But if the Palatine was now a thriving village the outlying fort of the Capitol still kept its masculine atmosphere. The men who guarded it were paid a small monthly allowance in barley and beef as recompense for their extra duty; but they lived in cramped and uncomfortable quarters, so that only the poorest citizens, those too lazy or too careless with magic to be successful farmers, were willing to stay there. Among these poor and shiftless bachelors there was only one family, that of Tarpeius the commander. His daughter was now old enough for marriage, but so far her father had not chosen a suitable bridegroom. The only desirable girl among a crowd of rough warriors, she was so carefully guarded by her parents that she might have been living alone in the forest.
The source of the trouble was that a year ago Tarpeia had been the only marriageable girl in Rome; her ambitious father had expected her to make a very grand match, so that in the beginning none of the young men who offered for her had been good enough. Now Tarpeius could not adjust his expectations to changed conditions. All the eminent young nobles, the companions of King Romulus, had taken wives from among the stolen Sabines; and the immigrants from the new colonies had brought with them a flock of half-grown daughters. Young men of good birth had plenty of pretty faces to choose from; and though Tarpeia was a strong, buxom girl she was undoubtedly plain. As spring passed into summer she grew lonely and restless. One evening Sabina spoke of her to Marcus.
Like a prudent wife, she began with an indirect approach. ‘What would they degree in that precious assembly of yours if a Roman maiden presented them with an unexplained baby? Would you drive her out to starve, or kill her for adultery? Or would you be so pleased at the arrival of another recruit that you would accept the child without asking awkward questions?’
‘What’s all this?’ asked Marcus in surprise. ‘You can’t produce an unexplained baby. I would have to take the credit for any child of yours, no matter how much I might reckon on my fingers in private. And surely all your Sabine friends are also married, with stout husbands to take responsibility for their children? I hope you haven’t been talking to the whores down by the Asylum. They are miserable friendless creatures, and I don’t want to see them driven away when they have no other refuge. But they must carry on their trade without producing children, and they must not ask respectable matrons to plead for them.’
‘Of course I have not been talking to the whores. I didn’t know that such creatures exist until you Romans stole me; they would never be allowed to settle near a Sabine village. No, I am thinking of an unfortunate Roman girl, the daughter of that noble commander on the Capitol. It’s time Tarpeia was married, or at least betrothed. The poor creature sees all Rome a nursery of crawling infants; and yet her father won’t choose a man for her. Time passes, and she is afraid that she may die a virgin. One day she might start a baby, just to force her father’s hand. Couldn’t you speak to Tarpeius, and remind him of his family duties? It seems absurd that the poor girl should pine for marriage while there are still not enough women in Rome, King Romulus keeps on saying that the number of citizens must be increased.’
‘Oh, so that’s it. I’m glad it’s nothing to do with you or your friends. No, I can’t speak to Tarpeius. He wouldn’t listen to speak for me. Tarpeius might take the advice of Aemilius, a to advice from a poor spearman. Perhaps I might ask my patron fellow-noble. But if he doesn’t the girl must just control herself. She’s not a savage, to do what she likes when she likes. Civilised girls don’t give themselves to men outside marriage; if Tarpeia tries it on she will be punished.’
Sabina dropped the subject. She had been married long enough to begin to understand something of the queer masculine attitude to adultery. She knew that Marcus himself would gladly take advantage of any willing virgin, and despise himself for ever after as no true male if some scruple held him back. If privately he stumbled on an illicit affair he would willingly join in a complicated intrigue to keep it secret from the world in general. But if in the assembly he had to judge a blatantly guilty woman he would vote for heavy punishment, public retribution for her grave indiscretion in being publicly found out.
All the same, Marcus was a dutiful husband. He duly spoke to Aemilius, who spoke to Tarpeius. But nothing came of it for the moment, and soon a new excitement put the matter out of mind.
