The Etruscan (35 page)
“Doesn’t one of the Ionian sages teach that everything consists only of movement and currents and the tremor of fire?” I asked. “Herakleitos of Ephesus, if I remember correctly. Or do you think he borrowed his doctrine from the Persian?”
Xenodotos looked at me with respect and admitted, “You are a learned man. I would gladly have met Herakleitos in Ephesus, but he is said to have become embittered toward the world and to have withdrawn to the mountains to eat herbs. The King had a letter written in which he asked for the details of the doctrine, but Herakleitos rejected the letter. In fact, he stoned the messenger and refused to accept the gifts that had been left for him. The King, however, did not take offensc but said that the older he becomes and the better he learns to know people, the more he himself feels like bleating and eating grass.”
I laughed. “Your story is the best I have yet heard about the Great King. Perhaps I would want to be his friend had I myself not withdrawn to the forest and donned pelts.”
Xenodotos stroked his beard again and intimated, “We understand each other. Conclude your trade with the Etruscan and thereafter I want to enjoy your hospitality, see your home, become acquainted with the Siccanian chiefs, and talk more with you.”
I shook my head. “If you succeed in laying a hand on the sooty stone of a Siccanian’s hearth, you will enjoy his hospitality and that of his tribe to the end of your days. You see, the Siccani will not show themselves to strangers except in battle, and even then their chiefs wear wooden masks and the warriors paint their faces until they are unrecognizable.”
“Are they skilled warriors? What weapons do they use? And how many tribes and families are there?” he asked quickly.
Knowing that the Siccanians were watching me, I kicked at the sacks of salt brought by the Etruscan and pretended to inspect the cloth as I replied, “They are useless on the plains, and the sight of a horse or dog fills them with panic. But in their own forests they are incomparable warriors. They make arrowheads of flint and temper the metal tips of their wooden spears in fire. Iron is their most precious metal and they know how to forge it if they can only obtain it.”
To indicate what I meant, I opened a sack of salt and dug out an Etruscan knife and axe blade. When I held them up the entire forest seemed to stir. Xenodotos looked around in amazement, while the Etruscan boxed the ears of his servants and ordered them to hide their faces in the ground. Thereafter he willingly opened the sacks of salt and produced the iron objects that he had smuggled. We sat on the ground to bargain over them.
Soon Xenodotos grew impatient, jingled his pouch and asked, “How much do they cost? I will buy them and give them to the Siccanians so that we may proceed to our matter.”
His stupidity displeased me. Accepting the pouch I said, “Take a walk along the river and watch the flight of the birds with the merchant. Take the servants with you. When you return at midday you will know more about the Siccani.”
He became angry and called me a thief until the Etruscan seized him by the arm and pulled him away. When they had disappeared from sight the Siccanians appeared from the forest, accompanied by members of other tribes, also with their wares. When they saw the iron objects they flung their burdens to the ground and ran back for more. Those who had accompanied me began to dance the Siccanian sun dance in sheer joy.
By midday more than a hundred men had passed by the campfire to leave their wares, to which they had added game, wild ducks, a deer and fresh fish. But still no one touched the merchant’s goods for fear that the Siccanian wares did not suffice as payment. It was the merchant’s responsibility to separate the amount he deemed sufficient to pay for his goods.
To prove my honesty I also showed my tribal brothers the Persian gold coins in Xenodotos’ pouch, but they were not interested. They stared greedily only at the iron objects. I myself chose a razor shaped like a half moon since I needed one for transforming my appearance. It was of the finest Etruscan iron and effortlessly cut even a heavy beard without wounding the skin.
Upon his return Xenodotos saw the trampled area and the heaps of goods around the campfire. Now he believed me when I said that I could call forth a hundred or even a thousand Siccanians from the forest if need be. I explained that no one knew the total number of Siccanians, not even they themselves, but if it became a question of defending the forest against a conqueror, every tree would change into a Siccanian.
