The Etruscan (57 page)

That night I had a clear dream. In it a stoop-shouldered woman, her head covered by a fold of her brown mantle, came to my stone cell. In my dream I knew her and trusted her but upon awakening I could not think who she might be. Nevertheless a feeling of confidence came over

me.

Finally I was allowed to wash and put on clean clothing and was taken to the house of justice. I was questioned as to why the Veian robbers had spared my house and I said that I knew nothing about it since I had been with the Etruscans in Sicily. But I mentioned that my ties of friendship in the various Etruscan cities might account for it.

The morning was cold and the consul and quaestor had braziers under their seats. They spread their togas and lifted their feet from the stone floor, and hardly troubled to conceal their yawns. They considered me guilty of treason in time of war on the basis of my own admission and the only question in their minds was whether they had the juridical right to condemn me to death since I was not a Roman citizen. On this point they conveniently concluded that in the eyes of the law I could be compared to a citizen, since I owned fifteen jugera within the borders of Rome and thus could have attained citizenship had I bothered to apply for it. But they could not throw me off a precipice and drag me into the river because I was not actually a citizen. Hence they condemned me to be flogged and beheaded although as a traitor I did not deserve such a respectable death.

Certain death awaited me, for Roman law knew no pardon once judgment was passed nor could I appeal to the people since I was not a citizen. But I was not afraid and did not think that I would die. Indeed, my calmness and confidence so amazed the guard that he became friendly and on many occasions remained to talk with me.

Arsinoe heard about me after my sentence and had made the matter public. Also Misme broke her promise and went to talk to her mother when she heard that any day I would be publicly executed in the market place. As a result Arsinoe appeared in the prison with a basket in her hand to distribute alms to the criminals and prisoners.

When the guard had opened my door she pretended not to see me but said to the senator’s wife who accompanied her, “This man seems to be a Greek. You go ahead and I will feed him, for with his fettered wrists he cannot eat.”

In a clay crock she had the same soup made of ox, pig and lamb meat that had made her famous during the Volscian siege. Dropping to her knees beside me on the dirty straw she began to feed me, holding her face close to mine.

“Oh, Turms,” she whispered, “what have you done to yourself and why did you betray Rome, at whose hands you have met only with kindness? I don’t know how I can aid you or save your life. Nor can Tertius Valerius help, for he is in bed and can no longer talk. He had another stroke yesterday.”

Misunderstanding my expression, she put her hand on my bare chest, stroked it lightly as she had in the past and continued to chatter. “How dirty you are and as thin as a stray dog! I can feel your every rib with my fingers. I have asked advice of a jurist and he has said that if only you were a Roman citizen you could appeal to the people. But one who has been found guilty of treason cannot apply for citizenship. Oh, Turms, you are as impossible as ever! You should at least have thought of Misme. Now because of you she is poor and homeless. Who do you think will marry the daughter of a man who is executed for treason?” When I was finally able to speak I said, “Arsinoe, take your hand away or I will kill you, fettered though I am. With death before my eyes I implore you to speak the truth for once. Did you know that Hanna was pregnant by me when you so mercilessly had her flogged and then sold her as a slave?”

Arsinoe thrust the ladle into the crock in annoyance and pleaded, “Why speak of old and unpleasant matters when we can still look upon each other with living eyes? You caused me quite enough grief with that disagreeable girl. If you insist, of course you could not deceive me. After all, I am a woman. With the first glance I realized what had happened that night in Panormos when I left you to yourself. And afterward I had only to look at the girl’s dog’s-eyes when she thought that no one noticed. At first it amused me but you can imagine my feelings when I realized that she was pregnant by you. I am enough of a woman not to want your bastard in my house.” Even after nine years her face reddened with anger and she raised her voice. “I could strangle you with my own hands for so hatefully betraying me and my love for you!”

Nor was her anger mere pretense. No, she firmly believed that I and not she was responsible for Hanna’s fate. Most deeply she was wounded by the fact that, by a quirk of fate or her own goddess, she herself had not become pregnant by me. For my part I was only grateful and realized that it was by design of the gods. I expected nothing good of Arsinoe’s offspring. I did not even fully trust Misme.

