An obvious temptation flitted through his mind. Why not come forward and announce: ‘Rome was the city of Romulus, dependent on the luck of that noble son of Mars. Now his sojourn on earth is ended; let his city end with him. Today there will be no sacrifice, for today Rome is no more.’ If he said that most of the Sabines and Latins would go back to their original homes, and the Luceres like himself would find some other refuge. In the annals of Etruria his name would be remembered as that of the statesman who had wound up a dangerous experiment, an attempt to bring city-life to rustics who could not cope with its complexities.
But he was not strongly tempted. If Rome ceased to exist that might be a good thing for Italy in general, but it would ruin the carefully acquired stability of the Domitian house. The city must continue, and for that Jupiter must receive his due offering. The obvious solution was to call on the most eminent Senator to perform the sacrifice in place of the missing King. He very nearly did so, but while he was weighing the importance of various Senators he saw the danger. At this juncture an unguarded word might accidentally inaugurate a second King of Rome, a king who would not hold himself obliged in any way to the Domitian house. He must make it clear that the Senator chosen to perform the sacrifice would officiate as the representative of the whole Senate. What he must say fell into place in his mind without further thoughts.
‘After due discussion the Fathers will choose a King to succeed our founder, and when the assembled people have ratified the choice he will reign as the second King of Rome. But in the meantime the daily sacrifice must be offered. I suggest that each Senator perform the sacrifice in rotation. But to ensure that the sacrificer holds no pre-eminence over his colleagues let us begin with the most junior Senator. A few months ago our late King nominated twenty Fathers to fill gaps in the order. The youngest man of that twenty shall offer the sacrifice today, and the next youngest tomorrow.’
He added in a conversational tone: ‘You see, Fathers, I have made provision for the next three hundred days. I hope that before every Senator has taken his turn we shall have chosen another King.’
A young man came shyly forward and took the axe from the waiting celer. Perperna was pleased to see that he was an insignificant Latin, a youth who had been raised to the Senate only because he was the son of his father. Here was one awkward corner passed. The King of the Sacrifice would not be regarded by the people as having some claim on the kingship of Rome.
Perperna went home while they were still grubbing the liver out of the carcass. He did not wish to be called on to read the omen. He knew very well that it would be announced as promising peace and prosperity, no matter what its shape and texture; and he felt that an ignorant Latin could lie to the people more convincingly than a Rasenna trained to read the messages of the gods.
At home his first task was to dismiss all his clients. That mobilisation of all his armed retainers, even though it had lasted only for a single day, had made a great hole in his stores. Now there must be peace, at least for a short time; until two or three popular candidates for the kingship had mustered their supporters. Later he stood before the domestic shrine, and deliberately emptied his mind; but he could hear no inner voice. That was as it should be. The doors of the Lar-cupboard had been sealed with a strong invocation, and what was within was after all only one three-hundredth part of the whole. In after years it might bring power to its possessor, but it was not strong enough to break out against the command of a learned Rasenna.
He could rest until the meeting of the Senate later in the morning. He went into his private room at the back of the house, calling for cakes and wine. His wife herself brought them, and sat down to join him.
‘Has anything been settled?’ asked the lady Vibenna. ‘Can we leave this horrible place and go back to our own side of the river?’
‘It has been settled that Rome will continue, and that we and our children shall live in it,’ answered her husband.
‘I had hoped for a fresh start. I suppose you can’t face it, if it means leaving your wealth behind you.’
‘There is that, of course,’ Perperna agreed with a smile. ‘You have had a hard time, my dear, I know it; going first to a strange husband of your father’s choice and then, on the day you were widowed, being forced to take up with another stranger. But though you have to look after a foreign household and cook for a foreigner there is always food for you to cook. I have gone hungry and ragged and cold, and in great fear of my life. Now that I have wealth and safety I don’t want to desert them, even to go back to Etruria.’
‘Safety? Are we safe here? Are we safe in any city in which we are foreigners?’
‘Wherever I live I shall be a foreigner. My native city was conquered, and I must make do with the second best. Here is the second best. Rome is strong. After we have chosen a good King Rome will be peaceful and prosperous. We shall stay here to see our children prosper in their turn.’
‘I hate these Latins. They’re not canny. They are cruel and mean and grasping, and they don’t know how to win the favour of the gods.’
‘The trueborn Rasenna are just as cruel and grasping, and among them we should never be accepted as equal citizens. All Romans are not Latins. If you tried you could find congenial friends among the women of the Luceres. In any case, we stay. Now leave me alone. The Senate meets in an hour, and probably I shall be called on to speak. I must have my thoughts in order.’
The lady Vibenna withdrew with a formal curtsy, as though to emphasise that she was obeying the command of the head of the household, not taking the advice of her husband and partner. Perperna reclined for a few minutes, trying to rough out a speech on friendship and concord. He was aroused by someone battering on the door of his private room in which he should never be disturbed by messengers.
