The Etruscan (34 page)

Both Hiuls and Misme were captivated by the woolly cub, but the cat crept around it with arched back. I kicked the cat away and asked Hanna to milk the goat which the Siccanians had stolen from the Elymi. The cub was so hungry that it greedily sucked the goat’s milk as Hanna thrust her fingers into the cup for it. The children laughed and clapped their hands and I laughed also.

At that moment I realized what a beautiful maiden Hanna had become. Her brown limbs were straight and smooth, her eyes large and bright and her mouth smiling. She was wearing a flower in her hair and that is probably why I looked at her with different eyes.

Arsinoe followed my glance, nodded and said, “We will get a good price for her when we sell her upon our departure.”

Her words pierced me, for I had no desire to sell Hanna in some coastal city for travel funds, no matter how good a position she might attain as the plaything of some wealthy merchant. But I knew that it was wisest not to let Arsinoe notice my fondness for the girl who had so willingly shared the dangers of the Siccanian forest and had served us and cared for our children.

So certain was Arsinoe of her power over me and of her beauty that she ordered Hanna to uncover her body and show herself from front and rear so that I might observe for myself what fine merchandise we had obtained as a gift.

Hanna avoided my eyes in shame, although she tried to hold her chin up. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands, burst into sobs and ran out of the cave. Her weeping frightened the children so that they forgot their games. The cat took advantage of the situation, snatched the wolf cub in its teeth and slipped out.

When I finally found it, it had killed the helpless cub and was gnawing on it. In blind fury I seized a rock and crushed the cat’s head. As I did so I realized that I had always secretly hated the animal. It was as though, in killing the cat, I had freed myself of evil that had been haunting me.

I looked around to make certain that I was unobserved, found a crevice in the ground, quickly thrust the carcass into it and stopped it with a rock. As I bent to tear some moss with which to cover the evidence, I noticed that Hanna had approached silently and was scratching the ground as zealously as I.

Guiltily I looked at her and confessed, “I killed the cat in anger, although I didn’t mean to.”

Hanna nodded. “That was good,” she whispered.

We scattered moss and leaves over the spot and as we did so our hands touched. The touch of her trusting girl’s hand felt pleasant.

“I don’t intend to tell Arsinoe that I killed it,” I said.

Hanna looked at me with flashing eyes. “You don’t have to tell her,” she assured me. “The cat has often disappeared into the forest for nights at a time and our mistress has feared that it has fallen prey to a wild beast.”

“Hanna,” I asked, “do you realize that by sharing a secret with me you bind yourself to me?”

She raised her eyes, looked at me bravely and said, “Turms, I bound myself to you when I was a little girl, that night when you took me in your lap on the steps of the dog Krimisos’ temple.”

“This secret is insignificant,” I said, “and only for the purpose of avoiding an unnecessary quarrel, you understand. Never before have I deliberately lied to Arsinoe.”

I warmed to the brightness of her eyes, although I certainly did not desire her. Indeed, the thought did not even enter my mind that I could ever desire any other woman than Arsinoe. Hanna probably realized it, for she bowed her head humbly and rose so suddenly that the flower in her hair fell to the ground at my feet.

“Is it a lie, Turms, if one keeps secret what one knows?” she asked, moving the flower with her brown toes.

“It probably depends on the person himself,” I said. “I myself know that I would be lying to Arsinoe if I let her believe that the cat disappeared and did not tell her that I killed it in rage. But sometimes it is kindest to refrain from saying what will hurt another, even though the lie will burn one’s heart.”

Absently she touched her heart, listened to it for a moment and conceded, “Yes, Turms, the lie is burning my heart, and I feel its sting.” Then she smiled oddly, tilted her head and exclaimed, “How gloriously the lie burns my heart because of you, Turms!”

Quickly she ran away. We returned to the cave by separate paths and did not speak of the matter again. Arsinoe mourned her cat but she had enough to do with the two children. Nor did she mourn the cat for its own sake but from sheer vanity, since she had lost what no one else among the Siccani possessed.

