Etruscan Blood by AM Kirkby
***
There was still work to do with Manius. Tarquinius knew most of what was going on, but Tanaquil held other threads in her hands, plying the fate of Etruria and Rome like warp and weft, hoping to weave the two together inextricably; pulling on one thread, snapping short another, twisting and knotting them as she went. Manius was Tarquinius' man, but she was making him hers, an envoy who could conciliate, inform, disinform. Sometimes she toyed with the idea of making Manius a prince; he understood her project and her aims. One month he was in Velzna, dropping hints that Tarchna was ready to betray an alliance still not sealed; he left doubts behind him like mouse droppings in flour. Another time he'd be in Clevsin, sounding out the Porsennas, trying to get to the truth of reports he'd heard that Arruns had become close to them, assessing the size of their armies. Wherever he went, his concern was to prevent the sons of Ancus Marcius from finding a refuge; sometimes he'd put out the message that support for them was an act hostile to Rome, which could have consequences; sometimes he'd spread another story, about Robur's temper, his rape of an Etruscan girl – the truth of that was unproven, and Manius would admit as much, and sigh, and then someone could always be depended on to say 'There's no smoke without fire,' and so, in the end, it never really mattered whether it was true or not. It was likely enough.
She had him followed, of course; spying on your own spies ensured you knew any slant on the information you were getting. She knew Manius' habits; his routes through the forum, the back doubles he took through the city, where he bought his wine from. Sometimes, after she'd been given her daily report, she amused herself looking out from the Palatine and tracing the track of his movements with her eyes. (If you looked down on the city too long you would feel dangerously like a god; dangerous not because it was blasphemy, but because you'd forget how vulnerable you were.) She knew his tastes in lovemaking, from Elissa, and thought once or twice she might be able to make use of his desire for abasement; she knew his precise level of skill as a horseman and archer, his usual exercise routine. (Running five times a week, wrestling twice, a surprisingly Hellenic interest for a Sabine.) She knew where he drank, who he visited, sometimes what he said.
She knew he was jealous of Servius.
He'd nearly knocked her over, a few days back, rushing out of the atrium, and she couldn't, at the time, work out what had upset him. Only later, talking to Tarquinius in that half hour of half-awake chat they sometimes shared before sleeping, she found out that Manius hadn't showed up for an appointment to discuss developments in Velzna.
"But he was here," she started to say; and then thought better of it, and all that came out was the single word, "But..."
"But what did I do?" Tarquinius rolled over towards her. "Took the decision with Servius, of course."
"He turned up, then."
"An hour early. Keen, that one."
Ah, she thought; so when Manius arrived, he'd have heard Servius and Tarquinius already deep in their plans. He must have thought he'd been sidelined; which he had, of course, but not by Tarquinius.
"He's good, Servius. Very smart."
"And loyal?"
"Oh, absolutely."
She kept her own counsel on that, too.
"He reminds me of myself, when we first came to Rome." Tarquinius' voice was dreamy; he was half asleep already. "When I started working for the old man."
He's nothing like you, Tanaquil thought; more patient, tougher, less diplomatic. You're a lion; he's a wolf.
"I like his hunger. But he's reliable, too. A nice boy."
"He's not a boy."
"Twenty years younger than me, and you know I'm beginning to feel my age a bit. I can hardly drink three cups of wine these days without a hangover, and hangovers take all day to get over. I used to just swallow a spoonful of honey mixed with vinegar and it would be gone; I can't do that any more."
He was beginning to show his age, too; his braids grey at the temple, the skin of his arms beginning to slacken.
"Don't fall in love with him," she said. And of course, as she knew he would, Tarquinius scowled. The more she warned him, the more Tarquinius would take to Servius; and he probably didn't even realise he was doing it, doing the exact opposite of what she told him, but he did it anyway. Yes, he was getting old.
She wondered if she was getting stale, too; she used to be able to manage three, four, five men all jostling for position, to make all of them grateful and obedient, and now she could hardly introduce a new man to her circle without Manius becoming jealous. She wondered how much of it was pure political calculation, how much was the natural jealousy of a man superseded in a woman's favour. It was strange how men who were perfectly happily engaged elsewhere (she had to remind herself that Elissa had told her Manius had drifted away), and who had no intention of making any move on her, would still treat a woman as a personal possession, and resent the introduction of a rival.
She would have gone to see Manius the next day, but found he'd already gone to Spina, a day early; she could only hope his feelings didn't hamper his diplomacy, or his commitment to her project.
