‘What about the ancestors?’ called a voice from the Sabine ranks. ‘The guardians of our clan may be served only by true clansmen. We don’t want Latins sharing in our sacrifices.’
King Romulus smiled candidly. ‘I had thought of that already. I have devised a plan, if King Tatius approves. We shall divide our citizens into three tribes. My followers are the Romulans, you will be the Tatians, and the rest who are neither Latins nor Sabines, will be called Luceres after the Lucumo who is their most eminent leader. In these tribes you will manage your religious affairs. But the tribes will be concerned only with religion. When you gather here in the assembly, still more when you face the foe in arms, you must be Romans and nothing but Romans.’
There was a murmur of approval. The service of the gods is a private thing, best managed by the kindred without interference from strangers. But in other matters, especially since they were not to be compelled to live cheek by jowl with foreign Latins, the Sabines would feel all the stronger for their membership of this double city.
Then the two leaders dismounted and walked apart to discuss practical affairs in private, while soothsayers said and did some very odd things to bring luck to the new union. Presently King Tatius sent messengers to summon a hundred men from among his followers, while the rest were dismissed to go with their families and baggage to the top of the Quirinal, where they might start building the palisade.
Publius saw that he must leave the choice of the site of his new home to Claudia, who would have chosen it anyway even if he had been beside her; for he was one of the hundred spearmen summoned to the presence of the King.
Tatius was fiustered, which made him also a little angry. He was older than Romulus, and a more experienced warrior; but as chief of a Sabine clan practically his only duty was to lead his followers in battle, and he had no experience of ruling a community in peacetime. For the last half-hour he had been breath lessly trying to understand the novelties proposed by his younger colleague.
‘Now, cousins,’ he barked stiffly at the hundred clansmen who had come at his call, ‘this morning you were just spearmen, like all your other cousins and mine. From this moment you are elders and fathers. It’s very sudden. Perhaps not all of you are the men I would have named if I had been given more time to pick and choose. But I know you will do your best. You see, King Romulus has a council of a hundred elders, who advise him how to rule his city. He suggested to me that the council should be doubled, so that we shall be leaders of a joint council of two hundred. He then asked me to have my advisers ready for the first meeting this afternoon. I didn’t care to explain to him that in our clan there is only the chief and a great many equal spearmen. So I picked the hundred of you, and you must back me up. I don’t think there is any more I need tell you. Of course you won’t offer me advice unless I ask for it, and then I shall let you know what kind of advice I want to hear. No impudence or insubordination. Just because the Latins want us to form a council that’s no excuse for weakening the authority of the head of the family. But you can pass on my orders to the rest of our cousins, and if anyone questions your right to command you can tell them that I, Tatius, chose you as elders. That’s all, unless I have to remind you that when we join these Romans in their council you vote together, and vote as I tell you. Now go and build your huts, and sharp about it. Oh, one other thing. Has anyone a spare hacksaw he can lend me? My fool of a bailiff seems to have left mine behind.’
No one had a spare hacksaw; they were costly imports, made only by foreign smiths beyond the eastern sea. Someone offered the loan of a chisel, and that would do nearly as well. Tatius, as head of the family, could command absolute obedience from his cousins; but they were sprung from the same ancestors, and it would not have occurred to any clansman that he ought to work for his ruler like a servant. Tatius must build his own hut, with the help of his slaves only; or sleep in the open.
The Quirinal was another steep-sided hill with a flat summit, like the Palatine; but it was larger, a long spur linked to the plateau on the north. There was plenty of room, even for a community of Sabines who did not care to live crowded together like Latins. Publius found Claudia and the ploughman trying to hammer in a cornerpost, while the slave-woman looked after the children. He approved the site they had chosen for the hut, and told them that he had been promoted to be some kind of Latin chieftain; then he left them to their dull and boring work while he went over to help with the construction of the palisade. That was a task for warriors, in which the help of women and slaves would be improper.
Women and children must have weather-proof huts, and in a few days the Sabines were soundly covered. The spearmen were more interested in the allocation of new ploughlands; unless their fields were more fertile, and larger, than those they had left in their native woodlands the move must be pronounced a mistake. On the whole they were satisfied with what had been provided for them.
Publius was more than satisfied. His allotment was two full ploughlands of cleared ground, and a section of forest which he might clear whenever he needed to grow more barley. It was more than twice as much as he had posseessed at home, and he thanked King Tatius most gratefully.
‘You should thank those fine greaves of yours,’ the King answered with a grin. ‘It’s the standard allotment for a Father and councillor, as these Latins call you. I don’t think King Romulus understands that my following is a single clan; their Latin clans are much smaller. He told me he had a council of a hundred heads of families, and invited me to add a hundred of my own advisers. There was no time to explain that all my warriors are equal, so I picked my hundred then and there. To make up the number I had to hunt around, and your fine greaves caught my eye. A man who wears such armour must be important, or so any Latin will suppose. I hope you enjoy your new dignity. Now don’t take offence. Of course you deserve it, at least as much as those Latin boys who follow Romulus. He’s a good leader, and we get on well together; but he has an absurd liking for pompous names. His advisers must be the Fathers, the Council of Elders; and not one of them is forty years old. At that I suppose they are the eldest Latins in Rome. Well, you elders hold office for life, and I suppose eventually time will mend it.’
