by Mika Waltari
“Yes, do that,” urged Arsinoe eagerly, “and while you are about it, seize the dog crown, win the soldiers to your side, pacify the council of Carthage and make me the priestess of Eryx by peaceful means. I could not ask for more than that.”
Tanakil shook her head in pity. “It would not go well with you, Turms, if Dorieus were to be found with his throat slit. But have no fear. I have seen three husbands to the grave and I dare say I have the strength to bury yet a fourth. It is my duty to perform this last service for him before he takes my life and plunges all Eryx into disaster. Go your way, both of you, take the accursed bastard with you and pretend that you are aware of nothing.”
She sent us to our room, where we sat silently with folded hands. I stared at our son and tried to find something in his infant face that might have given Dorieus reason to believe the boy his. But look as I might, I could see only that his mouth was mine and his nose Arsinoe’s.
Suddenly the earth rumbled with a noise more terrifying than any I had ever heard. The ground beneath us shook, the floor cracked, and the sound of crumbling walls reached our ears. Arsinoe snatched the boy into her arms while I shielded her with my body as we rushed into the street through the twisted gate. Arsinoe’s cat swished by us in terror.
Again the ground shook and walls cracked. Then the sky darkened, the wind began to blow and the air suddenly cooled.
“Dorieus is dead,” I said slowly. “This land was his, and it quivered at his passing. Perhaps he really was descended from the gods, although it was difficult to believe that when he smelled of human sweat and shed human blood.”
“Dorieus is dead,” Arsinoe repeated, then asked quickly, “What will become of us now, Turms?”
Frightened people were carrying things out of their houses, while beasts of burden ran wildly through the streets. But as the wind blew the air freshened and it was as though I were once again free.
Tanakil came out of the king’s residence. She had torn her clothes as a sign of grief, and in her hair was some rubble from the housetop. Her sons followed her, arguing loudly as always.
Arsinoe and I went with them to Dorieus’ room where Mikon with his physician’s case was studying the body in amazement. Dorieus lay on the couch, his face black, tongue swollen and lips blistered.
Mikon said slowly, “If it were summer and the time for wasps I would swear that a wasp had bitten his tongue. That happens to a drunkard who falls asleep with his mouth open or to a child who crams a wasp into his mouth with berries. But whatever the reason, Dorieus’ tongue has swelled and choked him.”
Tanakil’s sons cried out with one voice, “This is fate and a singular coincidence! We remember well that our father died in almost exactly the same manner. His tongue also swelled and his face blackened.”
Tanakil stared at Dorieus’ blackened face and body that was divinely tall even in death. “Nothing matters to me any more, but don’t you dare touch Turms.” She turned her aged, sorrow-lined face toward Arsinoe. “Turms may leave in peace, but we will send that goddess’s harlot back to the temple to pay the penalty for her flight. She is a temple slave and her son also is a slave and as such the property of the temple. Let them castrate the boy and train him to be a priest or a dancer. But first they must punish the woman as befits an escaped slave.”
I looked at Tanakil standing there with dirt in her dyed and coronet-wound hair, her clothes torn and her ancient face set in fury. She seemed like the embodiment of an alien god.
She smiled grimly and flicked away the flies that were beginning to hover about Dorieus’ eyes and mouth. “I have already felt the goddess’s wrath through your presence. Having lost Dorieus, whom I loved most dearly of my husbands, I no longer fear anything, divine or mortal.”
Suddenly her restraint crumbled. She struck her mouth with her fist so that the ivory teeth broke and blood began to trickle from her thin lips. Digging her nails into her breasts, she wailed, “You don’t know how deeply an old woman can love! I wanted him dead rather than despising me.”
I put my arm around Arsinoe and said firmly, “I am bound to Arsinoe and will take her and the boy with me regardless of your laws. Try to prevent me, Tanakil, and you will see what happens.” Once more I was ready, sword in hand, to abduct. Arsinoe and to die rather than be separated from her and the boy.
