'You have seen this, husband?'
He laughs. 'It is not divination, it is fact.'
She wraps an arm around him and falls silent. Silence is often best these days. Somehow it seems to hold them together, heals the wounds they dare not speak of.
The sun is dripping golden light on to the valley. The syrup of a perfect morning is being poured. They notice a dark shape down the opposite hillside, rolling like a boulder.
Teucer sees it first. He stares hard. Blinks. Hopes he is mistaken. Maybe it's a giant bird or a wild cat, its black shadow cast on the straw-coloured land.
It's not.
His mouth grows dry.
Tetia sits up straight, brushes her long black hair from her eyes and squints into the warm light.
There's only one house on the other side of the hill.
Only one man who would send a rider from there so early in the day.
The dark shape gets bigger. In the seat of the valley it stops.
Teucer knows the figure is looking at them.
Preparing for them.
Coming for them.
CAPITOLO IV
The figure on the hillside is Larth. Larth the Punisher. Larth, the most feared man in Atmanta.
There are many reasons to be afraid of the mountain of muscle who has come from his master, Magistrate Pesna. First, Larth kills people. Executes them coldly in the name of local justice. Second, he tortures people, again at the behest of his master. Third, and perhaps most disturbingly of all, he enjoys every gruesome aspect of his work.
Teucer thinks of all these things as he sensibly complies with Larth's gruff demand to take his horse and ride back with him. The young netsvis thinks too about Magistrate Pesna. The man is young and much resented. His wealth comes from the new industry of silver mining and the old art of political intrigue. Like all politicians he is different than he seems. Outwardly, he's a nobleman, a businessman and pillar of the community. Privately, he's corrupt – a debauched, sexual animal and voracious power seeker.
Inside the high-walled gardens of Pesna's home, Larth leads Teucer into a vast room with an endless floor, tiled in a strange stone the colour of milk. The Punisher leaves him with a servant so young it will be a hundred moons before he needs to shave. Teucer feels his heart beating and his knees knocking. After all this time, he was certain neither he nor Tetia would be connected with the killing near the curte. He calms himself by admiring the opulence around him. The furniture is beautifully crafted from different local woods, some bleached white and covered in thick skins, some stained red and brown using berries and plants such as Madder. Life-size bronze statues representing orators, workers and slaves line the walls. The room is alive with murals showing dancers, musicians and revellers. In each corner there are huge pots, all glazed black and intricately covered in gold-leaf paintings.
Two servants fling open large lattice-worked doors and hurry into the room. Teucer's heartbeat doubles again. They set about tidying skins and cushions on a large high-backed wooden seat where the magistrate intends sitting.
Pesna enters.
He is tall and handsome, clad in a long robe made from a shimmering fabric that Teucer doesn't recognise. It is held on his shoulder by a silver clasp that looks like the gripping knuckles of a woman's hand. His feet are cosseted in finest leather sandals, buckled in silver.
Pesna glances at Teucer and then disapprovingly back into a bronze mirror he is carrying at arm's length. 'You have a good complexion. The sun is not kind to my skin. It makes it dry and sore and red. Though to look pale is to seem as though you are wishing the white ghost of death to carry you to your tomb.' He lowers himself into his seat. 'What do you think, Netsvis?'
Teucer tries to sound calm. 'The gods have made us as we are. Our true selves need no alterations other than those they deign to give us.'
'Quite.' Pesna takes a final look in the mirror and beckons his servant. 'Tonight, make sure this is polished with bone of cuttlefish and pumice. Tomorrow I wish to be seen in a better light.'
The slave runs off and the magistrate turns his attention to the young seer who is admiring a bronze. 'My courtiers tell me I have the finest collection of art outside of Greece. I am thinking that, once a year, I shall let the commoners in to view the pieces. What say you? Is this gesture likely to win me favours from the gods?'
Teucer is sickened by the man's vanity but knows he must watch his tongue. 'To patronise the arts is to shine light, not only into the present, but also into the future of those who inherit our lands. It follows then that the gods may reward you in the afterlife for such benevolence.'
'Good. This is what I wanted to be told.'
'Though, if I may be so bold as to add' – he glances around – 'it may also work to your favour to collect some works that honour the gods as well as mere mortals.'
Pesna grows reflective. 'I will be vigilant in my search for such pieces. Thank you.'
Teucer feels confident enough to push his luck: 'My wife is a sculptress, she would be delighted to advise or take commission from you.'
Pesna looks irritated. 'Then send her. But I have asked you here not so that you may tout for family business but on a more serious matter.' He walks a half-circle around the netsvis, staring intently into his face.
Teucer feels a fluttering in his stomach.
'I have a problem, Netsvis, and I need the guidance and approval of the gods.'
'I will try my best, Magistrate.'
Pesna steps close and glares at him. 'Best is good – but only if your best is good enough.' He pauses and studies the young seer's face. Teucer hopes he cannot see the fear in his eyes. To Pesna, fear is more important than respect. 'Etruria is growing,' he continues. 'The states are now numerous, the total populace close to a third of a million. I need new lands, new riches, new challenges, or Atmanta will be but one reed by the riverside when it should be a forest stretching further than the eye can see.' He peers again at Teucer. 'You understand my needs and ambitions, my dedication to the generations still to come?'
Teucer nods.
The magistrate changes his tone, speaks more confidentially. 'Some moons ago, there was a very disturbing murder. One that has tongues wagging and threatens to become the stuff of widespread storytelling.'
Teucer's heart skips a beat. He'd thought he was out of trouble.
'The victim was a grown man. He was slaughtered like a wild animal. His guts pulled out and his liver cast away. I presume you have heard of this?'
Teucer nods respectfully.
'You and I – dear Netsvis – know that the liver is the seat of the soul. Its removal can prevent a person passing into the afterlife.' He pauses and reads assent on Teucer's face. 'Such acts can panic a community like ours.' For the first time the magistrate also looks worried. He tries to take the fear out of his voice. 'An elder told me such a murder would be the work of Aita, the lord of the underworld. Could this be so?'
Teucer senses a chance to offset the blame. 'It is possible. Aita has monstrous power, he takes souls in any way he can. Normally, I would expect him to send a succubus to seduce a man and take his spirit during ejaculation, however-'
'Gods forbid!' Pesna interrupts, thinking of his own pleasures and vulnerability. 'Sweet gods in the sky, do not say such things!' He takes a moment to clear the image from his head and return to his wishes. 'Netsvis, let me get to the point. I will shortly embark upon a campaign of great importance. I cannot do this if we are cursed or seen to be cursed. Do you understand?'
Teucer's not sure he does. 'What would you have me do, Magistrate?'
The politician flaps his arms. 'Sacrifice something. Work some charms to ensure our settlements are peaceful and clear of rumours. I cannot have my plans disrupted by unfriendly gods, or even stories of unfriendly gods. Do I make myself clear?'
'What would you have me sacrifice and to whom? Perhaps three different animals, all in honour of the trinity, Uni, Tinia and Menrva?'