He smiles sleepily. 'I am blind, not deaf. I fell asleep again. Now that I cannot see, my mind seems to seek the solace of sleep more often.'
'Magistrate Pesna has sent a man for me. He is outside and I have to go with him. I will be gone for some time.'
Apprehension shows on his face. 'Why? The magistrate knows of my condition. Your skills are more likely to be needed for my tomb than his.'
'Do not say that!' Panic rises in her chest. 'You were the one who told him about my work. Yesterday he said he would think of what he wanted. I suppose he's sent for me now because he's made up his mind.' She tries to sound excited. 'This is a big chance for us, Teucer. Pleasing the magistrate will benefit us both.'
Teucer says nothing. He feels he no longer has any power. He has become an object, to be moved around as and when people wish.
'I will ask your mother to look in on you.' She squeezes his hand. 'I'll be back quickly. Wish me luck.' She kisses his forehead.
He wishes it had been his mouth. Wishes there was only him and his wife, no horror growing in her stomach, no guilty secret to try to forget. 'May fortune smile upon you.'
She doesn't hear him as she rushes away and almost collides with Larth. It's clear he was about to enter her home and fetch her.
Tetia steps past the giant. 'I have to see his mother, then I will come,' she calls over her shoulder, not daring to look back. To provoke Larth's temper is to unleash a violence so terrible that even the bravest in Atmanta would cower. She steels herself for the roar of fury, the fist, the boot, but it seems the monster is curbing his anger for once. Even so, she moves quickly, and the moment she has secured Larcia's promise to look in on Teucer, she's running back to Larth, gathering her robe so it doesn't catch in her old leather sandals, while at the same time trying ensure no glimpse of thigh should awaken his lust.
He mounts the stallion and pulls her up one-handed behind him.
Before Tetia has even settled, the horse is at full gallop and she has to cling to Larth's waist in order not to fall.
They head north, riding hard. First along the city's cardo, then the decumanus, the east-west road. The crossing point of the roads is a special place, solemnly divined by Teucer when the settlement was first established and housing planned out and around the main routes. They don't rest until they come to the easternmost of Pesna's silver mines.
'Mamarce's workshop is part under the earth,' explains Larth as he fastens the horse to a fence stake and pulls Tetia down. 'I will show you, but I will not go in there with you.'
Tetia looks at him. 'Why not? You are afraid to do so?'
He grabs her by the elbow and walks her quickly from the horse. 'I am afraid of nothing mortal. Journeys below earth are for rodents, and I am not given to the company of rats.'
The mine buildings form a dog-leg, part set in the cliff with the remainder running away at a forty-five-degree angle before disappearing below ground.
Larth tugs open a battered door to reveal a dim, musty corridor lit by torches. They flutter as the wind is sucked in.
'I will be here when you have finished. Mamarce will call for me.'
CAPITOLO XXI
The Eastern Silver Mine, Atmanta The mine door flaps closed behind her.
Tetia walks a short way and then enters another door on her right. The room seems as big as a village and smells worse than a sulphur pit. Men of all ages are busily ferrying white-hot iron crucibles of molten metal from one workplace to another. They look like thieves stealing pieces of the sun.
The air is filled with the deafening thud of hammer on anvil. Huge fires roar in stone kilns that stretch all the way through the ceiling of rock. The heat is overwhelming.
Tetia feels perspiration trickle down her back and breasts.
She walks carefully, fearful of bumping into one of the passing men and being burned by their incandescent treasure.
A sudden loud hissing sound makes her jump. A man is dipping a crucible of molten metal into a vast water trough. Tetia catches her breath and moves on.
She sees a string of almost naked children, sitting like a row of dirty pearls with their backs to an undulating black wall of rock. They are scrabbling in huge bowls jammed between their knees, picking specks of silver from ground ore, their calloused and bleeding fingers rooting out non-precious metals, salts and debris.
Another door leads to a second cavernous chamber.
This one is guarded by two large shaven-headed men with thick leather belts dangling with chains and knives. The guards are identical, except one has a scar on his left cheek and right forearm, the unmistakable aftermath of a blow from a broadsword.
'I am Tetia, wife of Teucer, the netsvis. Larth, the servant of Magistrate Pesna, brought me here to see Mamarce.'
Tetia waits for an answer but the men give none. They look her over, then the one with the raw red scar steps aside and swings the door open.
This room is cooler. The light more even.
A boy, somewhat older than the others, sits cross-legged in the far corner and cautiously observes the new visitor.
Mamarce doesn't look up from his work. He seems to be about the same age as Teucer's father, but very different in every other respect. He is a mere wisp of a man, thin and small with no muscles, a fuzz of white hair and a bushy grey beard. He is bent double over a wide bench that Tetia has never seen the like of. It is part wood, part iron. A series of big and small metal jaws protrude over its edges like the mouths of hungry dogs yapping for scraps.
When Mamarce speaks, his voice is slow and soft, as if muffled by his facial shrubbery. 'Sit down. I cannot stop. The metal is almost hard and I am not yet done.'
Tetia perches on a wobbly wooden seat across from him and drinks in her surroundings. The bench between them is strewn with knives, files and hammers not unlike her own, but smaller and even more delicate. A strange long stone catches her eye; it seems to have been smeared with different shades of something shiny. She guesses it's a touchstone, an instrument used to compare samples from the highest-known quality of silver to those of new and undetermined qualities.
'I am finished!' Mamarce announces triumphantly, looking up at last. 'So, you are the mystery sculptress. My, my!' He steps down from the high wooden chair and is now so small that he all but disappears behind the bench.
Tetia stands and walks round to meet him. He barely reaches her shoulders. 'I am Tetia, wife of Teucer, daughter of-'
He flicks a hand dismissively at her. 'I know who you are, and I am not the least interested in who your husband or father is. Let me look at you. Show me your hands.'
She extends them, palms down.
'No, no, not like that, child. That tells me nothing.' Mamarce twists them palms up and holds her by the wrists. 'Aaah. Artist's hands. Good, good. You have a gift from Menrva herself.'
He smiles kindly at her and Tetia can't help but warm to him. 'Thank you.'
Mamarce traces a thin bony finger horizontally across her left palm. 'The Greeks believe all these lines are prophecies of your life. Your fingers here are your first world – the world of what goes on in your mind. This middle part of your hand is your second world – it governs the material things that you own and do in this life on earth.' He runs his nails from the tip of her thumb to the inside of her wrist, 'And here is the third world – your hidden, elemental world.'
Tetia is fascinated. 'You understand such things? You are a seer?'
Mamarce smiles enigmatically. 'All artists are seers. We view more than only earthly things. I note your work, too, has visionary elements. You must explain them to me.'
Tetia drops her head, anxious not to be pressed.
Mamarce picks up on it. 'Well, perhaps later, when we know each other better. First, come with me and I will show you what has been done with your sculpture.' He pulls up a second high chair and ushers her to sit alongside him. 'I took your creation and Vulca' – he points a bony finger at the boy – 'impressed them into moulds of fresh clay. I then poured our purest silver into the moulds and we sealed them against blocks of cuttlefish before binding them tightly.' Mamarce reaches to his right and drags a fold of sacking in front of him. 'Here they are. They need cleaning, but are already quite extraordinary. Are you ready to see?'