Here the man stopped. He extended his arm and slowly poured the grain into the flame. Hector caught a faint whiff of something that smelled like burned popcorn. The man set the bowl down carefully and raised both his arms.
As he looked up at the sky, the cloth slid off his head, and Hector took an involuntary step forward. There was something about that man who was making the sacrifice. He looked—well, he looked like Arath. Older and more serious, but definitely Arath.
Arath looked solemnly around the crowd. When his gaze reached Hector he stopped and stared. Did he see Hector, or did he just happen to be looking in that direction? Hector couldn’t tell, and now he felt himself waking up. He fought the growing feeling of coming back to consciousness as hard as he had fought the pull of time. But it was no use. As his dream faded, he saw his own hand reach out to Arath, the stone eye in his palm. He watched the eye slide off and bounce in the red dirt and roll slowly away as the world turned and turned around him until it became the middle of a hot day at the end of the summer, with his mother teasing him for falling asleep.
19
“Are you ever going to wake up?”
Hector rolled over and rubbed his eyes. He wished he could hold on to the dream and believe for just a little longer that Arath had survived to grow up and become a priest. But the feeling of relief slid away as the misery of knowing he had failed took over again.
“You’re going to have to get out of this afternoon nap habit when we get home,” his mother said. “After all, they don’t have naps in school after kindergart—”
A shout from the dig interrupted her. “Susanna!” called Ettore’s voice, hoarse with excitement. “Susanna! Vieni qui! Ho trovato qualcosa! Betsy! I found something! Come see!”
Hector, still groggy, turned to look as his mother took off at a trot toward Ettore. Susanna was already there, and they moved aside to let his mother see what Ettore was holding. Hector’s fuzziness disappeared as he ran to join them.
Ettore was squeezing water over an object about the size and shape of a notebook. As the dirt washed away in reddish streaks, Hector saw that it was a piece of metal.
“Let me see,” Hector’s mother said, and Ettore handed her the metal plate. She caught her breath.
“What is it?” Hector asked.
“Bronze,” Susanna said. “There’s written something on it, see?”
“What does it say?” Hector said. His mother was peering at it, her lips moving slightly.
“I can’t make out all the words,” she said. “The patina is pretty thick. But some of it’s legible. Let’s see—it says something about aisar—that’s ‘gods,’ and turn celu Arath cvil—that means this was dedicated by a priest named Arath—”
“What?” Hector interrupted. “Named what?”
“Arath,” said his mother. She leaned over the tablet again and then stopped and looked at Hector. “Wasn’t that the name—” She stopped again. “Didn’t you—?”
“Come on, Betsy,” Ettore broke in. “What else does it say?”
Hector’s mother was still looking at him.
“Betsy!” Susanna sounded even more impatient than Ettore. “Su, andiamo!”
His mother turned back to the tablet. “And then something about that same priest, Arath, taking a journey—no, it seems to be not taking a journey, about the gods preventing him. Then some words: alpnu, ruva, thuleri—” She broke off and read a little more, frowning. “It’s hard to say exactly what it means without studying it more closely. Something about thanking a brother from a foreign land and about a demon or evil spirit being chased away or fleeing or something. It’s a demon I’ve never heard of before, with a name like Kai. You ever hear of a demon called Kai?” Ettore shook his head.
Susanna shrugged. “So what does it mean?” she asked.
“I’ll have to examine it some more,” Hector’s mother said. “First let me copy down what I can make out.”
“I’ll help,” Hector offered. They settled under the awning, and he sat on a cot, holding the bronze plate upright on his lap.
“Oh, and look what also I found.” Ettore had come up behind him. He handed Hector his stone eye. Hector turned it over, feeling the now-familiar weight. His hand shook. He didn’t understand. How had Ettore gotten it? Had he taken it from him while he lay under the shelter, dreaming or time traveling, or whatever it was he was doing?
“It is yours, isn’t it?” Ettore asked, watching him closely. “I recognized the crack.”
Hector nodded. “Where did you find it?” he asked.
“In the trench in front of the temple,” Ettore answered. “But it was inside the dirt, not on top.” Hector rolled the blue-and-white ball in his hand, still not understanding. He had lost the eye under the awning, far away from the temple area. It couldn’t have rolled all the way down to the trench, could it?
Unless—the thought came to him so suddenly he felt dizzy—unless he had really lost it more than two thousand years ago, not today, and in front of the temple, not under the awning. In his mind, he watched it roll away again, toward that grown-up Arath. Had it gotten trampled and lost in that eager crowd? Had Hector even found it that first day he was digging? Or was it waiting here for Ettore to find it today? And if Hector didn’t find it, how could he lose it for Ettore to find it again?
He thought he heard a soft voice say, “Time doesn’t work like that,” followed by equally soft laughter, but when he whipped his head around, he saw nothing. He suppressed a smile. You don’t know everything about time, Arath, he thought as Ettore squatted next to Hector’s mother and helped her decipher the letters.