‘As far as I can tell after these few meetings,’ said Publius, ‘the Council really discusses things, while the assembly only listens to speeches and then votes Yes or No. We are partners in the government, the common citizens can only obey.’
‘They could disobey, of course,’ answered the King. ‘But I don’t see why they should, unless we do something that really annoys them. We can always manage them, so long as we let them hear only one side of every question. But to manage the assembly the whole Senate must stick together. Don’t you begin to think up ideas of your own.’
‘Of course not, cousin. You are head of the family. Every Tatian will vote as you desire, in the Senate or in the assembly. That means that we Sabines will in fact govern Rome. Our vote is solid while those flighty Latins are often divided.’
‘That’s broadly true, but you mustn’t push it to extremes. We can’t control the third party, the Luceres. We haven’t any of that ragtag in the Senate, but they all vote in the assembly. They feel no loyalty to anyone, least of all to the Lucumo who led them here. It boils down to this: we are in control, but we must go very gently. Let the other fellow have his way if he feels strongly and you don’t. That’s a good maxim for the rulers of any city; but especially good for the rulers of a mixed community gathered from all the ends of the earth. Heed my advice, cousin, and think it over as you plough your land. I expect you want to be ploughing now, and I won’t detain you. Remember, back me up when it comes to voting in the Senate.‘
‘Good-bye, cousin. You can always count on my vote,’ answered Publius cheerfully. Romulus and Luceres addressed their kings as ‘my lord’; but a free Sabine spearman was the cousin of his ruler. The thought was comforting.
The soil of the Latin plain was not quite the same in texture as the hilly clearings whic
h had been the homeland of the Sabines. Properly managed, it was more fruitful; but the newcomers were glad to listen to advice from the earlier settlers. The land over the southern border of Publius’ holding had been allotted to a Latin named Marcus Aemilius, a friendly unpresuming little man who did not try to hide the fact that he was an Aemilian only by adoption; though he claimed that he had been born into one of the lesser Latin clans. He was very pleasant – correctly deferential to Publius Tatius the eminent. Sabine Senator, and condescendingly kind to the ploughman, himself a Latin who had disgraced his manhood when he accepted servitude instead of death in battle. Marcus walked through the fields with their new owner and his servant, and gave very practical advice on draining and weeding. Only at the end of the day did he mention shyly that his wife was one of the stolen Sabine women, perhaps even a relation of the distinguished Publius. ‘For when I married her by force she would not tell me her name. I had to call her something, so I called her Sabina. Now we are very good friends, and she has no secrets from me. But still I don’t know the name of her kindred, for she says that she likes the name I gave her on our wedding night and does not wish to change it. She will be Sabina until she dies. Perhaps your wife, noble Publius, will call on her and tell her the news of her old home.’
‘Certainly I will ask my Claudia to visit her. I can’t do more than ask, you will remember. Here in Rome we must obey Roman laws, and I may not control my wife’s visits. Even if I meet her among the huts I must make way for her.’ Publius smiled at the absurdity of this law, which none the less he obeyed as a loyal spearman should.
‘It isn’t exactly a law, it’s the King’s decree. King Romulus promulgated it as some expiation of the wrong we did in stealing our wives. It’s a good law, all the same, and we live quite comfortably under it. I suppose your presence here shows that the wrong is now forgiven, but we need not change a custom which works well.’
‘You Romans are so gentle with one another!’ said Publius, with a laugh that had an undertone of exasperation. ‘In my village the five householders were all cousins, bound by ties of blood. But if two cousins quarrel, as happens often enough, they may fight with their fists, or throw stones; though of course they may not strike with deadly weapons. Here if you give a fellow-citizen a black eye you will be hauled before the assembly. It’s hard to remember that a few years ago you started as a collection of brigands.’
‘I expect it’s always like that in a city,’ answered Marcus. ‘In fact a city could not endure under any other way of life. Latins have been living in cities for centuries, and we know how it must be done.’
‘Well, what do you get out of living in this city? We work just as hard as any villager, and we never go raiding as I thought we would. We have to waste time at these talkative assemblies, and then when we are at home we can’t do as we like for fear of annoying the neighbours.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Marcus slowly. ‘I have no other home, and I rather like living here. The children are safe from slave-raiders, and they grow up with plenty of friends. I wouldn’t go back to my village even if my father sent for me. You get used to the crowd, and it’s pleasant always having someone to talk to. Besides, here in this city we share in all the wonderful luck that marked its foundation.’
‘Oh yes, that luck. I suppose there’s something in it. But we don’t seem to share it much. Generally we go off to placate the gods separately, in our clans and tribes.’
‘There are ceremonies for the city as a whole. Most of them come at the opening of the year, and you won’t see them until winter is ending. But we try to share the luck among all the citizens.’
