Book Eight
The Omens
1.

With our hair stiff from the splashing brine, our faces gray from lack of sleep and our hands chafed by the rope, we sighted the shore of Italy. The helmsman immediately recognized the landmarks and declared that we were but a day’s voyage from the mouth of the Roman river. The Etruscan clasped his hands and swore that never before had he experienced so swift a voyage and so even a south wind once we had left behind the first day’s storm.

At the mouth of the Roman river we met ships of all nations, large and small, on their way up or down the majestic river. From afar I saw the dazzling white glimmer of the salt basins which nature had bountifully bestowed upon Rome. The slaves were wading knee deep in the salt as they shoveled it together and carried it away.

Without pausing at the mouth of the river the merchant hired oxen and slaves and had a rope fastened to the upturned prow to tow the ship up the swiftly flowing river. So broad and deep was the water that even large seagoing ships could sail as far as Rome where, at the shore by the cattle market, they met the vessels from the upper reaches of the river.

Boats on their way downstream passed us continually, and majestic tree trunks, tied into rafts, floated slowly by on their way to the shipyards. The men on the ships called out to us in the language of the sea, but the timber floaters spoke Etruscan while the ships’ towers employed Latin and its numerous dialects. Hearing them, the merchant said derisively that the Roman language was not a real language and that all the words pertaining to cultural matters had been borrowed from the Etruscans and distorted in a barbaric manner.

The drover mercilessly lashed his slaves and goaded the oxen to speed the journey and earn his money the sooner. But I had time to see the willow bushes on the banks, the restless flocks of birds fluttering over our ship and the hawks circling the endless harvested fields and meadows with motionless wings. It seemed to me that the outskirts of Rome were nothing but fields and gardens, and I had difficulty in believing that so prosperous a city found it necessary to ship grain all the way from Sicily to stave off famine.

But the merchant pointed out the ruins of many huts burned by the Romans themselves. In their intramural quarrels the people of Rome did not even spare their own, and in the yearly wars the cultivated areas had suffered as Rome expanded its power. Once the Etruscans had made an immense plain near Rome fruitful with canals and drains. Under the rule of the Etruscan kings the brutal people of Rome had been held within bounds, but when the Romans had expelled their king, agriculture and trade had suffered from the ceaseless warring and no neighboring city felt itself safe from Roman rapaciousncss.

Then I saw the hills of Rome, their villages, the wall, the bridge and a few temples. The bridge which the Etruscans had built to link the innumerable cities that were separated by the river was expertly constructed of wood and was the longest I had ever seen, although an island helped to support it. Indeed, the Romans considered this bridge so important that their high priest had inherited from the Etruscan period the title of “High Bridge Builder.” The crudity of Roman customs is well conveyed by the fact that the maintenance of the bridge had fallen to the high priest, although the Etruscans had intended the tide to mean a builder of bridges between man and the gods. To them the wooden bridge was merely the symbol of the invisible bridge, but the Romans took literally all that the Etruscans taught them.

When the harbor custodians had indicated a place for us on the muddy bank that was supported by piles, the inspectors boarded the ship. Nor did the Etruscan even attempt to offer them gifts or to invite them to join him in a sacrifice. He declared that Roman officials were incorruptible because of the stringency of their laws.

On the edge of the cattle market, beside a pillar, stood an executioner ready to fulfill his duty. His symbol, which the merchant said had been inherited from the Etruscans, was a long axe surrounded by whips. The Romans called these executioners “lictors.” Instead of a king, they elected two officials annually, and each of these praetors was accompanied by twelve lictors. In obvious cases a lictor could halt a criminal on the street, flog him or chop off the thief’s hand with his axe. Because of this, exemplary order prevailed in the harbor and one did not have to fear thieves as in all other harbors.

The Etruscan let the quaestor inspect Arsinoe’s and my goods first^, and they wrote down our names and believed us when we called ourselves Siccanians from Sicily. The merchant forbade us to conceal anything from them, and they carefully counted Arsinoe’s gold coins and weighed our gold objects. We had to pay a high tax for bringing them into the city since only stamped copper was accepted as currency in Rome. When they asked whether Hanna was slave or free, Arsinoe declared quickly that she was a slave and I maintained that she was free. The officials, who understood little Greek, called an interpreter but since Hanna was unable to defend herself, she was declared to be a slave, the quaestors thinking that I had called her free merely to evade payment of the tax on slaves.

