The Etruscan by Mika Waltari

Posted by admin_akashic on Mar 10th, 2022 in Stories

A number of ships, covered for the winter, were drawn up on either bank of the river. A motley crowd soon appeared, conversing excitedly in many languages. When the people saw our weapons they kept their distance, although a few broke off leafy twigs from the trees and waved them overhead in token of friendship.

We tossed our shields and weapons to the ground. Encouraged, the people came closer, talked to us, peered at us from every side and tugged at our clothes as the curious do in every land. Many of them spoke Greek, although in a strange dialect. Peddlers offered us grapes and fruit and gladly accepted a Persian gold coin in payment, giving us their own silver in change. They told us that the name of their city was Himera and that it had been founded by the people of Zankle who had later been joined by Syracusans wearied of the civil wars ceaselessly raging in their city. The majority of the people, however, were native Siculi whom the Greeks had married.

At sundown the city gates were closed, and we, having no desire to meet more people that evening, stretched out for the night where we were. The smell of the earth, the grass and the very touch of solid ground were a joy after the stench and hard planks that we had known at sea.

When the gates were opened again in the morning Dionysius sent for a bull and some sheep. We garlanded and sacrificed the bull and burned its leg bones as well as the fat from the sheep. Then we roasted the meat and ate our fill. More peddlers came by with their baskets to sell us bread and honey cakes and we spent freely until Dionysius put a stop to it. After all, he reminded us, we were lonians.

The morning passed in noisy feasting and dancing that attracted all the disreputable elements of the city. Finally the Himeran tyrant, escorted by an armed guard and a number of mounted men, came to greet us and to inquire what our plans were. He was a sparsely bearded old man with stooped shoulders who walked modestly in the midst of his men in a home-loomed mantle.

Dionysius advanced, told him of the battle of Lade and of the loot that we had won from the Persians, and asked for sanctuary through the winter. He also requested ropes and oxen, a windlass and woodworkers to salvage the sunken vessel and dry-dock the penteconters.

As Dionysius spoke, the tyrant watched us shrewdly. One could see from his eyes that he was not a man of unimportance despite his modest appearance.

When Dionysius had spoken, the tyrant declared, “The will of my people made me, Krinippos, the autocrat of Himera, although ruling is distasteful to me. Hence I must discuss all important decisions with the people. But because there are matters which should not be noised about by all, I suggest that you come to my house where we may talk within four walls. Or, if you are suspicious, let us withdraw here beyond earshot of your men. The presence of too many people disturbs me because I lack eloquence and am a recluse by nature.”

Dionysius acceded and the gray-haired man fearlessly accompanied him to the farther side of the field, although Dionysius was heads taller and could have snapped his frail neck with bare hands. They seated themselves on the ground and began talking earnestly.

Krinippos’ warriors smiled proudly. “He is incomparable, our tyrant, and we would elevate him to the throne if he did not abhor the word king. He need fear no rival, for his house is filled with amulets of the underworld gods which he has obtained in some mysterious way. By threatening us with them he has succeeded in abolishing all destructive rivalry and has ruled us so wisely that both the Carthaginians and the Tyrrhenians are our friends, and not even Syracuse dares threaten our freedom.”

They told us also that Krinippos had married a woman of Carthage and that he ruled all the people of his city impartially, regardless of their nationality. According to Krinippos’ men, Himera was a happy city in which fear and injustice were unknown.

Finally we saw Krinippos and Dionysius rise, courteously wipe the grass off each other and return to us. When the tyrant had departed for the city with his men, Dionysius told us what had transpired.

“I have made a pact with that able ruler. From now on we are free to enter and leave the city with or without weapons. We can either rent lodgings or build houses, practice trade, worship the city’s or our own gods as we wish, marry Himeran women or otherwise win their favor, for the customs here are free. We must, however, promise to guard the city’s wall as though it were our own while we live in Himera.”

