The Etruscan (56 page)

“You recognize your mother,” she said. “Why don’t you greet your.father?”

I shook my head in bewilderment. “I have never known my father or my origin.”

Hierofila began to speak in a godlike voice. “My son, you will know yourself when you lay your hand on the round summit of your father’s tombstone. I see your lake, I see your mountain, I see your city. Seek and you will find. Knock and it will be opened unto you. And when you return from the sealed gate remember me.”

Suddenly she exclaimed, “Look behind you!”

I did so but saw nothing, although the flames which blazed brightly in the draft illumined every corner of the cave. I shook my head.

In apparent amazement Hierofila placed her palm on my forehead and urged, “Look again. Do you not see the goddess? Taller and fairer than mortals, she is looking at you and extending her arms. A mural crown is on her head. She is the moon goddess and also the goddess of the fountain. She is the goddess of foam and deer, cypress and myrtle.”

I looked again but saw no goddess with a mural crown. Instead, another form began to take shape before my eyes—a stiff form, bent forward like a vessel’s prow, grew from the stone wall of the cave. It was tightly robed in white and its face was sheathed in bandages. Silent, motionless, the shape leaned forward stiffly. Its position was expectant and indicative.

Hierofila took her hand from my forehead and asked tremblingly, “What do you see?”

“He is motionless,” I said. “His face is wrapped in linen bands and he is indicating the north.”

At that moment the roar in my ears became supernal, whiteness dazzled my eyes and I fell unconscious to the ground. When I awakened I seemed to be flying through space with the starry sky above and the earth below, the roar still echoing in my ears. Only when I opened my eyes did I realize that I was lying on the stone floor of the cave while Hierofila knelt beside me chafing my hands and the girl was wiping my forehead and temples with a cloth dipped in wine.

Hierofila said in her quavering old woman’s voice, “Your arrival has been predicted and you have been recognized. But don’t tie your heart to the earth. Search only for yourself that you may acknowledge yourself, you immortal.”

I ate bread and drank wine with her as she told me about her visions. Then when I finally stepped out of the cave a ray of sunlight struck a tiny pebble on the ground before me. It was a dull white transparent pebble with an oval shape and as I placed it among the other stones of my life in the pouch around my neck for the first time I comprehended that the picking up of the pebble signified the end of one era in my life and the beginning of another.

Making my way from the cave in a daze, I rejoined my comrades and together we returned to the city where Demadotos interpreted the oracle’s prophecy in his own way. He allowed us to sail from Cumae, but first he removed the emblems from our vessels and carefully put them in his treasure vault without sending them to Gelon. Nor did we care about the emblems; nothing made any difference so long as we could leave that unfriendly city.

In the harbor of Tarquinia we handed our leaking vessels over to the guards. When we went on shore, however, the people did not greet us but turned their backs and covered their heads. The alleys emptied before us. Such sorrow did we bring to the land of the Etruscans. And so we parted silently from one another in the harbor.

I myself accompanied the ten or so Tarquinian survivors to the city, where Lars Arnth received us with deep concern but without a word of reproach. He merely listened to our story and gave us gifts. When the others had left he asked me to remain.

“It is useless for even the bravest man to struggle against Fate, which not even the gods control. I mean the gods whose number and holy names we know and to whom we sacrifice. The veiled gods, whom we don’t know, are above everything, perhaps even above Fate.”

“Blame me, abuse me, strike me,” I begged. “I would feel better.”

Lars Arnth smiled his sadly beautiful smile and said, “You are not to blame, Turms. You were merely the messenger. But I am in a difficult position. The leaders of our four hundred families are divided, with those who are friendly toward the Greeks censuring me bitterly for having needlessly antagonized them. Imported goods have become more expensive and the Attic vases that we are accustomed to placing in our rulers’ tombs are obtainable only at usurious prices. Who could have foretold the Greeks’ success against the Persian king? But I believe they are only using our expedition to Sicily as a pretext to destroy our trade.”

