The Etruscan by Mika Waltari

Posted by admin_akashic on Mar 10th, 2022 in Stories

We returned to the streets of the Etruscans and stepped into the inn so that I might give the augur his gift. There the host met us, wringing his hands.

“It’s good that you returned, stranger, for things are happening here that I don’t understand. I don’t know whether I can let you and your family remain in my house. My trade will suffer if people begin to fear this place.”

The slaves bustled about, shouting that objects had fallen from the walls and the household god had turned its back on the hearth. Quickly I went into the room in which we had eaten. Arsinoe was sitting on the edge of the couch with a guilty look, munching on an apple, and on a bronze-legged chair beside her sat a withered old man propping the drooping lid of his right eye with a finger. He wore a bleached robe bordered in purple and on his thumb was a gold ring. When he noticed me he began painfully to explain something in Latin, but the host urged him not to exert himself.

“He is one of the city fathers,” explained the innkeeper. “Tertius Valerius, the brother of the plebeian’s friend, Publius Valerius. The events of the past years have touched him deeply ever since he had to permit both his sons to be killed in accordance with a law which his brother introduced and the Senate ratified. A short while ago he was in the Senate when the tribune was impeaching Caius Marcius, conqueror of the Volsci, and the people rioted. He lost consciousness and was carried into my house since the slaves were afraid to take him to his own house lest he die on the way. When he regained consciousness he claims he saw his wife although she died of sorrow after the loss of her sons.”

The old man began to speak in Etruscan and declared, “I saw my wife, touched her and discussed matters that only we two know. I don’t know what it means, for finally everything darkened and my wife changed into the woman before me.”

“The most amazing thing is that shortly before that I also saw my wife,” said the host, “although I know that she is visiting relatives in Veii and Veil is a full day’s journey from here. But with my own eyes I saw her walking in the court. In the name of my guardian spirit I swear that I saw her and touched her, for I ran to embrace her, asking, ‘When did you return from Veii and why so soon?’ Only then did I realize that I had touched this woman who had awakened from a sleep and was walking about the house.”

“He is lying,” declared Arsinoe. “They are both lying. I awakened only now and can remember nothing unusual. The old man was just staring at me. He hasn’t tried to lie with me nor would he be capable of it.”

I said angrily, “You could turn any house upside down with your pranks, but perhaps the goddess entered you as you slept and you really don’t know what happened.”

Tertius Valerius was sufficiently educated to stammer a few words in Greek. Turning to him I said, “You saw the vision in a twilight condition. Undoubtedly a blood-vessel in your brain burst from the shock you experienced at the market place, as I can see that from your drooping eyelid. Your wife appeared to you in the guise of my wife to warn you to take care of yourself and not to become involved in disputes that only injure your health. The vision signified no more than that.”

“Are you a physician?” asked Tertius Valerius.

“No, but I was friend to one of the renowned physicians of the island of Cos. He knew that a certain Alcmaeon has proved that disturbances in the head affect various parts of the body. Your injury is within your skull and the paralysis of your body is an indication of that and not an illness in itself. So we are told.”

The old man thought for a moment, made his decision and said, “Clearly the gods sent me to this house to meet your wife and you and to find peace of heart. I believe my wife. Had I believed her in time, both my sons would still be alive. Ambition blinded me and I thought I was the equal of my brothers and was not content to remain silent on public matters. Now my hearth is cold, my old age cheerless and the Furies whisper in my ears as I sit alone in the dark.”

He clutched Arsinoe’s hand and continued, “Both of you must accompany me to my house as my guests.”

The innkeeper took me aside. “He is a respected man and owns thousands of jugera of land. But he has been muddled for a long time and the illness has hardly improved his reason. I would doubt his vision had I myself not seen a similar one. You will be hated by his relatives if you remain in his house as his guest.”

I pondered the matter and said finally, “It is not up to me to doubt events. I thank you for your hospitality, for which I will pay you when you have counted on your tablet how much I owe you. I shall accompany this old man, my wife will put him to bed and our own servant will care for him. That is my decision.”

Face flushed, the host pulled the tablet from his belt and began to write eagerly with the stylus. He glanced at me apologetically and said, “You must realize, stranger, that I would much rather offer you my hospitality without a price on it. I would even, for certain reasons, worship you on my knees, but this is my trade and we are in Rome.”