Arsinoe sobbed in anger; then she began to stroke my knee and confessed, “At this stage I have sometimes regretted my deed and I fear greatly that Hanna and her then unborn child will haunt me as lemures in my old age. Such matters are unimportant, of course, and it was not the first time that a master has gotten a slave with child. But I loved you so blindly then, Turms. I was jealous and my pride was hurt. I forgive you now, though.”

She bent over me. I smelled the fragrance of narcissus on her face and noticed that she had reddened her lips and shadowed her eyelids. Her voice was low as she whispered, “Oh, Turms, how I have longed for you, and how often you have come to me in my dreams! But I had to think of my future. All I had was my beauty. Such a commodity must be sold in time for the best price.”

Nor could I help myself as I looked at her glowing eyes and her beautiful mouth, nose and cheeks. “Arsinoe,” I said, “you are still beautiful and in my eyes the loveliest woman on earth.”

She opened her mantle, lifted her face and touched her chin. “How beautifully you lie, Turms! I am an old woman, and it will not be many years before I will be fifty. To be honest, since that is what you wish, I must be almost ten years older than you, although the goddess has helped me seem years younger than I truly am.”

“Arsinoe,” I assured her, “your beauty will never fade. It is as eternal as your goddess.”

She warmed to me then, but as she smiled I saw the gleam of gold in the gums of her front teeth. “I haven’t even my own teeth,” she lamented. “When I gave birth to Julius I lost many of them. But an Etruscan tooth-maker made these of gold and ivory and fastened them so cleverly that they are stronger than my own were.”

I admitted that they were incomparably better than those of Tanakil. Then I asked, “How can your son’s name be Julius? Aren’t the Juliuses one of the oldest Latin patrician families?”

Arsinoe moved uncomfortably. “I myself am of a collateral branch of the Julius family,” she claimed. “That I proved at the time Tertius Valerius married me so that our son would be born a patrician. The Juliuses are few and they are poor, but they are descended from Ascanius, son of Aeneas of Troy who founded Alba Longa. You see, both my other children were unsuccessful. Hiuls is only a barbarian king and Misme will presumably be nothing. But certain omens lead me to hope for much from Julius. That is why, when poor Tertius is dead, I will not, after all, marry Manius Valerius. Besides, his wife is still alive and appears very healthy. But there is a poor but pleasing Julius who has become our family friend. When I have married him I shall forget the Valerius family completely and my son will be a Julius. The oldest vestal, who remembers the days of the kings and who best knows the old families, has advised me.”

But as she talked about her son I suddenly remembered Hanna. Arsinoe noticed it and became alarmed.

“Of course I did wrong in selling Hanna but I wanted her as far away from Rome as possible. A Phoenician merchant bought her.” She looked at me with bright eyes. “In the name of the goddess and in Hiuls’ and Misme’s names and by my own hair, the vessel sank with its slaves and cargo in a fearful storm off Cumae. Not a single person was saved, so you don’t have to worry about Hanna and her unborn child. Don’t hate me because of them.”

I knew that she was lying. But finally I said, “Be it as you wish, Arsinoe. So Hanna drowned. The guilt is mine, not yours. You don’t have to fear the evil lemures. I forgive you and ask that you forgive me for not being the man you wished. For the sake of our love, always remain as beautiful and glowing as you now are. Always and eternally, Arsinoe.”

Her face brightened, her hair began to gleam golden and the goddess’s light radiated from her as though the sun shone in the dark cell. I smelled the fragrance of roses and crocuses. Trembling and melting I recognized the goddess in her and rejoiced that in her heart she was not evil. Cruel, capricious, selfish and even false, she was the earthly reflection of the foam-born. A wave of desire, tenderness and love rushed from her to me, scorching my body as I looked at her. But I did not extend my hand to touch her. That time was past and I was free of her.

She raised her hand to her breast and exclaimed, “What did you say, what did you do to me, Turms? I am hot, my heart is pounding and the blood of youth flows through me. I myself feel how young and radiant I am. The goddess has returned to me!”

A thought came to her. “Roman law and justice cannot help you, but because of the goddess I know how I can save your life. Thus neither of us will owe the other anything, although we may never meet again.”

