The darkness is coming for her. It's galloping towards her like black stallions in a thunderstorm. She drags herself up and puts her hands across Teucer's chest. Her fingers brush a blood-soaked cord threaded with a ceramic keepsake, one she'd given him on their wedding day. She remembers making it for him, kissing it as she tied it there in the morning. She gasps for air as she holds it.
People are approaching.
She determines to hold on – keep breathing – keep her child alive at all costs.
She hears footsteps down the side of the temple.
Voices to the left and right of her.
Through a mist of blood and sweat she sees Venthi's horrified face as he lifts her in his arms.
CAPITOLO XXX
The Eastern Silver Mine, Etruria Pesna and Kavie dismount at the gates of the mine. A ragged group of bare-chested slave boys rush forward to take their horses from them. Brushing dust from his tunic, the magistrate hisses, 'When this is over, Larth must be removed as quickly as possible. I no longer have faith in the man.'
Kavie is taken by surprise. 'Removed – as in killed? Or removed as in promoted and given far-off lands to manage?'
'That man cannot manage his own bowels, let alone anything of consequence. His ambition outruns his intelligence and makes fools of us all.'
'What you ask will not be easy.'
'But still it must be done.' Pesna stops and turns to his aide. 'You saw the way he challenged me. He had treachery in his eyes.'
Kavie tries to shrug it off. 'He was humiliated, that's all. Larth is a proud man, a former soldier. It is hard for him to be chastised in front of a lowly driver.'
'No matter. Arrange his exit.'
'Very well,' says Kavie thoughtfully, 'but I shall need many – and I do mean many – loyal men to remove a monster like Larth.'
'Then make sure you have them. He is a liability, Kavie, and we are entering a time when we cannot afford such liabilities.'
Dry tracks lead them to the first and the biggest of six interconnecting silver mines. Most of the workings are outside: great craters in the earth, fenced off and guarded to the hilt. Some of the mines are below the surface, where chiselled biceps swing heavy iron picks into the dense rock.
Aranthur, the site manager, stands outside the entrance, shielding his eyes and squinting into the sun and dust. He is small, bald and fat. Three thick silver chains adorn the neck-line of his cream tunic. Each finger is embellished with a silver ring and he nervously clicks the bands together as he steps forward to greet them. 'May the gods be with you, Magistrate. All is arranged.'
'Good!' barks Pesna. 'We're late, so take us inside and show us the gifts.'
Aranthur had hoped for longer with Pesna. Perhaps at the end of a successful day he'll be able to press his claim for more power and influence over the way the mine is run. Sensing the magistrate's mood, he does not attempt to detain him now but pulls open the weathered entrance door. 'This way, please.'
Kavie glances back into the low dazzling sunlight. 'The first of our guests are arriving. We must hurry.'
The area they enter is a vast outbuilding normally used by the workers for changing, washing and sleeping. In the centre is a table where slaves sit to devour their scraps. Today, however, it is laden with silver plates, goblets, bracelets, rings and chains. 'This is excellent.' Pesna runs a hand over the glittering gifts. 'We will let the pigs sink their noses in the trough and whet their appetite for more.'
Aranthur sees an opening: 'Since you so wisely improved our production methods, output has increased threefold. I believe I now have the honour of running the most productive silver mines in all Etruria.'
Pesna grants the sycophant his first genuine smile of the day. 'Well done. At a future date we will talk more about this. Now, make sure our guests are refreshed before we give them the tour of the mine. Show them the ore and let them fill their pockets.'
The manager waddles back to the door and hurries out into the sunlight.
Kavie points at the silver. 'I feel uncomfortable with all this wealth in one place.' He glances around.
Pesna pats his shoulder. 'Do not worry. It won't be here for long. Besides, did you not arrange extra guards to stand watch both outside and inside the mines?'
Kavie bites his lip. 'I did. But given our recent conversation, perhaps it is timely to remind ourselves that Larth was the one who oversaw this matter. It is Larth who always oversees such matters.'