The new excitement was the sudden appearance of a strange army. All that year scouts on the Roman boundary had been looking out for the threatened Sabine invasion; but it seemed that the Sabines would get in their harvest before they marched against Rome. This army, reported coming down from the north-east, seemed to be a homeless band of plunderers.
Then the scouts reported that the strangers were not hostile after all, and in fact had asked to be allowed to send envoys to King Romulus. In full assembly these envoys explained what they wanted.
Their army was in fact a very numerous band of mercenaries, who had been fighting for several years in the perpetual war between the northern Etruscan cities and the savages of Liguria. This spring the Ligurians had offered peace and tribute, and for the present there was a truce in the plain beyond the hills. There were many thousands of these unemployed mercenaries, so many that their wages would be very costly. But, and the envoys made a great point of this, they were led by civilised men who would keep their engagements. Though the common soldiers came from every race in Italy the officers were all Etruscans; their general had been Lucumo, or chief priest, in the Etruscan city of Solonium until civil war had driven him into exile.
Without even consulting the assembly, but in the hearing of all so that he could not be accused of negotiating behind the backs of his followers, Romulus answered that he could not afford to hire mercenaries. There was very little silver in his city, and presumably such gallant soldiers would not fight merely for rations of beef and barley. The chief envoy replied, also speaking to the assembly as a whole.
‘That’s what they all say, lord King. We are so many that no city can afford to hire us. In one sense that is a compliment to our Lucumo. He is a successful general, and recruits flock to him. But we must eat, and we give value for our pay. You are at war with a powerful enemy, and you need us. If we are driven to it we shall fight you for a share of your ploughland; but the Sabines drove us out of their land and we don’t want to help them. Here is another plan, if you will agree to it. Why not let us join you, as Roman citizens? Give us land, and huts within your palisade. Then we shall fight in your army, and live as loyal citizens of Rome until we die.’
There were murmurs of disapproval from his hearers. Rome might have begun as a nest of brigands, but that did not mean that absolutely anyone was welcome. These men would not boast that their leaders were civilised Etruscans unless a good many of the rank and file were savage Ligurians or runaway slaves. Such mercenaries might be good comrades on the battlefield, but no prudent man wanted to have them living next door to his wife and children.
Then, before the assembly could proceed to a formal decision, a mounted messenger came galloping along the river-bank. He brought urgent news from the scouts on the border. At last the Sabines were on the move. In two or three days their army would be before Rome, and their numbers were much greater than had been expected. King Romulus spoke to his followers.
He pointed out that a decisive battle would be fought within a few days. That made all the difference. If the Sabines won, it would be the end of Rome, and there would be no need for further planning. If the Romans won they could expand their boundaries, and so make room for the new arrivals. Besides, it was obvious that Mars had sent them as timely reinforcements; the god would be angry if they rejected his aid.
‘Father Mars again, and King Romulus as his mouthpiece.’ Marcus muttered in disgust. ‘Why can’t he persuade us that what he wants is right, instead of threatening us with the anger of heaven?’
All the same, when the time came he voted for admittance of the followers of the Lucumo, the Luceres as they called themselves. King Romulus could always ge
t what he wanted from the assembly.
In the evening Marcus poured out his troubles to Sabina, but she saw only that here might be more suitors for the unfortunate Tarpeia. Marcus had forgotten that point, but he was inclined to agree.
‘After all,’ he said cheerfully, ‘though most mercenaries are low ruffians there is usually among them a sprinkling of young noblemen with too many elder brothers at home. The Lucumo himself must be well born, by Etruscan standards; and he may have brought friends with him.’
‘Let’s hope something comes of it. I’m sorry for the girl. But your King Romulus seems to be frightened of this war against my kin, though he started it with his eyes open. I’m a little bit frightened myself. If the city is sacked someone may hurt my son. Couldn’t we slip away to the coast, and hide until the fighting is over? If you haven’t borne arms against us, after the war is over and Rome has fallen I might get you a hut in my village. Then little Marcus will grow up among reputable decent Sabines, instead of in a crowd of brigands and mercenaries.’