The intruder was his trusted client, Macro the Greek. He tried to smile in welcome, for he knew that such a sensible man would not disturb him without good reason. Macro blurted out:
‘It’s bad news, patron, and you must keep your wits about you. We may have to conceal it from the rest of the city. I was keeping an eye on that Lar-cupboard of yours when the lady Vibenna came out and stood before it. Suddenly she stabbed herself in the stomach as she stood praying. When I picked her up she was still alive, but it’s not a wound that will heal. I put her in an empty room at the back of the hall. Now what shall we do? Mourn her sudden end, or give out that she is missing? If we are open about it people may say you yourself killed her.’
‘That doesn’t worry me. People will say anything, and no one would dare to make a formal accusation. Poor woman, she hated Rome. I had just told her she would never leave it. Before the Lar, you say? That’s a curious place to choose.’
‘In front of the Lar-cupboard, I said, patron. Yesterday you added some other holy object.’
‘And blood called for blood, you think? He has been swift to take vengeance. Let us hope that now he is satisfied.’
‘But what shall we do? Shall I take the body back to where she killed herself, and leave it for the steward to discover?’
‘Presently, but not just now. I want to be at this meeting of the Senate, and the Fathers might be angry if I went knowing I was polluted by violent death in my household. Let her be discovered after the Senate has met.’
As Macro turned away Perperna spoke to him quietly. ‘Your discretion deserves a reward, and it shall be rewarded. But we will talk of that later. I do not buy your silence, and I would not like to appear to buy it.’
By evening every citizen within a day’s march had crowded into the place of assembly. The Senate had been consulting since morning, and business could not begin until the Fathers came to open the meeting. Marcus Aemilius, sitting on a little stool in the front row reserved for veterans of the original foundation, saw with disquiet that all the young men were gathered by tribes, Sabines on the left, Latins on the right, with the heterogenous Luceres in the middle. It seemed more likely than not that his beloved city of Rome would cont
inue, for unless they were making plans for the future the Senators would not have remained so long in private session; but it looked as though Rome would continue as the city of one tribal community, not as the international settlement which the genius of Romulus had called into being. Marcus was one of the few citizens who genuinely mourned for his departed leader; he remembered him as the great warleader and the wise lawgiver, not as the abitrary tyrant of his later years. As for the murder of Remus, that was so far in the past that it did not enter his recollection.
Among the young men there was no grief, only excitement and pleased expectation. Here they were, by a strange freak of fortune sovereign voters in a free community; and all the wide lands of Rome were the prize for which they would strive, at first by voting in the assembly and then if need be with the sword. The glorious past, the stability of nearly forty victorious years, had vanished with the vanished founder of the city.
At last, as the sun was setting, the Senators approached in procession. They did not take their usual places at the front of the assembly; instead they remained in a close group behind the turf platform from which the King used to address his subjects, and they kept their heads veiled as though they were taking part in a religious rite.
Julius Proculus came forward. He carried a long bundle, which he set down carefully on the mound of turf. Then he lit a torch, as though to offer sacrifice to the gods below; by its light all the assembly could see that on the turf, which was very like any other temporary altar, lay the sacred things of Samothrace and Troy, the sacred things which grandfather Aeneas had brought to Italy, the sacred things which embodied the divine favour of Rome. For many years these objects had been touched by no mortal hand, save those of Romulus the son of Mars or of Prima the daughter of Romulus. Now Proculus laid his fingers on them.
The citizens veiled their heads and murmured an invocation, as though at the beginning of a sacrifice.
Proculus spoke: ‘My hand is on the sacred things of Samothrace. Here I fix in the ground the very spear of Mars himself, which the son of Mars kept by his hearthstone. If I lie to you may they blast me, but if I speak truth may they be a protection. I speak to all the gods, and to all the Romans. This is what I am commanded to say:
‘Early this morning I was by the Goats’ Mere. There I saw Romulus, taller and more splendid than he had been in life, glittering in the armour of his father Mars. He told me that it had been decided in the council of the gods that after a certain time on earth he should return to heaven. Then he said to me, and I repeat his very words: “Tell the Romans that by courage and self-control they will attain to the highest peak of human power. To them I shall be for ever the protecting god Quirinus.” Now I have told you. Let us worship Quirinus in his emblem of the divine spear.’
Every citizen bowed his veiled head, murmuring a formula of devotion. A ram was brought out to be killed before the upright spear. Then the lady Prima and her female attendants came forward to remove the sacred things. Proculus stepped back to join the group of Senators, and after a fumbling pause the citizens uncovered their heads and prepared to attend to the business of this world.
The next Senator to speak was a youthful Sabine named Velesius. Marcus was sorry to see him, for he thought of all Sabines as hostile to Latins, and knew that this particular Sabine had been restive under the rule of King Romulus; besides, he was an undignified young man, who liked to make mock of sacred things. But evidently the order of speakers had been arranged in advance, so that all parties should be represented; Proculus the veteran Latin should be balanced by a popular young Sabine. Anyway, it was better to endure in polite silence the speech of an unsympathetic young man than to bring strife and contention into this crucial meeting of the assembly. Marcus sat quiet to hear what was to be said.