Mikon, plump and bloated from the wine though he was, collected the remnants of his wits and said decisively, “I also am a stranger in the city and an undesirable person if I have to testify as to the cause of Dorieus’ death. For the sake of our friendship, Turms, I feel it my responsibility to prevent Arsinoe and the boy from falling into the hands of evil priests.”
Tanakil’s sons glanced at her uncertainly. “Shall we call the guards and have them killed, Mother? That would be the easiest way of ridding ourselves of them. You may determine what happens to the woman.”
Tanakil pointed an accusing finger at Arsinoe. “Look at that too beautiful face!” she cried. “Look at that face that changes with her every whim. If I send her back to the temple she will surely win over the priests. I know her too well. No, the best punishment for her is to follow Turms as a fugitive, taking the boy with her. Let the sun darken her white face, let her limbs wither from want. Not a single garment, not a jewel or a silver coin will you take from my house, Istafra.”
Arsinoe realized from Tanakil’s stony face that it was her final decision. For a brief moment she seemed to weigh the chances of regaining her old position in the temple, then raised her chin.
“Clothes and jewels I can always get, but I can never win back Turms if I now leave him. You should be grateful to me, Tanakil. But for me you yourself would be lying there, your ugly face black and the mark of Dorieus’ fingers around your throat. Had I remained silent and let Dorieus fulfill his threat, everything would be different. But I didn’t want to lose Turms, nor do I hesitate to follow him now even if you should rob me of all I own.”
At that moment it was as though I stepped out of myself to watch everything from the side. I smiled. Irresistibly my glance was drawn to a pebble on the floor. I bent down to pick it up, hardly realizing what I was doing. It was an ordinary pebble that had been brought into the house by someone’s feet, and why I was compelled to pick it up I cannot explain, for I had no way of knowing that it again signified the end of one period in my life and the beginning of another.
I plucked the pebble from the floor, undisturbed by the fact that Tanakil was stamping her foot and demanding, “Go! Go quickly lest I regret it. Go as you are, for not one piece of bread, not one garment will you take from my house.”
Thus she banished us but did not dare to touch us or to set the guards upon us. Arsinoe managed to snatch up a child’s sheepskin and I took Dorieus’ heavy woolen mantle from the wall in addition to my sword and shield. Mikon had his caduceus and medicine case and at the doorway laid hands on a half-filled wineskin.
Because of the confusion wrought by the earthquake our flight attracted no attention. Crowds were pushing their way out of the city with their possessions to the open fields. The earthquake was, in fact, slight and caused little damage. Probably the land of Eryx sighed in relief at the death of Dorieus, descendant of Herakles, for had he lived he would surely have plunged it to destruction.
As we hurried toward the north gate in the midst of the moaning mass, the orphan girl Hanna, wife of the holy dog Krimisos, ran after us. Pulling at my robe, she said tearfully, “The dog Krimisos is dead. This morning it crept into the darkest corner of its pen, and when the earth began to shake and I wanted to lead it outside, it did not move. But your cat came to me and leaped into my lap in fright.”
She had wrapped the cat in her dress and held it to her so that her lower body was bare. I could not shake her loose for I had enough to do in running toward the gate with the crying boy in my arms. Arsinoe clung to my arm, Mikon panted behind us and the girl clutched tightly at my robe. Our departure from Segesta was not dignified.
N
o one stopped us. We crossed the open fields as quickly as possible and turned from the road toward the mountains into the evergreen forest. We spent the night under the trees pressed close to one another for warmth. We did not dare to build a fire until we met some Sicca-nians by their sacred rock. They welcomed us and we lived among them for five years. During that time Mikon disappeared, Arsinoe gave birth to a daughter, and Hanna grew into a maiden.
But before telling of that I must describe Tanakil’s fate. After Dorieus’ death Tanakil’s sons strengthened their power in the city and bribed the leaders of Dorieus’ forces to support them so that the city officials had little to say. For the sake of appearances they built a magnificent funeral pyre of oaken logs for Dorieus and before lighting it told their mother that they were tired of her lust for power and would send her back to Himera. Whereupon Tanakil said that life without Dorieus held little meaning and that she would rather share the funeral pyre with him in the faint hope of accompanying him to the underworld.
