by Mika Waltari
When we had dived and scraped the mud for our remaining loot we were free to do as we pleased. But before long the people of Himera demanded that Krinippos put an end to the turmoil caused by the Phocaeans.
“The Phocaeans are upsetting our days thoroughly,” they complained. “Formerly we awakened at cockcrow to practice our trades but now every house echoes with snores until midday. If we try to awaken our guests they are enraged. We are not unduly sensitive about the morals of our wives and daughters but it is annoying to see them clinging to a sailor’s beard from morning to night or fondly combing the lice from his hair. As to what happens at night, we dare not even say.”
Krinippos leaped to his feet from the simple wooden chair whose seat was woven of the skin of his unsuccessful predecessor.
“You came at an opportune time, citizens, for my amulets have warned me that danger threatens Himera and my spies in Syracuse have confirmed it. We will therefore put Dionysius’ men to work raising the city wall by three ells, to repay our hospitality. When Syracuse hears that Himera’s wall will be that much higher I hardly think that it will attack us but will choose some other city.”
Dionysius had little faith in Krinippos’ amulets but realized that, without discipline, the sailors would soon become an unruly herd. In their restlessness they were already picking quarrels with one another and even fighting, the men of one ship against those of another or the windward rowers against the leeward rowers.
Thus Dionysius concurred readily. “Your plan is excellent, Krinippos, and I assure you that my well-disciplined men will gladly labor to raise the wall of this friendly city. However, in specifying three ells, do you mean Greek or Phoenician ells?”
As a shrewd man Krinippos well understood what was meant and said admiringly, “You are a man after my own mind, Dionysius, but naturally I mean Phoenician ells. Simple courtesy toward my Carthaginian allies demands that I use the Phoenician measure.”
Dionysius tore his shirt, pulled his beard and cried out to his men, “Did you hear, all of you, how that despicable tyrant is insulting our honor as lonians? Naturally, we will raise Himera’s wall by three Greek ells and not one ringer’s width more.”
The men began to roar and the most rash among them even ran to [heir lodgings for their weapons. “A Greek ell, a Greek ell!” they howled, knowing well that a Greek ell is shorter than a Phoenician ell by three fingers.
Krinippos withdrew behind his famous seat and began bargaining with Dionysius, but he had to yield to the use of the Greek measure. Hearing that, Dionysius’ men cheered and embraced one another in glee as though they had won a great victory. In that manner Dionysius achieved their voluntary submission to an entire winter’s heavy labor. Dorieus, Mikon and I, however, did not have to participate since we had not been guilty of disturbing the peace.
We had not been many days in Tanakil’s house before the Siculian couple returned with their daughter. The girl was pale and her glance roving.
“We are ashamed to have to disturb you again,” they said, “but our daughter seems to be cursed. As soon as we reached home she became speechless again and has not been able to say a word since then. We are not blaming you, although it was peculiar how easily that Greek physician freed her tongue merely by kissing her. Let him try it again and we shall see what happens.”
Mikon protested that there was a time for everything and that it was not proper to kiss women while meditating on divine matters. Tanakil and Dorieus, however, felt that he had bound the girl to him either wittingly or unwittingly and thus was obliged to free her.
Obediently Mikon took the girl in his arms but nothing happened. Then he flushed and kissed her with marked enthusiasm. When he released her the girl began chattering once more and laughing and crying. It was not her fault, she said, that she had fallen under a spell. Away from Mikon her throat swelled and her tongue became immovable, therefore she begged to be allowed to remain with him.
Mikon scolded her and said that it was impossible. Her parents also protested. Nothing hindered her from occasionally singing and dancing for strangers in order to increase her dowry, but it was unthinkable that she should move to a strange house to live with an alien. A respectable girl would lose her reputation and no honorable man would wish to marry her.
