Publius had planned to go down to his ploughland and poke about with a stick, ostensibly to check how the drainage was working but really because he could not be happy at this critical time unless he was handling the earth he would presently harvest. Now he decided to wait and see what the women would do.
Claudia did not seem to mind his presence. He sat on a stool, pretending to tighten the rivet on a spearhead and watching her. She was listening for something; from the cock of her head she was listening for a distant sound, not for some noise just outside the hut.
They all heard it together, the howling of wolves beyond the palisade. The children began to whimper. Publius reached over for his shield, and for a better spear. He looked longingly towards his fine greaves glistening on the arms-rack. While chasing wolves you could not wear greaves, for they hampered your running; but if the wolves were chasing you, as seemed now to be the case, they might be a most useful protection.
He listened again, and called softly to his wife: ‘When I am gone bar the door and hide little Publius at the bottom of the corn-bin. That’s not wolves howling. That’s men, using the wolf-howl for a warcry. I can’t understand how they got so close without being seen, but they seem to have pulled off a neat surprise.’
He was trying desperately hard not to betray his fear. It was one thing to get ready for a charge, with warcries and magical rites and plenty of time to let the idea sink in; and quite another to hear the shouts of the enemy unexpectedly, while breakfast was still on the table. But when a palisade is attacked the only reply is to defend it; it is already too late for flight.
Claudia answered him calmly: ‘Yes, it’s men, and we have been expecting them. They did it so well that for a moment I mistook them for real wolves, and felt frightened. This is the service of the gods, and nothing to worry about. Now we all stand outside our huts, and the Wolf-men bring us luck. It’s women’s business, that’s why I didn’t warn you earlier.’
At once relieved and angry, Publius moved slowly to the door of the hut. The women, more eager, crowded before him. It annoyed him that his family had seen him surprised and perhaps dismayed. He had a good mind to beat his wife, or flog the slave-woman. But he knew that in fact he would not, once he had got over his surprise; and he had sense enough not to make any threat that he could not carry out in cold blood.
The alley filled, as its inhabitants poured out of their huts to see what was going on; but by this time the Sabines were used to living in a thronged city, and without instructions they left a narrow passage in the middle. Publius heard a roar of joyful cheering coming nearer and nearer; then whatever it was came round the corner into view, and he craned to look.
To his horror, he saw four naked youths leaping towards him. They were not entirely naked, for on their heads and shoulders were the tattered remnants of goatskins, and they waved other bloody strips in their hands. But below the shoulders they wore nothing.
Howling like wolves, the young men bounded up. One stopped before Publius, turned to face him. Publius naturally tried to stand in front of his wife and baby daughter, to spare them from shock. But the women stubbornly pushed in front of him, even little Pomponia and the slave-woman. They smiled up at the naked figure, their arms open as though to embrace him.
The young man bounded obscenely, waving his strip of new flayed skin until drops of blood fell all about. Publius dived back into the hut to fetch his sword, but when he came out again the figure had moved on. Now all the women on the Quirinal were howling like wolves, the naked youths darted from alley to alley, and bewildered Sabine fathers of families stood about helplessly trying to shoo away the indecent intruders.
It was over as suddenly as it had begun. With a final howl the naked men fled out by the farther gate; they could be seen crossing the valley on their way back to the Latin settlement on the Palatine.
Publius wasted no time. He picked up his spear, to show he came on public business, and went at once in search of King Tatius.
Already a group of angry spearmen stood round the royal hut, and more were arriving every minute. When the King came out Publius, remembering that he was a Senator, spoke up for all the men of the injured clan.
‘Cousin, you must lead us at once to the sack of the Palatine. Those Latins have insulted every respectable wife in our clan. Their young men pranced naked all over the city, thrusting their revolting nudity into our faces. They howled like wolves as they did it, as though to proclaim that they behaved as wild animals rather than men. We must have vengeance at once, today.’
