***
Tanaquil woke badly, one eye gritty and crusted, the other wet, as if the tears that didn't come with rage had come with sleep. Her right arm was numb where she'd slept on it. Her stomach felt flat and hollow, her mouth full of evil tasting saliva.
She always woke badly after a rage.
At least her mind was clear, not fogged with anger.
She got up, chewed a stick, gargled with water from a jug, spat. She took a few leaves of mint to chew on, to freshen her breath and her head. Forget Tarquinius, she told herself. It's over. Think about the way forward.
She realised, now, she'd worked so much on instinct and reaction, she'd never consciously thought about her objectives; power she had had, and would have again, but what did she want to make with it? Like a potter sitting down in front of the clay; would a form suggest itself? Stone or wood were hard, they might suggest a theme; but clay was soft, you needed an idea or it would slump, unformed.
What did she want? She'd dreamed of a new and greater Etruscan confederacy; an Etruscan state open to talent, to the nations, but preserving the knowledge of the gods. A state governed by the augurs, not the kings. She'd always thought she wanted an aristocracy, but it was an aristocracy of spirit she desired, not of birth; a state where the best ruled, where grace and elegance and wiry strength triumphed over mindless warfare and brute force. A new Etruria – perhaps it was the old one, the country that her mother's tales had woven for her, or perhaps the old great Etruria had never existed, was only a dream, even for the rulers of its greatest city and their daughter. It was a dream she wanted to bring to birth.
She'd never believe the gods had set a limit to the Etruscan lands, or to Etruscan rule; Cacus said Etruria's time was ending, but she'd replace it with the rule of Etruscan Rome. The Vipienas' great Change had shown her how a city could change and evolve, doing away with the limits of caste and race; and here in Rome, where all races mingled, she still hadn't despaired of achieving her ends. And it was true the gods had never set a limit on her ambition or her power, or her knowledge; not till now.
She'd have to work with Servius; her only way forward. From now on, Tarquinius was her enemy; the old alliance broken, irreparably now.
And how strange. She'd always thought she had a clearer idea of what she wanted than Tarquinius; but now she saw it was her husband who had always known what he wanted Rome to be – a nation that conquered, whether through arms or wealth – while she'd been merely playing out the tactical forms of politics, had never thought clearly before. So many contradictions; to make young Tarquin a king in waiting, and yet she still wanted a free, an open rule, like Rome had been when they arrived...
The mint was bitter on her tongue; she'd chewed it too long. She spat it out, felt the chill of fresh air in her mouth, and shivered.