He laid his hands on my shoulders and continued: “Far too many of our people already admire Greek culture and adopt the spirit of skepticism and derision that everywhere accompanies the Greeks. Only the inland cities are still sacred, for our seaports are unholy and poisoned. Don’t remain in Tarquinia, Turms, for soon you may be stoned as a stranger who interfered in Etruscan affairs.”

I opened my robe and showed him the barely healed wound in my side and the blisters in my palms. “At least I have risked my life for the Etruscan cause,” I said bitterly. “It is not my fault that I was lucky and returned alive.”

Lars Arnth looked uncomfortable, avoided my eyes and said, “To me you are not a stranger, Turms. I know better and recognize you just as my father immediately recognized you. But for political reasons I must avoid trouble. Not even for your own sake would I wish an unknowing people to stone you.”

He banished me from his city with assurances of friendship although as a wealthy man he did not realize that I had been impoverished. I had long since used the gold chain that Xenodotos had given me, for in Cumae we survivors had shared everything. I had to sell my notched sword and dented shield in Tarquinia and as the wintery winds blew down from the mountains I wandered on foot to Rome by way of Caere, for I was too thin and feverish to work my passage on a cargo vessel.

When I finally stood at the top of Janiculum and looked down on the yellow river, the bridge, the wall and the temples beyond, I saw that the destruction had extended as far as Rome. But in the midst of the wasteland I found my own summer house unharmed, and Misme ran toward me on brown legs, her eyes shining with happiness.

“We have lived through alarming times,” she explained. “We didn’t even have time to flee to Rome as you suggested. But the men of Veii thrust holy stakes in our yard and thereafter no one disturbed us or even stole our cattle. We have had a good harvest and hidden it. Now we will become wealthy, for the price of grain has risen in Rome. Surely, now that we have taken such good care of everything, you will buy me a new garment and shoes for my feet.”

I realized that my house had been spared through the thoughtfulness of Lars Arnth. But in meaning well he did me only harm, for as soon as I stepped on the bridge to Rome I was arrested, turned over to a lictor, and placed in a dungeon in the Mamertine prison. On cold nights the water on the floor of the cell froze, rotting straw was my bed, and I had to fight with the rats for the food which I myself had to supply. My fever increased, I had hallucinations, and when I rarely regained my senses I thought I was dying.

Because of my illness I could not be tried and condemned. In truth, the officials considered me an insignificant person and my arrest was merely a political move to provide the people with a scapegoat in the unsuccessful war. Little attention was paid me and the consuls were unconcerned about my fate.

But I did not die. My fever diminished and one morning I awakened with a clear head but so weak that I could hardly raise a hand. When the guard saw that I had recovered he permitted Misme to see me. Day after day she had walked the long distance to the city and back again after waiting in vain at the prison gate. But the food that she had brought me saved my life, for the guard said that I had eaten and drunk during my lucid moments although I did not remember it.

Upon seeing me Misme burst into tears, sank onto the dirty straw and fed me with her own hands, forcing down every mouthful and compelling me to drink a little wine. When I had regained my senses I warned her against coming to the prison since the officials might arrest her also, child though she was.

Misme stared at me with frightened eyes. “I don’t think I am a child any more. I understand much that I didn’t understand before.”

My pride forbade me to inform Arsinoe of my plight nor did I wish to create difficulties for her. Although Misme did not tell me I knew that I would be charged with treason, the strongest evidence against me being my house which stood while others around it had been destroyed. Why would the Veian soldiers have spared my small farm unless I had done them some service? My position would become even worse when the hearing would reveal that I had participated in a military expedition to Sicily with the Etruscans. Indeed, had I been a Roman citizen I would probably have been flogged and beheaded despite my illness. But I had never applied for citizenship. On the contrary, I had joined the guild of teachers, which the Romans despised, solely to avoid citizenship.

I feared for Misme more than for myself. My land and cattle would undoubtedly be confiscated by the state and I myself at best banished from Rome. True, I still had the golden bull’s-head—a fortune in itself— hidden in the ground, but if I tried to bribe some official he would keep the gold and its possession would be considered even stronger evidence against me.

