by Daisy Dunn
By a heaven-sent chance it happened that the Tiber was then overflowing its banks, and stretches of standing water prevented any approach to the main channel. Those who were carrying the children expected that this stagnant water would be sufficient to drown them, so under the impression that they were carrying out the king’s orders they exposed the boys at the nearest point of the overflow, where the Ficus Ruminalis (said to have been formerly called Romularis) now stands. The locality was then a wild solitude. The tradition goes on to say that after the floating cradle in which the boys had been exposed had been left by the retreating water on dry land, a thirsty she-wolf from the surrounding hills, attracted by the crying of the children, came to them, gave them her teats to suck and was so gentle towards them that the king’s flock-master found her licking the boys with her tongue. According to the story his name was Faustulus. He took the children to his hut and gave them to his wife Larentia to bring up. Some writers think that Larentia, from her unchaste life, had got the nickname of ‘She-wolf’ amongst the shepherds, and that this was the origin of the marvellous story.
As soon as the boys, thus born and thus brought up, grew to be young men they did not neglect their pastoral duties but their special delight was roaming through the woods on hunting expeditions. As their strength and courage were thus developed, they used not only to lie in wait for fierce beasts of prey, but they even attacked brigands when loaded with plunder. They distributed what they took amongst the shepherds, with whom, surrounded by a continually increasing body of young men, they associated themselves in their serious undertakings and in their sports and pastimes.
It is said that the festival of the Lupercalia, which is still observed, was even in those days celebrated on the Palatine hill. This hill was originally called Pallantium from a city of the same name in Arcadia; the name was afterwards changed to Palatium. Evander, an Arcadian, had held that territory many ages before, and had introduced an annual festival from Arcadia in which young men ran about naked for sport and wantonness, in honour of the Lycaean Pan, whom the Romans afterwards called Inuus. The existence of this festival was widely recognised, and it was while the two brothers were engaged in it that the brigands, enraged at losing their plunder, ambushed them. Romulus successfully defended himself, but Remus was taken prisoner and brought before Amulius, his captors impudently accusing him of their own crimes. The principal charge brought against them was that of invading Numitor’s lands with a body of young men whom they had got together, and carrying off plunder as though in regular warfare. Remus accordingly was handed over to Numitor for punishment.
Faustulus had from the beginning suspected that it was royal offspring that he was bringing up, for he was aware that the boys had been exposed at the king’s command and the time at which he had taken them away exactly corresponded with that of their exposure. He had, however, refused to divulge the matter prematurely, until either a fitting opportunity occurred or necessity demanded its disclosure. The necessity came first. Alarmed for the safety of Remus he revealed the state of the case to Romulus. It so happened that Numitor also, who had Remus in his custody, on hearing that he and his brother were twins, and comparing their ages, and the character and bearing so unlike that of one in a servile condition, began to recall the memory of his grandchildren, and further inquiries brought him to the same conclusion as Faustulus; nothing was wanting to the recognition of Remus. So the king Amulius was being enmeshed on all sides by hostile purposes. Romulus shrunk from a direct attack with his body of shepherds, for he was no match for the king in open fight. They were instructed to approach the palace by different routes and meet there at a given time, whilst from Numitor’s house Remus lent his assistance with a second band he had collected. The attack succeeded and the king was killed.
At the beginning of the fray, Numitor gave out that an enemy had entered the City and was attacking the palace, in order to draw off the Alban soldiery to the citadel, to defend it. When he saw the young men coming to congratulate him after the assassination, he at once called a council of his people and explained his brother’s infamous conduct towards him, the story of his grandsons, their parentage and bringing up, and how he recognised them. Then he proceeded to inform them of the tyrant’s death and his responsibility for it. The young men marched in order through the midst of the assembly and saluted their grandfather as king; their action was approved by the whole population, who with one voice ratified the title and sovereignty of the king.
