Olenus got up, wincing as his back straightened. 'Let us go to the cave.
Take your bow and pack. You can pick up those pelts and kill the last wolf on the way home.' He walked over and grabbed the lamb tied up by the hut.
The animal bleated plaintively as the rope was fastened around both its back legs and it was dangled over Olenus' shoulder.
Tarquinius followed the haruspex along the same track they had been on a few weeks before. They climbed in silence, until only the scrubby grass beloved by sheep and goats remained to cover the stony ground. The weather was much calmer than usual on the mountain and a few clouds sat unmoving overhead.
An eagle appeared over the crest of the ridge above, bringing a smile to Tarquinius' face. It was always a good omen to see the most regal of birds.
They were still picking their way up the steep slopes by early afternoon. A cool breeze kept temperatures bearable, but in the fields far below it would be a different matter.
Olenus came to a halt, a fine covering of sweat on his wrinkled forehead.
'You're in good shape, old man.' Glad of the rest, Tarquinius took a pull from his water bag.
'Sixty years living on this mountain.' Olenus scanned the harsh environment of rocks and the occasional bush which had survived the extremes of weather. It was desolate but beautiful. The sky had emptied of clouds, the only sign of life the bird of prey drifting on thermals. 'It's been a good place to live and it will be a good place to die.'
'Please stop talking like that!'
'Better get used to it, Arun. Haruspices have lived and died here since time immemorial.'
Tarquinius quickly changed the subject. 'Where is this cave?'
'Up there.' Olenus waved his
Tarquinius peered at the smooth lump of metal, coloured green with age. It was shaped exactly like the purple organ he had seen cut from butchered cattle and sheep. Bulging more on the right, the bronze had two triangular pieces protruding from its inner aspect, like different lobes of a real liver. The uppermost surface was covered in lines, dividing it into multiple areas. Spidery, cryptic symbols had been etched on each part. Having studied diagrams of the liver over and over again, Tarquinius found he could understand the inscribed words.
'It names the gods and stellar constellations!'
'All that time studying wasn't in vain, then.' Olenus took the rope from him. 'You read the whole
Libri Fulgurates
'It is time.' Olenus picked up the dagger. 'Observe how a fresh liver may be read. Hold him properly.'
Tarquinius gripped the lamb's head and extended the neck towards Olenus. With a swift slash of the blade, the old man cut its throat. Dark red venous blood gushed on to the altar in a thick stream, spattering them in droplets.
'See how it flows to the east?' Olenus cried with glee as the liquid ran away. 'The omens will be auspicious!'
Tarquinius gazed eastward, to the sea. It was from across the water, from Lydia, that the Etruscans had come many centuries ago. According to ritual, the gods most favourably disposed towards humans also dwelt in that direction. Not for the first time, he felt a strong urge to journey to the ancestral homelands of his people.
Olenus laid the dead lamb on its back, exposing the belly. With deft movements, he sliced open skin and muscle from groin to ribcage. Shiny loops of gut spilled out, glistening in the sunlight.
Olenus pointed with the dagger. 'Mark the pattern as large and small intestine emerge to sit on the stone. Both should be a healthy pinkish-grey colour, like these. If they are not, it is likely the reading will be bad when you reach the animal's liver.'
'What else can you see?'
'The wave movement in the intestines is still strong, which is good.'
Tarquinius watched the regular pulses in the small bowel, moving along digested material in a futile attempt to stay alive. 'Anything else?'
The haruspex leaned closer. 'No. When I was a boy, old men used to claim they could interpret much from the bowel and the four stomachs. They were charlatans.'
Olenus reached inside the abdomen with both hands, using his knife to free the liver from its position against the diaphragm. A few swift cuts severed the large vessels anchoring it in place. Forearms covered in blood, he withdrew the organ, balancing its rounded surface on his left hand.
'O great Tinia! Give us good omens for the future of this Arun.' He raised his eyes to the heavens, searching for the eagle that had accompanied them earlier.
'What are you doing?' asked Tarquinius.
'Reading your life in the liver, boy,' Olenus cackled. 'What better way to complete your learning?'
Tarquinius held his breath for a long time, unsure. Then, as if compelled, he found himself taking in the words. It had been too many years to hold back now, even when it was his own future being predicted.
'Most of what you can discern is on the inner surface. Mark the dog star, Sirius. This is the large bear, Ursa Major.'
He peered at the points indicated, his book learning beginning to make real sense. The haruspex spoke at length about interpretations to be made from the colour, shape and consistency of the glistening organ. To Tarquinius' astonishment, Olenus brought up many details of his childhood that he could not possibly have known. The old man recounted Tarquinius' whole life, pausing every so often to allow his pupil time to interpret.
'The gall bladder.' He poked a tear-shaped sac protruding from the liver's centre. 'Represents what is hidden. Sometimes it can be read, sometimes not.'
Tarquinius touched the warm bag of fluid. 'Is much visible?' It was the hardest part of the divination to perform and he had never made any sense from the livers he had practised on.
Olenus was silent for a few moments.
Heart racing, Tarquinius studied the haruspex' face. There was something there. He could feel it.
'I see you join the army and travel to Asia Minor. I see many battles.'
'When?'
'Soon.'