Benevolently they let the interpreter explain that if they had entered Hanna on their tablets as a free person, she could have gone where she wished and enjoyed the protection of Roman laws. Thus, by lying to them, I had been on the verge of losing a small fortune. They considered it a fine jest and laughingly pinched Hanna as they tried to guess how much she would bring on the market. But they respected Arsinoe and me because of our gold. The Romans were greedy, dividing their people into various classes according to their possessions, so that the poorest citizens were only rarely permitted to vote on municipal affairs. In military service, however, the wealthy were given the most difficult tasks, while the poor escaped with less and the poorest did not have to serve at all because the Romans considered rabble to be but a burden to the army.

When we left the ship the merchant led us quickly to a new temple of Turnus to sacrifice. Actually the Romans worshiped the god as Mercury, but in the same temple the Greeks of Rome worshiped him as Hermes, so presumably he was the same god.

The temple was full of chattering merchants from various cities, all asking the latest prices on copper, ox hides, wool and timber, for the prices were determined each day anew in the temple of Mercury, rising or dropping in accordance with demand and supply. Only the price of grain had been fixed by the Roman officials, for they had so offended the neighboring peoples and the Etruscans that these sources refused to sell them grain.

When we had sacrificed and left our gifts in the temple, the Etruscan bade us farewell.

He did not accept payment for the voyage although I thought he had brought me to the temple for the purpose of settling the matter before the eyes of the god. On the contrary, he even thrust back the deposit I had made in Panormos.

“I don’t think I would have good luck if I were to accept payment for the voyage. I remember all too well how black magic launched the ship and how the ship grew wings so that my cargo did not get wet in the storm. Just give me, a poor man, your blessing. That will suffice as payment, although I ask you not to remember me otherwise.”

I put my hand on his shoulder and with my left hand covered my eyes to bless him, but why I made that holy gesture I do not know. Immediately the merchant became so alarmed that he forthwith fled to the shore, glancing back at me through his fingers.

In that manner Arsinoe, Hanna, Misme and I were left outside the temple of Mercury with our possessions. And since I did not know the city and its customs or even understand its language I decided to remain there until an omen should indicate our next move.

Arsinoe did not tire of watching the crowds pass, for raany men looked at her and even looked back. She pointed out that all the people wore shoes and only slaves were barefoot, but she considered the women morose and bloated and declared that their clothes were ugly. More than that she had not time to say, for just then we were approached by an old man carrying a crooked staff. His robe was soiled aad stained with food, his eyes were red and his gray beard was dirty.

“Do you wait for something, stranger?” he asked.

I guessed his trade from the staff although his appearance was not such as to arouse confidence. But since he was the first person to speak to me I replied kindly, “I have just arrived in the city and au awaiting a favorable omen.”

He became greatly interested, and the crook began to tremble in his hand as he explained, “I guessed that you were Greek, although more from your wife’s appearance than your own. If you wish, I will study the birds for you, but I could take you to an associate who will sacrifice a sheep for you and read the omens from its liver. That is more expensive, however, than studying birds.”

His knowledge of Greek was weak, and so I suggested, “Let us speak your own language, that I may understand you better.”

He began to speak the language of the city which sounded as harsh and merciless as its residents were said to be. I shook my head. “I understand not a word. Let us speak the old and true language. I have learned it somewhat by associating with an Etruscan.”

In talking with the merchant it had been as though the Etruscan that I had learned from Lars Alsir in Himera had burst forth again after years of dormancy. Or as though I had once known the language and then forgotten it. The words had come to my lips so easily that the merchant had gradually stopped speaking the polyglot language of the sea and begun speaking his own language with me.

The old man waxed even more interested. “You are truly an exceptional Greek if you know the holy language. I myself am an Etruscan and a real augur, not one who merely recites by rote. Don’t despise me even though my weak eyes make it necessary for me to seek a livelihood since people no longer come to me.”

He shaded his eyes with a hand, looked closely at me and asked, “Where have I seen your face before and why is it so familiar to me?”

Although such talk is usual on the part of wandering seers in every country, he spoke so sincerely and was such a venerable old man despite his poverty that I believed him. I did not, however, reveal my certainty that the gods had sent him to me at that precise moment and place.

Arsinoe immediately became envious, thrust her beautiful face before the old man’s nose and demanded, “What of me? Don’t you recognize my face, if you are a true augur?”

The old man put his hand to his forehead, stared into her eyes and began to tremble. “Of course I recognize you, and the days of my youth return to me when I look at your face. Are you not Calpurnia whom I met by the spring in the woods?”

He recovered himself and shook his head. “No, you cannot be Calpurnia, for she would be an old woman if she were alive. But in your face, woman, I see all the women who have made me tremble during my lifetime. Are you perhaps the goddess herself in a woman’s guise?”

