“You lead me, my dear deceased wife, for I am old and my knees shake. And do not reproach me for my extravagance. It will happen only this once from the sheer joy of meeting you again as youthful and beautiful as you were during our happiest days.”
When I heard that I began to regret my hasty decision but it was too late, for Arsinoe was already leading the old man quickly through the room to the courtyard where his slaves were waiting to carry him home.
The journey was not long, and we soon arrived in the courtyard of Tertius Valerius’ old-fashioned house which, in imitation of his brothers, he had built at the foot of Velia. The gatekeeper slave was as old and trembling as his master and the link fastening his fetter to the gatepost had long ago rotted, so that he wore it only for the sake of appearances when guests arrived. Otherwise he limped about the courtyard or in the street in search of a sunny place in which to warm his aged body.
The slaves carried the litter inside to the court, where Arsinoe gently awakened the old man. We had the slaves lift him into bed and bring a brazier to heat the half-dark room, noticing as they did so that his household, run by decrepit slaves, was badly neglected. With a deep sigh he turned his cheek to the pillow but remembered to tell the slaves to obey us, his guests. Then he motioned us closer, and as we leaned over him he stroked Arsinoe’s hair and from courtesy also mine. Arsinoe laid her hand on his forehead and bade him sleep. He did so immediately.
When we returned to the court I asked the slaves to return to the inn for Hanna, Misme and our goods. Instead, however, they looked at us disdainfully and shook their heads as though they did not comprehend. But the white-haired housekeeper finally bowed his head before my stern look, admitted his Etruscan birth and ordered them to go. He said that he still understood the language well, although Romans avoided speaking it in public following the king’s exile. The more fanatical among them did not even wish their children to learn the old language, he explained, but the truly noble sons of Fathers still sent their own sons either to Veil or Tarquinia for a time in their youth to learn culture and good manners.
“Tell me your name and family and your wife’s name and whence you come, so that I may address you properly,” he said humbly.
I had no desire to conceal my real name from the housekeeper who enjoyed Valerius’ confidence. “I am Turms of Ephesus and an Ionian refugee as you can guess. My wife’s name is Arsinoe. She speaks only Greek and the language of the sea.”
“Turms,” he repeated. “That is no Greek name. How is it possible that an Ionian speaks the holy language?”
“Call me whatever you wish!” I exclaimed, and had to laugh.
In a friendly gesture I placed my hand on his shoulder, but the touch of it made him tremble. “The Romans distort the name Turms into Turnus,” he explained, “and it may be best for you to call yourself Tur-nus here. I will not ask anything more but will serve you as best I can so forgive my curiosity, which is a weakness of old age. I thank you for having deigned to touch me, a lowly person.”
His back erect, he walked effortlessly before us to show us the rooms. I asked him to speak to me in Latin, which was the language of the city, so that I might learn it, and he began by naming every object, first in Latin and then in Etruscan. Arsinoe, too, listened so attentively that I realized that she wished to learn to speak to Tertius Valerius in the city’s own language, and I feared the consequences.
3.
Tertius Valerius did not have another paralytic stroke despite the fervent wishes of his relatives who had long suffered the taunts of the man diey considered simple-minded. Even as a youth he had been so untalented in comparison to both his intelligent brothers that he had been called simply Tertius, the third son, while in the Senate he was known as Brutus, the imbecile.
But he was not untalented. His gifts were merely of another kind than those of his politically astute brothers who performed glorious deeds for Rome and rose to be first among the first. Every man, even an apparently simple one, has his own talent which is peculiar to him and which is perhaps never recognized by those around him if he has no opportunity to reveal it. Others are given the opportunity only once. Such, among the Romans, was the one-eyed Horatius who, although only a stupid, brawny man, remained alone on the Etruscan shore to defend the Roman bridgehead until the others behind him had time to destroy the bridge. Bull-headed stupidity was his talent, even though Lars Porsenna did conquer the city despite his stand.
Such lands and wealth as Tertius Valerius possessed could not have been accumulated by a stupid man. Nor was it ambition, in my opinion, that drove him to yield his sons to the lictors but rather an excessive sense of responsibility as a Roman and a desire to emulate his admired brothers. The Etruscans who were descended from patrician families strove to be even more Roman than the Romans themselves, attempting by their actions to dispel the understandable skepticism of the plebeians. One would have thought that those of Etruscan origin would have desired the return of Etruscan kings to Rome, but they did not. They preferred to rule the city and the people as patricians, senators and state officials.
Because of Arsinoe’s nearness and my simple care, Tertius Valerius quickly recovered from his paralytic stroke and was deeply grateful to us both. When he had emerged from his twilight condition he no longer imagined Arsinoe to be his deceased wife, although he remembered well that he had done so. He believed merely that his wife’s spirit had fleet-ingly transferred herself to Arsinoe’s body so that she might care for him tenderly. He declared himself fortunate to have been able to beg her forgiveness for having disregarded her pleas and sacrificed their sons.
When he was again able to move about, I had a skilled massager manipulate his face carefully so that his eyelid no longer drooped as badly as before. Saliva still trickled from his twisted lip, but Arsinoe wiped his beard like a devoted daughter with a warm linen towel that she kept nearby. She also began to supervise the household, patiently advising the old slaves and servants, so that the old man received better food than formerly. Likewise the rooms were swept every day, the dust was wiped from the Penates and the dishes were kept clean. I hardly recognized her, for she had never before seemed domestic.
As I expressed amazement she said, “How little you know me, Turms. Haven’t I always declared that as a woman I ask for no more than security and four walls and a few servants to command? Now that I have them, thanks to this grateful old man, I can ask for nothing more.”
But I was not pleased when, upon my approaching her in bed, she submitted meekly to my caresses with her thoughts obviously elsewhere. In. a way I should have been content, for when she was restless she created mere disorder, but when it had happened several times I complained bitterly.
“Oh, Turms, doesn’t anything that I do please you?” she exclaimed. “After all, I do show you that I still love you. Forgive me if I can no longer participate wholeheartedly, but your blindness and my own body have already caused me sufficient grief. My terrible life in the Siccanian forest made me realize that any other condition would be more desirable. After all, it was my mad passion for you that plunged me to the level of the lowest barbarian. Now at last I feel myself secure. Security is a woman’s greatest happiness so permit me to retain it.”
Concerning the events in the city, I can relate that the same assembly at which Tertius Valerius had suffered his paralytic stroke impeached the former hero Caius Marcius. Pursuing the fleeing Volscians alone, he had once forced his way into the city of Corioli, set fire to the nearest houses and held open the gate long enough for the cavalry to follow him. For that deed he had been given the privilege of participating in the triumph, standing beside the consul who had led the army and receiving the honorary appellation of Coriolanus from the people. Now the people were impeaching him for despising them and accusing him of secretly harboring designs of autocracy. It is true that he felt bitterness toward the people, for when the plebeians had ascended the holy mountain they had sacked and burned his country house together with the others’, and had marched him under a yoke. His pride had never been able to forgive that humiliation. The plebeians had been pacified with the acquisition of two tribunes, who had the privilege of discontinuing the enforcement of any official edicts which they considered detrimental to the people’s interests. But Coriolanus compelled the tribunes to step aside when they passed, spat before them and jostled them.
Coriolanus knew well that his own kind could not protect him from the wrath of the people during the trial. Fearing for his life, he evaded the lictors guarding his house, escaped over the wall, stole a horse from the barn at
