full armour guarded one scene, and a naked male figure with wings and a lion's head hovered overhead. The intensity in the beast's eyes stirred something deep in him.
'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.
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
Olenus pointed to an enormous ruby embedded in the base of the hilt. 'This is worth a huge fortune. It will attract a lot of attention, so keep it safe. Might come in useful one day.'
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.