Arsinoe laughed delightedly, touched his arm and said to me, “This old man pleases me. He is surely a true augur. Let him study the omens for you, Turms.”

But the augur was staring at me again in bewilderment. “Where is it that I have seen your face?” he asked in Etruscan. “I seem to remember having seen a smiling likeness of you during my travels to the holy cities to learn my profession.”

I laughed again. “You are mistaken, old man. I have never even visited any Etruscan cities. If you really recognize my face, you have perhaps seen me in a dream to enable you to give me my omens.”

He drooped again and the glow in him was extinguished. Humbly he said, “If that is so and you desire it, I shall study the omens gratuitously, although I have not eaten much these past days. Some soup would strengthen my body and a drop of wine would cheer an old man’s mind. But don’t consider me a troublesome beggar even though I do reveal my need.”

“Don’t worry, old man,” I assured him. “I shall reward you for your trouble. It would not even become my dignity to accept something free. I myself am a giver of gifts.”

“Giver of gifts,” he repeated and raised his hand to his mouth. “Where have you learned those words and how dare you say that of yourself. Aren’t you a Greek after all?”

I realized from his alarm that I had unwittingly used the secret name of some Etruscan god, but how the words had come to me I did not know. Nevertheless I laughed, placed my hand on his shoulder and said reassuringly, “I speak your language poorly and use the wrong words. In no way do I want to insult you or your religion.”

“No,” he protested, “your words were correct but in the wrong place. They are the words of the holy Lucumones. Times are bad and we are living in the day of the wolf, if even a stranger can repeat holy words like a raven which has learned to talk.”

I did not take offense at his abuse. Instead I asked with curiosity, “Who are the Lucumones? Explain the matter to me so that I will never again err in using the right words in the wrong place.”

He looked at me with hostility and explained, “The Lucumones are the holy rulers of the Etruscans. But they are born rarely these days.”

We soon found ourselves in that part of the city where the visiting peasants and cattle merchants, had their lodgings. But the hairy-armed innkeepers tempting us with their ladles did not please us nor did I understand their language. The narrow alleys were dirty and muddy, and Arsinoe declared that she could see from the women’s faces what profession they practiced. The place, which the old man called Suburra, had been cursed and the only people who lived there were the disreputable elements and the people of the circus.

The old man showed us the altar which the Greeks had erected to Herakles and asked us whether we desired to find lodgings among the Greeks who had come there as exiles to practice their various trades. The altar looked quite ancient and the augur explained that, according to the Greeks, the founders of Rome were the descendants of Aeneas who had fled there following the fall of Troy.

“Let him who will, believe it,” he said. “The Greeks are talkative tellers of tales and quickly infect the primitive peoples with their customs wherever they may settle. If it did not offend you I would say that the Greeks with their customs are everywhere like a contagious disease.”

“You don’t offend me and I don’t want to live among the Greeks,” I said.

He explained that Rome also had Phoenician merchants and artisans who had come there both from the eastern lands and from Carthage. But I did not wish to live among them, either. Finally the old man showed us an ancient fig tree to whose foot the newly born twin brothers Romulus and Remus had drifted in their willow basket in the flood. There the she-wolf had suckled them until their rescue by shepherds.

“Their names have been distorted,” declared the old man. “Their real names were Ramon and Remon for the two rivers, until the river Ramon straightened its course and overcame Remon. Now the Romans call it the Tiber, for a certain Tiburinus who was drowned in it.”

I noticed that as we had talked we had reached a street paved with flagstones. The old man explained that this was the Etruscan quarter and that the street was called the Vicus Tuscus because the Romans called the Etruscans “Tuscans.” Here lived the wealthiest merchants, the most skilled artisans and the old Etruscan families of Rome. They comprised one third of Rome’s noble families, just as one third of the Roman cavalry consisted of descendants of old Etruscan families.

Looking around him the augur said, “My feet are tired and my mouth is dry from much talking.”

“Do you think that some Etruscan would consent to give lodgings to me and my family although I am an alien?” I asked.

He did not wait for more but immediately rapped with his crook on a painted gate, entered and led us to a pillared, half-covered court with a rain-water pool in the center and the household gods on their altars along the edge. Around the court were buildings which were rented to travelers, while the main house contained a number of rooms with wall paintings, tables and seats. The innkeeper was a reserved man and did not greet the old augur with great warmth. But when he had studied us he accepted us as his guests and bade his slaves prepare food. Leaving Hanna and Misme in one of the buildings in the yard to guard our possessions, we went inside to eat.

