's banquet was so you could meet her. I had planned to have her join us again after the meal, you see, and ⦔
Tarquinius was not listening. With his bodyguards hovering close on either side, he approached Vesi.
For a moment her eyes glittered like black stones seen through a thin layer of ice.
“Do you know who I am?” the king demanded.
Although her gaze turned in his direction, he had the disquieting feeling that she was not seeing him.
“I am Lucius Tarquinius Superbius, King of Rome.”
The gleam began to fade from Vesi's eyes, and her head drooped.
“Explain to me what you meant by what you just said about a king dancing with a goat?” Catching hold of Vesi's chin, he raised her head. But the eyes into which Tarquinius glared were dull and lifeless, all intelligence extinguished.
Tarquinius turned toward Propertius. “What's the matter with this woman? Is she a fool? How dare she refuse to respond to me!”
“She was badly injured some time ago, lord,” Propertius hastened to explain. “But she is a holy woman, I assure you. A prophetess, as you have seen. It's just that her gift ⦠ah ⦠comes and goes. I fear it is not under anyone's command, even a king's. While we await its return, perhaps you would care to sample the feast we have prepared for you?”
Giving Propertius a threatening look that indicated Vesi's “gift” had better reappear before the evening was over, Tarquinius allowed himself to be shown to the table. But he insisted the Etruscan woman remain in the room. “Stand her over there where I can see her,” he ordered.
Pepan was dismayed. The arrival of the king of Rome had thrown the Otherworld entities into a frenzy.
Hia
who had never been incarnated in the flesh were able to see past and future as one and therefore were aware of
Tarquinius's destiny. Something about his future excited them unbearably.
Hia
who had never been incarnated in the flesh were able to see past and future as one and therefore were aware of
Tarquinius's destiny. Something about his future excited them unbearably.
Will he die soon?
Pepan wondered.
Are they hoping to capture his hia?
Pepan wondered.
Are they hoping to capture his hia?
The atmosphere darkened, portent of a struggle.
Pepan hovered close to Vesi and Horatrim in order to protect them from whatever was to come. But he knew he could really offer little protection. Horatrim's gifts were formidable and he was learning more about them all the time. Soon he would need no help from anyone. As for Vesi â¦
She stood where the slaves had stationed her, half a dozen paces away from the table. Her blank gaze stared off into space. But she was no longer empty. Pepan was all too aware of the darkness within her, the seething blackness that roiled and hissed.
The banquet Propertius had prepared was the finest the house could offer. As the guests reclined on couches around the table, slaves served the first course, which consisted of bowls of black and green olives and platters of dormice seasoned with poppy seeds and honey. This was followed by hens in pastry, horsemeat boiled with juniper berries, and an enormous roast pig.
When the pork was presented, Propertius scowled in monumental displeasure and shouted at the slaves carrying the platter, “This pig has not been properly gutted! Send for the cook.”
The cook was a handsome yellow-haired slave from Thessaly who appeared at a trot. Propertius repeated the charge. Bowing low, the man replied, “Oh, but it has been gutted, my lord. I would never embarrass my master with improperly prepared food.”
“If you lie I will have you flogged. Slash open the belly and prove your words if you can.”
Producing a large knife with a dramatic flourish, the cook slashed open the belly. Out tumbled a vast quantity
of spicy blood puddings and steaming sausages, overflowing the platter and spilling onto the table. Propertius and the cook burst into laughter at the guests' amazement.
of spicy blood puddings and steaming sausages, overflowing the platter and spilling onto the table. Propertius and the cook burst into laughter at the guests' amazement.
Even Tarquinius smiled. “Well done, Propertius. I trust you will breed more pigs like that and have them delivered to my kitchens?”
“As soon as they can fly,” the trader assured him. Laughter rippled around the table. Horatrim's childish whoop was the loudest of all.
Flagons of wine and beer were kept refilled as course after course subsequently appeared, offering everything from globe artichokes to bulls' testicles. By watching the other guests, Horatrim discovered how to eat both delicacies. He was quite enjoying himself, though he was uncomfortably aware of his mother standing like a statue in the background.
He had been placed between Severus and Delphia. Between courses, Propertius's brother turned to Horatrim. “For some reason known only to himself, my brother suggests I ask you about Roman streets?”
New concepts leaped into Horatrim's mind. He began describing drainage and paving techniques, sketching ideas on the edge of his toga with a finger wetted in red wine, while a rapt Severus listened and watched. “You could use the same method on the approaches to the city,” the young man elaborated. “Paved roads leading to Rome would surely improve trade.”
Overhearing, Tarquinius leaned forward. “Does he know what he's talking about, Severus?”
“I think so, my lord. I've never seen that type of paving myself, but I believe it is common in Etruria, where the streets have stood the test of centuries.”
“Maybe I should order them built, eh?”
At that moment an eerie, sibilant voice rang through the room.
He who builds that which endures, becomes immortal.
Tarquinius sat bolt upright as everyone turned to look at Vesi. “That prophecy was meant for me! Did you hear what she said; she said I could become immortal. I must have that woman!”