His men said skeptically, “All that is too good to be true. Krinippos is more cunning than you think. After he has lured us into the city he will have his men kill us for our loot, or perhaps bewitch us with his magic objects or coax us to join games of chance in which we will lose everything.”

Dionysius bid them keep their mouths shut, for the assurances that he had received from Krinippos could not be doubted. But even more important than the holiest oaths was the fact that their interests were identical. For that reason he had decided to store our locked and sealed loot in Krinippos’ vaults as guarantee of our good behavior, and to distribute to each man only the amount needed to live through the winter. Krinippos was not anxious to have a sudden influx of money because it would raise prices and straiten the life of the residents.

Although the men suspected that Dionysius already had fallen under the spell of Krinippos, the lure of the city was so great that before long we set forth in groups, leaving the oldest to watch the ships.

The guards at the gate admitted us without demanding our weapons. As we strolled along the streets we saw the shops of the artisans, the dye-works and the weavers at their looms. We saw the market place and the stalls with teachers, scribes and merchants. We also saw the beautiful temple of Poseidon with its fluted pillars, as well as the temples of Demeter and Baal. Wherever we went the people called out greetings, children ran after us, and men and women tugged at our robes to invite us to their houses.

After their sufferings at sea the men could not resist the invitations, but gradually, in twos and threes, left us to enjoy Himeran hospitality. In that manner our group diminished until, before we realized it, only Dorieus, Mikon and I remained.

Dorieus said, “If I could find a temple of Herakles I would make a sacrifice. You perhaps noticed the figure of the cock in the frame of the city gate and the emblem of the cock on the Himeran coins. We were destined to come to this place and here to work out our fate.”

I smelled the tempting fragrances of the city and asked, “Where can we find a house worthy of us? Krinippos’ dwelling does not tempt me, for he is said to be frugal in his ways. But neither can we condescend to be the guests of a humble man.”

Mikon said with assumed gravity, “You tell us what to do, Dorieus, you who are the descendant of Herakles.”

Dorieus did not hesitate. “There is no doubt but that we should go westward as far as the city extends. That will bring us closest to the land which is my legacy.”

So we walked to the westernmost end of the city where there were large houses with windowless walls facing the street and gardens surrounded by walls. The street was silent and dirty and clay had crumbled from the houses. Suddenly my head grew light and the air flickered before my eyes.

“I have walked this street in my dreams!” I cried. “I know these houses. But in my dream a chariot roared down the street, a blind poet plucked his lyre, and colored canopies protected the doors and gates. Yes, this is the street of my dreams. Or is it?” I paused and looked around, for the memory had returned only briefly, and scales were again covering my eyes.

“The street is not uninhabited,” observed Mikon, “although it was formerly occupied by the wealthy and the nobility. That is apparent from the walls and the iron gates and the bronze fittings. But the days of the nobility are past now that the people have seized the power and a tyrant protects the people’s rights.”

I barely heard him, for my attention was caught by a newly fallen white feather. When I had picked it up I looked around and noticed that we were standing before a small door set in a large gate. Its bronze knocker pictured a satyr embracing a fleeing nymph, but it was not necessary for me to knock, for the door opened with a creak as I leaned against it. We stepped into a yard in which there were fruit trees, dark cypresses and a stone pool.

An old slave limped toward us, one knee apparently stiffened by a red-hot stone in the barbaric manner of yore. He greeted us with suspicion but we did not heed his protests. Mikon rinsed his hands in the yellow water of the pool and exclaimed that the water was quite warm. We guessed that it was the same water that we had seen bubbling forth from the hot springs surrounding the city.

Meanwhile the old slave returned indoors for help and soon we were confronted by a large woman wrapped from head to heel in a striped robe. In Himeran-accented Greek she demanded to know whether we were thieves, since we had broken into the yard of a defenseless widow.