“The Siccani retreat only from the path of cultivated land, villages and cities,” I explained. “They will not begin a war of their own volition even against the Elymi. If they raid the Siculian and Elymian settlements in small groups, they are content to steal only a few goats and do not willingly kill anyone. But if the Segestan soldiers push their way into the forest with their dogs, the Siccani kill everyone they meet and in the most brutal manner.”
When he had had time to ponder on my words I returned his pouch and said, “I have counted your money and you have eighty-three gold coins of Darius as well as silver coins of various Greek cities. Apparently you don’t care to carry copper, so that even as a slave you are a noble. But keep your money. You cannot buy me for such a small sum. You may have my knowledge as a gift since it will probably rebound to the advantage of the Siccani. They would only make jewelry of the coins for their women and would value them no more than a shining feather or a colored stone.”
Innate Ionian greed struggled for a moment with the generosity that he had learned at the court of the Persian king. Then he overcame himself, extended the pouch once more to me and said, “Keep the money as a memento of me and a gift from the Great King.”
I told him that I accepted the money only in accordance with civilized custom, to spare him a refusal. However, I asked him to hold the pouch for me temporarily so that it would not be necessary for me to share its contents with the members of my tribe. Then I accepted some of the iron objects and a quantity of salt and colored cloth for the tribe but permitted the merchant to retain some of his supplies for the other tribes. My own tribe would have been suspicious had I received a better price than usual for their goods.
The Etruscan stored the wares that he had received under bark, and marked the place clearly, knowing that no Siccanian would touch it. Then he had his servants cook the game that the Siccanians had brought in an iron pot, salted it heavily, sacrificed some to his god Turnus, and spread the remainder on sprigs of fir. By then it was evening and he again took Xenodotos and the servants on a walk along the river. This time, however, they went armed, for at dusk the peaceful animals of the forest came to the river to drink and wild beasts lay in ambush. Like any civilized person Xenodotos greatly feared the darkening forest and jumped at every noise, but the merchant promised to shield him from the evil spirits of the Siccani. As evidence he showed the amulets that he wore around his neck and on his wrists, the most important of which was a bronze sea horse, green with mildew.
The sight of it made me tremble, but when the men had departed I signaled the Siccanians. They appeared silently, gulped down the salty food and peacefully shared the goods according to the needs of each. The priest of the tribe had come to view the strangers from curiosity but chose nothing for himself, since he knew that he could always obtain whatever he needed and did not wish to burden himself unnecessarily.
I said to him, “The stranger accompanying the merchant comes from the east beyond the sea and has good intentions toward the Siccani. He is my friend and inviolable. Protect him on his journey through the forests. He is a clever man among his own kind but in the forest a snake may bite his buttock if he steps from the path to take care of his needs.”
“Your blood is our blood,” conceded the priest, and I knew that unseen eyes would watch over Xenodotos and that the youths of the tribe-would protect him from all danger as he accompanied the merchant on his round.
The Siccanians picked up their goods and disappeared as silently as they had come while I remained by the glowing embers of the fire. The forest darkened, the night cooled and the fish made glimmering circles in the river. I heard the cooing of wood doves ceaselessly until finally a whole flock fluttered into flight just above me so that I felt the breath of air from their wings.
That was the final sign. Sated and content, I knew that all was well. Artemis as Hecate had fulfilled her promise and Aphrodite jealously wished to indicate that she had not abandoned me either.
I remembered my guardian spirit’s winged body of fire, and at that moment it seemed as though she were within arm’s reach. My heart glowed and I extended my arms to embrace her. Then, on the border between slumber and wakefulness, I felt the touch of slender fingertips on my bare shoulder and knew that she also had given me her sign although she could not appear because I was unprepared. Never have I experienced anything more glorious than the touch of my guardian Spirit’s fingertips on my shoulder. It was like the flick of a flame.
When I heard the approaching steps of the Tyrrhenian and his companions I stirred the fire and added some of the wood that the Siccanians had brought, for the cooing of doves augured a cold night. Despite their woolen mantles Xenodotos and the merchant shivered with cold and hastened to the fire to chafe their limbs.
