In unison, the twins released him. Potitius groaned and rubbed his shoulders to relieve the ache.
“So?” said Romulus, looking at his brother. “Should we tell him, or not?”
“You said we should.”
“But I’m having second thoughts. He’s all high and mighty with his fancy amulet from his father. He looks down on nobodies like us.”
“I do not!” protested Potitius. “Tell me what?”
Remus looked at him slyly. “We’re hatching a plot, my brother and I. We’re going to have some fun. People will talk about nothing else for days afterward.”
“Days? Years!” said Romulus.
“And you can join us—if you dare,” said Remus.
“Of course I dare to,” said Potitius. His shoulders ached so badly he could barely lift his arms, but he was determined to show no pain. “What is this scheme you’re hatching?”
“You know what people say about us—what they call us behind our backs?” said Romulus.
Not sure how to respond, Potitius shrugged, and tried not to wince at the pain.
“They call us wolves. Romulus and Remus are a pair of wolves, they say, suckled by a she-wolf.”
“People are stupid,” said Potitius.
“People are frightened by wolves, that’s what they are,” said Remus.
“Especially girls,” added his brother. “Here, look at this.” He reached for something at the base of the fig tree and drew it over his head. It was a wolf’s pelt, fashioned so that the head of the wolf fit over his face and formed a mask, leaving his mouth uncovered. “What do you think?”
With his hands on his hips and the face of the wolf taking the place of his own, Romulus presented a fearsome image. Potitius gazed up at him, speechless. Remus produced another pelt, fitted it over his head, and stood beside his brother.
Romulus smirked, pleased by the look of amazement on Potitius’s face. “Of course, if it’s just Remus and me, everyone will know it’s us. That’s why there has to be a third wolf in the pack—to throw people off the scent.”
“A third wolf?” said Potitius.
Remus tossed something to him. Potitius gave a start but managed to catch it. “Put it on,” Remus said.
It was another wolfskin. With trembling hands, Potitius fitted the head over his face. A rank odor filled his nostrils. Looking through the eye-holes, he felt strangely concealed from the world and curiously transformed.
Romulus smiled. “You look very fierce, Potitius.”
“Do I?”
Remus laughed. “But you sound like a little boy. You must learn to growl—like this.” He demonstrated. Romulus joined him. After a moment’s hesitation, Potitius did his best to emulate them.
“And you must learn to howl.” Remus threw back his head. The sound that came from his throat sent a shiver up Potitius’s spine. Romulus joined him, and the harmony produced by their baying was so uncanny that Potitius was covered with gooseflesh. But when he himself let out a howl, the other two broke into laughter.
“Obviously, this will take some practice,” said Romulus. “You’re not ready yet. You must learn to howl like a wolf, Potitius. You must learn to move like a wolf, and to think like a wolf. You must become a wolf!”
“And when that day arrives, you must be sure to remove that amulet,” added his brother. “Otherwise, someone is bound to recognize it and report us to your father.”
Potitius shrugged. The pain in his shoulders was gone. “I could always wear Fascinus inside my tunic, where no one would see.”
“Your tunic?” Romulus laughed. “Wolves don’t wear tunics!”
“But—what will we be wearing?”
Romulus and Remus looked at each other and laughed, then threw back their heads and howled.
Winter came before the twins felt that Potitius had sufficiently mastered the ways of a wolf. It would not do to carry out their scheme when the weather was cold and wet. They waited until the weather turned warm again. At last the perfect day arrived—a clear, mild day when everyone across the Seven Hills would be out and about.
Very early that morning they went hunting. The twins had been tracking a wolf for several days, watching its movements to discover its lair. Shortly after sunrise They flushed it out and hunted it down. It was Romulus who killed the beast with his spear.
On a makeshift altar—a simple slab of rock—they skinned the wolf and bathed their hands in its blood. They cut the skin into strips and tied these around their wrists, ankles, thighs, and arms. Other strips they carried in their hands. It seemed to Potitius that he could feel the life force of the beast still emanating from the warm, supple hide.