The girl screamed that she could not live without Mikon, suffered a fit and sank to the floor unconscious. Her father slapped her cheeks, Tanakil poured a jugful of cold water on her face, and her mother thrust a hairpin into her thigh, and still she did not move. But when Mikon stooped to rub her limbs her eyelids flickered, the color returned to her cheeks and she sat up, demanding to know what had happened.
Reluctantly Mikon began to be interested in the matter as a physician. He urged the parents to take the girl with them and to test her once more. They returned immediately from the street with the information that the girl had become dumb as soon as they had stepped through the gate.
Mikon became serious and drew Dorieus and me aside. “I have long suspected that unseen forces are leading us,” he said. “I should have mistrusted the feather that led us to this house. We have been caught in the meshes of Aphrodite and it is she who led this girl here to bind me. Having finally found the opportunity for undisturbed meditation I was just on the verge of divine comprehension, and that angered the golden-haired one for she cannot suffer any man to have thoughts other than those of her liking. If we send the girl away and she remains dumb the entire city will censure us and we will be brought before Krinippos. What shall we do?”
Dorieus and I said immediately that it was his problem, for it was he who had taken the girl into the garden and presumably done something that should not have been done to a sensitive girl.
“That is the simple reason,” I said in conclusion. “No divine explanations are required.”
“Don’t try to roll the guilt onto my shoulders,” protested Mikon. “You yourself thrust the white pebble into my hand and led me to this house. Aphrodite has flung her nets over us, as Dorieus likewise knows. Why else would he have fallen into the lap of an old hag?”
Dorieus gritted his teeth. “Tanakil is an intelligent and unprejudiced woman. You are exaggerating her age needlessly. For my part I don’t understand how you-yes, and Turms, too-could stoop to touch a low-born girl. You see now what the results are. Tanakil is a refined woman and would never even dream of asking for more than she can get.”
“Be that as it may,” said Mikon, “you are struggling in the golden net although you may not even realize it. I also am ensnared in it. But you, Turms, you are the one I pity. She is merely playing with us to prove her might, but I dare not even think of the dreadful trap that she has set for you who are her chosen one.”
“You are dreaming,” I said arrogantly. “You are exaggerating the power of the goddess. I accept her gifts willingly and enjoy her friendship but I have no intention of submitting to her. There is something wrong with both of you in permitting that frivolous goddess to break your will. In that respect I am stronger than you.”
As soon as the senseless words were spoken I covered my mouth in dismay, for they were a direct challenge to the foam-born.
Unable to advise Mikon, we returned to the others. The girl had become even more obstinate and was threatening to hang herself from the torch by the gate. Then we could explain that to the people and to Krinippos if we could.
Her threats placed us in an uncomfortable position. Finally, wearying of the fruitless discussion, Mikon said, “So be it. I shall take the girl and purchase her as my slave if you will be content with a reasonable price. I cannot pay exorbitantly for I am but a poor itinerant physician.”
The girl’s parents stared at each other in horror and then pounced on Mikon, beating him with their fists.
“Do you think we would sell our own child into slavery?” they cried. “We are free Siculi and the natives of this land!”
“Then what do you want?”
It is unlikely that the girl’s paren
ts had known exactly what they did want upon their arrival, but their thoughts had been clarified by the conversation and the girl’s conduct.
“You must marry her,” they declared. “You have only yourself to blame, for you have bewitched her. We will give the girl the usual dowry and it is larger than you imagine, for we are not as poor as we seem.
Mikon tore his hair. “This is unbearable! It is but a trick of the goddess to keep my mind off supernatural matters. What man with a wife can think of anything but the problems of everyday life?”
The girl’s parents took her hand and thrust it into Mikon’s. “Her name is Ahura,” they said.
As they pronounced the girl’s name in their own language Mikon clutched his head.
“Aura-if that is your name-we can do nothing, for the gods are mocking us. Aura, you will remember, was a fleet-footed girl and one of Artemis’ hunting companions. Dionysus loved her but she did not submit until Aphrodite touched her with madness. The name is an omen, for Dionysus and Aphrodite both had their hand in leading me into this trap.”