‘I’ve heard of your chariot-race. Every Sabine has heard of it. I wonder you have the nerve to repeat it every autumn as you do. As for the other ceremonies, I shall wait until I see them. If they seem to me suitable to the dignity of a Sabine spearman I shall take part, if not I shall leave them alone.’
‘They are good ceremonies. I am sure that when the time comes you will be glad to join in.’
As autumn merged into winter Publius found that living in a crowd was not nearly so irksome as he had expected. His hut was private enough, except that his neighbours could hear all that went on inside. But no one entered without an invitation, and he soon discovered that it was not good manners to refer to anything overheard from outside. Even when he had occasion to flog his ploughman no one spoke of the loud groans which must have been heard on every side. In fact there was more privacy here in Rome than in his native village, for here there was always so much going on that the people next door had something else to interest them; in the village everyone discussed any activity out of the ordinary.
There was ample space on the Quirinal, and his hut had two rooms besides a lean-to for the slaves. These slaves disliked one another, for the woman was a Ligurian savage and the man a low-class Latin and their habits were widely different; but of course they must sleep together, since the woman was still young enough to breed. It was bad luck that she so hated her mate that so far no child had appeared. Slave-women often cheated their owners in this way; it was said that they used a secret spell, unknown to the free, which kept them sterile.
In the hut proper the first room contained the hearth, the corn-bin, and the racks for weapons and armour; this was the general living-room, where visitors were received. The inner room, with its great marriage-bed, was the private domain of Claudia and the children; even her husband asked permission before entering it, and no other man was admitted. But, in accordance with the free customs of Rome, she might entertain ladies there without first asking her husband.
Claudia had struck up a close friendship with the wife of Marcus, whose only name was still Sabina. ‘She’s a nice little thing, and a good mother, two children at her skirt, and a third on the way, for all that she looks such a baby herself,’ Claudia told her husband. ‘Of course I thought to begin with that she must have something to hide. It seems odd not to tell your true name to fellow-countrymen, even if you want to keep it secret from Latins. But now I am sure she is a genuine Sabine, and free born. Her manner shows it. She sticks to it that she won’t have her name known because her father and uncles have never formally made peace with Rome, and she doesn’t want them to continue the blood-feud. That seems reasonable. If her kin never hear of her they will forget the vengeance due. I shall keep on calling her Sabina, even though the name hardly makes sense with so many Sabines in Rome.’
‘I suppose you are right,’ said Publius doubtfully. ‘A wife joins the clan of her husband and breaks with her father’s kin. The odd part of it is that she should consider Marcus her lawful husband, when you recall how shamefully he stole her.’
‘I doubt whether he had to run very fast to catch her, at that chariot-race which they keep on telling us we must forget. Perhaps she didn’t like any of the boys in her own village. Anyway, she is quite absurdly devoted to her foreign husband.’
‘What’s this? I don’t see anything absurd in wifely devotion. When we lived at home we took it for granted. And if they keep on telling you to forget the treachery of the Consualia, you ought not to need telling that we mustn’t call our Latin fellow-citizens foreigners.’
‘You’re just as bad,’ Claudia answered cheerfully, ‘calling our old village home. We have a new home now, where our children will live after us.’
‘If the place lasts. There isn’t much sense in founding a city here, right on the border of the Etruscans, unless we are going to sack Etruscan cities. But the Kings won’t let us go raiding. We shall have to rely on that famous luck which seems to be the private possession of King Romulus. Perhaps that will see us through. Certainly the Latins here take enough trouble to propitiate the gods with their queer ceremonies.’
There were a number of these ceremonies, and presently one of them nearly led to a quarrel between the two palisaded settlements which were trying so hard to become one city. The worst of the winter was over, the days were lengthening and the ground dryi
ng. Every farmer could see that it was time for the barley to show above ground.
Publius felt excited and unsettled. His ploughlands were in good shape, clean and adequately drained; but only when the barley began to sprout would he know for certain that this earth had accepted him. It was not the first time he had felt this tension; three times since his childhood his native community had shifted to fresh ploughlands among the beech-woods, and on each occasion there had been this period of anxious waiting, until the old men announced that the rites of growth had been satisfactorily performed. He was waiting for King Romulus to make the announcement. It was due. For the last ten days wornen and girls had been weaving baskets of plaited osiers and putting into them things which no man might see.
Claudia must know when the time of purification would be officially proclaimed. Her face bore a secretive smile; she was always washing herself all over, putting on clean clothes, and going off to meet the other women by the spring. Once she had taken the slave-woman with her; though that disobliging wench still showed no sign of fruitfulness, and would surely set a bad example to any field in which she made magic. Publius would not ask indiscreet questions of his wife, and if he did she would not answer them. There is a life of men and a life of women, and they should be kept separate.
The morning came when he knew that something must happen; for both Claudia and the slave-woman got up early, washed carefully, and dressed in their best clothes. They made no effort to leave the hut, but stood about in the doorway, apparently waiting for something.
Founding Fathers Page 9