Meanwhile there was always weaving, and she had a new hunting dog she was training, a young bitch with a stiff-legged jolting run who was still too enthusiastic to be properly obedient – if you had her on a leash she'd whine to be let off, if you set her to stalk game she'd rush at it, flushing it before you were ready. Most wouldn't have had Tanaquil's patience; but she'd realised quickly that the ugly bitch was smart, one of the best she'd ever known on a scent, if only she could restrain that puppyish energy.
"She'll calm down once she's had her first litter," Tarquinius said; "they always do."
"You don't know dogs, do you?"
"As well as you."
"You don't know bitches, anyway. I ruined one by breeding her too young; I'm not making that mistake again."
Tarquinius had coughed, in the supercilious way men did when they thought they were right (and weren't), and changed the subject. But Tanaquil thought the bitch was slowly becoming more tractable, after a couple of weeks slowly walking her, holding her back, gentling her with caresses and low murmurs. There were times she came close to yelling at the animal; once or twice she'd dug her nails into the palms of her hands, hard enough to draw blood and leave tiny crescent scars, but to control the dog's temper she first had to rule her own.
So when Tarquinius decided to spend a day hunting, Tanaquil decided to take the little bitch, Vanth, as well as her old dog Charun – both hounds named for the deities of death, something Tarquinius had always told her was unlucky. (But then, what did men know about augury? The names were accurate; her hounds were death-bringers, efficient and pitiless.) Servius came too, with his own horse, a ragged looking beast with no name, a wide blaze of white on its forehead and one white leg. ("Thought you could afford better," Tarquinius said, looking at it; but Servius just smiled briefly and said, "It's got stamina," which, it turned out, was an understatement.)
They rode out of Rome towards the Alban hills; on the outskirts of the city, men were already tracking their way into town from the hastily thrown up huts and tents that marked the most recent arrivals. They might find work building, or portering, or they might be hoping for handouts, if there was a wedding feast, or a funeral; they didn't care whether they heard the epithalamy or wails of mourning, it was all a chance to grab something for free. A woman with a squint stared at them malevolently, and Tarquinius made the sign of the lightning bolt with one hand, to warn away the evil eye – though the woman may have meant nothing by her stare; it might only have been the squint that gave that impression.
One family hadn't even had time to build; a woman was breastfeeding two infants under a blanket tied to the side of a wagon, and pegged down in the earth to make a rough shelter, while a naked child only slightly older staggered into the mud, bawling. Vanth growled; Tanaquil had to dismount and walk, holding the leash tightly to keep the bitch from chasing into the huts. The place stank, a mixture of w
She flirted a little with Servius on the way. It was only a game, and she told herself that he surely understood the game, and wasn't fooled; it was a way to pass the time.
"Which hunts better, a wolf or a lion?" she'd asked him.
"A wolf," he said. "They're a tough lot, the wolves up in the Umbrian mountains."
"A lone wolf? Who do we know like that? Are you biased?"
"Don't be stupid; they hunt in packs."
"Or in pairs, isn't that right?"
He didn't answer. Perhaps he wasn't playing; she could never tell what mood he'd be in. He could be gloomy. There was something wild about him, something of the back country.
"The lion of Tarchna, the wolf of Rome..." she said; "you'll get on well in Rome with your affiliation."
"Theirs is a she-wolf, I seem to remember." He smiled; game on.
"Not quite appropriate to you, then."
"I can't help thinking I know a she-wolf or two."
Up on the steeper slopes the rocks hissed with the heat of late summer; a waiting thunderstorm hung on the heavy damp air. The weather kept shifting; the sun was strong, but passing clouds cast dark shadows on distant slopes, and once or twice the shadow passed over them, suddenly sucking the light out of the day. On the far horizon, dense white cloud was boiling up into a thunderhead. Vanth was questing in the undergrowth ahead of them; Charun, older and steadier, snuffled the ground, but kept close to his mistress.
"You don't hunt with servants?" Servius asked. "In Velx, we never went out without five or six followers – at the very least."
Tanaquil smiled wanly. "Privacy is hard to find for kings."
"It's not dangerous? To be alone out here?"
"Maybe it is." Her smile this time was warmer. "Who wants to live without danger?"
It was well after midday when Tarquinius decided they had reached the right place; open country bordering a forest side, sloping down to a meandering valley stream. Sometimes it rushed over rocks, bright and noisy; sometimes it ran dark and still under an earthen overhang, or opened out into muddy shallows. As they came across the heath birds flew up, panicked; but they weren't after birds today, and Tanaquil called back Vanth, who had set off to flush more out of the scrub.
Tarquinius was the first to see the sign; where a tree hung low over the path, and the earth was moist, the dirt had been grubbed up, tree roots ripped and scattered.
