Etruscan Blood by AM Kirkby
***
First came the wish. Out of the wish, a plan was made. Out of the plan came the violence and the death; but that was the easy part. That was always the easy part, and Tanaquil should have known that; she did know it, and she had planned, in detail, each step to be taken – letting his body be found in the morning; steering her son Tarquin to apparent power (never had the words 'heir apparent' been more apposite), using Servius to keep control, and then the alliances with Etruscan cities, gradually creating the Etruria she'd dreamed of. The Etruria Tarquinius had imagined once, before he'd grown old and cynical, before the brutal realities of Rome had dimmed the golden dream.
And now here was Servius, casting light both metaphorical and literal on the scene; unexpected, unwelcome, asking why she hadn't kept him in her confidence, what the hell was she doing, no one would believe her story, she was mad.
"Don't ever say that. I know exactly what I'm doing."
"Then you really are mad. Look at his face." Servius pulled the body up by the shoulders; the head dangled, lolled. The face was white, except for an almost black gash where Tarquinius had bitten through the inside of his lower lip.
"A fit," she said.
"He had fits?"
"He used to hide it."
"He hid it too well, then. And look..."
He pulled up the right hand of the ghastly puppet. In Tarquinius' fist was a tangle of torn hair, and caught in the hair, a golden ornament, a tiny filigree-frosted lion.
Tanaquil prised the gripless fingers apart.
"No one saw that."
"Still. Too easy. A woman's way to kill. And you've missed an opportunity. Unlike you, Tanaquil."
"I'm intrigued."
Servius laughed, without much mirth. "There are two sons of Ancus Marcius out there, do you remember? They've been waiting for Tarquinius to die."
"And?"
"They have their supporters."
"So?"
"You could get rid of them now."
Manius looked puzzled, but Tanaquil's frown suddenly cleared, and her face tightened in a cruelly satisfied smile. "A pity, really, we made such a neat job of it."
"Why didn't you ask me?"
Manius spoke from the dark behind the bed. "You were too close to Tarquinius."
"She never asked."
"You wouldn't have done it."
"That's irrelevant," Tanaquil said. "It's what we do now that's important. Servius; quick. Tell me."
"We make the death unequivocally a murder. Then we blame it on the princes."
"And we are where?"
"Gone. We let the servants discover the body."
"Yes," said Manius, shortly. "It works."
Servius was still supporting Tarquinius' body, but now he let it go suddenly, and it flopped, the torso falling half off the bed, one arm flung out and down. The arm swung to and fro for a few moments, a little less each time, till it was motionless. Tanaquil and Manius stared at it in morbid fascination.
"Here," Servius said. A bowl fell to the floor, and rang briefly as it rolled to a corner.
"Quiet!" Manius hissed, but Tanaquil shook her head.
"It doesn't matter," she said. "No one will hear. I made sure of that."
Servius held up the tripod from which he'd dislodged the bowl. "This will do," he said, moving it in his hands, trying to find the right purchase. "Hold him up, will you?"
Tanaquil bent down, and took her husband for the last time in her arms. She sat the body up; the useless arm swung loosely, and the head sagged to one side, braided hair falling across her arm.
Servius heaved the tripod above his head and brought it down once, twice, a third time. He swung it by one of its outflung legs; the solid bronze of the centre smacked into Tarquinius' head. Tanaquil never flinched.
Servius let the tripod go; it rolled, rocked a couple of times, and was still. Tanaquil pushed the body half off the bed; the head hit the floor, face first, and one arm came up like a swimmer's, then slumped back.
"Let's go," Tanaquil said.
She was already nearly out of the door when Servius called her back. In his hand he held a twist of dark hair and a glint of gold.
"You might want this," he said.