Etruscans (18 page)

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Authors: Morgan Llywelyn

BOOK: Etruscans
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I can do this myself,
he thought.
But when he attempted to strike up a conversation with the girl over dinner, the presence of so many other
people in the room was a serious distraction. Severus was talking to Propertius; Khebet was wandering around the room, thoughtfully stroking his chin and ignoring everyone else; Delphia was instructing the steward; other slaves were preparing the table and couches for the evening meal; Livia's younger brothers and sisters were scampering back and forth or hovering close, giggling whenever Horatrim paused to talk to the girl, laughing aloud when she tried to open the conversation. There was no such thing as privacy.
“Is there somewhere else where we can talk, Livia?” he finally asked with an air of desperation.
“We could always go outside, but it's getting dark and the air smells of rain. Rain will ruin my hair.” She patted her carefully arranged curls and smiled disingenuously. “You wouldn't want to see these disarranged, would you?”
“Ah, no. Of course not. They are … beautiful. But … is there no place else? Inside?”
“Only the sleeping chambers, and I share mine with my two sisters. If we go there they will come after us immediately out of curiosity.”
“This is no way to construct a house.”
Livia's laughter was gently mocking. “I suppose you know a better one?”
Now they came to him unbidden, singing through his blood.
“A house should be built around an unroofed courtyard so it forms a hollow square,” said Horatrim, echoing his inner voices, hands moving to shape the design. “The exterior wall is blank, but every room opens onto the courtyard which lets light and air into the interior.”
He could see it so clearly; as clear as a personal memory. “The house is two houses, really. The front portion is the public one, with a large reception area rather like your main room now, only much more elegant and comfortable. To provide additional light to this space there is an opening in the center of the ceiling. The tiled roof
above slopes down on all four sides, throwing rainwater through spouts into a marble pool set in the center of the floor. This gives a sense of coolness and peace, while the reflection of the sky in the water provides an ever-changing work of art.”
The girl was looking at him wide-eyed. The young man's voice had deepened, become stronger, more commanding, with the faintest hint of an accent.
“Off the principal reception area are chambers for dining or playing games and dice, whatever entertainments the host wants to provide for his guests. Or in fine weather he may take them into the courtyard, which has a columned portico down either side. Behind this portico are the servants' quarters, readily accessible to either part of the building. The rear half of the house comprises the private residence, with ample apartments and bathing facilities. Here the women of the family can enjoy themselves while the men conduct business and entertain clients at the front. The entire structure is light, airy, spacious, and affords total privacy within, no matter how busy the streets beyond its walls,” Horatrim concluded.
He was so rapt in his vision he was unaware of Delphia, who had abandoned her task and come to stand slightly behind Livia. She listened to him with fascination. When he stopped speaking she turned and called, “Propertius, come over here at once! This young man has just described the perfect house. Every matron in Rome is going to want one like this. I know I do. You must build it for us, Severus.”
After that Horatrim had no opportunity for a private conversation with Livia. The evening was spent with Severus and Khebet extracting every bit of construction information they could from him, while Propertius insisted on talking about how best to market the design and how much money could be made building the houses.
When everyone was exhausted and a yawning
Severus finally announced he was going home, Propertius said abruptly, “We will expect a sixty percent share of the profits of this venture, of course.”
Severus was suddenly wide awake. “What do you mean, we? Horatrim's going to be working for me. I'm the builder.”
A bland smile spread across Propertius's face. “So you are. But while you were wandering around the city today, I paid a little visit to the royal palace. The king is delighted with Vesi. He believes having his own personal oracle will enhance his stature enormously; and when I pointed out that I had found her for him, he was in a humor to grant me any reasonable request.”
“And you made a reasonable request?”
“I asked to be allowed to adopt Vesi's son.”
Horatrim turned to look at Propertius.
“Horatrim is henceforth to be known as Horatius Cocles, and this family is entitled to share in whatever he earns. As
paterfamilias,
I demand you pay him sixty percent.”
“Fifty.”
“Fifty-five.”
“Done!” cried Propertius. With a grin, he turned to Horatius. “Welcome to my family!”