It no longer felt strange to Potitius to run naked across the hills. He had done it many times with Romulus and Remus, though usually at night and away from the settlements. What still felt strange was the mask of wolf hide that covered his face. Peering out the eye-holes, knowing he was hidden, imagining his ferocious appearance—all this gave him a feeling of power and a sense that his relationship to everything around him was changed, as if the mask truly bestowed on him faculties that were other than human.
They ran over the hills and across the valleys, from settlement to settlement, howling and yelping and brandishing their straps. Whenever they encountered a young female, they ran straight toward her, competing to see who could reach her first and give her a smack with his strap. They were the wolves, and the girls might have been sheep; like sheep, most of them were out in groups, going about their morning chores, fetching water or carrying burdens. Some cried out in alarm at the sight of them. Others shrieked with laughter.
Potitius had never done anything so exhilarating in all his life. He became physically aroused. Many of the girls seemed more alarmed by the sight of his swaying sex than by the threat of his wolfhide strap, although some of them seemed amused, tittering behind their hands and averting their eyes. Romulus and Remus, seeing his excitation, converged on him. Laughing and yelping, they took aim at his sex with their wolf-hide straps.
“Too bad you left that amulet at home today,” whispered Romulus. “You’ve no phallus at your neck to protect the one between your legs!”
“Stop trying to cover yourself,” said Remus, shaking with laughter. “A good strapping with one of these will make you more potent than ever! You’ll have the power of the wolf between your legs!”
At last the twins relented, and the three of them returned to their pursuit of screaming girls.
As the twins had predicted, the incident became the talk of all Roma. That evening, Potitius’s father gathered the immediate family—Potitius, his mother, and sisters—to discuss it.
“Three youths, naked except for wolfskins concealing their cowardly faces, running all over the Seven Hills, terrifying everyone they met—such behavior is an outrage!”
“Did no one try to stop them?” said Potitius’s mother.
“A few elders dared to berate them for their behavior; the scoundrels ran circles around the poor fellows, howling like animals, scaring them half to death. A few of the younger men gave chase, but the troublemakers outran them.”
“But what did they look like, husband? Was there nothing to distinguish them?”
“I didn’t see them myself. Did any of you?”
Potitius averted his eyes and said nothing. He nervously bit his lip when one of his sisters, who was a little younger than himself, meekly spoke up. “I saw them, father. I was visiting a friend over on the Viminal when they came tearing through the village, howling and growling.”
Her father’s face stiffened. “Did they molest you in any way?”
She blushed. “No, Father! Except…”
“Speak, daughter!”
“Each of them carried a thing in his hand; I think it must have been a long, narrow strip of wolf hide. They snapped them in the air, like little whips. And they…”
“Go on.”
“Whenever they came to a girl or a young woman, they struck her wit
h it.”
“Struck her?”
“Yes, Father.” She blushed more furiously than ever. “On her bottom.”
“And did they strike you, daughter—on your bottom?”
“I—I don’t really remember, Father. It was all so frightening, I can’t recall.”
Liar! Potitius wanted to say. He remembered the moment quite clearly. So, he was sure, did his sister. It was Remus who had slapped her bottom, and, far from being frightened, she had run after them, giggling and trying to give Remus’s naked bottom a slap in return. Despite his nervousness, Potitius had to force the grin from his face.
Potitius’s father shook his head. “As I said, an outrage! What’s even more outrageous is the fact that not everyone thinks as we do about this matter.”
“What do you mean, Father?” asked Potitius.
“I was just talking to the elder Pinarius. He seems to be amused by the incident! He says it’s only the older people who find such behavior scandalous. He says that all the young men envy these savage wolflings, and all the young women admire them. You don’t envy them, do you, Potitius?”