"Hogs," he said.
They looked about for any sign of tracks. There was none. They rode on.
"Check the river," Servius said. "There'll be a wallow somewhere."
But before they got down into the valley, the heathland gave way to tall wheat, and they saw the telltale trampling of wild pigs in the wheatfield, the stalks crushed down. They slowed; Servius jumped down from his horse to look more closely. He bent; sniffed a couple of times, straightened up.
"Found any spoor?"
Servius nodded.
"Fresh," he said; "it won't have got far."
He swung himself back up onto his horse; his speed and ease bore witness to his long training. He'd stay on horseback, to pursue the boar if it broke; Tarquinius and Tanaquil would go in on foot. That was the more dangerous job; Tarquinius had wanted Tanaquil to remain mounted, but she'd insisted on accompanying him. (You never knew what might happen, he'd said, trying to dissuade her. Exactly, she said; you never did. But as it turned out she did, now, know how much he trusted Servius; not quite as much as he trusted her.)
Tanaquil looked at Servius, looked at her husband, nodded, and whistled once to the dogs. Vanth shot forward on the right; Charun, nose to the ground, lurched more slowly to the left, crashing into the tall wheat. Within seconds the dogs were lost to sight; they could be tracked only by the rattling of the dry cornstalks.
They walked forwards, slowly, Tarquinius and Tanaquil at the front, Servius bringing up the rear on his horse. Tarquinius was careful not to get ahead of the dogs; this was the dangerous time, when the hunter was blind, exposed. Behind them, they left a trampled path; that corn would never come to harvest, though on either side the intact stalks sprang back. There was no talking; they were listening for the sound of baying, once the hounds found their quarry. From time to time they could see a whirl of corn ears where one of the dogs was pushing through.
They never saw the boar. It burst up from under their feet – it must have been lying in the scrape it had excavated, half-covered by the wheat.
Tanaquil was first with her spear, throwing almost as soon as she saw the boar; but Tarquinius had frozen, his face tight. The boar was rushing towards them. Servius dashed in, then he was, steadying his horse, tightening the rein, pulling the horse's head in, and then following up Tanaquil's shot with his lance, sticking it in the animal's throat, - he had his spear wedged into his armpit now and was pushing it, pushing the boar back. Its mouth was frothing; then the froth turned pink, but it was several minutes before the animal finally sagged to its feet, and toppled.
And still Tarquinius had not thrown his spear.
They butchered the boar quickly, down by the stream, throwing the heart and liver to the dogs, who had come rushing back. The intestines they left coiled iridescent and bloated like a drowned snake, heavy in the dirt, and wrapped the meat in the ripped-off skin. There was time, after that, for a mouthful or two of wine, tannic and earthy and warm from the leather flask, and a handful of dried fruit.
They retraced their path as best they could in this broken land. At times Tanaquil thought they'd gone wrong; a tree looked different from how she remembered it, or the worse of two forking paths seemed the right one. There were flashes of reminiscence too; a rock like a sleeping lion, a copse on a hilltop, a pine tree with one huge branch torn down by its own weight. Servius seemed confident in his way-reading, though, and she said nothing; if they had wandered from the way they'd taken, they ended up on the same ridge overlooking Rome, the track running down to the main road and the shanty town.
They were making their way down carefully on the scree covered track when a rabbit ran out of the bracken in front of them. Tanaquil called her dogs back; Charun came, grumbling with his low rumbling growl, but Vanth had already run free, so fast that her back paws went way past her ears as if she were trying to roll herself up into a hoop. The rabbit, scared, ran faster, straight towards the road, Vanth in pursuit.
It was late; there was only one horseman on the road. Seeing the horse, the rabbit doubled back; Vanth surged forward; the rabbit saw her, doubled again, and in panic shot almost between the horse's front hooves. Vanth followed, baying; the horse shied, nearly throwing its rider. But though he must have been half dozing when the accident happened – he otherwise would have seen the hunting party making its way down the track – he was a good horseman; he sat deep, let the horse rear, balanced it as it pawed the air, taking three steps on its back legs; and then took its reins in, as it landed, bringing its head round, letting it dance in a tight circle till it stopped fighting him.
"Marvellous," Servius breathed. But the rider was yelling at them; how could they have let that dog out of control? Were they stupid? Dumb hicks from the Alban hills. Had they got no idea of decent behaviour? It was the kind of rage that comes from fear only just mastered.
Vanth was barking madly now, excited by the rider's shouting, and trying to get at the horse's feet; Tanaquil whipped her horse quickly forwards, meaning to get at Vanth with her whip, or if necessary dismount and grab the dog by the collar. Suddenly she pulled up short; she realised who the rider was.