Her sons did not protest so Tanakil, garbed in her best, climbed the pyre, embraced Dorieus’ body a final time and with her own hands set fire to the logs. Her body burned with that of Dorieus.
All that I learned later from the Siccani and that is all I have to say about Tanakil and Dorieus.
Book Seven
The Siccani
1.
Thus it was that we met the Siccanians by their sacred rock. As was their custom, they explained that they had expected us and had known in advance of our coming. A skeptic might think that their young men had secretly followed our progress, since the Siccani were able to move unseen in their forests and mountains until such a time as they wished to appear.
But the Siccani did, in truth, possess the power to know who and how many people were on their way. They knew where their tribesmen were located at a given time and even what a specific chief happened to be doing at a given moment. In this respect they were like an oracle. Nor were their priests the only possessors of this ability. Most of the people had it, some keenly, others less distinctly, and could not themselves explain it. They erred only seldom, as even an oracle can err, or at least as the inspired words of the oracle can be misinterpreted. Nor did they consider their ability in any way remarkable, but thought that other people had the same ability.
They had anointed their sacred rock with oil and as they awaited our arrival they danced sacred dances around it. Their priest had donned a mask of carved wood as well as a sacred tail and horns. A fire was burning and on the fire were clay pots ready for the donkey which they sacrificed and cooked upon our arrival. They considered the donkey a sacred animal and respected us because we arrived in their midst under the protection of a donkey. Being skilled hunters they did not lack meat but believed that the donkey’s tough flesh gave them strength and patience. Above ail they wanted a donkey’s head to put atop a pole so that they might worship it in their secret rites. The donkey’s skull, they believed, shielded them from lightning. Nor did the donkey resist but meekly submitted to the sacrifice. That also they considered a good omen.
But they feared the cat, found no name for it and would probably have killed it had not Arsinoe taken it in her lap and indicated its tameness. They respected her because she had arrived on a donkey with a male child in her arms. After the sacrifice their priest performed triumphal leaps before the boy, indicated that he was to be placed on the anointed rock and sprinkled donkey blood on him. Then they all shouted in one voice, “Erkle, Erkle!”
Mikon had hoarded a few drops at the bottom of the wineskin, and I doubt whether he would have withstood the rigors of the journey without the wine. He offered some to the Siccanians to win their friendship but after tasting it they shook their heads. Some even spat out the wine. Their priest laughed and offered Mikon a drink from a hollowed tree knot. When he had tasted it he said that it was not the equal of wine. A moment later, however, his eyes widened and he claimed that his limbs were numb, that the roots of his hair were tingling and that he could see through tree trunks to the very depths of the earth.
The Siccanian priests and chieftains brewed their sacred potion at secret rites, using poisonous berries, mushrooms and roots that they gathered in certain cycles of the moon during various seasons. They-drank it at such times as they wished to come in contact with the spirits of the underworld and obtain their advice. I suspect they drank it also to become intoxicated since they had no wine. At least Mikon gradually began to drink it and became fond of it while we lived with the Siccani.
As the sacrificial rites continued, the exhaustion induced by our journey, the proximity of the sacred rock and the feeling of relief at finding sanctuary with the Siccani, who had shown us friendliness instead of hostility, combined to transport me beyond myself. In the silence, as everyone waited for a sign, the hoot of an owl sounded in the dark of the forest, time and time again.
“Arsinoe,” I said, “our son has no name. Let his name be Hiuls after the cry of the owl.”
Mikon burst into laughter, struck his knees and declared, “Just so, Turms. Who are you to give him a name? Let the forest owl give him a name, and as for his father’s name, it is useless to mention it.”