Pesna's smile disappears.
CHAPTER 34
Present Day Luna Hotel Baglioni, Venice When Tom gets back to Tina's room his mind is awhirl with Valentina's grief.
Tina can tell he's distracted. Since he came in he's hardly said a word. It's certainly not the mood she was hoping for, the mood he needs to be in for the chat she's been planning. 'Ground Control to Major Tom, are you still in my orbit?'
He looks up from the chair he's slumped in. 'Sorry, I'm mulling over bits of this case.' He wonders why he didn't mention Valentina.
Tina goes over to him and puts her arms around his neck. 'Use my laptop. Google whatever it is and get it out of your system. I'm going to shower before dinner.'
'Good idea. Thanks. Do I need a password or anything?'
'Nope.' She smiles and points to the desk as she heads to the bathroom. 'It's all fired up. Just pour me a glass of wine for when I get out, okay?'
'Sure. White?'
'Please. There's some Sauvignon Blanc in the minibar. Spoil me with some ice as well.'
'Will do.'
Tom goes to the computer first. His theological studies give him a head start on the Etruscan research. He already knows the importance attached to the liver in their culture, and the fact that they were an incredibly organised and advanced society. From around 900 BC they were governed by predestination – a belief that every aspect of their fate was in the hands of a collection of deities. Their fortunes depended on remaining in favour with the gods, heeding omens and offering sacrifices to appease angry deities or win favour. To this end they relied heavily on the guidance of a seer or augur, known as a netsvis or, in the later Roman culture, a haruspex. Both the Romans and the Catholic Church eventually adopted elements of Etruscan ritual and garb; the crooked staff of modern-day bishops was derived from the lituus, a ceremonial stick employed by the netsvis.
As Tina sings in the shower, he digs deep into the ancient art of liver-divining. An academic treatise describes how the organ was divided into many zones, each representing a particular deity and the position it held in the sky. For example, if the section of the liver associated with Tinia, Etruscan god of thunder and weather, was torn or damaged in some way, the netsvis might interpret this as an omen that a raging storm would devastate crops and wreck fishing boats.
'I'm out of the shower!' shouts Tina. 'You want to help dry me?'
Tom doesn't hear her. He's engrossed in a photograph of the Piacenza Liver, a priceless, life-size, bronze model of a sheep's liver made some three centuries before the birth of Christ. Discovered in Gossolengo near Piacenza way back in the late nineteenth century, it is believed to have been a teaching aid for augurs. Peering at the markings, Tom wonders what messages the seers of old might have deciphered as a result of their studies.
Tina appears next to him. 'Okay, no help getting dry, I can put up with that. But no wine?'
'Sorry.' Tom jumps up from the desk. 'I just got carried away.' He scurries to the fridge and pours two glasses of white.
'You find what you want?'
'Kind of.' He looks at her – really looks – for the first time since he came in.
She's dressed in a soft white robe with a towel around her wet hair. When she notices the way he's studying her she smiles. 'What? I look scary without make-up and blow-dried hair?'
'Far from it. You look even more beautiful.' He steps closer to her. Kisses her lightly. Feels excited by the touch of her wet hair, her freshness and the softness of her mouth.
He puts his arms around her
waist and starts to untie the robe's belt.
She pulls away and puts her drink on the dressing table. 'Come sit on the bed with me a minute. I've got something I want to say to you.'
'Oh. This doesn't sound good.'
Tina takes his hand as they sit. 'I've got to leave, Tom.'
He looks at her like he doesn't understand.
'Another job's come up and I have to leave here pretty quick. Very quick, in fact.'
He frowns at her. 'What job?'
She looks away from him, tries to hide her awkwardness. 'I'm sorry, I can't really say. It's – well, it's an exclusive – and the magazine has this confidentiality policy. I hope you understand.'
'No, not really. Don't we have something that goes a bit beyond a magazine article? Or am I really just naive?'
'You're not naive.' She looks more cross than sympathetic. 'Tom, it's business. Business is business. If you were still a priest, you wouldn't tell me what someone had said in the confessional, now, would you?'