Tarquinius knew that the eastern region of Asia Minor had been a hotbed of rebellion and conflict for some time. A generation before, Sulla had soundly defeated Mithridates, the warlike king of Pontus, but his concerns about the uncertain political situation in Rome had made him pull back without delivering the final blow. Mithridates had bided his time, until four years previously when his armies had surged into Pergamum, the Roman province in the area. Lucullus, the general sent by the Senate, had achieved impressive victories since, but the war was still going on.
Amused by the idea of fighting for the Romans, Tarquinius felt a sharp nudge. 'Pay attention!' barked the old man. 'Years of travelling, learning. But eventually Rome draws you back. A desire for revenge.'
'On whom?'
'A fight.' Olenus seemed to be in a trance. 'Someone of high rank is killed.'
'By me?' Tarquinius asked suspiciously. 'Why?'
The answer came to him.
'A voyage to Lydia by ship. There two gladiators become your friends. Both brave men. You will become a teacher, like me.'
The dagger tip swept from gall bladder to other points on the purple organ. The haruspex began muttering rapidly. Tarquinius found he could only pick out occasional words. He gazed at the liver, delighted that he could also see what Olenus was reading.
'A huge battle, which the Romans lose. Slavery. A long march into the east. The Lion of Macedon's path.'
Tarquinius smiled. Some said the Rasenna – the name the Etruscans called themselves – had come from further afield than Lydia. Perhaps he would learn something from the travels of Alexander.
'Margiana. A journey by river, then another by sea.' Olenus' expression grew troubled. 'Egypt? The mother of terror?'
'What is it?' Tarquinius tried to see what had alarmed his mentor.
'Nothing! I saw nothing.' The old man threw the lamb's liver down, taking a few steps backwards. 'I must be mistaken.'
Tarquinius stepped closer. The gall bladder had begun to leak a thin, greenish fluid onto the stone. Concentrating hard, he still found it difficult to interpret. Then his vision cleared. 'Egypt! The city of Alexander!'
'It is not.' Sounding angry and scared, Olenus pushed Tarquinius out of the way, turning the liver over so he could no longer see the underside. 'Time to see the sword of Tarquin.'
'Why? What have you seen?'
'Many things, Arun.' Olenus' eyes darkened. 'It is sometimes best not to say.'
'I have a right to know my own fate.' Tarquinius squared his shoulders. 'You saw yours.'
Olenus' face sagged. 'True enough.' He gestured with the blade. 'Look, then.'
Tarquinius held back, considering the options. He had learned how to read the liver thoroughly at last and would have plenty of opportunity to do so in years to come. His mentor had seen a fascinating future. But there had also been something quite unexpected.
Tarquinius had little desire to know everything that would happen to him.
'It will be revealed in time,' he said calmly.
Relieved, Olenus picked up the
Before they entered the dark interior, Olenus produced a handful of rushes, their ends dipped in wax. Using two pieces of flint, he lit a pair of torches. 'Take one.'
Making sure the burning wax did not run down his arm, Tarquinius followed the old man inside. The cave opened out as they went deeper, running straight into the rock for a good three hundred paces. The air was cool but dry.
He jumped as the torchlight revealed richly coloured paintings on the walls.
'This place has been sacred for many centuries.' Olenus pointed out the figure of a haruspex, obvious with his blunt-peaked hat and
'The Romans call him Jupiter.'
Olenus scowled. 'They even took our most important god.'
The soothsayer beckoned Tarquinius deeper into the gloom, past more paintings of ancient rituals and feasts. Musicians played lyres and the
'Gods above!' Tarquinius swelled with pride, imagining Etruria in its glory days. 'These are better than anything in Caelius' house!'
'Or most villas in Rome.' The old man came to a halt by the entrance to a side chamber. Raising his torch, Olenus moved a few steps towards a large shape on the floor.
'What is it?'
The haruspex did not answer and Tarquinius dragged his gaze away from the murals. It was a moment before he took in the ornate bronze panels, metal-clad wheels and square fighting platform of an Etruscan battle chariot. He gasped.
'Achilles is receiving his armour from Thetis, his mother.' Olenus pointed at the depiction on the chariot's front section.
Chunks of ivory, amber and semiprecious stones had been carved to colour the scene. The central tongue and twin neckpieces for horses were similarly covered with tiny pictures of the gods. Even the nine-spoked wheels had sacred symbols etched on their sides.
Full of awe, Tarquinius ran his fingers over the wood and bronze, soaking up the details and dislodging a thick layer of dust. 'How old is it?'
'It belonged to Priscus, the last to call himself king of the Etruscans,' replied Olenus solemnly. 'And it was over three centuries ago that he ruled Falerii. They say he led more than a hundred of these into battle.'
The young man shivered with delight, picturing the impressive sight of the king dressed in plates of bronze armour, standing with a drawn bow behind his charioteer. Following in a vast wedge would have been the rest of the chariots and then the massed ranks of infantry.
'The testudo formations could withstand their charges though,' sighed Olenus. 'Simply closed up and weathered the arrow storms.'
Tarquinius nodded sadly, familiar with the story of Falerii's end. Somehow it had endured for more than seventy years after Rome had crushed all of its neighbours. When it did arrive, the fate of Falerii – last of the proud city states – had been decided in a few short hours. The Roman legionaries had massacred the less disciplined Etruscan foot soldiers and cut down many of the charioteers with well-thrown javelins. His army in tatters, the mortally wounded Priscus had fled the field. 'Is he buried in here?' he asked, staring into the corners.