After the government of Alba was thus transferred to Numitor, Romulus and Remus were seized with the desire of building a city in the locality where they had been exposed. There was the superfluous population of the Alban and Latin towns, to these were added the shepherds: it was natural to hope that with all these Alba would be small and Lavinium small in comparison with the city which was to be founded. These pleasant anticipations were disturbed by the ancestral curse—ambition—which led to a deplorable quarrel over what was at first a trivial matter. As they were twins and no claim to precedence could be based on seniority, they decided to consult the tutelary deities of the place by means of augury as to who was to give his name to the new city, and who was to rule it after it had been founded. Romulus accordingly selected the Palatine as his station for observation, Remus the Aventine.
Remus is said to have been the first to receive an omen: six vultures appeared to him. The augury had just been announced to Romulus when double the number appeared to him. Each was saluted as king by his own party. The one side based their claim on the priority of the appearance, the other on the number of the birds. Then followed an angry altercation; heated passions led to bloodshed; in the tumult Remus was killed. The more common report is that Remus contemptuously jumped over the newly raised walls and was forthwith killed by the enraged Romulus, who exclaimed, ‘So shall it be henceforth with every one who leaps over my walls.’ Romulus thus became sole ruler, and the city was called after him, its founder.
THE GEESE ON THE CAPITOL
Ab urbe condita, Book V
Livy
Translated by J. H. Freese, 1893
This famous story from Livy’s history of Rome reveals how the Roman Capitol was once saved from ruin by the cackling of geese. In the fourth century BC, the Romans and Gauls were in conflict with one another. While the Romans laid siege to the nearby city of Veii, the Gauls overran much of Rome before attempting to conquer its Capitoline Hill. A number of geese, sacred to the goddess Juno, were kept here. When the Gauls began to scale the hill in the middle of the night, the birds began to squawk, alerting the Romans to the approaching danger. Could one of the Romans’ bravest men, Marcus Furius Camillus, ‘the dictator’, having returned from exile, now vanquish the Gauls? The Roman people later founded a temple to Juno on the Capitol to honour her and her geese.
It now seemed high time that their country should be recovered and rescued from the hands of the enemy. But a head was wanting to this strong body. The very place put them in mind of Camillus, and a considerable part of the soldiers were men who had fought successfully under his guidance and auspices. Caedicius declared that he would not give occasion for any one, whether god or man, to terminate his command; but, mindful of his own rank, he would rather himself call for the appointment of a general. With universal consent it was resolved that Camillus should be sent for from Ardea, but that first the senate at Rome should be consulted: so far did a sense of propriety regulate every proceeding, and so carefully did they observe proper distinctions in their almost desperate circumstances. Someone had to pass at great risk through the enemy’s guards. For this purpose a spirited youth, Pontius Cominius, offered his services, and supporting himself on cork was carried down the Tiber to the city. Then, where the distance from the bank was shortest, he made his way into the Capitol over a portion of the rock that rose abruptly and therefore was neglected by the enemy’s guard; and being conducted to the magistrates he delivers the instructions received from the army. Then having received a decree
of the senate, that Camillus, recalled from exile by the comitia curiata, should be forthwith appointed dictator by order of the people, and that the soldiers should have the general whom they wished, the messenger passed out the same way and proceeded to Veii. Then deputies were sent to Camillus at Ardea, and conducted him to Veii: or else the law was passed by the curias, and he was nominated dictator in his absence; for I am more inclined to believe that he did not set out from Ardea until he found that the law was passed; because he could neither change the country of his residence without an order from the people, nor hold the auspices in the army until he was nominated dictator.
