The Temple, Atmanta They have travelled from all down the Tyrrhenian coast, from either side of the Po River, from Spina, Mantua, Felsina and Atria. The only place they have not come from is Rome.
The richest and most powerful men in Etruria file into Atmanta's vast new temple, but no one from Rome is among them.
Pesna and Kavie walk away from the gathering crowd, away from the preening dignitaries and ceremonial musicians playing double pipes and multi-stringed zithers.
'Damnation!' Pesna is so angry he can't stand still. 'These cursed Romans are trouble personified. Their absence is more disruptive than their presence could ever have been. Their silence more insulting than their high and vestal opinions. I wish now I'd had the foresight not to have invited them.'
Kavie gestures to the temple. 'We should go inside. Have you told anyone the Romans were invited and that they refused to come?'
Pesna catches his drift. 'No. The only people who know of the invitations are you and the messenger.'
'The boy will say nothing. I'll see to that.' In the curte, behind the temple, Larcia makes final adjustments to the twisted black conical hat she has sewn for her son. He already wears new robes: a beautifully rounded black mantle with a fringed hem over a longer black tunic. He is barefoot, and has paced out and memorised every step he will take during the ceremony.
His mother is excited. 'Teucer, I hear the flutes and the pipes.' She kisses him and, her voice breaking with sadness because he cannot see the pride in her eyes, she tells him, 'I love you, my son. I'm so proud of you.'
Larcia's kiss is still wet on his cheek as Tetia hugs him and wishes him well. 'Here, here it is.' She guides his right hand to a wooden post driven into the thick turf. It is his starting point. From here on, he will be on his own. One slip, one slight mistake, one degree of miscalculation and the service will be reduced to a farce.
Venthi's voice reaches him from the edge of the temple. He sounds nervous. An anxious father who'd rather his son wasn't about to endure this ordeal. 'They are ready. They are waiting for you.'
Music plays. Melancholy strings. Long flute notes.
Four hooded acolytes take up their positions – two in front and two behind their netsvis. They will help sacrifice sheep on new libation altars outside the temple, built so blood pours straight into the soil and is drunk by the deities of the earth.
Teucer feels the beat of the music. Uses it to set his own rhythm. Stride and pace will be crucial.
Ten steps forward. He turns right.
Fifty steps along the side of the temple. Right again to the foot of the vast steps.
Six steps to ascend.
The acolytes fan out.
Teucer is centre stage.
The crowds and nobles fall silent.
He can feel their eyes on him.
Hairs on the back of his neck tingle. He can sense the six huge pillars around him, gathered like gigantic gods.
He turns and faces the populace. Feels the sun on his skin. Warm. Energising. Confidence-building.
Teucer stretches his arms wide. 'In the name of the holy trinity – in honour of Uni, Tinia and Menrva – I humbly declare that I, the netsvis of Atmanta, am servant to all divinities. Today, in the presence of the noblest of mortal guests from all corners of Etruria, we dedicate this temple to you glorious gods who so divinely shape our futures in this life and in the afterlife that awaits the worthy among us. Almighty deities who preside over the universe and sit in judgement on us, in humility and with solemn reverence we bow before you and offer this house to you as evidence of our love and our devotion. ' Teucer puts two fingers from each hand on his eyes. 'My sight you have taken in order that I might see more clearly. I praise your wisdom in this act, and I beseech you now to guide my feet and my hands as I lead our people and our guests into your house and dedicate its rooms and gifts to you.'
Teucer's robes swirl as he turns. He strides confidently between the pillars and through two giant doors.
One step over the threshold he reaches out his right hand and unhesitatingly grabs the new lituus that Tetia has made and left resting against the wall in that precise spot.
Pesna and the nobles are the first to follow him in. They file the full length of a long table of freshly hewn cypress running down the centre of the main room. Barely an inch of wood is visible. Bloodless gifts of every nature fill the surface. Sculptures in bronze and gold. Vases, urns, bowls, pottery of every shape and size.
Teucer lifts his staff in two hands. Sweeps it slowly and majestically right and left. 'These precious gifts, uniquely made in honour of each unique deity are tokens of our love, loyalty and the lives we dedicate to you. I bless them in your names and pass them now to you so that you may remember them and us, your servants, now and for ever…'
Pesna's eyes flit along the line of noblemen. They are clearly impressed. As is he. The netsvis is spellbinding. His blindness gives him an unexpected and unforgettable aura. No one in the room has given so much as a passing thought to the missing Romans.
All is going to plan.
Pesna knows the men of money and power will be even more enamoured with him when he feasts them and delivers the speech he has planned.
Everything is perfect.
Now his eyes trail along the table to the central position where the solid silver Gates of Destiny take pride of place, ready for the blessing.
Only they are not there.
His breathing stops.
They are gone.