‘But we are in danger from these Latins. You were born a Sabine, and in this crisis all Sabines must stick together.’
‘No, Claudia. It’s because Sabines stick together that your men have got themselves into this mess. Besides, I’m not a Sabine any longer. Marcus is the father of my sons, and with him I make offering to the ancestors of the Aemilian clan. I would be unprotected beside a Latin hearth unless I forgot my Sabine kin.’
Claudia consoled herself by recalling that even if Sabina had once been a Sabine she had never been a member of clan Tatia, never of the kin that really mattered. Now that the truth was out the Sabine wives resigned themselves to performing all the rites of the women without help from their neighbours on the Palatine.
Rome was deeply divided. Some of the younger Sabine spearmen hinted that it might be profitable to expel those Latins and take over the Palatine as a Sabine settlement. But the leaders of the clan knew that if they were disliked it was the penalty of past wrongdoing; they kept the peace because they must admit that any punishment which came their way was no. more than they deserved.
All the same, civil war nearly broke out at the time of the autumn horse-sacrifice. This was a queer and novel rite, no part of the wisdom of the ancestors; because horses themselves were new-fangled beasts, and no one was quite sure how they should be employed in the service of the gods. The Etruscans beyond the river, learned men and prosperous besides, which proved that they knew how to call down the favour of heaven, these Etruscans raced in chariots on great festivals. At the end of the race you knew which were the best horses; then you cut the throat of the right-hand horse of the winning pair, because the right is in general the lucky side of anything. That was how the Etruscan sacrificed horse to their gods, who were not the gods of the Latins; but heaven was pleased with the sacrifice, for the Etruscans grew richer every year. King Romulus had introduced the ritual to Rome. No one was quite sure which god was being honoured, but that did not matter. There are many gods, and a wise man pleases as many of them as he can.
A dead horse is a cumbersome thing. The wise Etruscans did not carry the whole carcass over their fields to bless the seed. The important part of an edible sacrifice must be the entrails, in which grass is turned into flesh; but horses are servants, not food, and the important part of a servant is his head. The Etruscans stuck the horse’s skull on a pole among their furrows, and their barley always sprouted vigorously.
Under the guidance of King Romulus the Romans followed in every particular the Etruscan rite. It was not until the race was over and a hefty celer had hacked off the head of the dead horse that the Tatians realised there was only one skull, which the selfish Latins intended to stick up among their own fields. The Sabines might have organised another chariot-race of their own, but it was nearly sunset on the one day in the year which was right for this festival. It seemed simpler to take the skull from the Latins.
Luckily everyone had come unarmed to the joyful festival. A few eyes were blacked and noses bloodied as the spearmen struggled together; but boxing was no part of the training of a warrior and most of the contestants merely wrestled with their adversaries. The Tatians worked off a great load of resentment as they pushed those horrid Latins about, and since they were lucky enough to gain possession of the skull they felt in a much better temper when the riot was over. The Latins withdrew in anger to the Palatine, where some of them could be seen getting out their spears and shields. But before deadly war could break out King Romulus hastily summoned the assembly and made a speech which could have come into the mind only of a born politician.
‘Spearmen,’ he said cheerfully, surveying the angry crowd, ‘you have been inspired by some god to add a most valuable rite to our annual sacrifice. Rome is one city, and therefore only one horse can be offered. But just as the effort and weariness of all the other horses in the chariot-race add to the merit of the chosen victim, so do your efforts, the pain and weariness of the contest, and indeed the bruises so many of you display, add to the value of our offering. For one city there can be only one victim. But in the city are two settlements. Each year, after the race, the men of the Palatine shall struggle against the men of the Quirinal for possession of the trophy, pleasing the gods with an offering of their own bodily strength. By next year the virtue of this skull will be exhausted, but there is no reason why the winners should not keep it as a memorial of their success in a most enjoyable sport. So far it’s one up to the Quirinal. Perhaps my kinsmen will have better luck next time. Anyway, when our children look at the row of skulls, they can see which hill has bred better muscle. For remember, Rome is destined to endure as long as the world. What we begin, you and I, the founders, will be done by our chidren until time ends. Now we are all comrades together, and the Quirites have shown themselves the stronger. To make next year’s match more interesting, why don’t some of the Tatians move to the Palatine? Then we can bet on a nice open contest.‘
The Sabines went home content. Some young Latins picked sides to begin an early practice for next year’s match.