Hector had to fight to keep from grinning as he turned the tablet where his mother indicated to give her the best view. He understood what it said, and his mother was basically right, even if she misunderstood some things. Arath had wanted to come see him again, but for some reason he hadn’t been able to make the journey. Maybe the stone eye knew that Arath would be all right and didn’t need Hector to travel in time again. He didn’t suppose he’d ever know for sure. But it didn’t matter.
“Mom?” Hector asked a little later, after Ettore had gone to talk to some of the archaeologists.
“Hmm?” she said.
“Do you really think the name of this town means ‘city of sacrifice’?”
“What are you talking about?” She put down her pencil and gave him her full attention for once.
“You know, when we first came here and Susanna asked you what you thought ‘Sporfieri’ meant and you said—”
“Sporfieri? Where did you hear that name?” Now it was Hector’s turn to look puzzled. “I remember the conversation, Heck, but it wasn’t about any place named Sporfieri. It was about this town, the one we’re staying in. Sporsazia.”
Hector nodded, pretending to understand, but he was mystified. Sporsazia?
“And anyway,” she went on, “I think I figured that one out. ‘Spor,’ from spur, or ‘city,’ and the closest thing I can find to ‘sazia’ is zatlath, Etruscan for ‘companion.’ So the name probably means something like ‘city of the friend’ or ‘city of friendship.’”
Hector didn’t trust himself to speak, because he didn’t know whether laughter or sobs would come out of his mouth. Arath had said that everything would eventually wind up the same, just as if Hector had never traveled to the past. Well, he was wrong. At least one thing was different: the name of the town. Hector had kept Arath from being killed and so there was no human sacrifice to name the town after. Instead it had been named for a friend.
And he knew that he, Hector, was the friend, the brother from a foreign land.
“Sporsazia,” he said aloud, and laughed quietly. It had a good sound.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
More than two thousand years ago, Rome was a village nestled in a crook of the Tiber River. According to Roman tradition, a man named Tarquinius Priscus became its king in 616 BCE. Tarquinius was not a Roman, but an Etruscan. The Etruscans inhabited most of t
he Italian peninsula and controlled a large part of its center. They called themselves Tyrrheni and said that they had originally come from Lydia, in what is now Turkey. Many ancient authors agreed. Some said, though, that the Etruscans were native to Italy, and still others thought that they were Greek immigrants. Even today nobody knows which, if any, of these theories is true.
Under the Tarquin kings (their Etruscan name was probably something like Tarchna), Rome grew into a city. The Etruscans drained the swamp that became the Roman Forum, built roads and temples, invented gladiatorial combat, made fine pottery (like the bucchero ware that Hector admired so much), and decorated their tombs with beautiful paintings of feasts and dances, of elegant horses and mysterious priests, of people hunting and fishing for impossibly rainbow-colored birds and fish. They were highly skilled craftspeople, especially in metalwork; the gold balls on their jewelry are so tiny that some museums supply a magnifying glass so that you can see the precisely formed and meticulously placed decorations on the rows of marching lions and other animals. They worshipped gods that became better known by the Roman versions of their names—Maris (Mars), Menrva (Minerva), Nethuns (Neptune), Uni (Juno)—and others like Vanth, goddess of death; Selva, god of the forest; and Lusna, the moon goddess.
Eventually, the Romans grew tired of being ruled by a series of monarchs, especially foreign ones. They expelled the Etruscan kings and established a republic with elected officials. Then there was no stopping them; the city grew and expanded until after a few centuries the Roman Empire controlled most of the known world. Much of Etruscan culture was lost, and although some well-known Romans of later times were of Etruscan origin, gradually the surviving members of that group became absorbed into the majority.
One of their most important contributions, to the Roman way of thinking anyway, were the Sibylline books. An ancient story says that a Sibyl, a woman through whom the gods spoke, approached Tarquinius Priscus and offered to sell him nine books of magic for three hundred gold coins. He refused. The Sibyl went away, burned three of the books, and then offered the remaining six to the king for the same price. Once again he refused, thinking she was crazy. So she burned three more and came back with the same offer: the remaining books (only three by now) for three hundred gold pieces. Belatedly, Tarquinius recognized that he was about to lose important magical knowledge, so he paid up. Early writers say that the rulers of Rome consulted these books in times of emergency. An ancient Greek author said, “There is no possession of the Romans, sacred or profane, which they guard so carefully as they do the Sibylline oracles.” The three remaining books were eventually destroyed in a fire.
If these books or something like them really existed, what was written in them? The Etruscans were famous for being able to foretell the future by looking at the flight of birds and other natural events. One technique they used was examining the liver of a sacrificed animal. The bronze liver that Ettore mentions to Hector really exists. It is covered with writing in the Etruscan language to help the haruspex (the person who interpreted natural events) figure out what the different bumps and discolorations on the animal’s liver meant. Perhaps the now-lost Sibylline books also contained instructions for foretelling the future.