Meanwhile, whilst these things were going on at Veii, the citadel and Capitol of Rome were in great danger. For the Gauls had either perceived the track of a human foot where the messenger from Veii had passed, or had of themselves remarked the rock with its easy ascent at the temple of Carmentis. So on a starlight night, after they had first sent forward an unarmed man to make trial of the way, they attempted the ascent. Handing over their arms whenever any difficult passage occurred, alternately supported by and supporting each other and drawing each other up according as the ground required, they reached the summit in such silence that they not only escaped the notice of the sentinels, but of the dogs also, an animal extremely vigilant with respect to noises by night. They did not escape the notice of the geese. These, as being sacred to Juno, were spared, though there was the greatest scarcity of food. This circumstance was the cause of their preservation. For Marcus Manlius, who three years before had been consul, a man of great military distinction, being aroused from sleep by their cackling and the clapping of their wings, snatched up his arms, and at the same time calling the others to do the same, proceeds to the spot. Whilst the others were thrown into confusion, he struck with the boss of his shield a Gaul who had already got footing on the summit, and tumbled him down; and since the fall of this man as he tumbled threw down those who were next, Manlius slew others, who in their consternation had thrown away their arms, and were grasping tight the rocks to which they clung. And now the others also having assembled beat down the enemy with javelins and stones, and the whole line of men fell and were hurled down headlong with a crash. The alarm then subsiding, the remainder of the night was given up to repose, as far as could be done considering the disturbed state of their minds, since the danger, even though past, still kept them in a state of anxiety.
Day having appeared, the soldiers were summoned by sound of trumpet to attend the tribunes in assembly, as recompense was due both to merit and to demerit. Manlius was first of all commended for his bravery and presented with gifts, not only by the military tribunes, but by the soldiers with general consent; for they all carried to his house, which was in the citadel, a contribution of half a pound of meal and a gill of wine. This is a matter trifling to relate, but the prevailing scarcity had rendered it a strong proof of esteem, when each man, depriving himself of his own food, contributed in honour of one man a portion subtracted from his own personal requirements. Then the sentinels of the place where the enemy had climbed up unobserved were summoned; and Quintus Sulpicius declared openly that he would punish all according to the usage of military discipline; but being deterred by the unanimous voice of the soldiers, who threw the blame on one sentinel, he spared the rest. The man who was manifestly guilty of the crime he threw down from the rock with general approbation. From this time forth the guards on both sides became more vigilant; on the part of the Gauls because a rumour had spread that messengers passed between Veii and Rome, and on that of the Romans from the recollection of the peril of that night.
But beyond all evils of siege and war, famine distressed both armies; pestilence moreover oppressed the Gauls, since they were encamped in a place lying between the hills that was heated by the burning of the houses and full of exhalations, and that sent up clouds not only of dust but also of ashes whenever the wind rose to any degree; and as that race, accustomed to moisture and cold, is most intolerant of these annoyances, and suffered severely from the heat and suffocation, disease spread as if among cattle, and they died. And now becoming weary of burying separately, they heaped up the bodies promiscuously and burned them. A truce was now made with the Romans, and conferences were held with the permission of the commanders. At these the Gauls frequently alluded to the famine, and made the urgency of that a reason for summoning them to surrender. It is said that for the purpose of removing that opinion bread was thrown in many places from the Capitol to the advanced posts of the enemy. But the famine could neither be dissembled nor endured any longer. Accordingly whilst the dictator was engaged in person in holding a levy at Ardea, in ordering his master of the horse, Lucius Valerius, to bring the troops from Veii, and in raising forces and equipping them, so that he might attack the enemy on equal terms, in the mean time the army of the Capitol was wearied out with keeping guard and with watches. They had surmounted all calamities that man could cause, but famine alone nature would not suffer to be overcome. So after looking forward from day to day to see whether there were any signs of succour coming from the dictator, when at length not only food but hope also failed them, and their arms weighed down their debilitated bodies (since there was constant sentinel duty), they insisted that there should be either a surrender, or that they should be ransomed on whatever terms were possible, as the Gauls were intimating in rather plain terms that they could be induced for no very great compensation to relinquish the siege. Then a meeting of the senate was held and instructions were given to the military tribunes to capitulate. Upon this the matter was settled between Quintus Sulpicius, a military tribune, and Brennus, the chieftain of the Gauls, and one thousand pounds’ weight of gold was agreed on as the ransom of a people who were soon after to be the rulers of the world. To a transaction very humiliating in itself insult was added. False weights were brought by the Gauls. On the tribune’s objecting, the insolent Gaul threw his sword in in addition to the weight; and these words were heard—so repulsive to the Romans—“Woe to the vanquished!”
