room for many more. The gods were still measuring time for the Etruscan peoples and cities.
For three days the delegates conferred on matters of foreign policy and the Veian war against Rome, until Caere and Tarquinia promised to support Veii with arms and troops. They also discussed the Greeks, and Lars Arnth maintained that war against Greece was inevitable. But he received no support. Neither Lucumo participated in the discussions since a Lucumo does not recognize war save in defense of his own city. Even then he loses his power.
But as the others argued the old man of Volsinii whispered in my ear, “Let them war against Rome. They cannot conquer it anyway. You probably know that Rome is your father’s city and that the most secret omens bind it to your city. If Rome were destroyed, Clusium also would be destroyed.”
I shook my head. “There are many things that I do not know and the consecrated in Clusium said nothing about that.”
He laid his hand on my shoulder. “How strong and fair you are, Turms! I rejoice that I could see you with living eyes. But I warn you, do not believe the consecrated, for they know only what they have learned by rote. Perhaps I should not yet reveal such secret matters as this to you, but I may forget to do so later. Your father conquered Rome and lived there for several years. He would have restored it to Lars Tarkhon or his son had not the Romans convinced him that they preferred to rule themselves. The Romans even tried to murder him. Then in the holy cave of Egeria he met the oldest vestal and she read and interpreted the omens for him. Your father believed her and voluntarily relinquished Rome. But because of the omens he bound its fate to that of Clusium. If danger threatens Clusium, Rome must come to her defense. So it is written in the sacred books and confirmed by a feast of the gods.”
“This you must know,” he continued. “Clusium can never embark upon a war against Rome, and Clusium must speak in its defense if its neighbors wish to destroy it. And should complete destruction threaten it at the hands of the Etruscans, Clusium must, for the sake of its own future, fight for Rome rather than against it. So binding and holy an agreement is it that the very gods themselves descended to earth to confirm it. And yet the only outward indication of it is the fact that no public sale can be made in Rome without the declaration, ‘This is Porsenna’s land,’ or ‘This is Porsenna’s house,’ or ‘These are Porsenna’s goods.’“
I remembered having marked the peculiar way in which Roman auctioneers had made their sales legal. I realized also why my feet had been irresistibly drawn to the holy cave; why I had recognized it and sprinkled its water on my face. I had but followed in my father’s footsteps. And the oldest of the vestals also had immediately recognized me as my father’s son.
For seven days the delegates discussed internal matters and resolved border disputes. Then the sacrifices and traditional games began. The sacrifices took place in the temples but the sacred combats were held within a circle of stones. The Lucumones and the delegates sat on twelve rocks covered with cushions and all who were admitted to the sacred area stood behind them while the ordinary people watched from the mountain slopes and the roofs of houses. No noise or shouts of approval were permitted and the combats were waged in deep silence.
On the day of the god Turms I had to choose a ewe to be sacrificed in my name on the altar. The ewe did not resist when the priest’s stone knife slit its throat, and after the blood had flowed into the sacrificial cups the priest cut open its belly and dug out the liver. The color was right and the liver flawless but twice as large as usual. The haruspex did not interpret the omens further, but he and his comrades looked at me thereafter with new eyes, bowed their heads before me and greeted me as the gods are greeted.
On the following day the old Lucumo of Volsinii summoned me to his house on some pretext. As I entered between the eight pillars I saw a man sitting tensely on a hard seat, staring straight ahead with glassy eyes.
Hearing my steps he asked anxiously, “Is it you, giver of gifts? Put your hand on my eyes, healer.”
I declared that I was not a healer but merely a chance visitor. But he did not believe me and so insistent was he that finally, in sheer pity, I placed my hand over his eyes. Immediately something seemed to burst within me and I felt myself growing weaker moment by moment until my head swam. Finally I withdrew my hand. His eyes still closed, he sighed deeply and thanked me.
In the Lucumo’s room lay a pale young girl, almost a child, extending her hands toward a brazier to warm them. She looked at me disconsolately and suspiciously. When I asked for the Lucumo she said that he would soon return and bade me sit on the edge of her couch meanwhile.
“Are you ill?” I asked.
She pushed aside the cover and showed me her legs. The muscles were so withered that they were like sticks although she was otherwise a beautiful girl. She told me that a bull had gored and trampled her when she was seven and that though the wounds and bruises had healed she had been unable to walk since then.
A moment later she whispered timidly, “You are good and fair, giver of gifts. Rub my legs. They began to ache badly when you entered the room.”
I was not a skilled massager although in my youth I had of course learned the proper ways of rubbing my muscles after exercise. Also after a battle one comrade helped another by rubbing his stiff muscles. But no matter how carefully I rubbed the girl’s legs she moaned in pain. When I asked whether I should cease she said, “No, no, it doesn’t hurt.”
Finally the old Lucumo entered and demanded, “What are you doing, Turms? Why are you torturing the poor girl?”
“She herself asked for it,” I answered defensively. “Will you then help every suppliant?” he snapped. “Will you give to whomsoever asks? There are good and evil suppliants, guilty and innocent sufferers. Don’t you realize that you must distinguish between them?”
I thought for a moment. “It is not this poor girl’s fault that she suffers. But if I see someone who suffers I probably will not distinguish between the good and the evil, the guilty and the guiltless, but help each if I can. After all, the sun shines with equal warmth on the evil and the good. I do not imagine that I have greater understanding than the sun.”
He nodded impatiently as though he would have protested. Then he sat down, struck a bronze shield and called for wine. “You are very pale,” he said. “Do you feel weak?”
My head swam and my limbs trembled with weakness but I tried to assure him that all was well. It was a great honor to be summoned before him in his own house and I did not wish to destroy the pleasure by complaining. We drank the wine and I felt better. But all the while he stared at the girl lying on the couch and she returned his gaze expectantly.
Soon the dark-faced Lucumo of Volterra entered and greeted us. The old man poured him some wine and as he raised the cup to his lips the Volsinian pointed suddenly to the girl.
“Arise, child, and walk.”
To my inexpressible amazement the girl’s face brightened, she began to move her legs and carefully placed them on the floor. Slowly, holding onto the couch, she rose to her feet. I tried to hasten to her lest she fall, but the old man restrained me without a word. The three of us stared at the girl. She swayed badly but took one step and then another, holding onto the painted wall.
Weeping and laughing she cried, “I can walk, I can walk!” Extending her arms toward me she staggered across the floor, fell before me and kissed my knees. “Lucumo,” she whispered devoutly. “Lucumo.”
I was as surprised by her sudden recovery as the girl herself. Trying her withered muscles, I shook my head and declared, “This is a miracle!”
The old Lucumo laughed benevolently. “You performed it. The strength came from you, Lucumo.”
I raised my hands in protest. “No, no. Do not mock me.”
The old man nodded to the Volterran Lucumo, who went to the door. “Come and show us your eyes, you who believe.”
The man who sat in the entrance hall came in, his hands over his eyes. Time and again he lowered his hands, looked around and again covered his eyes. “I can see,” he said finally. Humbly he bowed his head before me and raised his arm in a divine greeting. “It is you who have done this, Lucumo!” he exclaimed. “I can see. I can see you and the radiance around your head.”
The old Lucumo explained, “This man has been blind for four years. He was defending his vessel against pirates when it seemed as though a gigantic bearded creature struck him a fearful blow on the head. Since then he has seen nothing.”
The man nodded eagerly. “Yes, the vessel was saved, but since then I have seen nothing until you touched