After long consideration I said, “Dear Misme, don’t return any more to the farm but seek refuge in your mother’s house. You are her daughter and she can protect you. But say nothing of me. Explain only that I have disappeared and that because of it you are in need.”

“I will never seek Arsinoe’s protection!” cried Misme. “I don’t even want to call her my mother. I would rather become a shepherdess or sell myself as a slave.”

I had not realized that she felt such bitterness toward Arsinoe. “After all, she is your own mother and gave birth to you,” I said.

Tears of anger rose to Misme’s eyes and she shouted, “She is a bad and cruel mother! Throughout my childhood she shunned me because I didn’t know how to please her. But I could forgive even that if she hadn’t taken away Hanna, who was gentler to me than my mother and was my only friend.”

I was shocked to remember how Arsinoe had treated Hanna. Every detail of the past came back to torment me and I realized that there was more to Hanna’s fate than I had thought. I asked whether Misme had ever noticed anything suspicious about Hanna and her behavior.

“I was still a child when that terrible thing happened,” said Misme, “but I would surely have known if she had wantonly slept with men. After all, we shared the same bed and were always together. It was she who warned me about my mother and told me that you were not my real father, so you don’t have to conceal it from me any longer. She told me how Arsinoe taunted my real father until he took his life in the swamp. He was a Greek physician and your friend, wasn’t he? But you, Turms, you were the only man whom Hanna ever loved. Because of her I also love you, although you don’t deserve it.

“No, I shouldn’t say that,” she interrupted herself. “You have been good to me and better than a real father. But how could you desert Hanna after she had become pregnant by you?”

“In the name of the gods,” I cried, “what are you saying, you unfortunate girl!” Sweat leaped to my brow and I did not need Misme’s accusing glance to know that she spoke the truth. After all, I had had no other proof of my sterility than Arsinoe’s scornful words.

Misme demanded sarcastically, “Do you think she became pregnant by the gods? You certainly were the only man who ever laid hands on her. That she swore to me when she began to be afraid, but I was only a child and didn’t understand everything. Now I do understand and realize that Arsinoe must have known. That is why she sold Hanna to the worst place she could imagine.”

She looked at my expression in disbelief. “Didn’t you really know? I thought that you despised Hanna and wanted to escape your responsibility. All men are cowards. That at least my mother taught me, if nothing else. She didn’t tell me where she sold Hanna, but I learned it from the stable slave before Arsinoe sent him away. A Phoenician slave merchant was in Rome at the time buying Volscian girls at the cattle market for brothels in Tyre. It was to him that Arsinoe sold Hanna. He assured her that if Hanna’s child were a boy he would be castrated and sent to Persia, while a girl would be trained from the beginning for her mother’s profession. I was so bitter and shed so many tears for Hanna that in my heart I could not forgive you for years because I thought that you knew.”

Tears began to stream down her cheeks, she touched my hand and pleaded, “Oh, foster father, dear Turms, forgive me for thinking so harshly of you! Why didn’t I keep the matter to myself? I am glad, though, that you didn’t hurt Hanna deliberately, for I loved her so much that I would have been happy if you had taken her to be my mother and I would have had my own little brother or sister.”

I could bear no more. My horror became raging anger, I called upon the gods of the underworld and cursed Arsinoe living and dead for the terrible crime she had committed toward me and innocent Hanna. My curses were so dreadful that Misme covered her ears. Then my anger became anguish as I realized that Hanna had surely died and my child had disappeared for all time. It was useless to search for him. The brothels of Phoenicia kept their secrets and once in them nothing could save one. That Arsinoe knew well.

At length I became calm and said to Misme, “Perhaps it is best that you don’t go to that woman’s house. Any other fate would be preferable to being dependent on her.”

Because I was unable to protect Misme I had to trust to her intelligence and resourcefulness. I told her of the golden bull’s-head and explained where it was buried. I warned her not to try to sell it in Rome but to chip off pieces and sell them in some Etruscan city if she were in need.

Then I kissed and embraced her and said, “I have my guardian spirit and hope that you have yours, you good and dear girl. Don’t worry about me. Just take care of yourself.”