Tatius grinned. It was a deadly insult to his clansmen, but there was no other word for his expression. ‘Be easy, cousins,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘That was a most sacred religious ceremony. The Latins do it every spring, because it makes their women fruitful. They run about like wolves, since they are the nurslings of the she wolf. The blood from the goatskin gives children to any woman on whom it is sprinkled. The young men must be naked; it’s part of the rite. Now it won’t happen again until this time next year. Surely there’s nothing in that to make you wage war on your fellow-citizens?’
‘Cousin, I won’t have it,’ Publius repeated stubbornly. ‘We know, every husband knows, that women have their private ceremonies to make them fertile, and that some of these ceremonies are unseemly. The women go apart to do these things, where men cannot see them. But this is a matter of Latin strangers running up to our wives in the presence of their husbands and children, before all the city. It is an insult, and must be punished. If you command us to keep the peace, we shall obey the head of the family. That is to say, we shall obey you this time, in case the Latins did not realise that their conduct would be resented. But next year, if those naked sons of the she-wolf come here again, I shall stick my spear into the belly of the first rascal who goes near my wife; and I shall do so even if you have ordered me to keep the peace.’
‘Very well, cousin, if you are so earnest in this unimportant matter,’ said the King with an anxious frown. ‘I am the head of the family, but I cannot override the opinion of all my kindred. I shall speak to King Romulus about it. Now tell me, which part of the affair seems to you objectionable? We must keep up something of the sort, if we want our wives to have babies. Is it that the men come uninvited, or that they are naked, or that they sprinkle the women without first asking permission from their husbands?’
‘None of these things,’ shouted another angry Sabine husband. ‘They are Latins – foreigners. That’s what I can’t abide.’
‘And why should they call themselves especially the sons of the she-wolf?’ Publius added. ‘The wolf is the beast of Mars, and Mars is not the private god of the Latins. He’s just as much the father of the Sabines.’
‘If that’s the main trouble I can easily alter it,’ said King Tatius, relieved. ‘Next year we shall have two lots of Lupercals, sons of the she-wolf. The Latins can bring fertility to their own women on the Palatine, and we on the Quirinal shall welcome young Sabines as luck-bringers. Will that suit you, cousins, and persuade you not to destroy this promising city by civil war? Though, mind you, I would be happier if you would permit the Latins to perform the rite on behalf of us all. I don’t like to see two of everything in one city, as though we were allies and not fellow-citizens.’
‘Then why have two kings, if the Latins are to be our leaders?’ shouted a rough anonymous voice from the back of the crowd. King Tatius could not think of a crushing answer on the spur of the moment; with a frown of anger he went back to his hut. Even the head of the family must endure a great deal of backchat from free and independent Sabine spearmen.
The new arrangement was solemnly ratified at the next assembly. Henceforth there would be two sets of Lupercals, Latin and Sabine. In addition, just to remind posterity that Rome had begun as a double city in which two nations had equal rights, there would in future be two teams of the Dancers of Mars. These were the young men who in springtime danced about the city with shield and spear, to ask a blessing on the
campaign of that summer.
The more responsible leaders disliked this emphasis on the double origin of the city. In particular, the two teams of Dancers were likely to urge their supporters to embark on separate campaigns. But the Tatians would not be content with less. They were not getting on very happily with the Latins, and if there had not been a third party, the Luceres, to help in keeping the peace, there might have been another stand-up fight on the old battleground.
The Lucumo let it be known that he would lead his men against whichever party began a civil war, and that just kept Rome united. Things jogged on, uncomfortably.
6. Envoys From Lavinium
Five years later Publius Tatius was at last chosen one of the Dancers of Mars (the choice was made by Mars himself, who arranged that his chosen candidate should draw a marked pebble from a pile of little stones in a cooking-pot). He was delighted that the choice should have fallen on him before it was too late; for in his thirty-sixth year he was growing a little old for such an energetic ceremony, and it had begun to look as though Mars would pass him over. When he came home elated to tell Claudia she guessed that perhaps King Tatius, supervising the draw, had helped Mars to make his tactful choice.
