The Etruscan (31 page)

Arsinoe agreed. “Don’t hurt Dorieus by choosing a name hastily. It will be better for us and for the boy also if Dorieus names him.”

I was not happy to have Dorieus interfere in matters that were not his concern. He seemed as bemused as I, watched the child with interest and even gave an offering of thanks in the temple which he had robbed from the Phoenicians’ god of fire and dedicated to Herakles.

As spring came, with its bright rains and violent storms that felled trees in the forests, Dorieus became increasingly gloomy. He began to stare at me peculiarly, and frequently I would come upon him watching the child and talking with Arsinoe. As soon as I entered they would stop and Arsinoe would begin chattering about something foolish.

With the approach of the full moon I grew restless, had bad dreams and began to walk in my sleep, something which had never happened to me before. I felt that Artemis was haunting me and tried many ways to avoid leaving the room at night, but nothing helped. Most alarming was the fact that Arsinoe’s cat always followed me, slipping out of the door behind me. I would awaken in the middle of the street when it rubbed its head against my bare leg.

Once again I awakened in the middle of the night with the moon shining on my face. I saw that I was standing by the pen of the holy dog Krimisos and that on the stone step sat the beggar girl whom Tanakil had called from the crowd to care for the dog. Chin in hand she stared at the moon as though under its spell. I was touched to think that someone else was awake because of the moon, even though that someone was but a little girl. During the yearly celebration she had been legally married to the holy dog in accordance with tradition, had baked a wedding cake and had shared it with the dog. Since then she had lived around the pen and, like the slaves and servants, had been fed from the king’s kettles. She had nowhere else to go, for she was a lowborn girl and had lost her parents.

“Why are you awake, litle girl?” I asked, sitting beside her on the stone step.

“I am not a little girl,” she replied. “I am ten years old. Besides, I am the wife of the dog Krimisos and a holy woman.”

“What is your name, holy woman?”

“Egesta,” she said proudly. “You should know that, Turms. But my real name is Hanna. That is why people throw stones at me on the street and shout insults.”

“Why are you awake?” I asked again.

She looked at me in distress. “Krimisos is ill. He just lies still and breathes heavily and doesn’t eat anything. I think he’s too old and doesn’t want to live any longer. If he dies, the people will blame me.” ,She showed me the bites on her thin arms, sobbed and said, “He doesn’t even want me to touch him any more, although we were such good friends. I think that his ears are sore, for he often shakes his head. But if I touch him he bites.”

The girl opened the door and showed me the holy old dog panting heavily on its straw, an untouched bowl of water by its muzzle. It opened its eyes but did not even have the strength to bare its fangs when Arsinoe’s cat slipped like a shadow into the pen and began to circle the holy dog. The cat thereupon lapped at the water, was reassured, rubbed its side against the dog’s neck and gently began to lick its ear. The dog permitted it to do so.

“This is a miracle!” I cried. “It must be that holy animals recognize each other. The cat is so holy that in Egypt any person who harms one is instantly killed. Why it is holy I do not know.”

The girl said in amazement, “My, husband is ill and suffering and I cannot comfort him but a cat can. Is it your cat?”

“No,” I replied, “it belongs to my wife, Arsinoe.”

“You mean Istafra,” corrected the girl, “the priestess who fled from Eryx. Is she supposed to be your wife?”

“Of course she is. We even have a son. You must have seen him.”

The girl stifled a titter with her palm, then became serious again. “Is he really your son? It is Dorieus who carries him in his lap while the woman follows, holding onto the king’s robe. But she is a beautiful woman, that I do not deny.”

I laughed. “Dorieus is our friend and fond of the boy since he has not an heir of his own. But both the boy and the wife are mine.”

The girl shook her head in disbelief, then looked at me. “If I were more beautiful, would you take me in your lap and hold me close? I feel like crying.”

Her thin girl’s face moved me. I touched her cheek and said, “Of course I will take you in my lap and comfort you. I myself am often unhappy even though I have a wife and son, or perhaps because of that.”

I lifted her onto my lap, she pressed her tearstained cheek against my chest, wound her arms around my neck and sighed deeply. “It feels so good. No one has held me like this since my mother died. I like you more than Dorieus or that bloated Mikon. When I asked him to look at the dog he said he took care only of people and wanted to know who would pay him. Yes,” she repeated, “I like you very much because you are good to me. Doesn’t this make you think of anything?”

