Etruscans by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

had not stopped for food or rest, Wulv was growing very tired, but he no longer had any thought of giving up. The chase was too interesting. The thing he was tracking followed no normal pattern, meandering instead in a disoriented way as if it did not have total control of its faculties. Which, he thought, was not surprising. But whatever the boar was, living or dead, natural or unnatural, Wulv had marked it as his quarry. His tenacity was a source of pride. He would destroy the monster no matter what and celebrate victory afterward.
    The beast had become progressively easier to track as it disintegrated. By the time he finally caught up with it, he was afraid there would be little left to … kill? But he would claim a trophy anyway; the tusks, perhaps. Properly cleaned, at least they would not stink.
    He was actually imagining the arm-ring he would
make of them when he heard a male cry of pain just ahead.
    Wulv ran forward with his spear balanced in his hand, ready for the throw. As he burst through the screening undergrowth he tried to see everything at once so as not to be taken by surprise, but it was hard not to be surprised by the sight that greeted him.
    A tall old man had flung himself straight at the moving boar in a desperate attempt to stop it. He was obviously trying to protect a woman in a sodden blue gown. Off to one side a younger woman half-slumped against a tree, with one hand pressed over her mouth and her eyes wide with terror.
    â€œDuck!” screamed Wulv. For the second time he hurled his spear at the boar; for the second time the weapon found its target. The beast’s rotten flesh no longer had enough tensile strength to offer any resistance to the spear. With a shriek like a deflating bladder, it collapsed as the force that had animated the body fled.
    For a brief moment the shadows around the creature suggested a crouching man.
    Then only a pile of rotten flesh remained.
    Wulv drew a shaky breath. After his last experience he was reluctant to approach the boar again. Instead he turned toward its intended victims. By the richness of their clothing and the craftsmanship of their jewelry he knew them as Etruscans. “Are you all right?” he asked abruptly.
    â€œI am,” replied the woman in blue. “But my daughter … come here, Vesi, come here to me. It’s over now.” She opened her arms and the younger woman stumbled into them.
    â€œThere, there,” Repana murmured, stroking the girl’s sweat-matted hair. Giving her daughter a hug, she turned toward Pepan and what she saw wrung a soft cry from her. She flung herself on the ground beside the man and tenderly cradled his head in her lap. “My lord, my lord Pepan!”

    The man struggled to open his eyes. His chest felt like broken pottery. “At last … ,” he whispered.
    â€œWhat?” She bent closer. “At last, what?”
    â€œI am in your arms,” he said almost inaudibly.
    â€œYou sacrificed your life to save ours!”
    Pepan summoned another tiny surge of strength, enough to ask, “Was I … successful?”
    Repana’s eyes filled with tears. “You were,” she told him. She did not mention the hunter with the spear.
    But Pepan’s pain-dimmed eyes moved past her and, with an effort, focused on Wulv. “You,” he said.
    â€œI, lord?” Wulv sounded nervous. He was not accustomed to having Etruscan nobility speak to him. The tribes of Etruria regarded the Teumetes as little better than beasts of the field and forest.
    â€œYou were the one who saved them. I am … gratefull.”
    Wulv hardly knew where to look. The woman in blue was also staring at him, but he dared not meet her eyes. She must be a queen. Surely his damaged face and crude clothing disgusted her.
    â€œYou helped save us,” she said in a low voice. “I too am grateful.”
    For the first time he could remember, Wulv felt a blush heat his face.
    Pepan