She stooped to touch her mouth to mine. Her lips were cool but her cheeks were as flushed as those of a young girl. It was the last time I caressed her, nor did we ever meet again. But my heart glows in being able to remember her like that.

Our meeting made me take an assenting attitude toward death and each morning I expected to hear the crowd shouting in the market place and the steps of the lictors. I paid little attention to Arsinoe’s promise. But a few days later the door was opened and in stepped the brown-robed woman whom I had seen in my dream. Only when the guard had bolted the door again did she reveal her withered face so that I recognized her as the oldest of the vestals. I had seen her many times at the circus in the vestal virgins’ seat of honor.

“You are the man I seek,” she said. “I recognize you by your face.”

I saw her but dimly and then in a moment of clarity the cell walls dissolved and I saw her sitting on a pedestal under a parasol. I knelt before her and bowed my head.

She smiled the thin smile of an old woman and touched my dirty hair. “Don’t you remember me, Turms? You met me on your first day in Rome nine years ago when you yourself found your way to the sacred cave, sprinkled water on your face and of the wreaths chose the ivy. That was sufficient proof for me. But already I had recognized your face. The gods have given me my task. The Romans must not dishonor and kill you, Turms, for it would bring disaster upon the city. For the sake of Rome you must be freed. And for your own sake as well, since Rome is also your city.”

I said, “I have not had much joy of Rome. Life has become bitter, so that I do not fear death.”

She shook her head. “My dear son, you who had to come, your wandering has not yet ended. You cannot rest and forget yet.” Her black eyes stared at me. “Blessed, blessed is oblivion,” she conceded. “But you were not born a human being merely for your own sake. You have wandered freely but now you have reached the ordained age. You must go north. That is a command. Obey your omens.”

“I must go under the axe,” I said mockingly. “What can you do about that, old woman?”

She straightened and lifted her head. “Your god is a strange god to the Romans, Turms, but he has given sufficient warning omens on your behalf. Hail has never hurt your fields. Your cattle have not been ill. Your ewes have borne twins. The Romans respect their laws but even more they fear strange gods. The wife of a noble senator came to talk to me about you. At first I did not know whom she meant and I suspected her. But her goddess took care of me when I was deaf and blind. Quickly I looked into the matter. The High Bridge Builder found your name in his book and the Senate had to yield, for the oldest families know well what is meant. Your sentence is revoked, Turms, and you will not even be flogged. But you must leave Rome. Go north, where you are expected. Your lake is awaiting you, your mountain is awaiting you.”

She rapped sharply on the door and the guard opened it immediately and carried in a bucket of water. Soon a smith came and removed my fetters. The old vestal bade me take off my dirty clothes; then she washed me with her own hands, and anointed and braided my hair. When she had finished, the guard extended a basket from which she took a shirt of the finest wool and slipped it over me. But on my shoulders she placed a coarse brown mantle similar to her own. Finally she placed a wreath of oak leaves and acorns on my head.

“You are ready to leave,” she said. “But remember, everything must happen secretly and without the knowledge of the people. Go, therefore. Hasten, holy deer. The field brothers are waiting to escort you to the city border and they will protect you should someone recognize you. You see, for the first time during the republic the consul has revoked a sentence. But the people do not know that.”

Taking me by the hand she led me up from the damp cell and a guard opened the gate for us. As we stepped into the market place I saw that a heavy fog had covered the market place so that the field brothers who awaited us in their gray mantles and wreaths of wheatears seemed like ghosts in the mist.

The vestal said, “You can see for yourself—the gods have descended upon the city as mist to shield your departure.”

She thrust me forward and I did not turn to bid her farewell, for something told me that a woman such as she was expected no farewell or thanks. The holy mist deadened the sound of footsteps and cartwheels as the field brothers who surrounded me steadied my faltering steps, for I was still weak after my illness.

On the bridge the guards turned their backs to us and for the last time I crossed the Roman bridge, smelled the stench of cattle manure and heard the creak of the worn planks under my feet. But the fog was so thick that I could not distinguish the water of the Tiber, although I heard it splash gently against the pillars as though bidding me farewell.