Olenus shook his head. 'The king's final wish was that his body should be burned. The surviving warriors followed his orders, carrying the chariot here, away from the pillage of the city.'
'Wouldn't they have burned it too?'
There was a shrug. 'Perhaps they hoped Etruria would rise again one day.'
Tarquinius scowled. 'None of them was a haruspex then.'
'You cannot fight our people 's destiny, Tarquinius,' said Olenus, patting his arm. 'Our time is nearly over.'
'I know.' He closed his eyes, offering a prayer to the faithful followers who had sweated to bring the magnificent chariot all the way up the mountain, hoping that one day it would reclaim its former glory. It wouldn't. Etruria's glory was gone for ever. He knew that. It was time he accepted it once and for all.
Olenus was watching him, his eyes inscrutable. 'Come.' The old man beckoned, leading him back into the main chamber.
They walked further into the cave, coming to a halt before a low stone altar with a strange picture on the wall above it.
'This is Charon. Demon of death.' Olenus bowed. 'He guards Tarquin's sword. Here it has lain for over three hundred years.'
Tarquinius stared with revulsion and a little fear at the squat blue creature with red hair. It had feathered wings sprouting from its back and a snarling mouth of sharp teeth. Charon held a large hammer poised above his head, ready to crush anyone who approached.
On the flat slab below lay a short straight-edged sword with a gold pommel. Torchlight winked off polished metal. Olenus bowed again before reverently handing the weapon to him.
Tarquinius balanced the intricately wired hilt across one palm, then swung the sword through the air in a gentle arc. 'Perfectly weighted. Handles well too.'
'Of course! It was forged for a king. Priscus was the last to wield it.' The haruspex gestured and Tarquinius quickly handed the
Tarquinius' eyes widened at the beautifully cut gemstone, far larger than any he had seen.
'That's enough for one day.' Olenus suddenly seemed drained, the lines deep on his face. 'Let's cook that lamb.'
Tarquinius did not protest. All his expectations for the journey had been exceeded. He had much to think about.
Silently they walked back to the entrance.
Before it got dark, Tarquinius went to find some firewood, and to check for any signs of movement, animal or human. To his relief, all he could find were wolf tracks. Returning with laden arms, he found that Olenus had started a small fire with some twigs. It did not take long to build up the blaze.
The two men sat side by side on a blanket, enjoying the heat and watching their dinner cook. Globules of fat dripped into the flames, flaring as they fell.
As if wanting to lighten the atmosphere, Olenus began talking about a great feasting hall in the city that had once existed below the cave.
'It was a magnificent long room with high couches arranged around dinner tables.' Olenus closed his eyes, leaning towards the fire. 'The tables were marble topped, quite low, with exquisitely worked legs inlaid with plaques of embossed gold. Musicians played while every type of food was served. And both men and women attended the banquets.'
'Really?' Roman nobility usually kept women away from official dinners. Tarquinius turned the lamb slightly on its spit. 'You're sure?'
Olenus nodded, beady eyes fixed on the cooking meat.
'From the paintings?'
'The oldest surviving haruspex told me when I was a boy.' He waved derisively at the guttering rush torch. 'Nothing cheap for our ancestors! They had great bronze tripods with lion's claw feet, topped with silver candelabras.'
Tarquinius' sole experience of luxury was occasionally seeing the simple banqueting hall in Caelius' villa. Its statues and paintings were drab in comparison. His master did not waste money on frivolity.
'The Rasenna were a wealthy people,' Olenus continued. 'In our heyday we ruled the Mediterranean Sea, trading jewellery, bronze figures and amphorae with every civilisation that existed.'
'What did our forebears look like?'
'Wealthy ladies dressed elegantly in fine robes, with beautiful necklaces, arm rings and bracelets of silver and gold. Some wore long hair loose over their shoulders. Others had tresses to the side of the face.'
'Good company for dinner!'
'Not sure they would feel the same way. Here we are – an old haruspex and a young man with only a bow and arrow to his name!' Both laughed at the image of two Etruscans in a cave, celebrating the wealth of a race who had crumbled into dust generations before.
The lamb was very tender, flesh tearing off the bone with ease. As Tarquinius watched the haruspex devour more than half the roasted meat, an image of Dexter came to him. Tarquinius pushed the burly foreman from his mind. He was determined to enjoy the meal, the last days with Olenus.
When they had finished, the two men curled up by the warm embers.
Tarquinius could not shake off his sadness and Olenus seemed content to remain silent.
He watched the sleeping soothsayer for a long time. A faint smile occasionally played on his wrinkled features. Olenus was at peace.
It was many hours before Tarquinius' eyes closed.
When he awoke, Olenus had produced bundles of manuscripts, leaving them in dusty piles on the basalt altar. He made Tarquinius study for hours, continually asking him questions about their content. There was a real sense of urgency in the haruspex' manner and Tarquinius concentrated hard, memorising every last detail.
Olenus also handed him a map, unfolding the cracked leather with enormous care.
'You've never shown me this before.'
'Didn't see a need to,' smiled the old man slyly.
'Who drew it?'
'One of our ancestors. A soldier in Alexander's army perhaps.' He shrugged. 'Who knows? The
was ancient before I was born.'
