Etruscans (31 page)

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Authors: Morgan Llywelyn

BOOK: Etruscans
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The monster dived.
Horatius fired.
The stone struck between the savage green eyes. The brute, stunned, lost control and fell spinning out of the red sky.
When it hit the ground it vanished. In its place a human figure lay crumpled at Horatius's feet. The figure moaned and struggled to rise, then turned a bloody face toward the young man. “Help me,” implored Pepan, reaching out. “Help me get up.”
Horatius automatically extended a hand. Pepan got to his feet with an effort, wincing in pain. “What have you done to me?”
“I don't … but … I don't understand …” stammered Horatius. “You … I mean he … I thought you were a monster.”
“I am and always have been your friend,” Pepan replied reprovingly.
Embarrassed, Horatius dropped his eyes … and noticed two reflections on the gleaming black surface where they stood. His own was familiar, but the image beneath Pepan did not resemble the Rasne lord. It belonged to a very different man in a very menacing posture.
Horatius swiftly dropped to one knee and snatched the flint knife from his belt. Raising his arm, he struck a mighty downward blow. The weapon fashioned by the earliest Etruscan sank to the hilt in what appeared to be solid stone—and pinned the demon's reflection to the ground.
Pepan's form dissolved into that of a furious Lars Porsena. He tried to lift first one foot and then the other from the ground, but they were held securely in place. Even demonic strength could not free them from their reflection.
He was trapped.
His green eyes gave Horatius a look of such concentrated hatred that the young man took a step sideways, out of Lars Porsena's reach.
The demon bent to draw the knife from the stone himself, but when his fingers touched the handle a shudder ran through him. He convulsed with pain. White smoke coiled from seared flesh.
“My mother!” Horatius cried. “Where is she?”
Through clenched teeth the demon snarled, “I'll tear you to bits!”
“I think not. We just proved I am more than a match for you. But I might be prepared to release you in exchange for information about my mother.”
With a visible effort Lars Porsena arranged his features
in a slightly more amiable expression. “What do you want to know?”
“How can I be sure you're telling me the truth?”
“I have no reason to lie to you.”
“You have no reason to kill me either.”
“Ah, but I do. Did. If you release me I will consider matters settled between us however.”
“First you'll have to tell me about my mother and where to find her. Did you have anything to do with her kidnapping?”
“I?” Lars Porsena sounded genuinely offended. He splayed the fingers of his right hand across his chest in a gesture of sincerity. “I dearly love women, I would cause no harm to any of them. Trust me.”
“Trust you? I had as soon trust a viper. I don't know just what you are, but …”
As Horatius said the word
viper
, Lars Porsena went pale. His green eyes were no longer fixed on the young man's face; they were staring over his shoulder with a look of total terror.
At first Horatius suspected a trick, but it was obvious that Lars Porsena's fear was genuine as he redoubled his efforts to free himself. He was almost sobbing with terror.
Horatius turned to follow the direction of his gaze. Coming over the horizon was a huge, dark figure that appeared to glide forward, halt long enough to gather itself like a coiled spring, then glide forward again.
“No,” Lars Porsena gasped. “No no no no no!”
“What is that?” asked Horatius.
“Pythia.”
The name meant nothing to Horatius, but the way the creature was moving was unnerving. It advanced with astonishing rapidity. By the time it had halved the distance between them, he could make out details.
He stared in disbelief at the largest serpent he had ever seen.
The upper part of her body was female, though not human. In her coils she carried two human women. She was so huge that their bodies did not impede her progress in the slightest.
“Don't let her get me!” begged Lars Porsena.
Horatius started to ask, “What does she want with you?” but the words dried on his tongue as he recognized one of the women caught fast in the serpent's coils.
“Mother!”
At the sound of his voice Vesi opened her eyes.
“Horatrim,” she called softly.
