The Tyrant's Tomb

out of mind? How could I have been so cruel? The guilt for what I’d done
burned worse than any ghoul scratch.
Tarquin shifted on his throne. He tried for a laugh, but the sound came
out more like a bark of alarm. “You must be insane, woman. Your original
price would have bankrupted my kingdom, and that was when you had nine
books. You burned three of them, and now you come back to offer me only
six, for the same exorbitant sum?”
The woman held out the books, one hand on top as if preparing to say an
oath. “Knowledge is expensive, King of Rome. The less there is, the more it
is worth. Be glad I am not charging you double.”
“Oh, I see! I should be grateful, then.” The king looked at his captive
audience of senators for support. That was their cue to laugh and jeer at the
woman. None did. They looked more afraid of the Sibyl than of the king.
“I expect no gratitude from the likes of you,” the Sibyl rasped. “But you
should act in your own self-interest, and in the interest of your kingdom. I
offer knowledge of the future…how to avert disaster, how to summon the
help of the gods, how to make Rome a great empire. All that knowledge is
here. At least…six volumes of it remain.”
“Ridiculous!” snapped the king. “I should have you executed for your
disrespect!”
“If only that were possible.” The Sibyl’s voice was as bitter and calm as
an arctic morning. “Do you refuse my offer, then?”
“I am high priest as well as king!” cried Tarquin. “Only I decide how to
appease the gods! I don’t need—”
The Sibyl took the top three books off the stack and casually threw them
into the nearest brazier. The volumes blazed immediately, as if they’d been
written in kerosene on sheets of rice paper. In a single great roar, they were
gone.
The guards gripped their spears. The senators muttered and shifted on
their seats. Perhaps they could feel what I could feel—a cosmic sigh of
anguish, the exhale of destiny as so many volumes of prophetic knowledge
vanished from the world, casting a shadow across the future, plunging
generations into darkness.
How could the Sibyl do it? Why?
Perhaps it was her way of taking revenge on me. I’d criticized her for
writing so many volumes, for not letting me oversee her work. But by the
time she wrote the Sibylline Books, I had been angry at her for different