'Don't be ridiculous. I can't believe you said that. If I was still a priest we wouldn't have been having sex, would we?'
Now it's her turn to be annoyed. 'Oh, like Catholic priests never have sex?' She unconsciously tightens her robe. 'I'm a professional and I stick to my principles. I guess you can respect that, can't you?'
Tom hopes his anger and disappointment don't show. 'Okay. Let's stop arguing. I'm sorry. When do you have to go?'
Her face stays hard. 'Tomorrow. First thing in the morning.'
CAPITOLO XXXI
666 BC
The Eastern Silver Mine, Etruria The nobles are in. The doors shut. Pesna's plan is in full swing.
The man who dreams of being king of the new territories of Etruria stands at the end of the silver-laden table. His position ensures that, should their concentration wander, then their eyes will inevitably fall upon the riches laid out in front of him.
'Noblemen, it is my privilege to welcome you here. I thank you all again for your time and the honour of being your host.'
'The honour is ours!' booms a jolly-faced man whose vast belly bumps against the table. 'And we'll be even more honoured when you let us fill our pockets with these glittering works of beauty.'
A chorus of laughter breaks out.
Pesna waves them quiet. 'In good time, in good time, dear friends.' He trails a hand across the table, catching chains and bracelets in his fingers. 'And not only today, not only with these small gifts, but I hope for the rest of your days.'
The nobles laugh again.
'After we have feasted, I will speak to you of how we – together – can build new cities, open new mines and reap riches far greater than the modest trinkets twinkling on this table.'
The audience cheer.
A small underground rumble makes the earth shiver. Pesna sees concern on their faces. 'Nothing to worry about, my friends. Aranthur, explain to our guests the slight tremor they just experienced.'
The works manager's face fills with the smugness of one who relishes being centre stage but rarely gets the chance. 'The vibration is underground blasting. We build large fires under sections of rock where we know precious ore is ingrained. The rock heats up to an unimaginable ferocity, then we douse it with freezing water channelled from the ground above. The rapidly cooling rock then cracks and caves away.' He makes a splitting gesture with his closed hands. 'There follows a collapse of stone, rock, ore and earth. Then our men move in and dig the silver out.'
An elderly noble from Velzna looks concerned. 'Do many of your slaves get killed?'
'Some,' answers Pesna, matter-of-factly. 'It is dangerous work.' He waves a hand over the table. 'But the risks are richly rewarded and well worth the loss of a few slaves. This mine is the first and biggest of six that I own.'
There are mumblings among the nobles – speculation as to the extent of Pesna's wealth rather than concern at the dangers.
'Please!' The mine manager tries to recapture their attention. 'Please – be so kind as to follow me across the room.' He walks towards rough tables erected in a far corner. 'Here are samples of the latest ore we have recovered. See how rich the seams are?' Aranthur steps back so they can examine the precious metal for themselves.
'Most of our silver is easy to extract.' He walks to another small table. 'Slaves have to do little more than shovel it, wash it and harvest it from the dusts of the earth. But these easily grabbed riches tend to be on the small side.' He holds up a nugget the size of his thumbnail. 'It's when we dig deep into the groins of the hills that we find the bigger prizes.'
Another explosion makes the ground tremble again.
All eyes flick to Pesna. He gives them another reassuring grin. 'It is the sound of the gods applauding our latest find. Now come, enough of Aranthur's tedious lesson, let's share out the wonderful presents you have been admiring. I have had gifts handcrafted for each and every one of you. My noble friend Kavie has a list detailing which piece belongs to whom.'
Another rumble.
This time no one flinches. They're too absorbed in the sound of wealth being distributed.
Kavie starts with the smallest presents and least important guests. 'It is my honour to pass these gifts on to you. First, to my old friend Arte of Tarchna, I am pleased to present this signet ring, beautifully engraved with his initials…'
The nobles applaud as Arte works his way through the throng to receive his present.
But he never gets it.