That evening King Tatius went calling on his Senators. Publius and Claudia were sitting by the fire when he dropped in unannounced, and he would not hear of the lady withdrawing to her room. ‘No, I want you all to hear this,’ he said with a smile. ‘I would call a meeting of the clan, but then the Latins might think we are planning some move against them. I’ve come to tell you that King Romulus is a splendid fellow, and we must all support him. He really believes that stuff about Rome being something special, a city destined to endure until the end of the world. As far as that goes, he may be right; I shan’t be there to contradict him when the world comes to its end. Anyway, so long as he has the running of this place, it will last. He took one look at a very ugly faction-fight, and in a few words turned it into a sacred rite, pleasing to the gods. He’s the man to follow, and while you obey me you will follow him. Now have you got that straight, and are you willing to do as I say?’
‘When you give orders, cousin, I must obey them,’ answered Publius with a worried frown. ‘I suppose King Romulus is all right, if you say so. I wish those Latins of his were more friendly. They won’t even help us to bring luck to our fields.’
‘We have not deserved their friendship. Some of our men murdered those envoys, though you and I were not mixed up in it. Even there we got our own way in the end; I was able to protect my kin from punishment. So there it is. I want Rome to continue, because I like the place. It can’t endure if Latins and Sabines are at loggerheads. You must make friends with your fellow-citizens, and if they seem to despise you remember that some of our kin did in fact put themselves utterly in the wrong. As head of the family, I have come to tell you that.’
‘I do as the head of the family tells me,’ Publius answered curtly.
‘But, cousin, there’s one other thing you must bear in mind,’ said Claudia, talking quite brazenly to a male visitor as though a woman were as good as a spearman (but then city life was spoiling the good manners of the old days). ‘King Romulus is a very fine fellow, as you say. But in Rome there are two kings, or there ought to be. Don’t let Romulus take the lead in everything, or the people will forget that you are his equal.’
‘My dear she-cousin, you aren’t the first of my advisers to make that point, though you are quite right to tell me what is in your mind. The answer is that I am not the equal of King Romulus, and I never can be. So why struggle for what is beyond my reach?’
‘Not equal to King Romulus?’ Publius stuttered with anger. ‘Why, that was the agreement. We would not have come here without it. It’s bound to be awkward coming into a place after it’s been founded.
It wouldn’t be safe unless we had our own King to protect us, a King fully the equal of King Romulus.’
‘Ah, but I haven’t the magic of King Romulus,’ Tatius answered with an easy smile. ‘I’m not the son of a god, and I haven’t a storehouse full of sacred things brought long ago from oversea.’
‘Y
ou have what Romulus lacks,’ said Claudia, ‘the devotion of subjects born to obey you. He rules over Latins who have chosen him for King, and who may one day choose another. We Tatians cannot desert you.’
‘That’s true, as far as it goes,’ the King answered. ‘But today Romulus has more followers, though they may not follow him always.’
‘What is this luck with which King Romulus has been endowed? What do you think of it yourself? Do tell us your opinion. Look, I have put the Lar into his cupboard and shut the door. We are all cousins here and no god is listening. We are quite private.’
Claudia knew that no woman should speak so frankly to a man; but her husband would never dare to ask this question, and she really wanted to know the answer.