“No,” I said absently.

Suddenly she squeezed me hard. “Turms, I am hard-working and willing to learn, I can stand beatings and I eat little. If the dog dies, won’t you take me under your protection, if only to care for your son?”

I looked at her in surprise. “I can talk to Arsinoe about it,” I promised finally. “Do you know how to take care of children?”

“I have even taken care of a prematurely born boy and kept him alive on goat’s milk when his own mother spurned him,” she said. “I can spin and weave, wash clothes, prepare food, and prophesy from chicken bones. I could be very useful to you but I would rather be beautiful.”

I looked at her dark face and bright girl’s eyes and explained gently, “Every young woman is beautiful if she wants to be. You should learn to bathe like the Greeks, to keep your clothes clean and comb your hair.”

She drew back. “I don’t even have a comb,” she confessed, “and this is my only dress. For the festivities I was washed and combed, anointed and clothed, but the festive garments were taken away as soon as the wedding cake had been eaten. I cannot go naked to the well to wash this.”

“Tomorrow I shall bring you a comb and one of my wife’s old garments,” I promised. But I forgot.

The next day was oppressively hot, as though it were midsummer, the sun was scorching and the air still. The dogs howled restlessly in their pens and many broke loose, fleeing from the city. Flocks of birds swirled up from the forest and flew toward the blue mountains. Tanakil’s sons came to consult their mother, withdrawing with her inside four walls.

Then, before the hour of rest, Dorieus summoned Arsinoc and had her bring the boy.

“It is time for the goddess to appear,” he said harshly. “I have listened to excuses too long. Prove that you are still a priestess and show your skill. You must decide whether or not I launch a military expedition against Eryx tomorrow.”

I tried to discourage him. “Are you mad or just drunk, Dorieus? Surely you wouldn’t deliberately start a war with Carthage?”

Arsinoe whispered to me, “Don’t say anything rash that might excite him. I’ll try to calm him for he trusts me.”

Body dripping with sweat from the heat, I waited behind the door. Their voices came to me in a confused mumble as though they were arguing.

Finally the door creaked and Arsinoe appeared, crushing our sleeping boy to her. Her face was wet with tears.

“Turms,” she whispered in agony, “Dorieus is stark mad. He thinks that he is a god and that I am the sea goddess Thetis. I finally succeeded in putting him to sleep. He is snoring now, but as soon as he awakens he will kill both you and Tanakil.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “You are the one who is mad, Arsinoe. The heat has unbalanced your mind. What reason has he to kill me, even if he is tired of Tanakil?”

Arsinoe groaned and covered her eyes. “The fault is mine,” she confessed, “although I meant it for the best and didn’t think that he would go so far. You see, for one reason or another, Dorieus believes the boy to be his and because of that wants Tanakil and you out of the way so that he can marry me. But I never intended this. My plan was entirely different.”

I shook her arm. “What had you planned and whatever gave Dorieus the idea that our son is his?”

“Don’t shout,” begged Arsinoe. “It is just like you to seize on trivial details when your life is at stake. You know how stubborn Dorieus is when he gets an idea. He himself noticed that the boy supposedly resembles him, whereupon in jest I painted a mark on the boy’s thigh to resemble the birthmark which true descendants of Herakles are said to bear. But I didn’t think that Dorieus would turn against you. I did it only so that he would make the boy his heir.”

Seeing my face, she pulled herself free and said, “If you hit me I shall awaken Dorieus. I thought he had sense enough to conceal his feelings, but he covets me and hates you so since the birth of the boy that he no longer wants to breathe the same air with you.”

My thoughts were like a swarm of angry wasps. I should have guessed that behind her apparent docility Arsinoe had been scheming a more dangerous plot than one involving merely clothes and jewels. In my heart I knew that she spoke the truth and that Dorieus planned to kill me. A sudden chill came over me.

“I suppose you hope that I will slit his throat while he sleeps. But first tell me how you succeeded in quieting him.”

Arsinoe opened her eyes and said innocently, “I merely held his hand and assured him that he would meet the goddess in his dreams. What is it that you suspect, Turms?” Then she paled. “If you have ever doubted my love for you, you can do so no longer, for it would have been more advantageous for me to remain silent and let him kill you. But I could not bear to lose you. Neither do I want harm to come to Tanakil although she has so often hurt me.”

