When I descended into the tomb I saw that the entire rear wall had been covered with bright colors that breathed harmony, beauty and wistful joy. Aruns did not turn to greet me but remained staring at his own work.
The draped curtains of an open summerhouse circled the ceiling. In the center, incomparably above everything earthly, stood the convivial couch of the gods with its numerous cushions. Both white cones in their festive wreaths rose from their double cushions, while both robes hung at the foot of the bed, side by side. To the right of the gods’ couch and far below on the humans’ couch lay the festive couple behind whom stood youths extending their hands in greeting to the gods. To the left was a mixing vessel and a woman with upraised arms. Looking at the picture closely, I noticed that the artist had extended the folds of the tent to both side walls so that the scenes which Aruns had painted earlier formed a part of the whole lofty picture which was dominated by the couch of the gods.
“The feast of the gods,” I whispered in the grip of a holy tremor, for my heart understood the painting even though my earthly mind could not explain it.
“Or the death of a Lucumo,” replied Aruns, and for a fleeting moment I realized with dazzling clarity what he meant and why it had been ordained that I witness the birth of the painting. But my moment of perception passed and I returned to earth.
“You are right, Aruns,” I said. “Probably no one has dared paint anything like this. The gods themselves must have guided your brush and chosen the colors for you, for you have attained the unattainable.”
I embraced him, and he buried his bearded, paint-smeared face in my shoulder and began to weep. Sobs of relief shook his strong body until he finally collected himself and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, thus smearing his face still more.
“Forgive my tears, Turnus,” he pleaded, “but I have been working night and day and have slept only the necessary moments on the stone bench until I have again awakened to the cold of the tomb. I have not eaten much. Colors have been my bread. I have not drunk much. Lines have been my drink. Nor do I know how I have been able to succeed or if I have succeeded at all. But something within me assures me that an entire era is concluded with this painting even though it may go on for another ten or twenty years. That is why I am weeping.”
At that moment I saw with his eyes and felt with his heart the death of the Lucumo and knew that a new age was indeed coming, uglier, more bloated and more mundane than this age which was still illumined by the radiance of the veiled gods. Instead of guardian spirits and beautiful earthly gods, monsters and cruel spirits would well up from the underworld pits, just as a bloated person sees nightmares after he has eaten his belly too full.
I need say no more about Aruns and his painting. Before departing I sent his good wife an expensive gift but to him I sent nothing, since no gift could have repaid him for what he had shown me.
How was I, who had left Rome as a shepherd, able to give expensive gifts? One day I happened to be walking outside the city and passed a colorful canopy under which a group of noble youths were playing dice. Among them was Lars Arnth Velthuru who extended a white hand and called to me.
“Will you join us, Turnus? Choose your place, have a drink and pick up the dice.”
His companions looked at me in surprise, for I was wearing my cheap traveler’s clothes and on my feet were the heavy-soled shoes. I saw the ridicule in their eyes but no one dared oppose a Velthuru. I saw their beautiful horses tied to the trees and guessed that they, like Lars Arnth, were high-born cavalry officers.
I seated myself opposite Lars Arnth, wrapped my robe around my knees and said, “I have not played much but I am always ready to try with you.”
The others exclaimed in surprise but Lars Arnth silenced them, dropped the dice in a beaker and extended it to me. “Shall we play for a whole?” he asked casually, “As you will,” I said, thinking that he was referring to a gold coin or perhaps, since such noble youths were playing, a whole mina of silver.
“Well!” cried the youths. A few of them struck their palms together and demanded, “Will you answer for that?”
“Silence!” snapped Lars Arnth. “He will. I guarantee it if no one else does.”
I tossed the dice, then he took them in turn, tossed and won. In that manner I lost three times successively faster than I could swallow my wine.
“Three whole,” observed Arnth Velthuru and indifferently tossed to the side three beautifully lettered ivory chips. “Would you like to draw breath for a while, friend Turnus, or shall we continue?”
I glanced at the sky and thought that three minas was a lot of money. Silently I called to Hecate, reminding her of her promise. As I turned my head I saw that a lizard had slipped onto a nearby stone to sun itself. The goddess was with me as Hecate.
“Let us continue,” I suggested, finished my wine and tossed the dice once more, gloriously confident of victory. I leaned over to read my throw, for the Etruscans did not mark the sides of the dice with dots but with letters, and saw that I had made the best possible throw. Lars Arnth should not even have tried, but he did and lost. In that manner I won three times in succession.
The noble youths had forgotten their mockery and with bated breath were following the roll of the dice. One of them said, “I have never seen such playing! His hands do not even tremble and his breath is not quick.”
That was true, for I watched the fluttering sparrows and rejoiced in the blue of the autumn sky fully as much as I participated in the game. A thin red had touched the slender cheeks of Arnth Velthuru and his eyes shone brightly although he cared little whether he won or lost, but merely enjoyed the excitement of the game.
“Shall we breathe?” he asked when we were even and he took back the third chip.
I let my wine cup be filled, drank with him and suggested, “Let us have one more throw to see which of us wins, which loses. Then I must leave.”
“As you wish,” he said and in his excitement made the first throw. He apologized immediately and remarked, “A bad throw but I deserved it.”
I won by only one point, which was best since it softened his defeat, then I rose to leave.
“Don’t forget your winnings,” exclaimed Lars Arnth and tossed the ivory chip to me. Laughingly I caught it in the air and remarked that winning was not really important. A greater joy had been in meeting him and playing the exciting game.
The youths stared at me open-mouthed but Arnth Velthuru smiled his thin attractive smile and said, “I shall send my slave to bring you your winnings either tonight or tomorrow morning. Remind me of it if I should forget.”
But he did not forget the matter. Only when his handsomely clothed keeper of the money that same night brought to the inn a talent of silver in the form of twelve stamped bars did I realize that he had meant a whole talent.
A talent of silver was so much money that I could easily have built a house, decorated and furnished it beautifully, planted a garden and bought slaves to care for the house. I decided that after that I would no longer dice in Tarquinia and to that resolve I clung despite temptation.
So it was that I returned to Rome a wealthy man after the Volscians had quieted for the winter. Nevertheless I followed my original plan of supporting myself by my own hands and signed up as an ordinary sailor on one of the grain ships sailing from Tarquinia to Rome.
On a foggy day in late autumn I again arrived at the shore by the cattle market, but this time along the bank of the Tiber and with my shoulder bloody from pulling the heavy hawser of the grain ship. In an ordinary goatskin sack I had as the fruit of my journey as much good silver as a man could carry and as a lowly sailor I could perhaps have brought it ashore without the knowledge of the tax collectors. But I thought it best to reveal it to them so that they might enter it in the state records. It might prove useful to me to have it known that I had become wealthy through my own efforts, and I no longer wanted to be known as Tertius Valerius’ parasite.