The whole wooden structure of the outbuilding creaks and shakes.
Parts of the roof break away. Daylight bursts through. Clapping turns to silent, open-mouthed fear.
They are all looking up as the entire roof collapses. Hands cover heads as timber and metal rain down.
Now the ground disappears.
Opens up beneath their feet.
Like a trapdoor to hell.
Hands cling to the edge of a crumbling crevice. Fingers claw frantically, but the soft earth yields and they slip away.
Screams echo from the gaping hole. The nobles tumble into a murderous torrent of cleaved rock.
Roaring through the complex of six mines is a fireball of methane, set off by fires in the cliffside.
Those who survive the drop are burned to death in the inferno. From his vantage point on the hillside, Larth watches the mushroom cloud of dust and black smoke rise high in the afternoon sky. His men did well with the fires, brilliantly arranging them to set off the chain reaction that tore through stagnant chambers filled with the earth's noxious gases.
As he leans against the busted chariot wheel and looks down at the three precious silver tiles in his hands, he allows himself a smile that even Pesna would have been proud of. The tablets are the key to great things. He must keep them safe. Guard them with his life. Guard them until his new master is ready for them.
CAPITOLO XXXII
Larthuza's Hut, Atmanta Tetia is unconscious by the time Venthi gets her to the healer's hut.
The old man fears the worst.
After such a huge loss of blood she is on the brink of death.
Helpers and well-wishers crush inside the healer's hut as Venthi rushes back for his son. Larthuza lays Tetia out on a rough treatment bed, and quickly gathers cloths and a pot of water that perpetually simmers on the fire.
'Thank you! Thank you! Time for you all to go now. Give me space. Give me room to work.' He flaps the watchers away, as though he's shooing a flock of unwanted geese.
Cafatia, a village seamstress of Tetia's age, stays and helps mop her skin.
The old man examines the swollen stomach pumping blood. Though the wound has missed the womb, he knows the chance of him saving either mother or child is remote. 'Wipe! Wipe here!' he instructs Cafatia as he quickly examines another wound, a flap of gaping flesh on Tetia's right arm. 'May all the gods assist us, this is beyond the stitching or healing of mere mortals.'
He wraps a length of hemp rope tightly around Tetia's bicep to stem the flow of blood as Cafatia
finishes removing the patient's clothing and wiping her stomach wound.
He sees it clearly now.
It is deep.
Too deep for her to live. He puts his wrinkled old hand near Tetia's mouth to check her breathing.
Barely anything.
A noise and change of light makes him turn.
Venthi fills the doorway.
His dead son lies across his arms. 'He is alive, Larthuza. Teucer is still alive! Treat him quickly!' He lays him down next to Tetia.
Larthuza need look no closer. 'Venthi, he is dead. Let me try to save Tetia.'
'No! Save him, Larthuza, save my sweet boy.'
The old man's voice grows soft and kind. 'He is gone. He is with the gods he served so devotedly.'
Tears stream down Venthi's face. 'At least examine him! I beseech you.'
Larthuza grabs him by the arms. 'Venthi, I do not need to – he is gone! I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do for him. Now, let me attend his wife and child.'
Tetia's eyes flick open.
A shot of pain jolts through her and her good hand clutches at the healer.
Larthuza rips off the last of her blood-soaked tunic. He bends and parts her shaking pale knees. In his mind he is praying – begging – Thalna, the goddess of childbirth, for help. He glances at Venthi with a thin trace of a smile. 'I can see the child's head. I can see the baby.'
Tetia's eyes bulge. She howls like a wounded animal.
Larthuza tries gently to work his fingers around the soft bone of the child's skull.
Tetia can barely pant. Her breath is shallow and limited but she's prepared to use the last of it to deliver her child to safety.
The healer looks up at her. Her face is as white as a corpse. Her eyes as milky as those of her blinded husband.
Larthuza feels tiny shoulders in his fingers. Now the delicate bones of the baby's back and ribs.
Tetia lets loose an inhuman roar.
Her head drops.
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