Primarily I was troubled by a gnawing restlessness and the omens which I was as yet unable to interpret. I knew that I had to depart soon but had no idea in which direction to go. I didn’t even have the means with which to return to civilization where one could purchase hospitality if one had no friends. My only friend was Lars Alsir, if he still lived in Himera. But a return to Himera would have meant certain death since both Arsinoe and I were known there. Besides, I was already indebted to Lars Alsir and the thought of the debt troubled me.

I realized that I was just as poor as when Tanakil had banished us from Segesta, for like the Siccani I possessed only the clothes I wore and my weapons.

In my anxiety I reproached the succoring goddess, saying “Holy virgin, the Amazons hung their breasts on your garments as offerings. You have succored me and my family so that we have not wanted for food or clothing. But you yourself appeared to me in Ephesus as Hecate and promised that I would never lack earthly riches whenever I needed them. Remember your promise, for now I need gold and silver.”

A few days later, near the full of the moon, Artemis appeared to me in a dream as Hecate. I saw her three terrifying faces, she was waving a trident and a black dog was barking furiously at her feet. My whole body was enveloped in cold sweat when I awakened, for even in a kindly mood Hecate is an awesome sight. But the trident confirmed my belief that I must sail across the sea.

I was filled with such elation that I could no longer sleep but went out into the forest. By the sacrificial rock I met several Siccanians who were looking and listening in every direction. They claimed that strangers were approaching.

“Let us go toward them so that we will surely meet,” I suggested. “Perhaps they are bringing salt and cloth.”

On a bank of the river we found an Etruscan merchant who had brought salt in a small sailboat to Panormos, where he paid his taxes, and from there transported the salt by donkey to the forests of the Siccani. He was accompanied by three slaves and servants. They had built a fire for the night to protect themselves from the wild beasts and to indicate their peaceful intentions. They had likewise ornamented the donkeys and sacks of salt with fir branches and themselves slept with a fir branch clutched tightly in one hand. The Siccanian forest had a frightening reputation although the Siccani had not within the memory of man killed any merchant who ventured into their territory under the protection of a fir branch.

When dawn broke I could hardly contain my impatience, for beside the Tyrrhenian merchant I saw a strange man sleeping under a beautifully loomed woolen mantle. His beard was curly and the fragrance of fine oils carried to my nostrils. I could not understand what such a man could be doing in the Siccanian forest with a lowly merchant.

I watched him while the day grew lighter and the fish began to leap in the calm waters of the river. Finally the stranger turned in his sleep, awakened, and sat upright with a cry of terror. Seeing the Siccanians with their striped faces sitting silently by the fire he screamed again and reached for die weapon beside him.

The merchant awakened instantly and reassured the man, while the Siccanians rose and disappeared silently into the forest as though the earth had swallowed them, leaving me to bargain with the merchant as was their custom. Nevertheless, I knew that they saw and heard all I did even though we could not see them. Their habit of painting stripes on their faces enabled them to remain invisible, for at first sight one would believe an immobile Siccanian to be but the shadows of reeds or bushes.

When the stranger arose, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, I noticed that he was wearing loose trousers. I knew then that he had come far and that he served the Persian king. He was still young, his skin was white, and he soon donned a broad-brimmed straw hat to shield his face from the heat of the sun.

He asked in amazement, “Was I dreaming, or did I really see trees walking away from the campfire? At least I saw a strange god in my dream and was so alarmed that I awakened to my own cry.”

In his bewilderment he spoke Greek, which the Etruscan did not understand. Not wishing to reveal that I was not a Siccanian, I replied to him in Greek mixed with Elymian and Siccanian words.

“How far have you come, stranger?” I asked. “Your clothes are odd. What are you doing in our forest? You are certainly not a merchant. Are you a priest or a seer, or are you fulfilling a vow?”

“I am fulfilling a vow,” he replied quickly, happy that I spoke comprehensible Greek. The Etruscan understood little of what the man said, although he had permitted the other to accompany him for payment, as I learned. I pretended to lose interest in the stranger and began to talk to the merchant, tasting his salt and looking at his cloth. With a wink he indicated that he had concealed iron objects in the sacks of salt. He had presumably bribed the customs man of Panormos, for the Carthaginian tax collectors were not much concerned with the Elymian ban against selling iron to the Siccani.