But both gods and men interfered to prevent the Romans from owing their lives to a ransom. For by some chance, before the execrable bargain was completed, all the gold being not yet weighed in consequence of the altercation, the dictator comes up, and orders the gold to be removed from their midst, and the Gauls to clear away. The latter, demurring to this, affirmed that they had concluded a treaty; but he denied that the agreement was a valid one which had been entered into with a magistrate of inferior authority without his orders, after he had been nominated dictator; and he gave notice to the Gauls to get ready for battle. He ordered his men to throw their baggage in a heap, and to get ready their arms, and to recover their country with steel, not with gold, having before their eyes the temples of the gods, and their wives and children, and the site of their native city disfigured by the calamities of war, and all that they were solemnly bound to defend, to recover, and to revenge. He then drew up his army, as the nature of the place admitted, on the site of the half-demolished city, which was naturally uneven; and he secured all those advantages for his own men, which could be selected or acquired by military skill. The Gauls, thrown into confusion by this unexpected event, took up arms, and governed by fury rather than prudence rushed upon the Romans. But now fortune had changed; now the aid of the gods and human skill assisted the Roman cause. At the first encounter therefore the Gauls were routed with no greater difficulty than they had found in gaining the victory at the Allia. They were afterwards beaten when the Romans were again under the conduct and auspices of Camillus, in a more regular engagement at the eighth stone on the Gabine road, whither they had betaken themselves after their defeat. There the slaughter was universal: their camp was taken, and not even one person was left to carry news of the defeat. The dictator, after having recovered his country from the enemy, returned into the city in triumph; and in the soldiers’ rough jests such as they are wont to make, he was styled, with praises by no means undeserved, “Romulus,” and
“Parent of the country,” and “Second founder of the city.”
THE RISE OF HANNIBAL
Punica, Book I
Silius Italicus
Translated by J. D. Duff, 1934
The Second Punic War was fought between Rome and the North African state of Carthage from 218 to 201 BC. Almost three hundred years later, a poet named Silius Italicus (c. AD 28–c. 103) celebrated Rome’s ultimate victory in his tremendously long Latin poem, the Punica. In this passage he charts the rise of Hannibal, the most fearsome fighter on the Carthaginian side, against the background of Dido’s foundation of Carthage in mythical times. Having fled her native Tyre after her brother, Pygmalion, murdered her husband, Sychaeus, Dido (‘Elissa’) was permitted to establish a territory as large as could be surrounded by a bull’s hide. Cleverly, she cut the hide into tiny strips and joined them together to encompass a significant plot. Aeneas, the ‘exile of Troy’, later arrived in Carthage and became Dido’s lover (see Story 49). Silius Italicus describes what inspired Hannibal of Carthage to war against the ‘kingdom of Latinus’, that is, the Italy Aeneas came to know, and become one of the most memorable enemies the Romans ever encountered.
When Dido long ago fled across the sea from the land of Pygmalion, leaving behind her the realm polluted by her brother’s guilt, she landed on the destined shore of Libya. There she bought land for a price and founded a new city, where she was permitted to lay strips of a bull’s hide round the strand. Here—so remote antiquity believed—Juno elected to found for the exiles a nation to last for ever, preferring it to Argos, and to Mycenae, the city of Agamemnon and her chosen dwelling-place. But when she saw Rome lifting her head high among aspiring cities, and even sending fleets across the sea to carry her victorious standards over all the earth, then the goddess felt the danger close and stirred up in the minds of the Phoenicians a frenzy for war. But the effort of their first campaign was crushed, and the enterprise of the Carthaginians was wrecked on the Sicilian sea; and then Juno took up the sword again for a fresh conflict. When she upset all things on earth and was preparing to stir up the sea, she found a sufficient instrument in a single leader.