The room contained two couches, and the augur explained, “The Etruscans permit a woman to eat in the same room with men, reclining on a couch. She may even lie on the same couch with her husband if she wishes. The Greeks permit a woman merely to sit in the same room, but the Romans consider it indecent for a woman to eat in the company of a man.”

He himself leaned humbly against the wall to await our crumbs of charity. But I asked him to share the meal with us and the slaves to bring in another couch. Immediately he went to wash himself and the innkeeper brought a clean robe to protect the double cushions on the couch. As we ate the well-prepared food and drank the country wine, the old man’s face began to glow, the wrinkles on his face eased and his hands ceased trembling.

Finally he leaned back, the wine goblet in his left hand and a pomegranate in his right, while the staff lay on the couch at his left. I was overcome by a strange feeling that I had once before lived that same moment in a strange city and a strange room under a roof ornamented with painted beams.

The wine rose to my head and I said, “Old man, whoever you may be, I have seen the glances that you have exchanged with the innkeeper. I am not familiar with your customs, but why am I served from black cups when my wife has been given a silver plate and a Corinthian goblet?”

“If you don’t know and understand it makes no difference,” he said. “But it is not a sign of disrespect. They are old dishes.”

The innkeeper himself hastened to offer me a beautifully hammered silver goblet to replace the black clay cup. I did not accept it, however, but continued to hold the clay cup. Its shape was familiar to my palm.

“I am not a holy man,” I said. “You are surely mistaken. Why otherwise would you let me drink from a sacrificial cup?”

Without replying the augur tossed the pomegranate to me and I caught it in the shallow clay cup without touching it. My robe had slipped so that the upper part of my body was bare. Thus I reclined on the couch, resting on one elbow with the black clay cup in my left hand. The pomegranate which I had not touched with my hand lay in its round hollow. When he saw it the innkeeper came to me and placed a garland of autumn flowers around my neck.

The augur touched his forehead with his hand and said, “You have fire around your head, stranger.”

“It is your profession to see what does not exist,” I protested, “but I forgive you since I myself am serving you wine. Don’t you see fire also around my wife’s head?”

The old man looked at Arsinoe carefully, then shook his head. “No, there is no fire, merely fading sunshine. She is not like you.”

Suddenly I realized that I was beginning to see through the walls. Arsinoe’s face changed into that of the goddess and the old man lost his beard and seemed like a man in the prime of life. The host was no longer merely an innkeeper but rather a scholar.

I burst out laughing, “What do you mean by putting me, a stranger, to the test?”

The old man raised a finger to his lips and indicated Arsinoe who was yawning deeply. Within a moment she was asleep, and the augur rose, raised her eyelid and said, “She is sleeping soundly and nothing will happen to her. But you, stranger, must have your omens. Don’t be afraid. You have not eaten or drunk poison, you have only tasted the sacred herb. I myself have also tasted it to clear my eyes. You are not an ordinary man and an ordinary omen will not suffice. Let us leave and ascend the holy hill.”

Filled with radiance, I left Arsinoe sleeping and followed the augur. But I made the mistake of going through the wall directly to the courtyard, whereas the augur had to leave by way of the door so that I was in the courtyard to meet him. Then I saw my body obediently walking behind him and instantly returned to it since I could speak only with its aid. Never had I experienced anything so absurd and I greatly feared that I had drunk more wine than was good for me. My legs were not unsteady, however, and the augur led me to the market place, indicating with his staff the senate building, the prison opposite it and many more sights. He wanted to take me along the sacred way but after walking some distance I stepped to the side and went toward a steep cliff.

Looking around I saw a round temple with wooden pillars and reed roof, and cried, “I feel the nearness of a holy place!”

“That is the temple of Vesta,” explained the old man. “Six unmarried women guard the holy fire in it. No man can enter there.”

I listened. “I hear the murmur of water. Somewhere there is a sacred spring.”

The old man protested no longer but allowed me to lead the way, ascend the steps that had been hewn out of the rock and enter the cave. Inside was an ancient stone trough into which water trickled from a crack in the wall, and on the edge of the trough lay three wreaths, as fresh as though someone had just placed them there. The first was formed from a willow branch, the second from an olive branch while the third was of ivy.

The augur looked about in alarm. “Entering here is forbidden, for this is the home of the nymph Egeria whom we Etruscans call Begoe. The only Lucumo to have ruled Rome comes here at night to meet her.”

I dipped both hands in the cold water, sprinkled some over myself, took the ivy wreath in my hand and said, “Let us continue to the mount. I am ready.”

