Presently Macro discovered that he was not expected to work there very hard. It was never stated openly, but he gathered that the job had been found for him so that he should have a visible means of support. In truth he was a hired retainer, an armed guard. That would not sound very well if it was bluntly stated in the assembly, so he could call himself a helper in the smithy. But nobody minded if he took a day off whenever he chose, so long as he was at hand when the doors of the big house were closed for the night.
The big house was the finest private dwelling in Rome, so fine that it had given a name to its builder, who was enrolled in the official records as Domitius Perperna. The whole roof was covered with baked tiles, and where these met the eaves a line of decorative earthenware figures were set upright to prevent the rain driving in. The plastered walls of the principal rooms had been painted in the Etruscan style, which was a very long way after Greek models. Macro could not identify the divinities, and the human figures displayed curious proportions. The roof of the central hall sloped inward to a gap above a tank set in the floor to catch rainwater, which seemed to Macro an ingenious way of dodging the problem of stretching rafters across such a span. That compensated for the shabbiness of the inner rooms, where pictures of gods and ancestors were blackened by smoke from a hearth that never grew cold; these forest-dwelling Italians warmed themselves by burning whole trees in great open fireplaces, where a frugal Greek would have hugged a little brazier.
On the whole the house was comfortable and not unsightly; and the people in it were possible companions for a civilised man. Perperna was an alert, sardonic intellectual; he saw little good in the world around him, but worked for the future of his house as though he had been born to serve his own children. His two sons and two daughters were pleasant handsome young creatures, who liked to hear Macro describe the wonders of Greece. They obeyed their father, except that they often brought into the house amusing young men of doubtful antecedents.
The lady Vibenna, mistress of this great household, was a more complex character. Outwardly she seemed content, attached to her four stalwart children and adored by them in return; she was on good terms with her husband, and the house-slaves did not hate her. But in fact her mind was never in Rome. She walked through life as distractedly as a cook who smells burning while listening to his master. She seemed to be fully alive only when she entered the Black Room, the room which contained the hearth; then her eyes would blaze with hatred as they lighted on the images of the gods. Macro feared her, but there seemed no reason why she should harm him unless he crossed her path.
The citizens of Rome, as he saw more of them, seemed hardworking honest people, sound farmers and careful though uninspired craftsmen. But they were not genuine citizens, as a Greek understood the term; in fact it was using language loosely to call them Romans.
Hardly one of them thought of himself as a Roman. This was the thirty-sixth year since the foundation of the city, and many of the younger men had known no other home; but almost everyone, if asked to describe himself, would answer that he was a Latin or a Sabine or an Etruscan – and of course a Roman citizen as well. If you asked him what he thought of affairs he would answer with the name of the great lord he followed, never with his own opinion on the policy of the city. But then the citizens did not truly rule their community. They met in the assembly, and voted. But King Romulus had first drawn up the questions on which they were to vote, and the answers to these questions had been settled beforehand in private consultation with the Senate.
If the city was not a republic neither was it a kingdom, as some old-fashioned cities of the Greek mainland were kingdoms. King Romulus had none of the prestige of a hereditary ruler. His men neither followed the ways of the ancestors nor thought out what ought to be done by the light of human reason. They obeyed the commands of King Romulus because he was their warleader.
In fact Rome was an encampment of brigands. The brigands had been settled in the same place for a long time, they dealt honestly with one another, and they earned their bread by farming and not by war. But they were brigands all the same, united under an absolute ruler whom they had not chosen, obeying him only because obedience saved them from the vengeance of resentful neighbours. Such a settlement might well die with its founder.
12. King Romulus
As Macro became more fluent in Italian he realised that these Romans could never rule themselves like Greeks. For one thing, their language was so crude that nothing intricate could be discussed in it. But it was a splendid tongue for expressing shades of feeling, and was so used at every meeting of the assembly.