He looked about him but saw only Tertius Valerius clutching Arsinoe’s hand tightly as though seeking protection. “Perhaps the gods wish you to go to Tertius Valerius’ house. But remember that his oldest brother was a many-time praetor who incurred the wrath of the patricians because of his law of appeal. His other brother has also been a praetor, and this brother’s son Manius even a dictator and so successful in war that an ivory seat of honor at the circus was bestowed on his family. Throughout his life Tertius has striven to equal his brothers. Sheer ambition prompted him to send his sons to the executioner’s pillar when Publius sent his own sons, and to try to watch his sons’ flogging and execution as impassively as his brother. The youths had gathered in secret to pledge their support for the last Tarquinius.”

As the host prattled on, he rapidly entered number after number in Etruscan numerals. Finally he extended the wax tablet to me with a sigh. Both sides were filled from right to left and from bottom to top.

“All this you have eaten and received,” he assured me. “Included also is what your wife and daughter and slave have eaten and what you in your generosity gave to my slaves and to the poor.”

I began to add the figures and was horrified. “You have fed the entire city of Rome at my expense! That was not my intention.”

Arsinoe stroked Tertius Valerius’ veined hand. “Don’t always be so petty, Turms,” she murmured, and tilted her head to catch the old man’s glazed glance.

Tertius Valerius rose immediately and wrapped his purple-bordered toga tightly around himself. “Leave the account to me,” he declared. “The innkeeper can send his slave to my house to fetch the copper. Let us depart.”

I tried to protest but he was stubborn and called us his friends as the host scratched his neck with the stylus in bewilderment and exclaimed, “If I once doubted, I doubt no more! A Roman paying a guest’s account? No, when his head has cleared he will begin to haggle and run my slave back and forth between our houses until my hair turns gray before I get my money.”

The old man angrily snatched the tablet from the host’s hand and with trembling fingers drew his initials in the wax. Then, without another glance at the innkeeper, he seized Arsinoe’s arm.

“You lead me, my dear deceased wife, for I am old and my knees shake. And do not reproach me for my extravagance. It will happen only this once from the sheer joy of meeting you again as youthful and beautiful as you were during our happiest days.”

When I heard that I began to regret my hasty decision but it was too late, for Arsinoe was already leading the old man quickly through the room to the courtyard where his slaves were waiting to carry him home.

The journey was not long, and we soon arrived in the courtyard of Tertius Valerius’ old-fashioned house which, in imitation of his brothers, he had built at the foot of Velia. The gatekeeper slave was as old and trembling as his master and the link fastening his fetter to the gatepost had long ago rotted, so that he wore it only for the sake of appearances when guests arrived. Otherwise he limped about the courtyard or in the street in search of a sunny place in which to warm his aged body.

The slaves carried the litter inside to the court, where Arsinoe gently awakened the old man. We had the slaves lift him into bed and bring a brazier to heat the half-dark room, noticing as they did so that his household, run by decrepit slaves, was badly neglected. With a deep sigh he turned his cheek to the pillow but remembered to tell the slaves to obey us, his guests. Then he motioned us closer, and as we leaned over him he stroked Arsinoe’s hair and from courtesy also mine. Arsinoe laid her hand on his forehead and bade him sleep. He did so immediately.

When we returned to the court I asked the slaves to return to the inn for Hanna, Misme and our goods. Instead, however, they looked at us disdainfully and shook their heads as though they did not comprehend. But the white-haired housekeeper finally bowed his head before my stern look, admitted his Etruscan birth and ordered them to go. He said that he still understood the language well, although Romans avoided speaking it in public following the king’s exile. The more fanatical among them did not even wish their children to learn the old language, he explained, but the truly noble sons of Fathers still sent their own sons either to Veil or Tarquinia for a time in their youth to learn culture and good manners.

“Tell me your name and family and your wife’s name and whence you come, so that I may address you properly,” he said humbly.

I had no desire to conceal my real name from the housekeeper who enjoyed Valerius’ confidence. “I am Turms of Ephesus and an Ionian refugee as you can guess. My wife’s name is Arsinoe. She speaks only Greek and the language of the sea.”

“Turms,” he repeated. “That is no Greek name. How is it possible that an Ionian speaks the holy language?”

“Call me whatever you wish!” I exclaimed, and had to laugh.

In a friendly gesture I placed my hand on his shoulder, but the touch of it made him tremble. “The Romans distort the name Turms into Turnus,” he explained, “and it may be best for you to call yourself Tur-nus here. I will not ask anything more but will serve you as best I can so forgive my curiosity, which is a weakness of old age. I thank you for having deigned to touch me, a lowly person.”

His back erect, he walked effortlessly before us to show us the rooms. I asked him to speak to me in Latin, which was the language of the city, so that I might learn it, and he began by naming every object, first in Latin and then in Etruscan. Arsinoe, too, listened so attentively that I realized that she wished to learn to speak to Tertius Valerius in the city’s own language, and I feared the consequences.