Velesius began on a deliberately jarring note. ‘Well, spearmen,’ he said, with a play on the meaning of the word, ‘you know now that the speargod in heaven is looking after us. All my life I have worshipped Quirinus, like every other Sabine, and in future I shall worship him with even greater devotion. It’s odd, isn’t it? Quirinus has been there always, and yesterday King Romulus was a man like other men. Was he Quirinus come down to earth for a spell, or has his spirit now merged with that of Quirinus the god, or has he perhaps displaced the old god as once he displaced his brother? Odd indeed; but not perhaps important. Quirinus will look after us in heaven, and King Romulus will never return to this assembly. That’s really what matters’. King Romulus has gone, we know where he has gone, and you may as well stop speculating about what decided him to go when he did. There has been some talk on that subject, I’m well aware. There will be no further talk about it.’
He paused, and continued. ‘I have spoken as Pompeius Velesius the Sabine. Those were my sentiments, and I don’t expect all of you to share them. But what I tell you now is the considered judgement of the Senate. We have been all day deciding it, but now we are agreed. You must agree with us, or defy the Fathers of Rome. Here it is. We must choose another King. That has been settled. Rome needs a King, to lead us in war. If we try to live under a council of elders, like the savages to the south, the city will split asunder. So far the whole Senate is of one mind. But we can’t agree on the choice of the next King. So just for the present we shall appoint a committee of Senators to rule the city. Or rather, the committee has already been appointed. There are three hundred Senators. We have made up thirty groups of ten each. One decury will govern Rome for ten days, and each member will sacrifice as King for one day. On the eleventh day another decury takes over. Simple, isn’t it? All these decuries have been chosen by lot in the first place, so the members are not confederates who will help one another to tyranny. If in a single day the daily King can make himself a tyrant you deserve to be ruled by tyrants. That takes care of the government for the next ten months. But in less than ten months we ought to have found a new King. The Senate will choose him, but of course our choice must be ratified by the assembly. Now are you all agreed on that? If not we must put it to the vote. But before we set up the voting enclosures I must tell you that there are no more celeres. Will the celeres please hand in their rods of office immediately? You can lay them on this holy turf altar, dedicated to Quirinus your old leader. In future the voting will be supervised by elders chosen from the three tribes. As for summoning culprits to stand trial before the assembly, that will be the obligation of all free citizens.’
This brought such a roar of delight that Velesius stepped back taking it as popular consent for all he had said.
It was nearly dark when Marcus stumbled up the hill to his cabin, for the assembly had not begun until sunset. He was not completely satisfied with what had been decided, but at least it was a good deal better than it might have been. The Sabines, the most dangerous element in the population, seemed content that Rome should continue on the old lines. The temporary form of government devised by the Senate was fair enough, and would certainly preserve freedom. It would be dangerously inefficient if they were engaged in a serious war; but luckily there was no war at the moment, and anyway Marcus was too old for military service. He would die of old age in the city he had founded, instead of going back to start a new life in his native village after forty years of exile.
Next morning at sunrise Perperna found Macro waiting in the porch, and was a little annoyed that his client should come so soon to remind him of the promised reward.
‘The lady Vibenna was found dead in her bed this morning,’ he said sternly. ‘Until she has been laid on the pyre I cannot discuss business. This is a house of mourning.’
‘I have not come to discuss business, patron,’ answered Macro. ‘This is a religious matter, in which I seek your advice as a Rasenna and an augur. Last night I saw my brother, as I do whenever I dream. But this time he was not lying dead, he stood and menaced me with his sword. You told me I was safe so long as King Romulus ruled in Rome. Now that the King has become the god Quirinus will he continue to protect me?’
‘But the place of assembly is outside the city.’
‘It’s a templum, and sanctified by King Romulus. He will still protect you in every part of Rome; outside Rome you will be in danger. You deserve some discomfort. After all, you did murder your brother.’
‘I see, patron.… Who now looks after the King’s storehouse of sacred things?’
‘The lady Prima keeps it clean. No one performs the rites. We must wait for another King.’
‘Then I shall ask if I may help her, until the next King comes.’
The house of Publius Tatius on the Quirinal was a prosperous rambling establishment, very unlike the artistic and luxurious mansion of Perperna. Room had been added to half-timbered room as the family increased and adjoining cabins were bought from the neighbours. It so happened that the nursery was larger than the reception hall, which had been built in the early days to celebrate the appointment of Publius to the Senate. Within, the plaster was washed a plain red; there were no life-size gods and heroes, no scenes of hunting and feasting. Most of the roof was plain thatch, very thick and gleaming with fresh golden rushes. Only one square of baked tile covered the inner end of the hall, where the Lar and the ancestors dwelt in the usual cupboard; that was because a lamp burned always before them, whose sparks ascended occasionally to the rafters.
Founding Fathers Page 28