She was looking down at her son from a height, for the huge serpent was holding the two women far above a man's reach. Both women were alive and conscious. The muscular coils of the creature possessed unimaginable power, but also great delicacy. Pythia could have crushed Vesi and Justine if she chose. Instead she held them almost tenderly.
“Bur-Sin,” she hissed.
The being Horatius knew as Lars Porsena crouched on the earth in abject terror.
“Did you think to escape me?” Pythia inquired of him. “You demons are so arrogant.” Her glance flickered toward Horatius. Her eyes were as cold as the spaces between the stars. “I am the goddess Pythia. Release this cringing thing to me at once.”
The young man calculated swiftly. Although the being before him was awesome, obviously she had some limitations or she would not have asked him to release Lars Porsena. She would have done so herself.
“I will release him to you on one condition,” he replied. “Give those women to me. Then he is yours.”
“No!” screamed Lars Porsena. Neither Pythia nor Horatius paid any attention to him. He had become a mere object for barter.
Lowering her head on her sinuous neck, Pythia brought it close to Horatius. Her forked tongue flickered
over his face in a curious, questing gesture. He shrank inwardly from her touch but stood his ground.
“Ah,” she said at last. “So that is who you are. What extraordinary gifts you possess! Bur-Sin underestimated you, I suspect. He always underestimates others: his opinion of himself is so great he assumes everyone else must be inferior. In truth there is nothing superior about him. He is a thief, a bully, and a coward and deserves whatever punishment I choose to give him. Let me think …”
Her voice sank to a hiss more awful than her anger. “Bur-Sin is so proud of the form he now wears. I will make it human again, mortal again, with his
hia
still inside—and kept totally under my control this time. Then I will send him back to Rome to serve as my minion there. He will have no free will, of course, but …”
Lars Porsena clasped his hands together in an attitude of prayer. “Great is your mercy, Goddess!”
“Your gratitude is ill-founded, Bur-Sin. Your body will be vulnerable to the pains and tortures you have inflicted upon others, and when it dies I will simply put your
hia
into a new one to suffer again. And again. You will have a most interesting future. I will make you the scourge of Rome … and Rome in turn will scourge you.”
Lars Porsena's eyes widened with horror.
Pythia addressed herself to Horatius. “By what name are you known?”
“Horatius Cocles.”
“Very well, Horatius Cocles. Give me this pitiful wretch and you can have one of the women in exchange.”
For the first time Horatius took a good look at the second woman in Pythia's clutches. She was beautiful; even Livia would have seemed plain by comparison. And she was gazing at him with enough pleading in her eyes to melt iron.
But so was Vesi.
“Choose,” demanded Pythia.
“I will take them both.”
“Oh no, I am not inclined to be that generous. You must choose one and relinquish the other to me, together with your captive.”
Horatius folded his arms across his chest. “Both, I say. If you do not agree, free him yourself.” He stepped back, gambling that the serpent had no more power over the flint knife than did the demon.
If he was wrong … .
For a long moment she stared at him, her tongue flickering lazily between her lips. Then, with agonizing slowness, Pythia began to lower the two women to the ground. As their feet neared the gleaming black surface the serpent loosened her coils.
Horatius darted forward to catch Vesi before she could fall. “Mother!”
The face she turned up to his was haggard and exhausted. “My son,” she whispered. She raised one trembling hand to touch his cheek. “Make her release me
completely
.”
Though he did not understand, he called to Pythia, “You must release her completely!”
“Very well,” was the grudging reply. “You drive a hard bargain.”
Horatius felt his mother shudder in his arms. Then she drew a deep breath of relief and nestled her head gratefully against his shoulder.
The beautiful girl stumbled toward them, moaning with every step she took. Horatius reached out in pity and drew her into his embrace as well. “We must get away from here before she changes her mind,” he told the two women.
Pythia drawled, “Oh, I will not change my mind. Unlike demons, the gods usually keep their word. I do not need you anyway. My little games with Bur-Sin will keep me as entertained as a cat with a mouse. Just remove
that knife, Horatius Cocles, and you are free to go wherever you like.”