‘I can’t run away before a battle, as you know very well. I am a spearman, free born of free parents. It’s a pity that I must fight against your kin, but there it is. I don’t want to be polluted with the blood of my father-in-law; but probably I won’t meet him. Since I have no corselet they won’t put me in the front ranks, and it will be a great battle, with crowds of people on both sides.’
‘Let’s not talk about it. Whoever wins, my friends will be beaten. Of course my husband can’t run away; I couldn’t bear to be married to a coward. But I wish they would make peace.’
‘They can’t. Your honour must be avenged, my darling. That’s why free men carry spears.’
4. Jupiter Stator
All the spearmen of Rome were thinking of the coming battle, and most of them with apprehension. No one could be angry with the Sabines, who so clearly had right on their side; and even if right and wrong did not come into it, no one could expect the single city of Rome to destroy the great army of the Sabine confederation. It was reported that nearly thirty thousand fierce hillmen were on the march. Romulus tried every desperate expedient to fill the ranks of the defenders.
The situation was saved when it was discovered that the band of the Luceres was very much more numerous than had been supposed. It became apparent that half of them had been lurking in the neighbourhood until they knew how their leader’s proposal would be received; but now that they were to be citizens of a strong city they eagerly rejoined their comrades. When the whole army of Rome paraded in the marsh below the Capitol, Romulus found with surprise and relief that he led twenty thousand foot and nearly a thousand horse. But a full half of the spearmen were mercenaries or strangers from the colonised towns, and there was an obvious danger that they might take over the city and expel the original settlers. Aemilius comforted his clansmen, when they spoke of this peril, by answering that the Luceres were a gang of very mixed origin, Etruscans, Latins, Samnites, and stray savages from the far north and the far south. They were not a community, and would never combine except for the most immediate robbery.
The marsh below the hills had dried out in the summer heat, leaving only one patch of morass which might be dangerous to a stranger. Every morning the whole levy of Rome mustered on the flat ground, prepared for battle against the invaders; and every evening they were dismissed, to sleep safely behind their stout palisade. The Sabines were slow in coming. Perhaps they hoped that delay might dissolve the motley forces of the new city.
Then one evening the Sabines were sighted, marching in a solid column down the left bank of the river. It was too late in the day for a battle, and the Romans retired behind their palisade. The Sabines bivouacked nearby, and all knew that the great struggle would come on the morrow.
But at midnight trumpets blew the alarm. Marcus got up reluctantly, with a last look at his sleeping son. Sabina handed him a clup of warm porridge from the pot simmering by the fire; but he did not ask her to fasten his baldric. Probably he would be fighting her kin before he took it off, and she might be tempted to lay a spell on him as she passed it over his shoulder.
Inside the palisade there was hardly room for the levy to form, and they had to open a gate before the horsemen could muster on the slope beyond the ditch. No one knew why they had been called from their beds, for there was no sign of a Sabine attack. They began to grumble at the unnecessary false alarm. Then, across the valley, they saw torches flaring on the Capitol.
Now torches in plenty blazed on the Palatine also. King Romulus was easy to pick out as he stormed through the ranks, with a groom leading his warhorse behind him. The King was in a furious rage, swearing and bellowing at the top of his voice. He kept on demanding whether anyone had news from the Capitol. Apparently nobody had, and that made him angrier than ever. But something important must be happening over there.
The cavalry went forward to scout in the plain below, while the foot rested in their ranks and hoped that they would not march off without breakfast. As someone whispered to Marcus, lounging in the third rank of the line of battle, this was beginning just like all the campaigns Grandfather used to grumble about.
Then a cavalry patrol came in with a fully armed spearman riding double behind the leader. At that moment King Romulus happened to be near Marcus, and he could hear all that was said.