Publius at once went into strict training, determined that when the time came he would dance as well as any of his younger colleagues. It was towards the end of an unusually severe winter, but nevertheless he ate sparingly and went out for runs in the open country. When the Lupercals next ran through the settlement on the Quirinal he watched their performance with a critical eye. These young men were now his Sabine kinsmen; though he still felt a shock when a naked youth wagged his belly at Claudia and the slave-woman he accepted it in good part as necessary for the continuance of the city. The ceremony had proved its worth; the slave-woman was now the mother of three brats, and in his own hut two sons would carry on his line and two daughters would presently by marriage extend the bounds of his kindred.
So many things were necessary to assure the continuance of Rome; though now it seemed that the city had achieved permanence. After twelve years of existence it was already older than most of the villages among the Sabine hills, quickly built and soon abandoned in the search for fresh soil. Walking back from his exercise in the waste Publius looked up at the weathered palisades, and thought that the sere stakes crowning the grass-covered earthen banks might have been there since the beginning of the world. Grooves worn by waggon-wheels and the sharp hoofs of oxen scored deeply into the hillside. The track leading to the ford in the river had been repaired with stone in the Latin manner until it looked almost like a wall laid on its side. In the valley the little brick house, which it was hoped might be the favourite residence of Jupiter Stator, had lost its rawness; the citizens no longer thought it odd to visit a god who lay on a couch as though taking his ease at the dinner-table. Beside the templum the many meetings of the assembly had left their mark on the earth; a trampled circle showed bare, with in the midst a platform of turf from which the kings might address their obedient spearmen. Publius found it hard to believe that when he was one of the older boys in his village, trusted to guard cattle, all this valley had lain unpeopled.
Yes, Rome had come to stay. But it was not the kind of city he had thought to join when he brought his family and his cattle from the Sabine woods. He had come with reluctance, solely because there seemed to be no other way of ending a savage blood-feud with a powerful neighbour. Either the Tatians must avenge the stealing of their women by perpetual war, a war which would leave them no time to harvest their fields or tend their cattle; or they must seize this unlooked-for chance of an honourable peace. There had been a third course open to them, to admit defeat and conclude a dishonourable peace; but no one had been bold enough, in the council of the spearmen, to propose such a disgraceful treaty.
Sabine daughters, interceding for peace between their fathers and their husbands, had been potent ambassadors; the prospect of peace without dishonour was tempting; but no one would have agreed to the migration but for the further hope – that they would be welcomed as reinforcements by a successful band of brigands. Here was this new city, founded by desperate ruffians who had been cast out even from those ruffianly Latin settlements; daringly, they had built their palisade on the very border of the rich Etruscans, beside the easiest ford in the river. Only brigands would choose to live in such an exposed fortress; but for courageous brigands it might turn out to be a rewarding base.
The first spring in their new home had brought disillusion. The Dancers of Mars went on, capering and casting spears into the air; but no matter in which direction the fallen spears should point, King Romulus declared that the enemy who lived over there were too strong to be raided. Or if the enemy were not too strong, then they were not the enemy; for these Latins were hemmed in by kinsmen from whom they refused to steal so much as a pig. To the south, on the marshy coast, lived only a few very poor Latin shepherds; south-east were the Latin cities; to the north-east was the great range of the Sabine hills. If you might not raid kinsmen, that left only the Etruscans. It soon became evident that King Romulus and his mongrel subjects were afraid of the wealthy Etruscans, skilled in magic.
King Tatius also was to blame. Instead of stiffening the spirits of the odds-and-ends who obeyed King Romulus, he had meekly followed his colleague’s lead. He also spoke in the assembly for peace, telling his disappointed cousins that they should live by growing barley on the rich Latin plain, so much more fertile and easy to work than the clearings in their native forests.