The Etruscans had other ways of making predictions. One involved having a boy gaze into a mirror until he saw something that could be interpreted as a future event. Who knows if the boy actually saw something, or if he stared so long that his eyes got blurry and he imagined a scene, or if he got tired of the ritual and made up a story so that he could get away.
What if one of these boys learned how to decipher the letters in the book that was being read aloud while he was supposed to be looking in the mirror? What if that book was a copy of one of the Sibylline books that had been bought by the Etruscan king? And what if it turned out that the reason the Etruscans were so good at foretelling the future was that they actually traveled forward in time, saw what was going to happen, and then returned to make a prediction? By reading the sacred texts, the boy could figure out how to do this himself. A smart boy might even learn the languages and customs of the places where he time-traveled, just as Arath did in this story.
ETRUSCAN-ENGLISH GLOSSARY
The origins of the Etruscan language are as mysterious as the origins of the people themselves. The Etruscans adopted not only most of the Greek alphabet but also some Greek words (and, later, some Latin words). To form theories about the pronunciation of Etruscan, scholars have looked at which Greek letters the Etruscans used and which they omitted from their written language, and also at the pronunciation of modern Italian in the areas where the Etruscans were once powerful. They assume that similarities in pronunciation in these areas might reflect the common Etruscan ancestor of these dialects. Some of the theories on the pronunciation of different Etruscan letters are fairly secure, but others are just the best guesses that scholars can make, based on scanty evidence. The pronunciations given below are based on a chapter in The Etruscan Language by Giuliano Bonfante and Larissa Bonfante.
aisar (EYE-sar). Gods.
aisna, eisna (EYE-snah). Sacrifice.
alpnu (AHLP-noo). Give.
ati (AH-tee). Mother.
celu (KEH-loo). A kind of priest.
clan (clahn). Son.
cvil (kwill). Offer.
fanu (FAH-noo). Sanctuary; temple.
fler (flair). Sacrifice.
Flerchva ratum tur (FLAIRK-wa RAH-toom toor). Carry out the sacrifice according to the law.
flere (FLAY-ray). God.
hinthial (HIN-thee-al). Spirit; ghost.
Rashna (RAHSH-nah). Etruscan.
ruva (ROO-vah). Brother.
spur (spoor). City.
thuleri (TOO-lair-ee). Beyond the borders.
turn (toorn). Given, offered, dedicated.
zatlath (TSAT-laht). Companion.
zusleva (TSOOS-lay-vah). Offering, sacrifice.
ITALIAN-ENGLISH GLOSSARY
Italian vowels are pronounced very openly. The letter r is trilled as in Spanish.
affresco (ah-FRES-coh). Fresco (painting made on wet plaster).
apprendista (ap-pren-DEE-stah). Apprentice.
attento (ah-TEN-toh). Be careful.
bravo (BRAH-voh). Good; well done.
bucchero (BOO-keh-roh). Black Etruscan pottery with finely incised geometric designs.
buongiorno (buohn-JOR-noh). Good morning; hello.
caffè (cah-FEH). Coffee.
cara (CAH-rah). Dear.
C’hai [Hai] ancora fame? (cheye [rhymes with eye] ahn-COH-rah FAH-meh). Are you still hungry?
che bello (keh BEH-loh). How beautiful.
che caldo (keh CAHL-doh). How hot it is.
ciao (chow). Hi; bye.
d’accordo (dah-COHR-doh). Agreed.
dormiva (dor-MEE-vah). He was sleeping.
è qui (eh KWEE). He’s here.
ecco (EH-coh). That’s it; there it is.
eh già (eh jah). Oh, right.
fiorentini (fior-en-TEE-nee). Florentines; people from Florence.
grazie (GRAH-tsieh). Thanks; thank you.
malocchio (mahl-OKE-yo). Evil eye.
molto bravo (MOLE-toh BRAH-voh). Excellent.
Permesso? (per-MEH-soh). May I come in?
rosetta (roh-ZET-tah). A crusty roll made in and near Rome.
scintillando (sheen-tee-LAHN-doh). Shining; glittering.
sì (see). Yes.
Su, andiamo! (soo, ahn-DIAH-moh). Come on, let’s go!
ti adoro (tee ah-DOH-roh). I adore you.
Tu proverai si come sa di sale lo pane altrui (too proh-veh-REYE [rhymes with eye] see coh-meh sa dee SAH-leh loh PAH-neh al-TROO-ee). You will find out how salty other people’s bread tastes.
Vieni qui! Ho trovato qualcosa! (VIEH-nee kwee! oh troh-VAH-toh kwal-COH-sah). Come here! I found something!
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Copyright © 2005 by Tracy Barrett
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First Edition—2005
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First eBook edition: May 2015
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