Just then the cave darkened and I saw at its entrance a woman enveloped in coarse cloth. It was impossible to say whether she was old or young for she had covered her head, her face and even her hands so that only the fingertips holding the brown cloth were visible. She looked at me searchingly through a slit but stepped aside and said nothing.

Nor do I know how it happened, but at that moment, as I stepped from the dimness of the ancient cave back into the daylight, I, Turms, realized my immortality for the first time with heartrending certainty. I heard the roar of immortality in my ears, I smelled the icy odor of immortality in my nostrils, I felt the metallic taste of immortality in my mouth, I saw the flame of immortality before my eyes. Experiencing that, I knew that I would one day return, climb the same stone steps, touch the same water and, in doing so, know myself again. Nor did this perception last longer than the moment it took me to place the ivy wreath on my head. Then it disappeared.

I kissed the earth, the mother of my body, foreseeing that some day the eyes of my body would see more than merely the earth. The shrouded woman moved aside without a word. Once a similarly shrouded woman had sat on the divine seat under a parasol and I had kissed the earth before her. But whether that had happened in a dream or in reality or in some previous life I did not know.

A fine mist began to descend into the valley between the hills, dimming the outline of the houses and hiding the market place from view. The augur said, “The gods are coming. Let us hasten.”

He climbed a steep path ahead of me, growing breathless as he climbed until his legs began to tremble and I had to support him. The youthful brightness induced by the wine died from his face, his cheeks became furrowed and his beard grew longer with every step. The higher we rose the older he became, until he was as ancient in my eyes as an oak.

The summit was clear, but below, on the other side of the crest, the track at the circus was veiled with mist. Unerringly my steps led me to a smooth rock.

The augur asked, “Within the walls?”

“Within the walls,” I assented. “I still am not free. I still do not know myself.”

“Do you choose the north or the south?” he asked.

“I do not choose,” I replied. “The north has chosen me.”

I sat on the rock with my face to the north, nor could I have faced the south if I had tried, so firmly was I in the grip of my power. The old man settled himself to my left with the staff in his right hand and measured and determined the four cardinal points, repeating them aloud. He said nothing about birds or how he expected them to fly.

“Will you be content with merely an affirmative or a negative reply?” he asked, as an augur must.

“I will not,” I replied. “The gods have arrived. I am not committed, but the gods are obliged to give me their signs.”

The augur covered his head, changed the staff to his left hand, raised his right to the crown of his head and waited. At that moment a gentle breeze rustled the treetops and a fresh oak leaf fell to the ground between my feet while somewhere in the distance, from another hill, I heard the muted cackle of geese. A dog came from nowhere, circled us, muzzle to the ground, and disappeared again as though eagerly following a scent. The gods seemed to be vying with one another in proving their presence, for farther away the thud of a fallen apple sounded in the stillness, and a lizard scampered over my foot, disappearing into the grass. Presumably the other seven gods were also present although they had not given clear indications of themselves. When I had waited yet a while I called to the gods who had revealed themselves.

“Master of the clouds, I know you. Gentle-eyed one, I know you. Fleet-footed one, I know you. Foam-born, I know you. You of the underworld, I know you.”

The augur repeated the true and holy names of these five gods and then came the omens.

From the reeds in the river a flock of water birds rose, flying northward with extended necks, and disappeared from sight.

“Your lake,” said the augur.

A high-circling hawk struck at the ground and again rose. A fluttering flock of doves rose from the mists and flew swiftly to the northeast.

“Your mountain,” said the augur.

Then came the black ravens, circling lazily over our heads. The augur counted their number.

“Nine years,” he said.

That marked the end of the omens, but onto my foot climbed a black and yellow beetle. The augur again covered his head, changed his staff into the right hand and said, “Your tomb.”

In that manner did the gods remind me jealously of my body’s mortality and try to frighten me. But I kicked away the beetle, rose and spoke. “The act is ended, old man, and I will not thank you for the omens since one does not express thanks for them. There were five gods, and of them only the ruler of thunderbolts was male. There were three omens, two of which concerned places and the third the period of my imprisonment. But the gods were only earthly gods and their omens concerned only this life. They reminded me of death because they know that a human’s fate is death, but they themselves are bound to the earth as men are and thus, even as immortals, they are like men. I myself worship the veiled deities.”

“Speak not of them,” the augur said warningly. “The knowledge of them suffices. No one can know them, not even the gods.”

I replied, “The earth does not restrain them. Time and place do not restrain them. They rule the gods, as the gods rule men.”

“Don’t talk,” said the augur once more. “They exist. That is enough.”

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