“Me? Of course not, Father.” Nervously, Potitius touched the amulet at his neck. He had put on the necklace as soon as he returned home that evening, wanting Fascinus to be near him. To be sure, he was not exactly lying to his father; a man could not envy himself.
“And you, daughter—you don’t admire these troublemakers, do you?”
“Of course I don’t, Father. I despise them!”
“Good. Others may praise these savages, but in this family, there are standards to be upheld. The Potitii set an example for all of Roma. So should the Pinarii, but I fear that our cousins may have forgotten their special standing among the people.” He shook his head. “The identities of two of these wolflings is only too obvious—those scoundrels Romulus and Remus. But who was the third wolfling? What innocent youth did the swineherd’s boys lure into playing this disgusting game with them?” He stared directly at Potitius, who turned pale. “Do you think, my son…do you think it might have been your cousin, young Pinarius?”
Potitius swallowed a lump in his throat. “No, Father. I’m quite sure that it wasn’t Pinarius.”
His father grunted and gave him a shrewd look. “Very well. Enough of this matter. I have something much more important to discuss. It involves you, my son.”
“Yes, Father?” said Potitius, relieved at the change of subject.
The elder Potitius cleared his throat. “As priests of Hercules, we play a very important role among the people. Our judgment in matters of the divine is greatly respected. But there is much that we could still learn when it comes to reading the will of gods and numina. Tell me, my son: When a farmer’s well runs dry, whom does he call upon to pacify the spiteful numen that blocked the spring? When a fisherman wants to find a new fishing spot, whom does he call to mark boundaries in the river and say a prayer to placate the water numina? When a bolt of lightning kills an ox, whom does the oxherd consult to determine whether the blasted flesh is cursed and should be consumed by fire upon an altar, or blessed and should be eaten with rejoicing?”
“If they can afford it, people call for an Etruscan diviner—what the Etruscans call a haruspex.”
“Exactly. Our good neighbors to the north, the Etruscans, are very wise in the ways of divination—and Etruscan haruspices make a very good living at it. But divination is simply a skill, like any other. It can be taught, and it can be learned. There is a school of divination in the Etruscan town of Tarquinia. I am assured that it is the finest of all such schools. I have arranged for you to study there, my son.”
Potitius was silent for a long moment. “But Father, I don’t speak Etruscan.”
“Of course you do.”
“Only enough to barter with Etruscan traders in the market.”
“Then you shall learn to speak Etruscan fluently, and then you shall learn all the Etruscans can teach you about divination. When your studies are done, you will return to Roma as a haruspex, and you will become an important man among the people.”
Potitius felt torn between excitement and a fear of leaving family and friends. “How long will I be gone?”
“I’m told that your studies will take three years.”
“Such a long time! When do I leave, Father?”
“Tomorrow.”
“So soon!”
“The sooner the better. As today’s incident of the wolflings demonstrated all too clearly, there are bad influences among us. I have every faith in your character, my son. Nonetheless, I think it would be best to remove you from those influences, and the sooner the better.”
“But Father, you don’t think—”
“I think that Romulus and Remus must be very persuasive young men. I think their harmful influence might draw even the most upstanding youth into serious trouble. It is my duty as your father to see that such a thing does not happen to you, my son. You will go to Tarquinia. You will obey your instructors in all matters. You will master the Etruscan arts of divination. I suspect you have an aptitude for such things, and the learning will come easily to you. And you will think no more about Romulus and Remus. The swineherd’s brats are good for only one thing—making trouble. They came from nothing and they shall amount to nothing!”
754 B.C.
About his love of learning and his natural aptitude for divination, Potitius’s father proved correct. About the fate of twins, he could not have been more mistaken.
Potitius had been the first youth to fall under the spell of the twins, but he was not the last. The incident of the wolflings greatly elevated their standing among the restless young men of Roma, many of whom were eager to become their companions. Romulus and Remus soon attracted a considerable following, especially among those whom Potitius’s father would have labeled disreputable—young men of obscure family and little means who were not above stealing the occasional cow or shearing a sheep and bartering the wool without its owner’s knowledge.