Over the heads of the women, he told the goddess, “We don't belong here, we must return to the Earthworld. But the way is long and difficult and these two are very weak. We need help.”
Pythia replied with vast indifference, “What is that to me?”
“You are so powerful that even a demon fears you. Surely you could do this small thing.”
“Flattery only works on fools. Remember that in the future, Horatius Cocles. But yes, I could transport you if I chose.” She hesitated as if weighing various considerations. Then the great coils shifted with a liquid sound of scales sliding against one another. “I will help you on one condition: that you ask me for nothing else. Ever. Make even the smallest request of me in the future and I will strip you of everything you possess, do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Very well then.” Opening her mouth wide, Pythia vomited a large pool of alabaster liquid onto the black plain. “Here is your roadway. Release Bur-Sin to me. Then dive into the pool with your women and let the current carry you to the Earthworld. Do it immediately; I offer you only the one chance.”
“Be careful,” urged the girl. “It might be a trick!”
But Horatius could not be frightened. Releasing the two women, he crouched down, grasped the handle of the flint knife, and tugged.
The knife slid out of the shadow on the stone.
Lars Porsena staggered backward.
Pythia responded with a triumphant hiss. The huge coils shifted again; the black form lifted toward the red sky.
Horatius gathered the women into his arms again and strode to the brink of the pool. Before he entered the water he took one last look back.
With dreadful clarity he saw the great serpent towering high above the demon, her body bent into an Scurve. Her eyes blazed with a murderous lust beyond human comprehension. Extending her flaring hood Pythia spread its dark shadow over the figure cowering below her.
Lars Porsena's frantic green eyes met those of Horatius. “Do not abandon me to her!” he screamed just as Horatius leaped into the pool.
“
I am your father!
”
T
he opaque water was as warm as milk. No sooner had it closed over their heads than a current seized Horatius and the two women and dragged them deeper, then swept them inexorably forward. When Horatius could not hold his breath any longer he was astonished to discover that he did not choke. Breathing the water was like breathing air.
The two women he tightly grasped were making the same discovery. Vesi relaxed, but the girl writhed and kicked in a futile attempt to swim under her own power.
As Horatius was carried along, faces swirled at random through his memory.
Wulv. Propertius. Pepan.
Lars Porsena.
I am your father!
Horatius shuddered.
The demon had lied to him countless times. No doubt it would have told him anything in a desperate bid to escape the vengeance of the dark goddess.
I am your father.
Nonsense.
But the seed of doubt was planted.
As the warm white flow sped them back toward the Earthworld Horatius fell into a sort of dream. He was imagining the future. He would work for Severus, become prosperous, build a house for his mother, marry someone … Livia …
Livia seemed very far away however. Held close to his side was a different and even more beautiful young woman. As she struggled he felt her full breast against his arm; her legs entwined deliciously with his own. The gods had thrown them together. What did this mean?
Before he could speculate, the current roiled wildly around them and tore Justine and Vesi from his arms.
A moment later a geyser of alabaster liquid spewed Horatius into a clump of hemlock at the entrance to the Caverns of Spasio.
His spirit was sucked from his Netherworld body like a seed being sucked from a grape. There was a sickening swoop, a jolt …
Horatius opened his eyes to find himself lying on his back on the floor of the first cavern. After a momentary confusion his mind cleared.
Khebet, battered and bloody, was straddling him and trying to fight off three hooded assailants. A fourth lay unmoving by the entrance. The sound of the Aegyptian's harsh breathing filled the cave. Although he did not yet feel settled in his Earthworld body, Horatius drew up his knees and swung them to one side then swiftly rolled up onto his feet. “Enough!” he cried.
The hooded figures froze.
Khebet was at the end of his strength. He managed to mutter, “Thank the gods,” then let himself slump to the ground, gasping for breath.