Arsinoe was so exhausted that she could not protest. After we had eaten the tough donkey meat she tried to nurse the boy but the exertion of our dangerous journey and the shock of Dorieus’ death had dried her breasts. Hanna took the boy in her lap, fed him hot broth from the horn of a buck, wrapped him in a sheepskin and hummed him to sleep. When they saw that the boy was slumbering, the Siccanians led us along a secret path to a cave hidden in a thicket of brambles. Reeds had been spread on the stone floor for a bed.
Upon awakening in the gray of dawn and realizing where we were and what had happened, my first thought was of our next move. But as I stepped out of the cave I stumbled over a hedgehog which curled up into a ball at the touch of my foot. I knew the animal was a warning and realized that we must remain among the Siccani. That would also be the safest course, for it would be useless to wander so long as I did not know where to go.
After I had reached the decision an indescribable feeling of relief came over me, as though I had at long last found myself again. I went to the stream to drink and the water tasted glorious. I was still young and strong and full of the joy of living.
But Arsinoe, when she awakened, was not pleased to see the sooty ceiling of the cave, the hearthstones, and the misshapen clay dishes. She reproached me bitterly, saying, “So this is what you have made me, Turms, a pauper and an outlaw. At this moment, with the reeds pricking my body, I again don’t know whether I love you or hate you.”
Joyous laughter bubbled within me despite her words. “Arsinoe, my dearest, you have always asked for security and your own hearth. Here you are surrounded by strong walls. A hearth is a hearth though it consist of only a few sooty stones. You even have a servant, as well as a physician to care for the health of our son. With the aid of the Siccani I will soon learn to obtain food for you and the boy. For the first time in my life I am completely happy.”
Realizing that I spoke in earnest, she fell upon me, scratching and spitting and screaming that I must take her to some Greek city in Sicily to a life worthy of her. Nor do I care to relate how long her fury lasted since all that was unpleasant has vanished from my memory of those times. But by the end of the summer, when she saw how big and robust her son had grown despite the primitive existence, she began to reconcile herself to her fate and to look upon matters in a more favorable light.
Until that time she kept her head tightly swathed in a cloth night and day to conceal her hair. She claimed that she did so in grief for the good life that I had destroyed, but I myself believed that she did so to annoy me, knowing how I loved her fair tresses. Finally, during a moment of ardor, she flung off the cloth to show me that her fair curls had become straight black hair during our life with the Siccani.
“See for yourself what you have done to me,” she said accusingly. “Do
you finally realize my suffering? Formerly I had the fair hair of the goddess. Now the surroundings to which you have subjected me have shaped me to them, and my beautiful hair is like the black, coarse mane of the Siccanian women.”
I touched her hair in disbelief. It was still as soft as before, but black it was. At first this seemed a miracle to me. I remembered her amazing skill in transforming herself and thought that the darkness of the gloomy forest and the terrifying nights had in truth blackened her hair. But reason triumphed and I began to laugh. “How vain you are, Arsinoe! As a priestess you naturally had to dye your hair, since the goddess’s tresses are like the sun. No wonder you have mourned the loss of your beauty case. This is your real hair, and I love it just as I love everything about you, even your vanity, for it proves that you wish to be more beautiful in my eyes than you are. Of course miracles do happen, that I cannot deny, but how could even the most capricious deity have thought of turning your fair hair black?”
Eyes shining with anger, she said, “I am a woman of the goddess, and the goddess is the most capricious of all deities. You should know that, Turms, and believe her. This is evidence of your cruelty toward me. If I succeed in propitiating the goddess, perhaps she will yet restore my hair to its fairness.”
“Precisely,” I mocked her. “If we ever reach a civilized city and you have sufficient money with which to buy the necessary dyes. You cannot deceive me in this matter and make me believe the impossible.”
Her slender fingers gripped my shoulders and her eyes turned to dark pools as in our moments of passion. “Turms, in the name of the goddess and in the name of our son, I swear that it is the truth. Of course I am a woman and as such lie to you in insignificant matters because you are a man and unable to understand everything. I admit that. But why should I lie about something that changes my whole appearance and life and makes me a completely different woman? You must believe me.”