She was not completely defenseless, however, for the old slave had seized a cudgel and a sturdy man on the steps was holding an evil-looking Phoenician bow. The woman herself gazed at us proudly and it was apparent that she had once been beautiful, although now there were wrinkles around her black eyes, her arched nose and her mocking lips.

Mikon answered humbly, “We are but refugees from lonia who have been fighting the Persians. The sea gods brought us to the shores of Himera and your ruler Krinippos has promised us homeless men a haven for the winter.”

But Dorieus rejected such humility and shouted, “You may be a homeless refugee but I am a Spartan and am here to seek a new land, not as a suppliant but as an inheritor. We stepped into your garden because all the other residents of Himera have competed with one another for the privilege of offering their friendship and hospitality to our humble seamen. We were unable to find a house worthy of us and apparently chose the wrong gate. We certainly would not expect a defenseless widow to show us hospitality.”

The woman came closer, absently took from my hand the feather I was still holding, and said, “Forgive my rudeness. It was the sight of your weapons and bright shields that alarmed me. I thank whatever god brought you to my gate and bid you welcome. I shall have my servants prepare a feast worthy of you without delay. Your appearance tells me that you are far from humble men, but neither am I a humble woman. My name is Tanakil. If that means nothing to you, I can assure you that it is known to many even beyond Himera.”

She led us into her house, bade us hang our weapons in the entrance hall, and showed us the banquet room with convivial couches piled high with mattresses and tasseled pillows. There were chests ornamented with oriental scenes and a Phoenician household god whose ivory face was painted lifelike and who was clothed in expensive garments. A large Corinthian mixing vessel for wine was in the center of the floor and along the walls were Attic vases, both the older black-figured vases and the new ones with red figures.

Tanakil said diffidently, “You can see that my banquet room is gloomy and that spiders have spun their webs in its corners. The greater, then, is my joy at having high-born guests who do not scorn the modesty of my house. If you will be patient I will put my cooks to work and the wine containers to cool and will send my slave to purchase sacrificial meat and to engage musicians.”

She smiled and her black eyes flashed. “I myself am old and ugly but I know what men crave after a trying voyage and I don’t think that you will be disappointed.”

While the meal was being prepared she urged us to bathe in the sulphurous water of the pool. We removed our clothes and stepped in, and the hot water relaxed our limbs delightfully. Slaves came to wash us, to clean our hair and anoint our bodies with fragrant oils. Tanakil, too, came out and watched us with apparent pleasure.

When the slaves had finished we were as though reborn. Our clothes had been removed and we were given shirts of the finest wool over which we hung mantles already pleated. Having clothed ourselves, we returned to the banquet room and reclined on the couches while slaves offered us such savory bits as olives filled with salt fish and rolled smoked meat filled with a paste of oil, eggs, sweet milk and spices.

The salty food whetted our appetite and thirst so that we listened with only mild interest to the blind flute player and the three girls who sang old Himeran songs with sweet voices. Finally Tanakil reappeared, clothed in rich garments, her arms and neck bare save for a considerable fortune in gold and silver. Her hair had been combed up into a dome, she had painted her cheeks and lips red, and her eyes glowed under the black brows.

The fragrance of rosewater emanated from her as she smiled playfully and poured a sackful of wine into the mixing vessel and then added the proper amount of icy water. The singing girls hastened to fill our shallow chalices and offered them to us on bended knee.

“I can guess how thirsty you are,” said Tanakil. “Quench your thirst with the wine and water. You have probably already heard the chaste song about the shepherdess who wasted away for love. Soon you will hear the tale of Daphnis and Chloe, which is sufficiently tiresome not to disturb your appetite. Let us nevertheless respect the traditions of Himera. In time you will learn why and how we honor the cock as the emblem of our city.”

Covered dishes of lamb and beef as well as boned birds on a skewer were brought to us, together with root vegetables, mustard sauce and a delicious porridge. Each time we drank the girls placed in our hand a new chalice at the bottom of which was a different picture.

