Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
Etruscans (19 page)
T
he royal palace of Rome stood some distance from the Tiber in order to avoid the smell of the river. As the city expanded, its river was becoming an open sewer. The intense heat of summer caused the water level to fall alarmingly, exposing mud flats that added their own stench to the effluvium. But the city could not grow without Father Tiber, which provided access to the sea and thus to foreign markets.
he royal palace of Rome stood some distance from the Tiber in order to avoid the smell of the river. As the city expanded, its river was becoming an open sewer. The intense heat of summer caused the water level to fall alarmingly, exposing mud flats that added their own stench to the effluvium. But the city could not grow without Father Tiber, which provided access to the sea and thus to foreign markets.
Like every Roman household, the palace served a number of functions. In addition to being the residence of the king, it provided guest apartments for visiting dignitaries such as the prince, Lars Porsena.
This evening's entertainment included an appearance by Tarquinius's latest discovery. “From now on, the king of Rome will have his own personal holy woman to interpret messages from the gods,” he had informed his chief steward. “I want to present her after the banquet and under the best possible circumstances. Arrange a
high seat for her in a private chamber. Surround her with all the trappings appropriate to one of her calling.”
high seat for her in a private chamber. Surround her with all the trappings appropriate to one of her calling.”
Guests in the palace on this particular occasion included not only the young prince from Clusium but also a wealthy Sardinian shipowner, the leaders of a trade delegation from Smyrna, and a major Aegyptian dealer in slaves and exotic beasts. After dinner they were shown into the windowless chamber where Vesi waited. While Tarquinius watched with a proprietary air, they gathered around a tripod supporting a huge bronze bowl. Within this peculiar perch sat a woman.
She was dressed in a gown of bleached linen, cross-banded beneath her breasts. Her arms were bare, her head crowned with a laurel wreath to signify honors. On either side of the tripod were bronzed laurel branches, and at the feet of the stool was a brazier filling the room with clouds of white smoke and the fragrance of bitter herbs. The effect was every bit as impressive as Tarquinius desired.
“Speak to us, O Prophetess!” he intoned.
Silence.
Vesi sat immobile in her bronze bowl and stared over his head.
“Speak, I command you!”
Something came alive behind her eyes. Something terrible.
No mortal commands Pythia,
said a voice that seemed to come from very far away.
said a voice that seemed to come from very far away.
Vesi's lips did not move.
When he heard the name of the dark goddess, the Aegyptian slave dealer blanched beneath his olive skin. Pythia was not a major deity in the pantheon of his people, but she was an horrific one, her name invoked rarely and always with trepidation.
Tarquinius bowed low before the woman on the tripod. “Forgive us our presumption. We merely seek wisdom.”
Wisdom is a tree with ten million roots that feed on blood while the branches die.
Tarquinius cleared his throat. “Ah ⦠indeed.” He had never heard the number ten million before.
The Aegyptian, however, was impressed. Turning to the king, he said, “What you have here is something remarkable. I commend you. Where did you find such a valuable commodity?”
The king of Rome knew enough to refrain from divulging gratuitous information to trading partners. Airily waving one hand, he said, “She is from Etruria, of course. Who else has such an affinity with magic and mystery? Who else converses regularly with the gods? And she's not for sale, if that's what you're hinting. She's like one of my own family.”
The Sardinian shipowner was skeptical. “I never heard the name Pythia mentioned in connection with any Etruscan tribe.” He glanced accusingly at the Aegyptian. “Pythia's one of yours, isn't she?”
“We have a goddess by that name, I believe,” the man replied warily. No one could see his fingers clutching the amulet sewn into his robes in an attempt to ward off evil.
“Well, I've never heard of her,” Tarquinius said with a shrug. “But I dare say the name will become famous in time. This woman merely needs a larger audience, which I will provide. Have any of you questions you wish put to her?”
Uncertainly at first, then with growing fascination, the party addressed the woman seated on the tripod. Sometimes she did not answer. Then for no apparent reason she would fall into incoherent raving. Seizing the bronze laurel branches, she shook them wildly as she chanted. Out of the chaos an occasional phrase would make stunning sense to one or another of the men in the room.
Her most cryptic comment was reserved for the handsome prince of Clusium, Lars Porsena. When he
stepped close to the tripod to get a better look at the woman through the smoke, she fixed her eyes on his face and solemnly declaimed,
Beware the empty nest. That which hatches from the eagle's egg will rain fire on the wolf's cubs.
stepped close to the tripod to get a better look at the woman through the smoke, she fixed her eyes on his face and solemnly declaimed,
Beware the empty nest. That which hatches from the eagle's egg will rain fire on the wolf's cubs.