That last sentence she added presumably because she noticed Tanakil’s approach.

“I can thank you, Istafra, for my marriage but also for my misfortune. You have tried to bite off more than you can swallow, and I hope that you choke on it. I suspect also that you used your wiles at sea, for why else should Dorieus have begun to rave about that white-limbed Thetis?”

“Tanakil,” I warned her, “don’t talk nonsense even though you hate Arsinoe. During the voyage Arsinoe was sick and smelled vile, she was wet from the brine and unable to care for her beauty. She could have had nothing to do with Dorieus’ visions.”

My words wounded her vanity. “What do you know about the goddess’s miracles, Turms?” she demanded angrily. “Tanakil is much wiser. I assure you that everything happened as was meant, for the goddess has always yearned to assume a sea guise.”

Tanakil looked at me shrewdly and advised, “You would be wise to take that candlestick and smash Arsinoe’s head. Thereby you would spare yourself much grief. But it is useless for us to chatter. What do you intend to do, Turms?”

“Yes,” demanded Arsinoe, “what do you intend to do?”

I became even more confused. “Is it my duty to solve the problem that you have created? So be it. I will fetch my sword and run it through his throat, although not gladly, for he has been my friend.”

“Yes, do that,” urged Arsinoe eagerly, “and while you are about it, seize the dog crown, win the soldiers to your side, pacify the council of Carthage and make me the priestess of Eryx by peaceful means. I could not ask for more than that.”

Tanakil shook her head in pity. “It would not go well with you, Turms, if Dorieus were to be found with his throat slit. But have no fear. I have seen three husbands to the grave and I dare say I have the strength to bury yet a fourth. It is my duty to perform this last service for him before he takes my life and plunges all Eryx into disaster. Go your way, both of you, take the accursed bastard with you and pretend that you are aware of nothing.”

She sent us to our room, where we sat silently with folded hands. I stared at our son and tried to find something in his infant face that might have given Dorieus reason to believe the boy his. But look as I might, I could see only that his mouth was mine and his nose Arsinoe’s.

Suddenly the earth rumbled with a noise more terrifying than any I had ever heard. The ground beneath us shook, the floor cracked, and the sound of crumbling walls reached our ears. Arsinoe snatched the boy into her arms while I shielded her with my body as we rushed into the street through the twisted gate. Arsinoe’s cat swished by us in terror.

Again the ground shook and walls cracked. Then the sky darkened, the wind began to blow and the air suddenly cooled.

“Dorieus is dead,” I said slowly. “This land was his, and it quivered at his passing. Perhaps he really was descended from the gods, although it was difficult to believe that when he smelled of human sweat and shed human blood.”

“Dorieus is dead,” Arsinoe repeated, then asked quickly, “What will become of us now, Turms?”

Frightened people were carrying things out of their houses, while beasts of burden ran wildly through the streets. But as the wind blew the air freshened and it was as though I were once again free.

Tanakil came out of the king’s residence. She had torn her clothes as a sign of grief, and in her hair was some rubble from the housetop. Her sons followed her, arguing loudly as always.

Arsinoe and I went with them to Dorieus’ room where Mikon with his physician’s case was studying the body in amazement. Dorieus lay on the couch, his face black, tongue swollen and lips blistered.

Mikon said slowly, “If it were summer and the time for wasps I would swear that a wasp had bitten his tongue. That happens to a drunkard who falls asleep with his mouth open or to a child who crams a wasp into his mouth with berries. But whatever the reason, Dorieus’ tongue has swelled and choked him.”

Tanakil’s sons cried out with one voice, “This is fate and a singular coincidence! We remember well that our father died in almost exactly the same manner. His tongue also swelled and his face blackened.”

Tanakil stared at Dorieus’ blackened face and body that was divinely tall even in death. “Nothing matters to me any more, but don’t you dare touch Turms.” She turned her aged, sorrow-lined face toward Arsinoe. “Turms may leave in peace, but we will send that goddess’s harlot back to the temple to pay the penalty for her flight. She is a temple slave and her son also is a slave and as such the property of the temple. Let them castrate the boy and train him to be a priest or a dancer. But first they must punish the woman as befits an escaped slave.”