‘Well now, I don’t know what to say, I suppose because I haven’t made up my own mind. Romulus is a queer creature. He made himself King by his own efforts. He wasn’t born to it, as I was. But he inherits from his ancestors those staffs with bronze snakes on them; odd things, I never saw the like of them among the Sabines. Perhaps whatever he keeps in those tall earthenware jars is equally odd. I don’t know what it is and I don’t propose to find out. It may be something dangerous or it may be a silly bogey. But it isn’t worth the risk, to challenge him to do magic just to see whether his magic works. Some magic works, we are all agreed on that.’
‘Yes, but magic is not the most important of his claims,’ Claudia persisted. ‘He says he is the son of Mars. Do you believe him?’
‘Perhaps he is and perhaps he isn’t,’ Tatius shrugged. ‘His mother was a priestess, vowed to virginity. When she gave birth to twins she told such a convincing story that her fellow-citizens spared her life. But I never heard her tell the story, so I am not wholly convinced. Anyway, my dear lady, no man can say of his own knowledge who was his father. Can I prove that my father was not a Ligurian slave? Can you prove it of yours? We can go only by hearsay, the opinion of our elders; and they are often mistaken. Gods exist, and they can beget mortal children. There are dozens of pedigrees to prove it. Romulus says that Mars was his father, and he behaves as though he believes it. He may be right. Life is easier if we grant that he is right. Let’s leave it at that.’
‘But we can’t leave it at that,’ said Publius, at length catching the drift of his wife’s questions. ‘You are the leader of our clan, and you are leader of our clan because you were born to it. But that doesn’t make you the equal of King Romulus. You are a warchief, he is a divine ruler. Unless you want him to outdistance you, you must try to seize some kind of divine power for yourself.’
‘I haven’t forgotten that aspect.’ King Tatius winked, and then put on a solemn expression. ‘I spend half my time representing my people at religious festivals, and then by sticking close to Romulus I try to pick up some of his supernatural endowment. That’s another reason why I want my cousins to be friendly with the Latins. Next spring there will be something really important. The great festival of Lavinium has come round again, as it does every twelve years. The priests who manage the shrine have invited all the Latin kings to attend, and that means all kings who rule Latin cities. I shall go to Lavinium with Romulus.’
‘But that’s madness, cousin,’ Publius cried in alarm. ‘If there is one place in the world where the avengers of blood will be waiting for you, it’s Lavinium. They have right on their side, too, which makes it more dangerous. Our kin murdered their envoys, there’s no denying it; and you saved the murderers from justice.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. But Romulus tells me the festival has no connection with the city. It’s just that the shrine happens to be on the same hill. I need not enter the city, nor have any dealings with the Lavinians. Anyway, it’s one of those farming festivals, to make the crops grow; so no one is allowed to bring a weapon inside the sacred enclosure. I shall have friends with me, and unarmed Latins cannot harm unarmed Sabines. If they start any trouble we shall knock them down and sit on their heads.’
‘All the same, why go where you will find deadly enemies? What do you gain by it?’
‘That I don’t know. But I gain something. I want to find out in advance what will happen at this festival. It’s for kings specially, to they must do something to make kings more sacred and powerful, or the kings wouldn’t take such trouble to go there. You are friendly with this Latin, Marcus Aemilius, the man who persuaded his Sabine wife to become herself a Latin. I know what goes on in my clan, and I know he’s always in and out of your hut. I want you, Publius, to find out all he knows about the rites of Lavinium. They do something there which brings great luck and power to kings, I’m sure of it. If I know what it is they can’t cheat me by not doing it to me. They can’t turn me away as a Sabine foreigner, you know. They invited the kings of all the Latin cities, and I’m King in the Latin city of Rome. I shall hold them to their duty. But I must know what to expect, and you must find out for me. I ask as your cousin.’
‘I must help my cousin,’ said Publius cautiously. ‘But I shall be quite open with my friend Marcus. I shan’t try to trap him into revealing religious mysteries. I shall tell him what I want to know, and why I want to know it. We Sabines have enough on our conscience already, especially when you remember that we consider ourselves simple bluff countrymen compared to those wily Latins.’