Nobody, of course, spoke against the King. But there were some proposals in which he was neutral, and in others it was possible to support what the King desired and still speak against his other supporters. Any meeting of the assembly seemed to proclaim that Rome was on the verge of dissolution.
One cause of the bad feeling, as Macro presently realised, was the division of the citizens into two age-groups. Thirty-five years ago Rome had been founded, chiefly by young men not yet twenty years of age; which meant that now they were between fifty and sixty. They had sons, who were now between twenty and thirty. But there were hardly any men of intermediate age. Two generations were in opposition, with no halfway generation to bridge the gap.
The King was in his early sixties, though he looked older because he ate and drank too much and, since the last war, had taken hardly any exercise. But though in body he belonged emphatically to the elders his point of view was that of the very young indeed. His most faithful followers were the celeres, young warriors with clean spears who had never seen battle. They were energetic and loyal and brave, and thought of nothing but the interests of Rome; from which it followed that they would disregard the rights of any particular Roman if they thought his oppression would contribute to the general good.
There was, for example, the problem of the shortage of land. Every ploughland in Rome had once belonged to some neighbouring city, and in the beginning some Roman citizen had been given it without payment, or perhaps in payment for his services in the levy. But latterly many ploughlands had been sold, and a few had gone out of cultivation. Perperna, with five ploughlands, was one of the largest landowners; but other councillors held two or three, while many spearmen were landless. The young men clamoured for a new distribution, and it was rumoured that the King favoured the project.
‘But it’s a foolish idea, and I’m against it,’ said Marcus Aemilius one evening, walking back with Macro from the assembly. ‘I’m against it even though I am one of the poor oppressed husbandmen these boys say they are defending. I got my allotment at the very beginning, in the stony fields close to the city. When drought hit us and we had no barley I sold the land to my patron. I’m too old to work in the fields now, in any case. But my sons plough for me; we rent the same land from Aemilius, paying him with a share of the crop. If the young men have their way I may get my whole farm back, and Aemilius would be the loser. But then in a few years there would be another division, and my sons would be pushed out to make room for other citizens. Besides, if the harvest failed again there would be no one to buy the land; when once you have robbed the rich there are no more rich to help you next time. I would rather know that I can rent this ploughland, and that no one can take it from my patron, than have the free use of a good farm for a year or two until the assembly chooses to make another division.’
‘A man isn’t a man unless he can grow his own barley,’ Macro agreed. ‘My father owned his land down in Cumae, and in the assembly he voted as he pleased. My porridge grows in Perperna’s fields, and I vote as he directs.’
‘That’s it. Without property there can be no freedom.’
There were enough of these sensible men to discourage the young celeres, and the proposal was never formally introduced into the assembly. But equal division of land at frequent intervals remained one of the daydreams of the progressive party; and the mere knowledge that many favoured it made e
lderly veterans touchy and ready to meet aggression halfway.
The young men also wanted to go to war against the whole Etruscan League, hoping to win more of the good land over the river. But here King Romulus did not agree with them, and without his backing they could do little. It seemed curious that a King endowed with such strong luck, a King who believed himself to be the favourite son of Mars, should be content with continued peace; his exploits in the war against Veii were still remembered, and there were veterans who swore that the King had killed fourteen hundred Etruscans with his own sword.
This Macro could not believe, and one day he questioned his patron about it. He was a little nervous as he put the question, for he feared that if it was known that he doubted the King’s valour the celeres might persecute him.
Perperna took it calmly. ‘What a very Greek question,’ he said, smiling. ‘You Greeks always try to spoil a good story. Isn’t it much better to believe that we are ruled by a hero who can kill a whole army single-handed? Doesn’t it give you a warm glow of safety when you think uneasily of those great Etruscan cities to the north of us?’
‘It would comfort me if I could believe in it. Since I know that no man can kill fourteen hundred enemies by himself, the fact that lies are told about King Romulus does not increase my confidence.’