T
he hour was late; the rain had long since blown over.
Horatrim was sharing a stifling cubicle off the main room with Propertius's sons. Three were much younger boys. The fourth, Quintus, was a sullen fellow of his own age who resented having so suddenly acquired a new brother.
They slept on pallets on the floor in order to be cooled by any stray draught of air, but no air was stirring. Only Horatrim's thoughts were churningly active. Horatius Cocles, he kept saying to himself. I have become a Roman!
For a while that evening he had feared Propertius and Severus would come to blows, but eventually they had struck upon a mutually acceptable arrangement. Horatrim was certain each man privately thought he had the better deal. No one asked the new Horatius what he wanted.
So much had happened to him so fast, the old patterns
were breaking down. Childhood was sloughing away like dead skin. He could not sleep, there was no point in trying. He wanted … he needed … when he ran his hand down the length of his body there was an immediate stirring in his groin.
He arose from the pallet, wearing only the tunic in which he had slept, and went out into the main room of the house. The front door stood invitingly ajar. He stepped outside. And found Livia. As he knew he would.
She was there, leaning her back against the wall beside the door as she gazed up into a star-spangled sky. She was aware of him but did not look around, allowing him the pleasure of looking at her.
She wore a shift of sheer Aegyptian cotton, exposing her arms to the shoulder and her legs almost to her groin. He could smell quince-seed pomade on her hair. He was achingly aware of her, an unsettling experience for one who had so recently been a child.
“You came to us a stranger, yet now you are my brother,” Livia remarked. “You will live here with us. Your fortune is assured, and with that fortune your place in the Senate. Using your ideas, father and uncle plan to bring new glory to Rome. Furthermore, work will soon begin on a new house for us with a private apartment of my own where I can entertain you.” She spiced this last remark with a mischievous grin.
“How? I mean, entertain me how?”
She gave her trilling laugh. “Not with games or dice. Surely we can find something much more pleasurable.” Turning toward him, she ran one speculative fingertip along his arm. A thread of invisible flame sprang up in the wake of her touch. With languid grace she tilted forward to lean on Horatrim instead of the wall. For a moment he staggered, more from surprise than the weight of her body. He could feel the heat of her flesh through the fabric of her shift. Then his arms closed around her
and he held her close. When she lifted her face to his, her breath smelled of wine and honey.
Horatrim had never exchanged a kiss with a woman. He only knew how to plant a childish pucker on his mother's cheek. But Livia allowed him no time to be awkward. She pulled her arms free of his embrace, cupped the back of his head with her hands, and pressed her open mouth to his.
“I know what you are; you're a demon,” Justine accused. Pointing to the immense phallus, erect and throbbing, between them, she said, “
That
gives you away. I've seen enough of the other kind to know it isn't human.”
The
siu
glanced down. “Oh, I assure you it is—or was. During my human lifetime my member was a great source of pride. An abundant sex does not make one a demon, dear child. In my time this was not considered unusual, though nowadays I believe that males are less generously endowed. Even the gods have gender, although it may have been attributed to them originally by humankind, an example of man making gods in his own image. But now deities take as much pleasure in their sexuality as any human—more. Appreciating that sex is the quintessence of creation, the ultimate magic, they celebrate passion with a splendor you cannot even imagine. Even such a one as Marduk, the Crocodile God, is famous for …”
He paused.
They were lying together on a heap of rags and straw that passed for a bed in her miserable hovel. Justine had just taken part in a sexual act outside of anything in her prior repertoire, a comingling of pleasure and pain that exploded her senses with ecstasy while filling her mind with revulsion. She did not ever want to repeat the experience.
And yet she knew she would again … and again … and again … .It was the price she must pay.
Meanwhile she hung on his words with professional interest. How many harlots had ever heard a demon describing the sexual lives of the gods?
“Yes?” she urged. “What about Marduk?”
His voice was dark with anger. “There was a time when I prayed to Marduk to save my life. Seeking protection from the Crocodile … I was a fool to ask! I lived, but he let them put out my eyes with a hot poker. The pain was indescribable, yet that was not the worst. I who had been an architect, the designer of great palaces and magnificent gardens, was nothing without my eyes. Less than nothing—a beggar with a bowl. I who had been so proud!
