“I was merely showing respect. We use the word in honoring another’s birth. And because you are a Lars no harm can befall you.”
I did not understand, but explained that I had bound myself to the Phocaeans and if he could not sell me a periplus perhaps he could obtain a pilot who would consent to guide us to Massilia.
Lars Alsir traced the design on the floor without looking at me. “Carthaginian merchants guard their sailing routes so closely that any captain who discovers his ship being spied upon by Greeks would rather run his vessel aground and destroy both himself and the Greek vessel rather than reveal his route. We Etruscans are not quite so secretive, but as rulers of the sea we likewise have our traditions.”
He raised his head and looked into my eyes. “Understand me well, Lars Turms. Nothing would hinder me from selling you a falsified periplus at a high price, or giving you a pilot who would run you into a reef. But I could not do that to you because you are a Lars. Let Dionysius reap what he has sown. Let us forget this unpleasant topic and talk instead of divine matters.”
I declared with some bitterness that I could not understand why people insisted upon discussing divine matters with me after a cup of wine.
“Do I really bear the sign of a curse on my forehead?” I asked. I told him of my rescue by Artemis and declared that since then I had feared nothing. “I don’t even fear you, Lars Alsir, or your smiling gods. In fact, at this very moment I seem to be sitting near the ceiling and looking down at you,-and you are small indeed in my eyes.”
His voice sounded distant as a whisper. “Precisely, Lars Turms. You are on a round seat, leaning against its round back. But what is that you are holding in your hands?”
Extending my hands before me, palms upward, I looked at them in surprise. “I have a pomegranate in one and a cone in the other!”
Far below me in the dimness Lars Alsir, kneeling on the floor, looked up at me. “Precisely, Lars Turms. In one hand you hold the earth, in the other the sky, and you need fear no mortal. But you still don’t know our smiling gods.”
His words were like a challenge. Something in me expanded to infinity, the veil of the earth was rent and I saw a shadowy goddess. She wore a mural crown and carried an ivy leaf, but her face was invisible.
“What do you see?” Lars Alsir’s words carried to my ears from an unfathomable distance. “What do you see, son of the thunderbolt?”
I cried out, “I see her! For the first time I see her whom I have heretofore seen only in my dreams. But a veil covers her face and I cannot recognize her.”
Suddenly I plunged from my height, the veil-like world became solid and impenetrable again, and I was aware of my body. I was lying on the couch and Lars Alsir was shaking my shoulders.
“What is wrong? You suddenly went from me into a trance.”
I clutched my head with both hands, drank the wine that he offered me and then thrust the cup from me. “What poison are you giving me? I don’t become intoxicated so quickly. I thought I saw a veiled woman taller than a mortal and I was like a cloud beside her.”
“This is only innocent violet wine,” protested Lars Alsir. “But perhaps the shape of the black cup stimulated your hand. You see, the Etruscan gods follow an Etruscan wherever he may be reborn.”
“Are you claiming that I am a native Etruscan and not a Greek?”
“You may be the son of a slave or a prostitute, but you have been chosen by a divine thunderbolt. But let me advise you. Do not reveal your identity or boast about your birth if you ever find yourself in our land, as I think you will. You will be recognized in time. You yourself must wander blindfold and allow the gods to lead you. More than that I cannot say.”
In time we became friends, but not once did Lars Alsir again refer to my birth.
I told Dionysius that the Tyrrhenians were difficult to approach and that a stranger could not hope to bribe them into revealing their maritime secrets.
He became enraged. “The bones of Phocaeans rest on their shores, and if the Tyrrhenians choose to bite iron rather than peacefully allow us to sail to Massilia, they can blame only themselves if they cut their lips.”
Dionysius had begun the construction of a new warship while supervising the elevation of Himera’s wall by three Greek ells. He did not compel the men to work too hard, merely enough to maintain discipline. Many of the Phocaeans married Himeran women and planned to take them to Massilia.
The Sicilian winter was mild and gentle. I was happy to live in Himera while seeking myself. But then I met Kydippe, the granddaughter of the tyrant Krinippos.
7.
Krinippos was an ailing man who ate only vegetables even though he was not a Pythagorean. In fact, he had banished the Pythagoreans because they made the mistake of preaching oligarchy by the wise and the virtuous instead of by the aristocrats and the wealthy.
In his agony Krinippos was in the habit of expressing such bitter thoughts to his son Terillos, whose head had grown bald while vainly awaiting his father’s death and the acquisition of the amulets. I had occasion to listen to Krinippos’ lectures when I accompanied Mikon to his house in curiosity. Mikon’s potions eased the tyrant’s pain but Mikon warned him, “I cannot heal you, for the power that you have consumed has gone to your belly and is devouring you from within like a crab.”
Krinippos sighed. “Ah, how willingly I would die! But I cannot think of my own pleasure for my heart is heavy with concern for Himera and I cannot understand how I can leave its government to my inexperienced son. For almost forty years I have held him by the hand and tried to teach him statesmanship, but one cannot expect much of one to whom not much has been given.”
Terillos plucked at the gold-leafed wreath that he wore to conceal his baldness and whined, “Dear father, I have at least learned that Himera’s peace and freedom depend on its friendship with Carthage. The goddess of Eryx gave me a wife from Segesta whom I have suffered all these years merely to assure us of an ally should Syracuse threaten us. But the only child she gave me was Kydippe. Because of your statesmanship I have not even a son to whom I can bequeath your amulets.”
Mikon tried Krinippos’ pulse as he lay groaning on a dirty sheepskin. “Don’t agitate yourself, ruler Krinippos, for anger and vexation will merely increase your discomfort.”
“My entire life has consisted of anger and vexation,” said Krinippos morosely. “I would feel uncomfortable if something were not constantly troubling me. But you, Terillos, do not concern yourself with your successor, for I greatly fear that you will have little power to bequeath. Marry off Kydippe in time to some trustworthy city and ruler so that when you have lost Himera you can gnaw her bread of charity.”
Terillos, who was a sensitive man, burst into tears at his father’s unkind words. Krinippos relented and patted his knee with a veined hand.
“I am not blaming you, my son. I myself sired you and must bear the consequences. You were born into a worse period than I and I doubt whether even with my amulets I could persuade the present Himera to make me its tyrant. People are no longer as superstitious as in the good old days. But I am glad, my son, for you will be relieved of the responsibility of power and will live out your days in Kydippe’s care.” Then he said, “Bring Kydippe here to kiss her grandfather. I want to show her to these men. It will do no harm to have the fame of her beauty spread beyond the city.”
I did not expect much of her, for grandfathers are easily blinded by love, but when Terillos escorted her in it was as though dawn had burst upon the bleak room. She was only fifteen, but her golden eyes shone, her skin was as white as milk, and when she smiled her little teeth gleamed like pearls.
After she had greeted us shyly Kydippe ran to kiss her grandfather and to stroke his sparse beard. Krinippos turned her from side to side like a heifer being offered for sale, tilted her chin and asked proudly, “Have you ever seen a more desirable maiden?”