‘Yes, all very enlightened and coldblooded. As a matter of fact there is some foundation for the tale. I didn’t see it, because I was at the other fight, near Fidenae; remind me to tell you about that fight some time. But at the battle of Veii King Romulus commanded a special reserve, and he caught about fourteen hundred Etruscans who were trying to get in rear of our army. His charge scattered them. So that you can say truthfully that the King defeated fourteen hundred men; the story doesn’t add that he had a lot of Romans helping him.’
‘Thank you, my lord. I am glad to know that our King is a mighty warrior; and you have only to look at him to see that he enjoys exceptional favour from heaven. But does he really command enough supernatural power to free me from the avengers of fratricide? I still dream of my brother more often than is natural.’
‘How often does he dream of his brother, Remus, my dear Macro? Surely that is the answer to your question. He murdered his brother, during the holy rites that marked the foundation of this city; yet he has prospered ever since. His luck protects him from the consequences of his crime, and he has enough luck left over to protect others afflicted in the same way. So long as he is your King he will protect you. But that isn’t quite the same as if he had removed your guilt. Romulus can’t do that, because he isn’t the type of man who can cleanse anyone from anything. Luck is all he has. If you want an old age free from care you must seek the blessings of some King who has never himself committed a crime against the kindred. Perhaps a blameless priest would do, if you can find one who is blameless; there are no true priests in Rome, whether blameless or not. But, as I say, there is no hurry. While King Romulus reigns you are safe.’
‘Of course there are no true priests in Rome. Even I can see that. Patron, why don’t you put it right? It won’t be very difficult. You have good material to work on, for these Romans deal justly with one another and don’t scamp the sacrifices. They are grateful to the powers who help mankind. If they neglect to placate the other powers, who hate us, it’s only because they don’t know how to go about it. I suspect that you know well enough.’
‘I am a trueborn Rasenna,’ Perperna answered complacently. ‘But would it do any good if I pushed myself forward and upset all my dear ignorant neighbours? Suppose I set up a priesthood, who is to come after me? There isn’t another genuine Rasenna in the city, now that the poor Lucumo is dead. My children are one-quarter Italian, though I try to make them as Etruscan as I can. No, Rome has luck, more luck than has ever before been granted to mortals. All the kindly gods favour her. Long after I am dead the gods below may destroy her, unless before then some greater power has destroyed the gods below. I don’t know why I babble of these things to you, a Greek who doubts even the warlike deeds of the son of Mars. But it’s true, and every haruspex knows it. One day the gods below will lose their power, and man will be left face to face with the Ruler of All. At that, our children may be the worse for it, unless they are granted a mediator. But that’s what is coming, in some future age.’
‘A gloomy prospect. It makes me shiver to think of it – just Man and Heaven, with nothing in between. But we have come a long way from my misfortune, and the pursuers from whom lucky King Romulus will protect me so long as he lives. I suppose I may as well stay here, hoping that things as they are will last my time?’
‘My dear Macro, you have been lucky. But then Rome is a lucky place, and all its inhabitants share in its luck. After all, if you kill your brother you must expect to pay some penalty; it isn’t easy to wipe such guilt away. Yours has not been wiped away, but you may yet meet someone with power to cleanse you; and in the meantime you are safe.’
That conversation explained something about Perperna, as Macro understood when he considered it afterwards. The Etruscan was at the same time gloomy and content; as though he knew that only the second best would come his way, but that he was sure of getting the second best and not the third. His pursuit of wealth shocked many of the Sabines on the Quirinal, and even the Latins thought it rather unmanly; but he did not cheat, and he carried himself with such overpowering personal dignity that it was obvious he was not himself ashamed of his actions. In the same way he treated the lady Vibenna as a true Rasenna, worthy to be his wife; they spoke Etruscan together, and the Lar and the empty jars which represented their missing ancestors were served with purely Etruscan rites. Vibenna would remain half Italian, nothing could alter that; but she was the best wife he could get. It was his policy to pretend that she was better than she was. She hated Rome, and she did not love her husband; but her elder daughter was betrothed to young Aemilius, and the thought that one day her grandson would be chief of the proudest Latin clan in the city seemed to give her a feeble pleasure.