“Whence do you come and where do you obtain your salt?” I asked the Etruscan, to pass the time while waiting for Xenodotos to open our conversation. I did not wish to appear too anxious.
The Etruscan shrugged his shoulders and replied, “I come from the north beyond the sea and will return with the south wind directly home so that I will not have to follow the shores of Italy and pay taxes to the Greek cities. The Greeks make their own salt in Sicily but mine is cheaper.”
From my purse I took the sea horse of black carved stone which Lars Alsir had sent to me upon our departure from Himera. I showed it to him and asked, “Do you recognize this?”
He whistled as though calling for the wind, raised his right hand, touched his forehead with the left and demanded, “How have you, a Siccanian, obtained such a sacred object?” He asked to hold it, stroked its worn surface and finally asked to buy it from me.
“No,” I said. “You know well that such objects are not sold. In the name of the black sea horse I ask you to tell me exactly whence you come and where you obtain your salt.”
“Do you intend to compete with me?” he asked. But the very thought made him laugh. No one had ever heard of Siccanians sailing the seas. Their boats were tree trunks hollowed by fire or reed rafts with which they crossed rivers.
“I get my salt from the mouth of one of the great rivers of my homeland,” he told me. “We Etruscans have two large rivers of which this is the southerly one. The salt is dried on the shores of the sea, but higher up the river is the city of Rome which we founded. The salt road leading across the Etruscan country begins there.”
“Up the river, you said.” My curiosity was whetted and I remembered the willow leaf which had fallen before me onto the surface of the spring.
The Tyrrhenian’s face darkened. “Yes, that city was ours and we built a bridge across the river. Several decades ago the mixed peoples populating the city banished the last Etruscan king who was of the cultured house of the Tarquins. Now the notorious and the criminal seek refuge in Rome. Its customs are crude, its laws severe, and all that they know about deities is what they learned under our kings.”
“Why don’t you retake it from the usurpers?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You don’t understand our customs. Among us each city rules itself as it wishes. We have kings, tyrants and democracies like the Greeks. Only the inland cities are still ruled by Lucumones, and Tarquinius of Rome was not a holy Lucumo. Each autumn the leaders of our twelve cities gather on the shores of our sacred lake, and it was at such a meeting that the banished Tarquinius spoke on his own behalf and lots were drawn for Rome. When no one accepted the lot, the famous inland ruler Lars Porsenna finally took it. He conquered Rome but relinquished it because of the conspiracies against his life by the youths of the city.”
“You have no love for Rome,” I observed.
“I am a wandering salt merchant who obtains his salt from the merchants of Rome,” he replied. “A trader does not love or hate anything so long as he makes a profit. However, the Romans are not people of the sea horse, but people of the wolf.”
The hairs of my neck stood on end as I remembered the sign I had received. “What do you mean by ‘people of the wolf?”
“According to their tale the city was founded by twin brothers whose mother was the virgin of the sacred flame in a city farther up the river. The girl claimed that the god of war had made her pregnant. The city’s Lucumo had the newborn placed in a willow basket which was tossed into the flooding river. The basket floated to the foot of a hill where a she-wolf found the babies, took them to a cave and there suckled them with its own cubs. If that is true, some god may well have made the girl pregnant and thus have protected his heirs. But it is more probable that their father was of alien blood, for when the boys were grown, one murdered the other and he in turn was murdered by the people of the city they had founded. The Etruscans then took over the government and brought order to Rome. But no Lucumo was willing to rule so violent a city, hence its rulers were merely kings under the Tarquinian Lucumo.”
Although the Tyrrhenian’s tale was alarming I did not hesitate, for the signs were too clear to be misunderstood. The willow leaf meant a river, the wolf cub Rome, and the birds had flown northward with loud honkings. There I must flee with my family, nor would I have anything to fear in a city which, after banishing its king, welcomed even criminals and outlaws.
Xenodotos had been listening to our conversation impatiently and asked finally, “What are you talking about so busily, or have you already tired of conversing with me, you civilized Siccanian?”