‘The Sabines are in the Capitol, my lord,’ called the leader of the cavalry. ‘Most of our fellows were killed, and the rest skipped out over the palisade at the back. We found them wandering on the hillside, most of them in their tunics. But this one at least was awake when the Sabines broke in. He’s fully armed. So he must have seen it happen. He can tell you about it.’
‘That’s Tarpeius, commander of the fortress. Put him down gently. You should have saluted and asked him for orders,’ answered the King, who never forgot military etiquette. ‘Well, Tarpeius,’ he continued, ‘the Sabines got over your palisade. How did that come about?’
‘My lord, we were betrayed,’ answered the tired old man. He was not really old, but everyone else in Rome was young; he was not really tired, but everyone else was fresh from sleep. It made him look useless and miserable.
‘We were betrayed,’ he repeated. ‘Someone opened the gate secretly. My men never had a chance. I saw the traitor, my lord, and that makes it harder to bear. My own daughter opened the gate of our fortress to the enemy.’
‘Did she now? That’s most peculiar. I have heard of you as a stern father, whose daughter obeys him in everything. It’s odd, too, that you should be fully armed when most of your men were sleeping. Let me see. There are rings on your fingers, and that’s a big silver brooch. A wallet at your girdle, too. It’s as though you had expected to leave home suddenly, and wanted to bring your valuables. Most curious. Where is your daughter now?’ The King’s drawling voice changed to a sudden bark.
‘I saw her, my lord,’ called one of the troopers. ‘At least, I saw a girl, and it must have been Tarpeia. The main gate stood open, with torches blazing beside it. The Sabines were pelting a girl who had fallen on the threshold. It was as though they were stoning her, if you know what I mean; but what they threw at her were not stones but their shields. I saw her go down. She must be dead by now.’
‘But her father is alive, and unhurt, and with all his possessions by him,’ said the King in a musing voice. ‘Terpeia lost her life. I lost my fortress. But you, Tarpeius, have lost nothing. It seems to me about time that you lost your head. Here, you and you; make this man kneel, and cut his head off. That’s what happens to Romans who betray their city. As soon as we’ve finished with this ugly business we must assault the Capitol, before the new garrison have learned their way about it.’
Tarpeius was a proud man, and in the grip of celeres he had no hope of escape. Of his own motion he fell on his knees and stretched out his neck, so that at least his kin could claim that he had faced death without constraint and without flinching. A celer hacked off the head in three hearty swipes; thoug
h the first blow must have been fatal, for the victim made no sound. As the severed head bounced on the ground the King seized it, whirled it in the air to get rid of the blood, and then reached over to stick it on a stake of the palisade. ‘Spearmen, follow me,’ he bellowed. ‘Unless by sunrise we have won back the Capitol we shan’t have a city to live in.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear, Mars be my protection, and Jupiter, and the Mother, and whatever power rules in this patch of ground,’ Marcus whimpered in great distress. ‘May all the gods avert the omen. I’ll sacrifice a pig if I get out of this alive. Did you see?’ he added, turning to the man on his right. ‘A splash of blood from that head fell right on my tunic. Can you conceive a worse omen, just before a great battle? What makes it worse is that I know Tarpeius was unjustly condemned. He watched fully armed every night, because he took his responsibility so earnestly. His daughter was mad for a husband, any husband; and not especially obedient to her father. She must have betrayed the place for love of some young Sabine. I’m going into battle under a load of bad luck! Someone ought to tell the King about it. At least we should wait to give Tarpeius proper burial before we begin.’
‘Be quiet, my little hero, or the celeres will shut your mouth for you,’ answered his neighbour. ‘Before an hour has passed this whole army will be splashed with innocent blood. Tarpeius isn’t the only virtuous man who will meet death today. I’ve seen warriors killed in all sorts of ways. I once saw a strong man killed by a woman with a stone. But I’ve never seen anyone killed by a bad omen.’
Founding Fathers Page 6