When the evening was over Tarquinius was euphoric. The Etruscan woman had far exceeded his expectations. “Having her entertain my guests was a brilliant idea, positively brilliant,” he confided to his favorite body slave as he took his evening bath. Beaming with self-congratulation, the king absentmindedly fondled his genitals in the warm water. Recognizing the signals, his slave ran through a mental list of the concubines, trying to guess which one Tarquinius would want tonight.
But his master's mind was still on the Etruscan woman. Though her pronouncements had been few, they had been relevant. It would be but a short step from the genuine prophecies of the seer to those he would have her make for political reasons. In a month, perhaps less, he would announce that she had proclaimed him the son of a god and that his line would rule for a thousand years. Then she would really earn her keep.
“Do you wish a woman sent to you tonight?” his slave inquired as Tarquinius emerged from his bath. “Perhaps the yellow-haired one you bought last spring?”
But Tarquinius was too overstimulated for anything so ordinary. “No, I'm not in the mood. Bring me the seer instead, so I can talk with her privately. Perhaps she will have some prophecy for my ears alone.”
The slave bowed low so the king would not see the smile on his face. He could imagine the type of conversation Tarquinius had in mind.
They brought her to him in the anteroom that led to his bedchamber. The ruler of Rome was casually attired in a robe of orange silk dyed in Syria. Vesi wore a sheer,
pleated gown of the sort favored by the palace courtesans, and scented pomade had been used to dress her hair. In the soft light of the oil lamps, which rendered the gown virtually transparent, she appeared surprisingly youthful ⦠and innocent. Tarquinius liked his women young. Suddenly he was interested in something more tangible than her oracular abilities.
pleated gown of the sort favored by the palace courtesans, and scented pomade had been used to dress her hair. In the soft light of the oil lamps, which rendered the gown virtually transparent, she appeared surprisingly youthful ⦠and innocent. Tarquinius liked his women young. Suddenly he was interested in something more tangible than her oracular abilities.
Rising from his bench, he led her through the doorway into the next room. She followed without resistance. A massive bed waited half-hidden behind swathes of sheer fabric that could be drawn to keep out biting insects. Tarquinius drew the curtains back and, still holding Vesi by one wrist, stretched himself upon the bed. She continued to stand at the edge of the bed until he tugged imperiously at her arm, then she lay down beside him and closed her eyes. When he released her wrist she folded her hands across her breasts.
Seen thus, she looked like a corpse.
The image was troubling. “Open your eyes,” he requested.
She did not move.
“Open your eyes, I said!”
She raised her lids to reveal huge dark eyes that held not the slightest hint of intelligence. Tarquinius was excited by her docility. She was his; he owned her.
“I appreciate your cooperation tonight,” he said. “You will be amply rewarded, as are all my favorites. But you must reserve the true prophecies for me. You understand that, don't you? Anything of real importance that the gods tell you, you are to divulge only to me. And in a little while I will need you to make certain prophecies for me.”
She lay unresponsive. Seen from this close she was even younger than he had thought. How could that great hulking Horatrim be her son? The king's eyes strayed to her hips. They were full and rounded, with swelling pubes clearly visible beneath the soft fabric.
“Do the gods really speak through you?”
Tarquinius had never possessed a holy woman before. What divine visions might present themselves to her when the king of Rome entered her body? He was thrilled at the idea of being so close to the gods, entering a vessel they had so recently vacated. Perhaps a vestige of their godhood would have remained, a scrap he might claim for himself. Gently, with respect, he attempted to arouse her.
But she was as indifferent as a statue. He began to feel insulted. He was Tarquin the Superb; what right had she to ignore him? His anger and his lust grew together. When he could control them no longer, he caught the neck of her gown and ripped it open.
In one of the guest apartments, Lars Porsena was still wide awake. He was young and virile, but he had deliberately refused the king's offer of a woman for the night, just as he had been careful not to drink too much wine. In the morning there would be complicated negotiations with the king present. It was best to keep one's senses sharp when dealing with Romans.
In the meantime he was mentally preparing himself by going over the moves and countermoves to come. One must be prepared to be firm, yet flexible. He lay on his couch with his fingers laced behind his head, gazing at the ceiling and calculating just how much grain he was prepared to give in exchange for the goods his people wanted. The flickering light cast by the lamp beside his bed cast weird shadows on the walls around him.