For five years a clan of free Sabines had been living by the plough, eating only the fruit of their own labour. All summer they sweated in the fields beside their slaves; and in winter they ate carefully, measuring the corn-bins that must last until the next harvest. In the hills other Sabines, warriors who had been wise enough to refuse the deceptive shelter of this tall palisade, feasted on beef and wine, which tasted the sweeter when it had been bought with blood. That was the right life for a warrior. Someone ought to propose in full assembly that the Tatians drop the proud ancestral title of Spearmen, and call themselves the Ploughmen of the Tatian clan. That might shock the lazy youngsters into a sense of their unworthiness.
Publius had devised an even better plan. Mars had chosen him to be a dancer. He would dance to such effect that an army must follow him.
When spring was well advanced the great day came round. Long ago Mars had shown the ancestors how free men should pass the summer. The barley was in the ground, and could be left to grow by itself; the army must be home for harvest, but now was the time to raid your enemies. First you must honour Mars, so that he would protect your fields in your absence. But this annual dance was in intention only a prologue; the rite would not be complete until the army had taken plunder.
This year, when the Dancers would be led by a veteran warrior who was also a Senator of his new-fangled town, the rite would be carried to completion.
At cockcrow, when the first streak of light showed low in the eastern sky, Publius slipped silently out of the great marriage bed and in silence tiptoed from his hut, wearing only the loincloth in which he had slept. His whole family knew that he had been chosen as leader of the Dancers, and after the lots were drawn friends had congratulated him on his luck; when Claudia awoke she would know why he was missing. Even so, the Dancers were not individual spearmen; they were the Tatian clan in arms, seeking help from their supernatural protector. He was no longer Publius, a middling farmer and one of the poorer but more respected of the Senators; he was the embodiment of his clan, forgotten ancestors and unborn children as well as his own contemporaries. It would seem unfitting, it might even be impious, if he took leave of his wife and went openly to take his part in the rite.
Silently he crept through the shadows until he reached the gate; it stood ajar, and the watchman gazed at the sky as he slipped out. His bare feet made no sound as he drifted like a ghost down the hillside. Already the magic of the day was working in him: he felt himse
lf to be not a particular man but a representative of helpless humanity, wandering unarmed through the dark to seek the help of his advocate in the sky, the advocate who would grant him weapons and the courage to face his enemies.
It was mildly distressing that he must cross the wide, bare place of assembly, and creep in through the half-opened gate of the Palatine. He would have felt better if he could have gone to array himself in the sacred insignia in a wholly Sabine storehouse. But everyone agreed that Romulus was endowed with exceptional luck, and that he knew more about the ways of the gods than anyone else in those parts. In the double city of Rome there was only one storehouse of sacred things, and that stood next door to the hut of King Romulus.
The storehouse was a tall round building, whose roof sloped to a point. There were no windows; the door, set high in the wall so that it could be reached only by scrambling up notches cut in a tree-trunk, was so small that you must crouch to enter. But since the storehouse was constructed of thin poles set close together, without clays or plaster, in the daytime enough light entered by the chinks for a man to see what he was doing. Now, with dawn breaking outside, the interior would have been pitch dark but that King Romulus and King Tatius each held a torch as they climbed about the narrow gallery high under the roof, taking down the sacred things which hung in clusters from the rafters.
The Dancers arrived punctually, clambering in one after the other. There were twelve of them in all, six for each half of the community. Publius no longer felt himself to be a mere man alone, seeking help from the gods against a dangerous world; he was now part of the army of the Tatians, with kinsmen to guard his back. But still he was not Publius the father of Publius; he was any spearman of the clan, or rather all the spearmen.
The kings remained on their high perch, handing down sacred things to their own followers. Each dancer received a little leather cap with a bronze knob on top; that had been the helmet used by the ancestors, in the days when every fragment of metal was precious. Then the kings gave each man his dancing-spear; these were purely ritual objects, which even the ancestors could not have used in battle. The leaf-shaped heads were of bronze, chased into intricate patterns; the shafts, too short even for javelins, made them look like divining-staffs rather than weapons.
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