'Right down to the trumpets announcing the start of ceremonies and battle manoeuvres,' Olenus added wryly. 'They stole it all. After destroying us.'
'Sons of whores! What gives them the right?'
'It was pre-ordained in the heavens, Tarquinius. You know all this.' Olenus stared at the young man before taking in the view that fell away to the east and south. A lake at the bottom of the mountain glistened, reflecting the sun's rays with blinding intensity. 'Here we are in the heartland of ancient Etruria.' Olenus smiled. 'Lake Vadimon at our feet, the foundations of the sacred city below.'
'We are almost the last pure-bred Etruscans on earth,' said Tarquinius bitterly. Defeated and then assimilated by the Romans, few families had continued to marry only others of their kind. His had. And generation after generation, the ancient secrets and rituals had been handed from one haruspex to another. Olenus was one of a long line stretching back to the heyday of Etruscan power.
'It was our destiny to be conquered,' Olenus replied. 'Remember that when the foundation stone of the temple was laid many centuries ago . . .'
'A bleeding head was found in the soil.'
'My predecessor, Calenus Olenus Aesar, stated it foretold that the people would rule all of Italy.'
'And he was wrong. Look at us now!' cried Tarquinius. 'Little better than slaves.' There were almost no Etruscans left with any political power or influence. Instead they were poor farmers, or like Tarquinius and his family, workers on large estates.
'Calenus was the best haruspex in our history. He could read the liver like no other!' Olenus waved his gnarled hands excitedly. 'That man knew what the Etruscans could not – or would not – understand at the time. Our cities never unified and so when Rome grew powerful enough, they were defeated one by one. Although it took over a hundred and fifty years, Calenus' prediction proved correct.'
'He meant those who crushed us.'
Olenus nodded.
'Bastard Romans.' Tarquinius flung a stone after the raven, now long gone.
Little did he know the haruspex secretly admired his speed and power. The rock flew fast enough to kill any man it struck.
'A hard thing to accept, even for me,' sighed Olenus.
'Especially the way they lord over us.' The young Etruscan swigged from a leather water bag and passed it to his mentor. 'Where is the cave from here?'
'Not far.' The haruspex drank deeply. 'Today is not the day, however.'
'You've dragged me all the way up here for nothing? I thought you were going to show me the liver and sword!'
'I was,' replied Olenus mildly. The old man turned and began to walk downhill, humming as he used the lituus to steady himself. 'But the omens are not good today. It would be best if you return to the latifundium.'
It had been eight years since he first heard of the gladius of Tarquin, the last Etruscan king of Rome and the bronze liver, one of only a few such templates for soothsayers to learn their art. Tarquinius was chafing to see the ancient metal artefact. It had been the subject of so many lessons, but he knew better than to argue with Olenus and a few more days would make little difference. He hitched his pack higher, checking that all the sheep and goats had come down.
'I need a trip up here with my bow anyway. Spend a few days killing wolves.' Tarquinius affected a nonchalant tone. 'You can't let the bastards think that they can get away with it.'
Olenus grunted in reply.
Tarquinius rolled his eyes with frustration. He wouldn't get to see the liver until the haruspex was good and ready. Whistling the dog to heel, he followed Olenus down the narrow track.
Tarquinius left the haruspex sleeping in the little hut halfway down the mountain, the dog curled up by his feet, wood crackling gently in the fireplace. Even though it was a balmy summer night, Olenus' bones had felt the chill.
The young man picked his way along well-used paths through the sprawling fields, olive groves and vineyards that surrounded Caelius' enormous villa. When he finally reached it, the thick limestone walls were still warm from the sun.
The slaves' miserable shacks and the simple farm buildings housing indentured workers were situated to the rear of the main complex. He reached these quarters without seeing a soul. Most people rose at dawn and went to bed by sunset, making escape and return in darkness relatively easy.
Tarquinius paused at the entrance to the small courtyard and peered into the gloom, seeing nothing.
A voice broke the silence.
'Where have you been all day?'
'Who's there?' Tarquinius hissed.
'Lucky the foreman's asleep. You'd get a beating otherwise!'
He relaxed. 'Olenus was teaching me about our ancestors, Father. That's far more important than digging in the fields.'
'Why bother?' A short, fat man wove into view, clutching an amphora. 'We Etruscans are finished. The butcher Sulla made sure of that.'
Tarquinius sighed. This was an old argument. Sensing their chance to regain some autonomy, many of the remaining Etruscan families and clans had joined Marius' forces in the civil war nearly two decades previously. It had been a calculated gamble that had gone spectacularly wrong. Thousands of their people had died. 'Marius lost. So did we,' he whispered. 'It doesn't mean that the ancient ways need to be forgotten.'
'It was the last opportunity for us to rise up and reclaim ancient glory!'
'You're drunk. Again.'
'At least I did a full day's work,' his father replied. 'You just follow that eccentric fool, listening to ramblings and lies.'
Tarquinius lowered his voice. 'They're not lies! Olenus teaches me secret rituals and knowledge. Someone has to remember. Before it is all forgotten.'
'Do what you will. The Republic cannot be stopped now.' Sergius noisily slurped some wine. 'Nothing can stop its damned legions.'
'Go back to bed.'
His father stared at the shrine in the far corner of the courtyard. It was where he spent his sober moments. All its oil lamps had gone out. 'Even our gods have abandoned us,' he muttered.
Tarquinius pushed the unresisting figure towards the family's small, damp cell. Wine had reduced the once proud warrior to a lonely, morose drunkard. Just a few years previously his father had been secretly teaching him to use weapons. Tarquinius was now equally proficient with a gladius or an Etruscan battleaxe.
With a groan, Sergius collapsed on to the straw mattress he shared with Fulvia, Tarquinius' mother. Instantly he began to snore. The young man lay down on the other side of the room and listened to the loud noise. Tarquinius was worried about his father: at the rate Sergius was drinking, he would not live for more than a few years.
It was a long time before Tarquinius slept, and then he dreamt vividly.
He was watching Olenus sacrifice a lamb in an unfamiliar cave, cutting its belly open to read the entrails. Looking round the dark space, he could see no sign of the bronze liver or sword that Olenus had spoken about so many times.
The old man's face changed as he scanned the animal's organs. Tarquinius called out, but could not get Olenus' attention. His mentor seemed totally unaware of him, instead fearfully watching the mouth of the cave.
It was impossible to see what was scaring Olenus so much. The haruspex had placed the dark red liver on a slab of basalt and was studying it intently. Every so often he would pause and gaze outside, his fear apparently lessening each time. After what seemed an age, Olenus nodded happily and sat back against the wall, waiting.
Despite his mentor's apparent contentment, Tarquinius now felt a strong sense of impending dread which intensified until it was unbearable.
He ran to the entrance.
Peering down a steep mountain slope, he saw Caelius ascending with ten legionaries, each face fixed and grim. All the men held drawn swords.