A
demon follows its child. Though the
siu
could not feel love, it was bound to Horatrim by invisible bonds that could not be severed while the child lived. And while the child lived, it remained a danger to its sire.
demon follows its child. Though the
siu
could not feel love, it was bound to Horatrim by invisible bonds that could not be severed while the child lived. And while the child lived, it remained a danger to its sire.
Of all the creatures that were stalking Horatrim, the
siu
was the most deadly. It was in no hurry to close with its quarry however. Once the
siu
picked up the trail, it was confident Horatrim could not escape. Vesi was a handicap the youth could not overcome. The capture could be made in its own time; the kill in its own way. The
siu
followed the young man patiently, savoring the luxury of anticipation. Enjoying, too, the opportunity to observe the changes that had taken place in the world since it last walked upon the earth with human feet.
siu
was the most deadly. It was in no hurry to close with its quarry however. Once the
siu
picked up the trail, it was confident Horatrim could not escape. Vesi was a handicap the youth could not overcome. The capture could be made in its own time; the kill in its own way. The
siu
followed the young man patiently, savoring the luxury of anticipation. Enjoying, too, the opportunity to observe the changes that had taken place in the world since it last walked upon the earth with human feet.
Its human life had always been characterized by intellectual curiosity.
The walls of Rome did not impress the
siu.
siu.
He recalled a much grander city, a citadel of unrivaled splendor where once his name had been almost as respected as that of the Great King, the Lawgiver. He had walked its streets in those long-lost days when he wore flesh, holding his proud head high while people excitedly pointed him out to one another.
“There he is! Bur-Sin, with the light of genius in his face. See the wealth of the jewels on his breast, the gold and glass and lapis lazuli. They are gifts from the Great King, small payment in return for the fabulous creation he is erecting.”
A small return indeed, Bur-Sin had thought. As the days passed and work progressed, he had been increasingly aware of how unique, how spectacular his achievement would be when it was finished. Nothing remotely like it existed in the Kingdom of the Two Rivers or even beyond.
As chief designer and architect, Bur-Sin had labored for years over the plans before building began. On countless mud tablets he had drawn elaborate construction details. When his plans were finally approved by the Great King, he had become responsible for training and overseeing the laborers who did the actual building. At the same time he had personally searched the land for the rarest, most beautiful plants, jewels to be placed in the setting of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
Tier upon tier the gardens rose. They did not actually hang in the air, but were roof gardens built within the walls of the royal palace. Laid out in a series of ziggurats, or pyramidal towers, they were irrigated by pumps of the architect's own design, drawing water from the Euphrates River.
Almost every day the Great King came to see them. At intervals he would bestow another gift upon the architect, more jewels or a supple dancing girl with honeyed hips. The Great King knew his architect had an insatiable passion for women.
Then Bur-Sin began to notice that in conversation, the Great King invariably referred to the gardens as “my gardens.” The name of the man who was creating them was never mentioned.
A thousand slaves labored, a thousand times the sun rose and sank, and still the Hanging Gardens were not completed. The Great King grew impatient. “How soon can I dedicate my gardens?” he demanded to know.
Bur-Sin lost his temper. “On the day when they bear my name, the gardens will be finished!”
The Great King had responded with a burst of temper of his own. “Arrogant servant, how dare you usurp the royal prerogative!”
“I am entitled to recognition for my work. It is not too much to ask. The people of Babylon already know who is responsible for the gardens. They will remember and revere me long after I am dead. I merely request that when foreign dignitaries come to view the gardens, as they will, they too should honor the builder's name.”
“I am the builder!” thundered the Great King.
Bur-Sin had felt his rage turn to ice. “Then complete the Hanging Gardens yourself. As for me, I will offer my services elsewhere. Perhaps the Aegyptians will appreciate me. I can erect an equally splendid construction for them.”
The Great King's rage knew no bounds. “I will never allow you to build a rival for my gardens! Seize him!”
Guards had tried to grab Bur-Sin, but he ran. He fled through the halls of the royal palace until at last he came to the Inner Temple, the private precincts where the Great King offered sacrifices to the god Marduk. In an alcove curtained with crimson silk the image of Marduk stood, an upright crocodile sheathed in gold.
Bur-Sin had prostrated himself before the statue. “Great Marduk, deliver me!” he pleaded.
They had found him there, cowering at the feet of the gilded saurian. Breaking the laws of sanctuary, the guards had dragged him away and taken him before the
Great King. Then did Hammurabi the Lawgiver, the Just and Wise, pass the most unjust decision of his life.
Great King. Then did Hammurabi the Lawgiver, the Just and Wise, pass the most unjust decision of his life.
“Put out his eyes,” he said.
That was long ago. Now the
siu
who was once Bur-Sin walked again, not the ancient avenues of Babylon, but the muddy streets of Rome, stalking its prey.
siu
who was once Bur-Sin walked again, not the ancient avenues of Babylon, but the muddy streets of Rome, stalking its prey.
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