Etruscans Read Free

silently forward. Since earliest childhood she had loved to play at hunting, like a boy—to the despair of her mother, who wanted her daughter to be feminine and delicate. Rasne women were works of art.
    But Vesi had no desire to be a work of art. Such a static image bored her. Life was to be lived. She thrilled
to the prospect of adventures. Now her callused bare feet slid through the long grass, testing every step before trusting her weight. One could never be too cautious. A patch of quicksand might be anywhere. Spurae were sometimes sited to take advantage of such natural defenses.
    She drew another questing breath. The blood-smell was stronger now, identifiably human but disgustingly tainted with something foul.
    Another groan sounded. There was no mistaking the voice of a man in pain. Abandoning caution, the girl started forward just as a rising wind whipped her hair into her eyes. It might have been an omen; the Rasne believed the gods spoke to them in such signs and portents. The girl paused long enough to take a gleaming silver fillet from the leather purse she wore at her waist She settled the band firmly on her brow to hold her hair in place.
    Then she began to run.
    Since none of her people would have ventured on their own into the unfinished spura , she assumed the groaning man must belong to one of the native tribes. Or, more dangerously, be a hawk-faced Roman from Latium, an advance scout for an army hoping to extend Rome’s territory. Such raiders had become a constant threat. Once the Etruscans had feared no one, dominating not only Etruria but much of Latium. With increasing prosperity their aggressive impulses had diminished however. The Rasne had become tired of war, tired of the casual butchery, the stink of the dead and the dying. They had taken their martial arts and turned them inward, using them to create rather than destroy, to build rather than pull down.
    And now the jackals were gathering.
    Vesi hefted the knife in her hand, her thumb caressing the hilt with its encrusted carnelians. But she did not hesitate. At the back of her mind was some romantic,
childish notion of taking an injured Roman warrior prisoner at knife point and leading him home in triumph. No Rasne woman had ever done such a thing before.
    She sprinted up a hill, then dropped flat at the crest so she would not be silhouetted against the sky. From this vantage point she could look down upon the spura spread out below like some child’s toy.
    The area had been cleared, foundations dug, drains installed, streets laid out. Each house, shop, and public building was already allocated a site that would contribute to the symmetry of the whole. Squares and rectangles were pegged with fluttering strips of pale cloth. Stone footings would be placed to support walls of sunbaked brick covered with tinted plaster. Courtyards and roofs would be tiled; murals would be painted on every available surface. Terra-cotta piping was stacked to one side, waiting to serve the fountains that would sparkle throughout the city.
    The choicest site of all was reserved for the great templum at the center of the spura. Plinths would be placed at intervals along the approaching avenue; statues of the Ais would stand there, gazing down with blind eyes upon their people. But before this could happen, the entire area must be consecrated with blood and flesh and smoke. Then a city wall would be raised to protect Sacred Space and construction could begin in earnest.
    The result would be the finest spura ever built, even more elegant than Veii, which was celebrated as the most beautiful city in Etruria. And as everyone knew, Etruria was the most beautiful land in the world. Its inhabitants were the special favorites of the Ais .
    â€œGreat are the gods and precious their love,” Vesi murmured automatically.
    She shaded her eyes with one hand so she could make out details of the scene below.
    There!
    In the center of the site designated for the templum