The Etruscan

2.

It was late summer and the city was quiet, for the people worked busily in the fields and those who had remained in the city sought the shade and moved about only after nightfall. The stench of filth, rotten fruit and tanned hides filled the narrow streets of Suburra. And Fortune continued to smile on Rome, for the Volsci, having allied themselves with the Aequi against Rome, had fallen out with them and waged a bitter war, thus exhausting their own strength and that of the Aequi so that Rome had nothing to fear from either.

I was teaching a young dancer from the circus the movements of the Etruscans’ holy wreath dance when Arsinoe unexpectedly appeared in my room in Suburra. It was not my fault that the girl had nothing on, for the day was hot and besides it is best for a dancer to be naked when practicing in order to know her own body. Nevertheless I wanted to sink into the ground when I saw how Arsinoe looked first at me and then at the poor girl who did not realize that she was doing anything wrong. In her innocence the girl did not even have the wit to cover herself with a robe but remained standing with bent knee and upraised palms in the position I was attempting to teach her.

Arsinoe was her old self but riper and more beautiful than before. Sarcastically she said, “Forgive me, Turms. I don’t wish to disturb your pleasure but I must talk with you and today was my only opportunity.”

With trembling hands I picked up the girl’s cheap clothes, thrust them into her arms, pushed her out and closed the squeaking wooden door. Arsinoe seated herself on my unadorned seat without permission, looked around, sighed deeply and shook her head.

“I am sorry for you, Turms,” she lamented. “Although I heard that you had fallen into bad company I did not believe it all but tried to think well of you. But now I must believe my own eyes and I am grieved.”

Bitterness choked my throat as I watched her sitting as calmly before me as though nothing had happened. “I have lived a bad life and fallen into bad company,” I admitted. “I was teaching Greek to some stupid boys and happened to teach them Hipponax’s verse: ‘A man has two fortunate days in his life, one when he is married and the other when he lays his wife in her tomb.’ Hipponax lived in Ephesus, which is why those lines have remained in my memory. But the parents did not appreciate such teaching and I lost my pupils.”

Arsinoe pretended not to listen but sighed lightly and remarked, “Her thighs and hips are too heavy. She is too short as well.”

“But she has talent,” I insisted in defense of my pupil. “That is why I am helping her.”

“Alas, Turms, I thought you were a little more exacting in the matter of women. He who has tasted the exalted grape is no longer content with turnips. But you have always been different. I have marveled at your poor taste in the past.”

Absently she bared her head and my heart leaped as I noticed that her hair had just been arranged by a Greek hairdresser. She had painted her face carefully and I could only marvel at her skill in draping the Roman women’s simple mantle so temptingly.

“How hot your room is!” she exclaimed and allowed the mantle to slip off her white shoulders and bare arms. Her eyes were grave and dark and her lips parted. But I had no intention of succumbing to her charms.

“Don’t,” I said. “Instead, tell me how you dared come to meet me, especially here in Suburra. Aren’t you afraid of your reputation? Surely you remember that you are a senator’s wife.”

“Ah, yes,” she agreed and looked at me accusingly. “But who is to blame? Didn’t you yourself leave me to the mercy of Tertius Valerius for years at a time? You were tired of me and that is why you pushed me into the lap of a lustful old man.”

“Arsinoe,” I demanded in horror, “how can you distort everything in such a terrible way! Are you shameless enough to accuse me to my face of what you yourself so shrewdly planned and accomplished?”

She managed to summon tears to her eyes and looked at me mistily. “How bitter and unjust you are toward me, always ready to pick a quarrel although we have not met in such a long time. I should know you by now, but I always make the mistake of thinking well of you.” She sobbed and peered at me through her dark blue lashes.

I breathed violently, clenched my fist but said nothing.

Arsinoe pressed her palms together beseechingly. “Why doa’t you say something, Turms? Why are you so harsh?”

I almost confessed that my whole being rejoiced in radiance at the mere sight of her but it was better for me not to surrender myself once more to her power. And so, when my knees failed, I sat on the edge of the bed and asked, “What do you want of me, Arsinoe?”

She laughed gaily, dropped all pretense, stretched herself and extended her legs for me to see.

“Of course I want something of you, Turms. Otherwise I would not have come. But I am happy to see you and my heart leaps strangely in my breast when I look at your broad mocking mouth and oval eyes.”

“Don’t,” I pleaded humbly and looked about for a knife with which to cut off a finger if it should attempt to caress her skin against my will. That I would in truth have done, for if I had touched her I would have been lost. But fortunately my will was stronger than my hands.

“You yourself know best how deeply I loved you,” said Arsinoe weakly. “Even now my heart secretly yearns for you, though I am hurting Tertius Valerius and my son. But let us control our emotions and remain merely friends. It is best that way. When a woman has reached my age and her beauty begins to fade she needs security. I was tired of sacrificing everything because of your whims. Now you have your freedom, Turms, and I have an understanding husband who doesn’t make too many demands on me.”

When I said nothing she felt her waist and said ruefully, “I have aged greatly, my arms are heavy and my hips become broader no matter what I do. The last delivery tore my muscles so that my loins and thighs have white scars which have ruined my beauty for all time. Do you want to see them?”