‘All right. Be honest if you insist. After all, it’s good news that I have one honest man in my clan. I hope your Marcus doesn’t think it his duty to inform Romulus, because if all the Latins get together they can cheat me. Just ask Marcus frankly, and pass on his answer. At the same time you can tell him that I have ordered the whole clan to be loyal to Rome and its founder, King Romulus. That happens to be the truth, and it will make him more willing to tell all he knows.’
On the next day Publius went in search of Marcus. For more than one reason he disliked the whole scheme, but he did not think that gave him the right to disregard a direct order from the head of the family. He disliked the scheme first because it was dangerous and second because it seemed to be sharp practice of the kind that upright Sabine warriors considered low. A general invitation to the rulers of all Latin cities was not meant to include a Sabine clan-chief, and if Tatius went to Lavinium he would be behaving in a pushing and discourteous fashion. But his third and strongest reason for disliking it was that it might prove too successful. Tatius was by birth the head of his clan. But he was of the same blood as his followers, a warrior leading free warriors. A man commissioned by the gods to rule lesser men, a sacred King Tatius, would perhaps become a powerful tyrant.
When consulted, Marcus willingly told all he knew, though that was not a great deal. ‘At Lavinium the shrine is the important thing,’ he explained. ‘It has been there from the beginning, while the city is quite modern. The shrine is the dwelling of a powerful god, and whenever you want to consult him you go there and make an offering.’
‘But if it’s an oracular shrine and no more, though I am sure a very potent one, why don’t kings go whenever they like? Why do they hold this great festival only once every twelve years?’
Marcus shrugged carelessly. That’s how it’s always been done. It’s hard for the rulers of all the Latin cities to get away at the same time, so I suppose an annual meeting would be a nuisance. There is something, you know, in the number twelve. Soothsayers maintain that there are twelve great gods, though no two of them agree when you ask them for a list. I expect you Sabines have the same feeling. The kings visit the shrine, and seek divine guidance; but it’s really a conference of Latin rulers as much as a religious rite.’
How like Latins, thought Publius. All their religion was a matter of doing what had been done last time, without bothering to think of a reason for it; and no outsider could tell whether what seemed a religious occasion was really a meeting for secular business.
‘Then it’s not a private affair, for Latins only?’ he persisted. ‘The priests in charge of the shrine would admit a Sabine?’
‘They would welcome him, if he brought a good
offering. But why are you so anxious to go? Is there trouble on the Quirinal? Can I do anything to help?’
‘I’m not especially anxious to go, though I shall probably make one of the party. It’s a whim of King Tatius, and as far as I know he wants to go only because he is King of a Latin city and therefore entitled to attend.’
Marcus looked worried.‘Well, that’s fair enough. This is a Latin city, and he is King in it. But the Etruscan chiefs who rule in some Latin cities never go to Lavinium.’
‘They worship different gods, we don’t. It’s like this. Romulus must go, to make sure that his kingship is recognised by the other kings. So King Tatius must go also, to make sure that he is recognised as the equal of King Romulus.’
Marcus looked even more worried. ‘It’s a very holy shrine. If a man should bring bad luck into it the bad luck would be turned against him. No one may visit it who is polluted. Even a man who has killed quite honourably in war must be cleansed of bloodguilt before he approaches the holy place. All the kings are purified as soon as they arrive.’
‘Then Tatius must go, to demonstrate his innocence before all the Latins. I know what’s in your mind. You think he is polluted with the blood of those murdered envoys. Well, he’s innocent. When he has been welcomed at the shrine everyone will be compelled to admit it.’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Marcus, ‘but the shrine stands just above Lavinium.’
‘You mean he might be murdered? He will take a bodyguard.’
Founding Fathers Page 13