Tarquinius pored over the parchment. He had seen none of it yet, but the world outside Etruria was totally fascinating to him.
Olenus indicated the centre of the drawing. 'This is the Mediterranean Sea. Ever since they destroyed Carthage, the Romans have called it
'And this?' Tarquinius pointed east of where Olenus' finger had indicated.
'That is Parthia and beyond it lies Margiana.' A strange look flitted across Olenus' face, but he did not elaborate. 'Tarchun came from Resen, a city on the great River Tigris. The land was called Assyria well before the Parthians conquered it.'
'Tarchun!' Tarquinius spoke the name aloud with pride.
'He was a giant to bring our people through so many perils without harm.' Olenus tapped the faded leather again, near the right-hand margin, above Margiana. 'This is Sogdia. Its people have yellow skin and long black hair. They are expert horsemen who fight with bows. To the southeast is Scythia, where Alexander of Macedon finally came to grief.'
Tarquinius was intrigued. The places were further away than he could imagine. 'Did the Rasenna come from Parthia?'
'Who knows?' Olenus lifted a bushy eyebrow. 'Find out for yourself.'
The haruspex' reading came back in a flash. It was beyond Tarquinius' wildest dreams to think of following the route travelled by the first Etruscans.
'A journey back to our origins.' Olenus surveyed the mountainside where he had spent his whole life. 'I would have liked to do the same myself,' he said quietly.
'I will think of you everywhere!'
'That would please me, Arun.'
Awareness of Olenus' impending death never left Tarquinius but he consoled himself by relishing every moment of their time together. To his dismay, the old man announced on the second evening that Tarquinius would have to leave next morning.
'Take it all!' he said. 'Liver, sword,
Tarquinius' heart was heavy as he filed away Olenus' words at the back of his mind. Gently he laid out the old man in a comfortable position by the fire and for what remained of the night, sat by him, keeping vigil. He had accepted that everything was pre-ordained, but had never imagined having to accept the death of someone so close. Waves of grief washed over him and the sky was paling before Tarquinius had reconciled himself to the fate of someone dearer than his own father. He was now the last haruspex and only his efforts would prevent the ancient knowledge being forgotten for ever. Except by the Romans. Olenus' years of love and effort must not be wasted. It was a heavy burden, but his burning pride in his ancestry gave the young Etruscan a huge sense of purpose.
Next morning was chilly and full of bright sunlight. Thanks to the cave's altitude, temperatures dropped much lower than in the valley. Silence filled the crisp air and the sky was clear of birds. No living creatures were visible on the bare slopes, but Tarquinius knew from experience it was a good time to hunt. The tracks he had seen the night before would lead him to the wolves.
Neither spoke as Tarquinius filled his pack and ate a piece of dry bread. The haruspex sat on a rock by the entrance, watching quietly, a satisfied look on his face.
'Thank you. For everything.' Tarquinius swallowed hard. 'I will always remember you.'
'And I will never forget.'
They grasped forearms. Olenus seemed to have aged even more overnight, but his grip was still strong.
'Go safely, Arun. We will meet in the afterlife.' The old man was calm and serene, at one with his destiny.
Tarquinius lifted his pack; it was heavier now with the liver, staff and sword inside. The map was tucked safely against his chest in a small pouch. He tried to find words.
'There is nothing more to say.' As always, the haruspex had read his mind. 'Go now and be blessed.'
Tarquinius turned and strode down the track, an arrow notched to the bowstring.
He did not look back.
Transalpine Gaul, 61 BC
'Loose, before it sees us!'
'Long shot.' The Gaulish warrior looked at his younger cousin and grinned. 'It's at least a hundred paces,' he whispered.
'You can do it.' Brac held the two hunting dogs close, stroking them softly to stop any whining.
Brennus pulled a face, eyes returning to the deer standing between the trees. His powerful bow was already half drawn in preparation, goosefeathered arrow fitted to the string. They had crept the last distance on hands and knees, coming to rest behind a huge fallen trunk. Thanks to the brisk wind blowing away from it, the animal was totally unaware of the men's presence.
The pair had been following the tracks all morning, the dogs' noses guiding them through dense summer undergrowth. The deer had moved without concern, nibbling on leaves from the lower branches and it had paused to drink some rainwater pooled in the gnarled roots of an old oak.
Belenus guide my arrow, thought Brennus.
Drawing the gut string to full stretch, he closed one eye and took aim.
It took immense strength to hold the bow at full draw, but the barbed arrow tip remained steady as a rock. Exhaling, the Gaul loosed the shaft. It flew straight and true, driving deep into the deer's chest with a soft thump.
The quarry toppled to the ground.
Brac clapped Brennus on the shoulder. 'A heart shot! Saved us a long chase.'
The two men loped through the trees, almost unseen in their brown fabric shirts and green trousers. Brac was tall and strong limbed, but his cousin towered over him. The big man's face was broad and cheerful, dominated by a battered apology of a nose. After the fashion of their tribe, the Allobroges, they wore their blond hair in pigtails tied with cloth bands. Both warriors were armed with bows and long spears for hunting.