She began to lift the hem of her tunic but I hastened to cover my eyes. “I must be terribly ugly,” she said with a sigh, “since you don’t even want to look at me. Of course, the girl’s youth is in her favor and a smooth fruit is fresh to the taste, but believe me, my friend, there is not much joy in foolish youth. You will only have trouble, for you yourself are no longer in your prime. The bad life has etched furrows around your mouth and there are wrinkles under your eyes.”

“They are only laughing wrinkles,” I said bitterly. “I have had so much reason to laugh. But tell me quickly what you want of me. I would not want you to endanger your reputation by remaining in a disreputable house and in my bad company.”

She rose, left her mantle on the seat and went to the door. Drawing the wooden bolt she remarked, “I suppose you will permit me to lock the door so that we may talk in peace.” She walked past me and stared out of the narrow window opening, so that I might admire her also from the side and rear. But when she realized that I remained firm she sat down again and laid her hand on my knee.

“You have always been a selfish man, Turms, but surely you realize that you have certain responsibilities toward Misme. The girl is almost seven years old and it is high time that she left Tertius Valerius’ house. As kind a man as Tertius is, he is irritated by her constant flying about. Besides, Misme reminds me unpleasantly of unhappy events in the past.”

“Ah, yes,” I said. “I didn’t know that you were born in Rome of a patrician family.”

“I suppose I didn’t tell you enough about my sad childhood,” Arsinoe said brazenly. “But in Rome Misme is considered an illegitimate child and that doesn’t suit my new position. If I had thought to make her father a patrician I might have been able to arrange for her to be one of the vestal virgins and that would have secured her future. But it is impossible to think of everything at once. I had enough to do in trying to prove my own birth, as you can imagine. Now the boy fills our house and Tertius Valerius is able to think only of him. For the sake of my reputation think of your responsibilities toward me this once, remove your daughter and take care of her.”

“My daughter?”

Arsinoe became annoyed. “Of course Misme is your daughter in a Way, or at least the daughter of your best friend. If you won’t think of me, think of Mikon. Surely you won’t permit his daughter to be abandoned.”

“It is not a question of that,” I said. “Of course I’ll be happy to take Misme and not only to help you, for I like the girl and have missed her.

But speaking of your son, forgive my human curiosity. Judging from what I have heard and computed, I presume he is Coriolanus’ son.”

Arsinoe pressed her palm to her mouth and glanced about in panic. But we were alone and she grew calm again and smiled.

“I can’t hide anything from you, Turms. You of all people know me best. Anyway, the boy has the noblest patrician blood in him and his father is the most gallant of Roman men. I felt that I owed that to Tertius Valerius. No, he doesn’t have to be ashamed of his son although the boy’s father is stupidly vain and thus is compelled to live in exile the rest of his life. But perhaps that is best for the sake of my own peace.”

Her frank confession broke the ice within me and we began to talk as animatedly as we had in earlier days. She made me laugh and once again I realized why I had loved her and why I still loved her, for there was no other woman like her in the world. She did her best to amuse me and in doing so enjoyed herself, for I was the only person who understood her and in whom she could trust. But I did not touch her. The time passed and suddenly, realizing that the room had darkened, she wrapped the mantle around her and covered her head in the manner of a respectable Roman woman.

“I must leave,” she said. “In a few days I will have Misme brought to you and I trust that you will care for her as though she were your own daughter.”

I felt that Arsinoe cared little whether Misme would be brought up in Suburra or not but was disappointed because the girl had inherited Mikon’s round cheeks and stocky figure, was clumsy in her actions and did not know how to please her mother.

But I could not bear the thought that Misme would grow up in the midst of the immoral elements and the people of the circus. I took her to my little farm and left her in the care of the old slave couple, and thus I myself came to spend more time there than I had formerly. I wanted to teach Misme to read and to write and to help her to develop into a free and self-reliant girl, but I could not afford to engage a teacher for her nor was that the custom in Rome. In Rome girls were so despised that a female infant could be abandoned, and the only education a girl received was in spinning, weaving, cooking the simple Roman food and performing heavy household tasks. Even the daughters of senators had to be content. with that.

Arsinoe erred in despising her daughter, for Misme had good powers of comprehension. Having left behind the gloomy house and the ceaseless scoldings, she began to develop quickly in the freedom of country life. She loved animals, willingly took care of the cattle and even dared to climb onto a horse and gallop down the pastures. I kept a few of the Senate’s cavalry horses on my farm to augment my income, for at that time the Senate still provided the cavalry horses and during the winter quartered them in nearby farms. On certain days the horses had to be brought into Rome when the patrician youths gathered in the pastures of the wolf god for cavalry exercises. But in that way I could ride to Rome and back whereas I could not have afforded to keep horses myself. Fifteen jugera did not suffice for such luxury.

In a few years Misme’s skin turned rosy and smooth, her limbs became slender and she no longer moved clumsily although she still was scraggy as a calf. Because of my journeys I had to leave her with the slave couple for long periods, but each time upon my return I felt increasing joy at the glow of happiness in her dark eyes. She ran to fling her arms around my neck and to kiss me, and I could not bear to tell her that I was not her real father. As she grew she seemed beautiful in my eyes, her brows were slender and whimsical and her lips like rose petals. But by the time she had become a maiden the expression in her eyes reminded me increasingly of Mikon’s restless eyes and she learned to laugh mockingly at others and herself. Into such a girl did Misme grow.