At the same moment the rider realised who he was shouting at. He stopped, his face red, whether with anger or embarrassment Tanaquil couldn't tell; he looked utterly miserable.
But Tarquinius was there at once, exerting all his considerable charm.
"Manius!
It was still early, and rather than take the main road into the city, they decided to contour the city on the south and ride back up the Tiber valley. About two hours before sunset, they stopped for some wine and a small collation; dried fruit, spelt cakes, cheese that Manius had brought back from the hills, goaty and sour.
Servius drifted off; when he came back, he was shaking his hands – he must have washed them in a streamlet – but when Tanaquil held out a cloth for him, he ignored it. Pointedly? She wondered. Perhaps she was getting too sensitive; a hazard for all politicians. Once you started manipulating others you imagined they were all busy with the same game; sometimes things just happened. Perhaps, after all, he simply hadn't seen.
After the wine, Servius and Manius looked to the horses; Tanaquil and Tarquinius lay for a few minutes in the sun. She turned towards him, propping herself on one elbow. Servius was out of earshot.
"I'm a bit worried about Servius," she said.
"Hm?"
"He's been rather too attentive."
"You want him?"
"Well, no, as it happens."
Tarquinius smiled slightly. "I could get him to ride with me on the way back. There are a few things I wanted to discuss with him, anyway. And Manius can keep you company. If that's what you want."
She nodded.
When they started off again, Tarquinius called Servius to ride with him; he wanted to talk about the army reorganisation. Servius glowered; he must have realised something was up. As he trotted past Manius, his horse barged into the other, and its hooves skidded on the polished rock of the downhill track. He leant back, almost lying on the horse's crupper as its forefeet slid down into the ditch, before it recovered. Manius, his hands relaxed on his horse's neck, his reins loose, was smiling slyly.
Now Tanaquil could take advantage of the situation she'd set up; she was getting a debrief from Manius before anyone else (she'd quickly ascertained that as yet he'd met no-one from the city, nor sent any messages back). She was amazed Tarquinius had fallen for it; he didn't generally mind her flirtations, nor had he seemed to mind this time. She might have been happier if he had; she'd tried to get him to think of Servius almost as an adopted son, and that hint of incest might have worked like a splinter under his skin... But he'd still fallen for her ruse, and now she'd get the news first, cutting Tarquinius out neatly.
Manius' three weeks in Spina had been more productive than she'd hoped; the northern cities had cut loose from the Federation. They'd trade with Rome; hell, they'd support Rome with arms if it came to a fight.
"Against Tarchna?"
"Against any of the cities."
"But why?"
Manius shrugged. "I never did find that out. Not really. But I think they're worried about attacks from the north. And they think Etruria's gone soft. If it comes to fighting off the Celts, they'd rather have us on their side. Or maybe they just think we're on the up, the cities are in decline."
"They're serious? It's not a bluff?"
"I don't think so. I asked around. There'd been an envoy from Velzna a couple of months ago. It seems he didn't get much of a welcome."
That was worth knowing. Some diplomats spent all their time at court; more fool them. They bought the story they were told. Whispers in corners, jokes bellowed out in drinking dens, old women's gossip over looms, cross-checked the official line, like a surveyor triangulating a position; you couldn't draw a line on the ground before you knew exactly where you were.
Manius brought his horse closer to hers, leant towards her. He hadn't shaved, she noticed; must have been on the road early.
"Servius," he said. "You're sweet on him."
"Not at all."
"You were riding next to him. Doesn't Tarquinius see?"
"Tarquinius sees what he wants to."
"And smiling at him."
"So? He's nothing. A bit of rough! That's all."
"You admit it!"
"Admit what?"
"You're sleeping with him."
"Herkle, no! He amuses me."
"I suppose I amuse you."
She put her head on one side, and pretended to be thinking. "Amuse me?" She paused. Let him suffer. "No."
"What then?"
"Manius, I depend on you."
His face relaxed into a smile. It was so easy to manipulate men. Men always thought women manipulated them through sex, but fact it was the appeal to their sense of importance that always got them where you wanted them. Tarquinius knew that, too, and used it; but somehow he'd never worked out when she used exactly the same tactic on him.
"You've proved your worth," she said. "This time, you've really made a difference." Lay it on thick, he'd never suspect...
"He's done what?" Tarquinius said. She hadn't realised he was listening.
"Proved his worth, this time. You'll hear, when we get back. He's done a lot for us."
"For you," Tarquinius said, humourless.
"For us," she said.