Finally, panting from the food, we pleaded for mercy. Tanakil then had fruit and grapes, rich cakes and other sweets brought in, and with her own hands opened a sealed jug of wine. The mint-flavored drink cooled our mouths but rose so quickly to our heads that, full as we were, it was as though we were floating on clouds. The treacherous wine made our limbs throb, and we looked with new eyes at the girls who had sung so modestly.

Tanakil noticed our looks and shifted her garment so that we might the better see her white throat and arms. In the dimness she was certainly not an ugly woman and her age was not apparent when she kept her chin up.

“The girls who have sung and served you will now dance,” she said, “although they know only innocent shepherds’ dances. Krinippos will not permit professional dancers to be brought to Himera.”

She called out to the flute player and signaled to the girls, whereupon they began to cavort about like young foals and to doff their garments as they danced. The dance was not artistic nor would I have called it exactly innocent, for its sole purpose seemed to be to reveal the girls.

As they halted before us, breathing heavily, I said, “Tanakil, you inestimable hostess! Your meal was superb but your mint wine is dangerous and these naked girls are a seductive sight. Do not lead us to temptation, for we have promised not to harm this city’s residents.”

Tanakil looked enviously at the three young girls, sighed and replied, “You would certainly not harm them by laying hands on them. They are respectable girls but because of their humble birth are allowed to accept gifts from whom they please so long as it does not become a habit. Thus they can obtain a larger dowry than by working and can marry some sailor or artisan or farmer.”

“Every land has its own customs,” observed Mikon. “The Lydians also do this, while in Babylon a girl must sacrifice her virginity in a temple for money before she can marry. And the greatest honor that a Scythian can show a guest is to lead his own wife to the guest’s bed for the night. So why should we belittle the customs of Himera, which has so graciously given us sanctuary within its walls?”

The girls ran to us, wound their arms around our necks and began kissing us. But Dorieus angrily thrust his girl away.

“By the cock which perched on Herakles’ shoulder, I respect my passions too highly to lay hands on a low-born girl. It would not become my position, although of course I shall give the girl the gift that she desires.”

Mikon splashed a drop of wine onto the floor, kissed the girl who had brought him the chalice, and said, “The greatest crime is to insult the laws of hospitality. Time runs before me on fleet feet. In worshiping Aphrodite of Akraia I thought that I would never again wish to look at a mortal woman. But I was badly mistaken, for at this very moment Aphrodite is bewitching my eyes and causing my limbs to tingle with desire.”

He carried the girl into the dusky garden. Tanakil sighed and asked that the lamps be lighted. But Dorieus caught her hand.

“Do not light the lamps, Tanakil. This lighting becomes you and softens your proud features. Your brilliant eyes and hawk nose prove that you are of noble birth. Confess that you are.”

I realized that Dorieus was badly intoxicated. “Beware lest you insult our hostess,” I warned him.

Tanakil’s mouth dropped open in amazement. Then she hastily covered it with her hand to conceal her missing teeth.

“You have guessed correctly, Spartan. I am a daughter of Carthage and my forefathers are descended from Queen Dido who founded the city, and she in turn was of divine birth.”

She became so interested that she went to one of the inner rooms and brought out a genealogical table. It was written in Phoenician letters and I could not understand it, but she read at least thirty names, each more alien than the previous.

“Now do you believe me?” she demanded in conclusion. “I can only regret my age and the wrinkles in my face for I would be only too glad to show you the hospitality that you so desire.” She extended her arm to smooth Dorieus’ neck and pressed her sagging breasts against his shoulder.

Dorieus exclaimed in admiration, “Truly you are a big woman and the equal of a man! Nor do your breasts seem to have shriveled. Birth and the experience of a mature woman mean more than age.”

Tanakil rose at once, her face flushed from the wine, pulled Dorieus to his feet and led him to an inner room, the heavy genealogical table under her other arm. That left the three of us, the two young girls and me, and as a fourth the blind flute player blowing gentle melodies in his corner.