Horatius hurled himself on the nearest figure. He
smashed his fist into a shadowy face beneath a hood. His knuckles struck a snout; cartilage crumpled. There was a grunt of pain. The other two recovered from their astonishment and joined the fight.
The three creatures were formidable, yet Horatius would not have cared if there were six—or sixty. He had the advantage of surprise. He also had a young and healthy body that had benefited by a good rest. Dancing on the balls of his feet, he pummeled each opponent in turn, taking savage joy in the release of tension. With every blow he struck his confidence grew. He did not need magical weapons, he did not need the aid of the gods.
“I'm Horatius Cocles!” he shouted, whirling, leaping. “I've been to the Netherworld and come back alive!” Kicking, battering. “I cannot be beaten by cowards who hide their faces!” He landed five blows for every one he took. He seemed to be everywhere at once and growing stronger every moment. The cave was full of him, larger than life, angry and joyous and brilliant.
Pythia's minions panicked. Abandoning their fallen comrade, they fled from the cave.
Horatius tossed a lock of hair out of his eyes. He was not even breathing hard. “By the gods, it's good to be alive!” He bent to help the Aegyptian to his feet. “We did it, my friend! We did it!”
“Did you get what you went for?” Khebet asked weakly. His legs were trembling; he had to sit back down.
Just then a shadow fell across the scorched opening of the cave. Khebet tensed—until two women entered. Vesi was leaning on the shoulder of the lovely girl Horatius had rescued from Pythia.
Horatius gave a sigh of relief. “Yes, Khebet. I brought back all that I sought—and more.”
Khebet was injured and the women were exhausted. There was no point in leaving the caverns until they were able to travel, so Horatius gathered enough firewood
to keep the cave warm and went looking for something to eat Nuts, berries, a bird shot out of the sky with an improvised slingshot, a rabbit taken in a snare made of vines—with these he provided for his charges. Once more Wulv's training came to his aid. Soon he had created a comfortable little camp where they could spend a number of days if need be.
“I've made a discovery,” Horatius confided to Khebet when the Aegyptian began to take a little interest in something other than his aches and pains. “Our ancestors and our friends are our true riches.”
“My people store up riches for the Afterlife,” Khebet said, “but what if there is none? You are right, Horatius; at least we can be certain of the past and present.”
Thinking of Lars Porsena, Horatius chuckled. “I can assure you there's an Afterlife as well, at least for some of us. The only thing is it may be horrible.”
“I am in no hurry to find out,” the other told him.
“Will you be returning to Aegypt?”
“I am in no hurry to do that either, Horatius. I used to think I knew everything and was in control of my destiny, but I was mistaken. I would like to stay with you for a while longer, if I may. I suspect you have much to teach me.”
Horatius laughed. Laughter came easily to him now, bubbling up like a fountain. “I can't teach you anything. You're a priest, an educated man.”
“I am not even sure about being a priest,” Khebet said with a shake of his head. “But I do believe I am more of a man than I was.”
The girl called Justine was also regaining her strength. She took over the chore of caring for Vesi, bathing her face with fresh water, urging her to eat, trying without success to get her to talk. As Horatius watched them he was touched by her devotion to the older woman. It was inevitable, he decided, after what they had been through together.
One evening as they finished their meal beside the
fire Horatius noticed that Justine was beginning to look haggard. Perhaps she was doing too much too soon. “Are you ill?” he wanted to know.
“Why do you ask?”
“Your face, it's …” Horatius paused, not sure what to say next. He did not want to insult her. Perhaps it was a mere trick of the light.
Justine raised a hand to her cheek. Was there the slightest loss of firmness? “But he promised!” she cried, aggrieved.
“Who promised?”
She bowed her head but did not explain. She did not want this extraordinary young man to know what a fool she had been, believing the word of a demon.
