The augur laid the traditional black leather collar on Misme’s bare shoulders and forced her to sit on the edge of the bed of stones, her bound wrists before her. Then he gave a sign with his staff and the combatants rushed together so violently that the first clash blurred before our eyes into flashing confusion. Sooner than the eye could comprehend, two youths lay bleeding on the ground.
The other contestants would have been wise, I think, if they had all united to force Lars Arnth outside the circle since they dared not kill him because of his noble birth. They were fighting only formally for honor and a beautiful sacrifice. He fought for his entire future, for the kingship of Tarquinia, even for the salvation of the Etruscan peoples, since he believed that only his own policy could free the Etrus can cities from fatal Greek pressure. But how could his rivals have known that?
No, in the traditional manner they rushed six against six in the first skirmish, paused for the period of a breath to appraise the situation; then five plunged against five, swords flashed and shield crashed against shield. We heard groans of pain and only four youths drew back, gasping for breath. One had toppled outside the ring, two crawled out leaving bloodstains behind, one’s sword had been struck from his hand, severing his fingers, one lay on his back with the air bubbling from his gashed throat, and one was shielded by the augur’s staff as he still tried to wield his sword although on his knees.
Without a glance at those who had dropped out, the four measured one another. Lars Arnth was one of the four and I crossed my hands tightly, hoping that he would last and at least save his life. For a moment they stood there with their backs to the sacred circle, then the most impatient lost his nerve and rushed with upraised shield at his nearest opponent. This youth struck it in the air with his own shield and plunged his sword through the other’s body. Instantly the third rival recognized his opportunity and leaped to thrust his sword into the defender’s back, not to kill but merely to render him incapable of combat.
Everything had occurred with incredible speed and ten of the bravest and fairest Etruscan youths were already out of the game. I thought sadly of their hopes and how they had toughened their bodies and improved their skills with ceaseless practice. In a few fleeting moments all was over and hope gone. Now only Lars Arnth and the Veian youth remained, and the real battle could begin. Chance and good fortune no longer determined the outcome but only swordsmanship, endurance and nerves.
Haste availed nothing. That they both must have realized as they warily crept along the edge of the ring, for each took a moment to glance at Misme who stared at them with shining eyes. Later I heard that the Veian youth had been among those who had fetched Misme and that he had held her in his arms on horseback. Then and there he had decided to die rather than surrender. But despite his youth Lars Arnth had attended the bitter school of political life and well knew the power of patience and perseverance to overcome a rival’s endurance. Coldbloodedly he waited, even dropping his shield and stretching his limbs.
The youth from Veil could bear no more but plunged ahead, the shields clanging against each other and the swords striking bright sparks as they clashed. But the youths were of the same size and equally skilled, and neither succeeded in thrusting the other backward. After exchanging some ten rapid strokes they leaped apart to regain their breath. Blood streamed down Lars Arnth’s thigh, but he shook his head sharply as the augur prepared to raise his staff. The Veian youth forgot and looked at him and at that moment Lars Arnth charged at him with bowed head and thrust his sword under his foe’s shield. The youth dropped to one knee but kept his shield up and lashed out so violently with his sword that Lars Arnth had to retreat. The Veian had received a bad wound in his groin and could not rise, but with knee to the ground he slashed aside the augur’s staff and glared at Lars Arnth.
Lars Arnth was compelled to continue, willingly or not. He seemed to sense that the Veian had more endurance than he, and that thus he had to bring the combat to a quick conclusion. Holding his shield as low as possible, he attacked. But the Veian warded off the blow and with the speed of light dropped his sword, scooped up a handful of sand and threw it at Lars Arnth’s eyes. Then he snatched the sword again and plunged it at Lars Arnth’s unprotected chest with such force that he toppled off his knee and fell on his face to the ground as, more by instinct than skill, Lars Arnth thrust the blade aside blindly so that he suffered only a harmless cut. He could have struck the Veian youth on the neck with the edge of his shield or cut off the fingers grasping the sword. But Lars Arnth was content to step on his hand and press the youth’s face to the ground with his shield without hurting him. It was nobly done.
The Veian youth was fearless and tried once more to wrench himself free. Only then did he accept his defeat and a sob of disappointment rose from his throat. He released his sword and Lars Arnth, stooping to snatch it from the ground, threw it outside the ring. Magnanimously he extended his hand to his opponent and helped him to rise although his own eyes were still blinded by the sand and his own blood.
Then Lars Arnth did something the like of which had surely never happened before. Still panting from his exertion he glanced around searchingly, then stepped to the augur and pulled off the loose augur’s cloak so that the old man stood clad only in a shirt, his thin legs bare. With the cloak over his arm Lars Arnth stepped to Misme, cut the holy woolen band that bound her wrists, bent reverently to touch her mouth with his and, dropping onto the stone bed, took Misme in his arms and covered them both with the augur’s cloak.
This was so amazing that not even the most sacred tradition could stifle the laughter. At sight of the augur’s helpless air and thin legs we laughed still more, and when Misme extended a bare foot from the cloak and wiggled her toes at us even the Lucumones laughed so that tears rolled from their eyes.
With such relief did we laugh at Lars Arnth’s unexpected thoughtful-ness, nor was anyone opposed to it. On the contrary, everyone admitted later that such a noble youth as Lars Arnth and the granddaughter of Lars Porsenna could not have performed the traditional sacrifice before the stares of the people. Probably Misme and Arnth also laughed as they embraced each other under the augur’s cloak and left the sacrifice to a more propitious time.
When the laughter finally began to die down, Lars Arnth tossed off the cloak. They rose, holding each other’s hand and looking into each other’s eyes as though they had forgotten the rest of the world. They were a beautiful pair. The angry augur snatched back his cloak, flung it over his shoulder, rapped them both on the head with his staff harder than was necessary, and pronounced them man and wife and Tarquinia the supreme Etruscan city. Now Lars Arnth took the black collar from Misme’s neck and reversed it so that the white side was on top to indicate, in accordance with the ancient tradition, that life had conquered death. Hand in hand they stepped outside the circle, a wedding cloak was thrown over Misme’s nakedness and a myrtle wreath placed on her head. Lars Arnth took his own mantle, pulled on his shirt, and I hastened to embrace Misme as my daughter.
“How could you frighten me so?” I scolded her.
But Misme tossed her head capriciously and laughed aloud. “Now do you believe that I am able to take care of myself, Turms?”
Glancing at Lars Arnth, I whispered in her ear that from now on she must address me as her father, show the proper respect and remember that she was the granddaughter of the great Etruscan hero Lars Porsenna. She in turn told me that the field brothers had attempted to protect both her and my farm but that the enraged Romans had burned the buildings, stolen the cattle and trampled the fields when they had learned of my escape from the Mamertine prison. She and the old slaves had hidden themselves and that same night she had dug up the gold bull’s-head, chipped off the horns and given one to the old slave couple and the other to the shepherd youth who had become the keeper of my farm so that he might, in Misme’s name, obtain staffs of emancipation for the couple.