I cannot say that the solution made us happy, but nothing else could be done. We celebrated the wedding with song and dance in the Siculian house among the cattle and goats. The dowry was on display for the neighbors to see and the parents had slaughtered, baked, cooked and roasted more than enough for everyone. After they had sacrificed a dove and smeared its blood on the clothes of the bride and groom, in accordance with the Siculian custom, music was played and wine was served. Under its influence I even danced the goat dance and won the deep admiration of those simple farmers.
Before the wedding Mikon had been depressed, saying that he probably would have to buy a house, hang his caduceus on the gate and remain in Himera to practice his profession. But Tanakil would not hear of it. During the wedding Mikon seemed considerably happier, perhaps due to the wine, and he was the first to remind us that it was time to return to Tanakil’s house. Nor did he speak to me of divine matters for a long time thereafter.
6.
When we had won her confidence, Aura took us outside the city to the woods and the mountains where she showed us the sacred springs, trees and rocks of the Siculi.
A stranger would not have been able to distinguish them but Aura explained, “When I touch this sacred stone my limbs prickle; when I place my hand on this tree my hand grows numb; and when I gaze into this spring I seem to fall into a trance.”
As we wandered together I realized that I likewise was beginning to sense our approach to these hallowed spots. If I held Aura’s hand I would suddenly exclaim, “This is the place! That tree, that spring.” How I knew it I cannot explain.
Soon it was no longer necessary for me to hold Aura’s hand, but a mere indication of the direction sufficed. Far ahead of the others I would stop and say, “Here is where I feel the power. This is a sacred place.”
Dionysius had asked me to make friends with the Tyrrhenians who sold iron goods and incomparably beautiful golden jewelry in their own mart. He was anxious to learn more about the sea across which we must sail in order to reach Massilia. But something made me shun those silent, odd-featured men who refused to bargain and chatter like the Greeks and instead competed with the excellence of their wares. Listening to their talk I had the feeling that I had heard the language long ago in a dream and could understand it if only I could cross some unfathomable threshold.
When I questioned the Himerans about the Tyrrhenians and their customs I was told that they were a cruel and pleasure-loving people and so licentious that at banquets even high-born women lay on the couches beside the men. On the seas the Tyrrhenians were formidable opponents and as iron-makers none could surpass them. It was also said that they had invented the anchor as well as the metallic ram on warships. They called themselves the Rasenna but the other peoples on the Italian mainland called them Etruscans.
Unable to explain my own reluctance, I nevertheless decided to visit the Tyrrhenian mart. But already in the yard I felt as though I had stepped into the domain of strange gods. The sky seemed to darken before me and the ground tremble underfoot. Nevertheless I seated myself on the bench which the merchants offered and began to bargain for a beautiful censer on raised legs.
While I was doing so their employer appeared from one of the inner rooms. His oval eyes, straight nose and long face seemed strangely familiar. He asked the others to leave, then smiled and said something to me in his own language. I shook my head and explained in the Himeran jargon that I didn’t understand.
He replied in excellent Greek, “Don’t you really understand or are you merely pretending? Even if you must appear as a Greek you surely realize that if you were to comb your hair like ours, shave your curly beard and don our clothes, you would pass for an Etruscan anywhere.”
Only then did I realize why he seemed so familiar. The oval face, the eyes with a fold at the corner, the straight nose and wide mouth resembled those I had seen in a mirror.
I explained that I was an Ionian refugee from Ephesus and added playfully, “Probably his hairdress and the cut of his clothes make a man. Even the gods of the various peoples can be distinguished more readily by their clothes than by their faces. I have no reason to doubt my Ionian birth but I shall remember your remark. Tell me about the Etruscans whom I resemble and of whom so much bad is said.”