“They shall come to a bad end,” declared Potitius’s father, glad that his son was away in Tarquinia pursuing his studies. “Romulus and Remus and their little gang think their activities are harmless, that the men they rob are either too wealthy to care or too timid to strike back. But sooner or later, they will cross the wrong man, and that will be the last we see of Romulus and Remus!”
His prediction very nearly came true on the day that Remus and a few companions, venturing farther afield than usual, fell into a skirmish with some shepherds in the vicinity of Alba, a town in a hilly region to the southeast of Roma. Unlike the Romans, the Albans had long ago been subjugated to the strongest man among them, who called himself their king and wore an iron crown. The current king of Alba, Amulius, had accumulated a great store of wealth—precious metals, finely wrought jewelry, exotic clay vessels, and woven goods of the highest quality—which he kept inside a gated compound surrounded by high wooden pickets and guarded by mercenary warriors. He lived not in a hut but in a great hall made of wood.
The cause of the skirmish was later a subject of much debate. Many assumed that Remus and his men were trying to steal some sheep and the Alban shepherds caught them; Remus would later declare that it was the shepherds who picked a fight with his men, taunting them with insults to their manhood and slurs against the people of Roma. Whatever the cause, it was Remus who got the worst of the skirmish. Some of his men were killed, some were captured, and a few managed to escape. Remus himself was taken prisoner, bound with iron chains, and led before King Amulius. Remus’s attitude was defiant. The king, who was not used to being crossed, ordered Remus to be hung from a rafter and set about torturing him, using hot irons, sharp blades, and leather whips.
When word of Remus’s captivity reached his brother on the Palatine, Romulus set about mustering all the young men of the Seven Hills, calling on them not only to rescue Remus but to defend the pride of Roma. Even men of upstanding families who had never consorted with the twins join
ed the cause. Knowing the mercenaries of Amulius would be well armed, they gathered whatever weapons they could find—shepherd’s crooks that might serve as staves, butchering knives, slingshots, hunter’s bows and arrows—and set out.
Before the walls of Alba, Romulus demanded that the king release his brother and the other captives. Amulius, flanked by his mercenaries on the parapet, peered down at the motley band and refused.
“Is it ransom you want?” asked Romulus.
Amulius laughed. “What could the likes of you afford to pay? A few moth-eaten sheepskins? No, when I’m done torturing your brother and his friends, I shall cut off their heads and mount them on this picket wall, as a warning to others of their ilk. And if you’re still in my kingdom when morning comes, young fool, your head will end up next to your brother’s!”
Romulus and his men withdrew. The height of the pickets which surrounded the king’s compound at first daunted them, as did the archers who guarded the wall. There seemed no way to storm the compound without being struck down by a hail of arrows. But that night, under cover of darkness, Romulus managed to set fire to a poorly guarded section of the wall. The fire spread quickly. In the chaos that followed, his men proved braver and more bloodthirsty than the mercenaries of Amulius. The king’s guards were slaughtered.
Striding into the great hall, Romulus seized Amulius and demanded to see his brother. The king, shaking with fear, took him to the room where Remus hung in chains, then produced a key and released him from his shackles. Too weak to stand, Remus sank to his knees. While Remus watched, Romulus knocked Amulius to the ground, kicked and beat him until he was senseless, then cut his throat. The king’s crown, a simple circle of iron, went rolling across the floor, spun on its edge, and with a clatter came to rest on the floor before Remus.
“Pick it up, brother,” said Romulus. “It belongs to us now!”
But Remus, his naked body scarred by burns and cuts, was too weak even to lift the iron crown. Weeping to see his brother in such a state, Romulus knelt before him, picked up the crown, and began to place it on Remus’s head.
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