Macro knew that his patron was not a good Roman; in fact Perperna disliked the city and his fellow-citizens. But the welfare of his family was bound up with the welfare of Rome, and for his family he would strive to the utmost.
Macro the Greek lived in the household of Perperna the Etruscan who had never in his heart become a Roman. He saw the city as it were at two removes. What he saw did not satisfy him. There seemed to be no particular reason why Rome should exist. What was the object of all this warfare and hard work? The citizens behaved like villagers; and if they had remained in their woodland villages they would have lived in more pleasant surroundings. There were no public buildings, save for that queer little house in the valley which Jupiter Stator was supposed to visit; no public entertainments, not even the communal thanksgiving after vintage which among Greeks provided such a pleasant opportunity for new songs in honour of dead heroes and new satires on the contemporary great; no public property for the enjoyment of every citizen, no baths, no gardens, no dining-halls; no public religious festivals in which all the citizens might take part.
There were religious festivals of a kind, but they were merely occasions for rough buffoonery, like the silly riot over the head of the October Horse. That kind of thing could not please a god. For the rest, King Romulus sacrificed on behalf of his people, as though he were the only head of a household in the city and his subjects were his slaves.
There was nothing beautiful in the place, though you would hardly look for beauty among Italians. But if they did not want to produce fine architecture, or delicate craftsmanship, or stirring poems, why had they bothered to collect into one place? He could not ask his patron to tell him why Rome had been built; for his patron, like himself, had come there only because no other city would give him a refuge. He knew only one man who had come to Rome when he might have stayed peacefully at home, only one man who was a Roman because he thought that to be a Roman was a high privilege. He called again at the little house of
Marcus Aemilius in search of information.
‘Why was Rome founded?’ echoed the little old man. ‘Well, it’s hard to find an answer. I suppose we came here because Remus and his brother Romulus suggested it; and I stayed on after Remus was dead because Romulus promised to be a great King. But that isn’t the whole answer, now I come to think of it. The twins founded a city because the gods had commanded it, and they founded it here because omens prophesied that one day the world will be ruled from the Capitol. You can’t get away from those omens, the bleeding head and all those vultures. So here we are, waiting to do anything else the gods shall demand of us.’
‘Yes, but why do all of you stay here? Why not send a few men to occupy the fort on the Capitol and the rest of you go back to Alba, the town where Latins really feel at home?’
‘Long Alba is a splendid place. I never lived there, but I have seen it. You ought to visit it. Now the King has removed your polution you may visit any city without bringing in the pursuers with you. In Alba you would see holy places and sacred things that go back to the very beginning of the Latin race. But it’s a small town, all the same; a mere village compared to Rome. Do you know that the League has agreed that when we put a combined army in the field Rome shall nominate one leader and all the other Latin cities the other? Rome is now reckoned equal to all the other Latin cities combined. I suppose that is your answer. Rome was founded to be a seat of power. At this moment Rome has power; and so she fulfils her destiny.’
‘That’s not a very rational aim. You gather a great army, from foreigners of every sort. Then you say you have accomplished your destiny, which is to gather a great army. What will you do with the army, now you have it?’
‘Enjoy security, and impose our will on our enemies. Don’t you see that already we are doing this? Have you once been in fear of your life since you were accepted into our city? As you say, we are foreigners from all over the place – and yet we live together in peace. I shall die of old age, in my own house; my sons will inherit what I leave. That’s more than a lot of cities can promise. If you doubt me, ask your patron. Mars has decreed that his children must live in amity, obeying the laws they themselves have laid down. Some of you young men want war, I know; but even then you need a safe place in which to store your plunder. Rome gives us safety, and peace, and an equal law. There isn’t another city in the world that can offer the like.’
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