Then he heard the scream.
Since even a
hia
could not be in two places at the same time, Pepan had chosen to stay with Vesi rather than with Horatrim. She was all but lost; whatever had possessed
her was too old, too powerful for him to combat. All he could do was stay close to her and hope for an opportunity to help her.
hia
could not be in two places at the same time, Pepan had chosen to stay with Vesi rather than with Horatrim. She was all but lost; whatever had possessed
her was too old, too powerful for him to combat. All he could do was stay close to her and hope for an opportunity to help her.
The Rasne lord found the palace of the king of Rome as disappointing as the houses of his subjects. Pepan thought the royal residence resembled a glorified rabbit warren, with countless chambers and passageways tacked onto one another as need dictated. There was no coherence to the plan, merely a cancerous growth sprawling unchecked.
Perhaps Horatrim will improve the place,
he thought. There was a delicious irony in having a Rasne design the capital of the Romans.
Perhaps Horatrim will improve the place,
he thought. There was a delicious irony in having a Rasne design the capital of the Romans.
While Vesi entertained the king's guests, Pepan watched. He was perfectly aware her mysterious mouthings did not originate with the girl he had known. She was being well-treated, however, which was his immediate concern. He could only hope that sooner or later he would find some way to free her from the black miasma enveloping her spirit. If the spirit of the girl Vesi still existed at all.
When Tarquinius Superbius took her body into his bed, Pepan was distressingly aware of his inability to prevent rape. And it would be rape; Vesi was incompetent to give her consent. Yet something in her recognized the impending violationâand screamed.
A scream carries on the night wind, and the senses of an embodied
siu
are far more sensitive than those of an ordinary human. Any cry of pain can draw a demon. To their kind, pain is food and drink.
siu
are far more sensitive than those of an ordinary human. Any cry of pain can draw a demon. To their kind, pain is food and drink.
“Hurry!” he ordered Justine. “We may be just in time!”
Lars Porsena was on his feet before the woman's scream stopped echoing through the halls of the palace. He raced in the direction of the scream. As he came around
a corner he surprised a pair of guards who tried to intercept him, but he seized the spear from one and slammed its shaft against the temple of the other, knocking him unconscious. The first man hesitated, reluctant to fight the tall Etruscan nobleman alone. That moment's pause cost him dearly, for Lars Porsena hit him a blow on the jaw that laid him on the floor beside his companion. The Etruscan leaped over them and entered the king's private chamber.
a corner he surprised a pair of guards who tried to intercept him, but he seized the spear from one and slammed its shaft against the temple of the other, knocking him unconscious. The first man hesitated, reluctant to fight the tall Etruscan nobleman alone. That moment's pause cost him dearly, for Lars Porsena hit him a blow on the jaw that laid him on the floor beside his companion. The Etruscan leaped over them and entered the king's private chamber.
Tarquinius looked up, enraged by the intrusion. “How dare you burst in here! Where are my guards?” Lurching to his feet, he started toward the door to summon them.
Lars Porsena moved to block his way, towering over the much smaller Tarquinius. “I heard a scream.”
“Nothing to do with you,” Tarquinius snarled.
Lars Porsena looked over the smaller man's head. The Etruscan seer lay stretched on the bed unmoving, her gown shredded around her.
“What are you doing to that woman?” he demanded to know.
“I already told you it has nothing to do with you. Now get out of here or Clusium can forget about ever doing any business with Rome.”
Hot blood flamed the Etruscan's cheeks. “You can't threaten me!”
“I just did. Now get out.”
On the bed, Vesi moaned.
Forgetting the king, Lars Porsena whirled around and went to her. “Are you all right?” he asked solicitously. “Has he hurt you? I'll make him pay for insulting one of ⦔
Tarquinius hit him over the back of the head with a bronze lamp.
Lars Porsena collapsed without a murmur.
Panting, Tarquinius stooped over the woman on the bed. The incident had shaken him. He was not accustomed to being thwarted, certainly not in his private
chamber. Now he was determined that nothing should stop him. Taking hold of Vesi once more he roughly thrust her legs apart. He was not looking at her face. But then something in the way her body felt to his hands alerted him and he raised his head.
chamber. Now he was determined that nothing should stop him. Taking hold of Vesi once more he roughly thrust her legs apart. He was not looking at her face. But then something in the way her body felt to his hands alerted him and he raised his head.
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