“In fear and fury I turned against Marduk then. If one god fails you, I reasoned, try another. There are a multitude of gods; the trick is to find one who suits. I redirected my prayers to the goddess Pythia, a deity from the land of the Nile, because I had always been fond of females. Restore my sight, I promised her, and I will be your slave forever.
“Pythia did indeed restore my sight. When I awoke the next morning and gingerly touched my cauterized eye sockets, they were swelling with new orbs. A miracle! Within a few days the first dim glimmers of light appeared to me. I was so grateful I never thought to ask the cost. No gift, even one freely given, is without its price. This would be a salutary lesson for you, dear child, were it not too late.
“The price Pythia demanded proved to be more than I wanted to pay. The dark goddess restored my sight—and allowed me one night and a day to enjoy it. I went to bed one night strong and healthy and with a beautiful woman beside me.
“But the morning never came. While I slept the dark goddess extracted my spirit from my body as neatly as
you would pull a tooth. I found myself stranded in the Otherworld, a disembodied being still tormented by an insatiable appetite for life. It was even worse than being blind.
“It should have been the end of me. But it was not.
“In the Earthworld, people who had admired me while I lived continued to revere me. They passed on my legend to the generations who followed them, telling the story of the builder of the famous Hanging Gardens and adding their own flourishes as the years went by. Eventually the Babylonians began to make statues of me and offer sacrifices.
“But because a human spirit cannot be so idolized without incurring the wrath and jealousy of the gods, deities I had once worshipped transformed me into a demon. Unfairly,” he added bitterly. “I deserved to be worshipped myself; I had been an extraordinary man!”
Justine bit her lip and said nothing, desperately concentrating on the sagging ceiling, unwilling to allow the
siu
to read her mind.
“Pythia should have protected me,” he went on in an aggrieved tone, “or at the very least argued with the other gods on my behalf. But she allowed them to abuse me. Finally, when it was too late and I had become the demon you see, she took pity on me and adopted me as her personal servant. But perhaps pity is not the right word. I think she took pleasure in my abasement. When I realized this I vowed to be revenged upon the dark goddess. I bided my time, always pretending to be devoted to her, while centuries passed in the Earthworld.”
Justine smiled in the darkness. Men—either from modern Rome or ancient Babylon—never changed. They always wanted to talk about their favorite topic: themselves. “Did she never suspect you?” she asked.
He replied with his bitter chuckle. “Gods are not as omnipotent as they want us to believe. I was able to deceive Pythia because in her arrogance she thought herself
above deception. And at last I found a way to even the score with her.
“From the dark goddess I stole enough power to clothe my spirit in flesh, enabling me to live once more in the Earthworld. Such transformation is within the gift of the gods, although they hoard it jealously. But I wanted my life back. I had a right to it!
“The power I took from Pythia was sufficient to form a tangible body through sheer force of will, so I undertook to re-create my own self. Alas, however, I am not a god. I did not perform a perfect act of creation. The body I attempted to restore proved to be a rather blurred copy of my original form. I became what you see now.
“I experimented with other forms, sending my spirit into the body of a beast—a beast that was soon slain, unfortunately. I tried to use the body anyway, and the result was disastrous. For a time my spirit went mad. When I recovered, I returned to this body resolving not to make the same mistake again. My next mistake was almost deadly; I consumed dead flesh … and the madness that overtook me once more almost engulfed me.
“Maintaining my hold on the Earthworld is difficult. In spite of all I can do, I feel my body fading. Every day it becomes less substantial; and as you have remarked yourself, the skin is flaking off. I look leprous. I do not blame you for being repelled by me, Justine.
“Nourishment is vital to me, nourishment of a very particular sort. But very soon I am going to require another body to inhabit. Something young and strong and original, not a copy of one long in the tomb.”
He smiled. She found his smile more sinister than his chuckle.
“I have been seeking a perfect body for a long time, and now, at last, I have found one. Tell me, dear child—are you familiar with the royal palace?”

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