With the Tyrrhenian I spoke the jargon of the sea, which contained Greek, Phoenician and Etruscan words. Because of this he believed me to be a Siccanian who as a boy had been caught and sold as a galley slave and who had returned to the forest at the first opportunity. Finally I asked him about the stranger.

He shook his head scornfully. “He is just a mad Greek who is wandering from east to west to familiarize himself with the different countries and peoples. He is buying useless objects, and I think he is interested in Siccanian flint knives and wooden bowls. Sell him whatever trash you wish so long as you pay me my commission. He doesn’t know how to bargain and it’s no sin to deceive him. After all, he is a pampered man who doesn’t know how to dispose of his money.”

The stranger watched us suspiciously and when he caught my eye explained hastily, “I am not a lowborn man. You will benefit more by listening to me than by robbing me.” Tempting me as one would a barbarian, he jingled his money pouch.

I kissed my hand, not from respect toward him but in gratitude to the goddess who as Hecate had not deserted me. But I shook my head and replied, “We Siccanians do not use money.”

He spread his hands. “Then choose what you will from among the merchant’s goods and I will pay him. He understands the value of money.”

“I cannot accept gifts before I know what is going on,” I said gloomily. “I suspect you because of the garments you wear. I have never seen any like them before.”

“I am a servant of the Persian king,” he explained. “That is why I wear these garments which are called trousers. I come from Susa, which is his city, and I sailed from lonia as the companion of Messina’s former tyrant, Skythes. But the people of Messina apparently do not want Skythes, preferring to obey Anaxilaos of Rhegion instead. So I am wandering around Sicily for my own pleasure and to increase my knowledge of the various peoples.”

I said nothing. He looked at me intently, then shook his head and asked mournfully, “Do you understand at all what I am saying?”

“I understand more than you think,” I replied. “After all, Skythes dug the pit for himself by inviting settlers from Samos to found a new colony. But what does the Great King hope to benefit from Skythes?”

He was elated to discover that I knew something of politics. “My name is Xenodotos,” he explained. “I am an Ionian and a pupil of the famous historian Hecataeus, but I became a slave of the King during the war.”

At my look of loathing he hastened to say, “Don’t misunderstand me. I am a slave in name only. If Skythes had regained Messina, I would have become his adviser. Skythes fled to Susa because the King is the friend of all exiles. He is also a friend of knowledge, and his Crotonian physician has awakened his interest in the Greek cities of Italy and Sicily. But the King is interested in all other peoples as well, even in those of whom he has not yet heard, and is ready to send gifts to their leaders and to know more of them.”

He looked at me closely, stroked his curly beard and continued, “In enlarging his knowledge of the world’s peoples, the King is enlarging the whole sphere of knowledge and thus serves humanity. Among his treasures is a copy of Hecataeus’ map of the world etched in bronze, but in his thirst for knowledge he wants to know even the shore lines, the course of the rivers, the forests and mountains of the various countries. Nothing is too insignificant for him to learn, since the gods have destined him to be the father of all peoples.”

“He treated the Ionian cities in a paternal manner indeed,” I observed sarcastically. “Especially Miletus, the most gifted of his children.”

Xenodotos demanded suspiciously, “How have you learned to speak Greek, you Siccanian with the painted face? What do you know about lonia?”

I thought it best to boast. “I even know how to read and write and have sailed to many lands. Why and how it happened is no concern of yours, stranger, but I know more than you think.”

He became even more interested. “If that is so, and you really know and understand matters, you surely realize that even a lenient father is compelled to chastise his obstinate children. So much for Miletus. But to his friends the King is a most generous master, wise and just.”

“You are forgetting the envy of the gods, Xenodotos,” I said.

“We are living in new times,” he replied. “Let us leave the tales about the gods to the babblers. The sages of lonia know better. The only god served by the King is fire. Everything has its origin in fire and ultimately returns to it. But of course the King respects the deities of the peoples he rules and sends gifts to their temples.”