In Rome there were plenty of wealthy old men who would buy the finest creams and lotions for her in return for her favors, and perhaps enable her to retain her recaptured beauty. But she knew she would not seek them out. Having seen Horatius, Justine could not bear to think of returning to her past life.
She willed slackening flesh to cling tight to bone and flashed him her warmest smile.
Horatius smiled back. As the firelight leaped his smile caught someone's else's attention.
“Horatrim?” Vesi said hoarsely. It was the first word she had spoken since the Netherworld.
Horatius caught her in his arms and rocked back and forth, holding her head against his shoulder as if she were the child and he the parent. “Yes it's me, Mother. It's me.”
“But you are … so big.”
“And you are so little. I never realized how small you are, Mother.”
“A long time must have passed …”
“Do you not remember?”
She shook her head. “Only flashes. Bright bits in a darkness. They make no more sense than a shattered mosaic.”
As gently as he could, Horatius recounted their recent history to his mother. Khebet and Justine filled in their parts of the puzzle, though Justine was careful to edit hers. Occasionally Vesi asked questions; hesitantly at first, then with growing comprehension. Her bright spirit, so long submerged, began to peep through her eyes like sunshine when dark clouds roll away.
“You have restored me to myself,” she said at last. The recital had tired her but it was a happy weariness. “I don't know how to thank you. All of you.”
The Aegyptian said, “Thank the gods, who must truly love your son.”
At the mention of the gods Horatius gave a start. “Eosphorus!”
“Who?”
“Someone I met in the Netherworld, Mother. I made him a promise. Wherever we go, we are going to set up a little shrine to Eosphorus. Once each day we will remember him and call his name.”
Vesi managed a faint smile. “If it pleases you. I would like to sleep now, I think.” Her eyes drifted shut. Tenderly, Horatius carried her to the bed he had made for her of fallen boughs and soft mosses.
Then he returned to Khebet and Justine, who were still by the fire. Justine was playing idly with a stick that had fallen away from the flames. “What are your plans, Horatius?” she asked as he sat down beside her.
“I'm going back to Rome with my mother and Khebet. My future is there.” Taking the stick from her, with its burnt end he began drawing on the floor of the cave. Squares, rectangles, cubes. Houses and buildings. He gazed thoughtfully at the images, then turned toward the girl. “Have you a family somewhere worrying about you?”
Justine bit her lip. “I have no one. No one anywhere.”
“Then you'll come with us. Having gone to all the trouble to bring you back from the Netherworld I'm not about to abandon you now.”
“You know nothing about me!”
“I've seen how kind you are to my mother. And you're very beautiful. That's all I need to know.”
“But … I will grow old, I will …”
Horatius laughed. “I may be old before you are. I seem to be aging more rapidly than other men.”
“That will not matter to me.”
“Then why do you think it will matter to me?”
Fearful that someone in the city would recognize her, she started to protest further. Then she remembered how much she had changed.
If happiness is enough to keep a woman beautiful,
Justine thought to herself,
perhaps I have a chance.
“In Rome I can make a good living,” Horatius was saying, “and you can be a companion to my mother. Perhaps one day …” he stopped and shook his head. There would be time for that later. When he understood women better. “At any rate our worries are over,” he concluded. “We can enjoy some peace from now on.”
Khebet raised an eyebrow. “Peace? In Rome? I doubt that. Rome is many things—raw, new, greedy, exciting—but I cannot imagine it being peaceful.”
Rome
, mumbled Vesi. They had thought she was asleep. When she spoke her voice was so low, so strange, that at first they could not make out what she was saying.
“Your mother has not yet thrown off the effects of her terrible experience, Horatius,” Khebet suggested. “She is still haunted by it and having nightmares.”
Vesi stirred uneasily on her bed and spoke again. This time Horatius heard her clearly. She was repeating the words Pythia had said to Lars Porsena.
I will make you the scourge of Rome … and Rome in turn will scourge you.

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