“We have twelve allied cities,” he began, “but each city has its own customs, laws and government. We have twelve smiling gods, twelve birds and twelve compartments in the liver which determine our lives. Our hands have twelve lines and our lives are divided into twelve eras. Will you hear more?”
There was sarcasm in my voice as I replied, “In lonia we also had twelve cities fighting the twelve Persian satrapies, and we defeated the Persians in twelve battles. We also have twelve celestial gods as well as twelve gods of the underworld. But I am not a Pythagorean and will not argue about figures. Instead, tell me something about your customs and conditions.”
“We Etruscans know more than is generally believed,” he replied, “but we also know how to hold our tongue. Thus, I know more about your naval battle and your expeditions than is good for you or your commander. But you have nothing to fear since you have not violated the Etruscan naval might, at least yet. We share the western sea with. our allies the Phoenicians of Carthage, and Etruscan vessels sail in Carthaginian waters as freely as the ships of Carthage in ours. But we are also friendly with the Greeks and have permitted them to settle on our shores. We gladly trade our best for the best that other peoples can offer, but our knowledge we will not barter. And speaking of trade, have you agreed on a price for that censer?”
I explained that I had not yet had time to bargain sufficiently. “I don’t really enjoy bargaining,” I explained, “but in trading with Greeks and Phoenicians I have noticed that bargaining is an even greater source of joy to a merchant than selling. A true merchant is deeply wounded by a ready acceptance of the price that he has set.”
“You may have the censer without money or price,” said the Etruscan. “I give it to you as a gift.”
I looked at him suspiciously. “What reason have you to give me a gift? I don’t even know whether I have anything suitable to give you in return.
The man suddenly grew grave, bowed his head, covered his eyes with his left hand, raised his right arm and declared, “I give you the gift expecting nothing in return. But I would be happy if you would drink a cup of wine with me and rest for a moment on the couch.”
I misunderstood his words and said sharply, “I do not indulge in that even though I am an Ionian.”
When he realized what I meant he was deeply hurt. “No, no. In that respect we Etruscans do not imitate the Greeks. I would not dare lay a hand on you, for you are who you are.”
He spoke with such significance that a sudden sadness came over me. No longer reluctant to confide in this unknown man, I asked, “Who and what am I, then? How can anyone know? For each of us carries within him another and strange s
elf which takes him by surprise and drives him to actions against his will.”
The Etruscan’s oval eyes looked at me knowingly and a little smile touched his lips. “Not each of us,” he protested. “Far from that. For is not the majority a mere herd which is driven to the river to drink and back again to pasture?”
A deep poignancy gripped me. “The enviable and best human fate is to be content with one’s lot. But he also is enviable who is not content but reaches for that which is humanly attainable. I myself, however, am probably striving for something that is not humanly attainable.”
“And what is that?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “My mother I have known only in my dreams and my only father was a bitter friend of wisdom. I was born of a thunderbolt outside Ephesus and rescued by Artemis when the shepherds would have stoned me.”
Again the Etruscan covered his eyes with his left hand, bowed his head and raised his right arm as though in greeting. He said nothing, however, and I began to regret having confided so much to a complete stranger. He led me to a small banquet room, produced a jug of wine, and mixed some in a vessel with cool water. The room was filled with a fragrance of violets.
He splashed a drop onto the floor and said, “I drink to the goddess whose head bears a mural crown and whose emblem is an ivy leaf. She is the goddess of walls, but the walls of the body crumble before her.” He emptied his cup solemnly.
“Of whom are you speaking?” I asked.
“Of Turan.”
“I know her not,” I replied. But he said no more, merely smiled mysteriously as though doubting my words. Courteously I emptied my own cup. “I don’t know whether I should be drinking with you. Your violet wine might go to my head. As it is, I have noticed that I no longer can drink in moderation like civilized people. Already on two occasions in this city I have become so intoxicated that I have danced the obscene goat dance and finally lost my memory.”