‘I don’t for one,’ shouted King Tatius, without even bothering to rise from his stool. ‘The men who lifted those beasts are cousins of mine, and I won’t see their hard-earned plunder taken from them.’
‘But we can’t fight Lavinlum, I tell you. My followers won’t make war on the holy place.’ Romulus answered at the top of his voice. ‘We must make peace on the best terms we can, and for that we must at least return the plunder.’
‘We Tatians keep our plunder, or we go home to our own country. That’s final, and I won’t budge from it. Why are we in Rome, anyway? I thought we came here to live by plundering our neighbours.’
By this time Latins and Sabines were cheering and counter-cheering, until the Senate was as noisy and factious as any meeting of the full assembly. King Romulus saw he was beaten.
‘Fathers,’ he began again, ‘in the hearing of the common spearmen we must speak with one voice. I think we ought to give the envoys their stolen property; but if I can’t persuade you of that let us at least agree on as much as we can. I want to remain at peace with Lavinium. But I can’t do anything to punish the raid, because as ruler of the city I know nothing officially about it. Is that what I am to tell these envoys? Mind you, we shall probably have to listen with patience to a very rude reply. But at least we shall remain at peace with our Latin kinsmen.’
The compromise did not satisfy either Latins or Sabines; but it was evidently the greatest common measure of agreement, and not one of the Senators spoke against it.
When the compromise came before the assembly, on the other hand, it was well received. The Sabine warriors who had profited from the raid might keep their plunder, but there would be no war. That pleased everyone. After King Romulus had laid the decision of the Senate before the meetings no one offered to speak; it was carried unanimously.
In the morning the assembly was summoned again. These frequent meetings kept busy farmers from their fields; but embassies were rare, exciting events, and no one grudged the time. The spearmen came unarmed, with their long cloaks over their shoulders in the characteristic Roman fashion. They made a fine show as they stood in an orderly crowd, waiting to hear the Kings deliver the answer of Rome to Lavinium, and the reply of the envoys.
That reply was short, and insulting. The chief envoy spoke without preparation, his eyes blazing with rage.
‘We shall not wage war for a few head of cattle,’ he began contemptuously. ‘I suppose the wretched loafers of this new city often go hungry, since they are too lazy and ignorant to till the ground. If you had begged for food because you were starving we would have given you alms. Keep the cattle, and be grateful for our kindness. In future our flocks will be guarded, as a precaution against further petty thieving: but whenever you ask we shall give you a few dry old cows. Furthermore, you have begged for peace, I suppose because you fear our warriors. We grant you that peace, since you are not worthy to be our foes. Such is our forbearance that we shall even receive your embassy at the festival. But I ask King Romulus to see to it that he is accompanied only by decent attendants, if there are enough respectable men in his new city to furnish him an escort. I have no more to say.’
In silence the embassy left the meeting.
As Publius climbed the hill to his hut anger raged in his breast. He had left his own village and moved into this crowded noisy, fatiguing collection of huts because the head of the family had ordered him to move. This was what he got for his outstanding obedience: to be insulted before a crowd of foreigners by a pompous Latin city-dweller. As he panted upwards he thought for a moment of leaving his clan, and setting up for himself on some isolated hill in the greenwood. But to leave the protection of his kin would be to live like a hunted animal; his family would be exposed to constant danger. He had made his bed and he must lie on it.
When he reached his hut he heard voices chattering excitedly. He remembered with a frown that Claudia, to celebrate her birthday, had invited that Latin who farmed just beyond their boundary to have dinner with them. He was not in the mood for company, but it was too late to cancel the feast. Oh well, it might be worse. Sabina was a decent young matron, even though she acted as though she were ashamed of the clan into which she had been born; Marcus Aemilius was a friendly little man, with as much breeding as you could expect from a Latin. As he entered he stretched his face into a smile of welcome.
‘Peace, it’s wonderful,’ Claudia greeted her husband, with a giggle. ‘I hear the envoys gave you some rude words to swallow; but now we can grow our barley without everyone being called away for picket-duty or patrolling. When we came here I knew we were coming to a different life, but I never thought to see the day when my man would listen quietly to insults from a Latin. I suppose that’s one of the new customs of city life.’
‘Yes, everything you say is true,’ answered Publius between his teeth, ‘but do you mind talking about something else for the time being? Here we live under new, un-Sabine conditions, as you have just pointed out. For example, I am not supposed to beat you when you tease me. There are grave disadvantages in living in a city, but we must take the rough with the smooth.’
‘Peace really is a good thing, you know,’ Marcus put in with a humble smile; he was awed by these warlike Sabines, and a little shy when he spoke to such an eminent Senator. ‘At the beginning I thought, we all thought, that we would live here by raiding our neighbours. That was twelve years ago, though it seems like yesterday. Now I have got into the habit of growing my own grain, and my ploughland is in splendid condition. I don’t want to see the weeds growing in it all summer, while I sit in a watchtower with a helmet on my head.’
‘Then there is nothing to complain of,’ answered Publius sharply. ‘You Latins want peace, the whole lot of you. You’ve got it. A few decent Sabines must endure insults which no foreigner would dare to utter among the hills where I was bred; but that doesn’t matter. The Kings say we must endure it, and we can’t argue with Kings. There’s only one thing I don’t understand. Why are you Latins so horrified at the idea of making war on Lavinium? I’ve heard it called a holy city, but that doesn‘t make sense. I can’t imagine a city whose inhabitants are all servants of the gods. Who would do their work for them? Anyway, those envoys seemed to be ordinary spearmen like you and me.’
‘Lavinium is not a holy city,’ Marcus answered quickly. ‘As you say, that would be a very odd kind of place. There is a very holy shrine there, but strictly speaking the shrine has nothing to do with the city; it’s much older, for one thing. The shrine has been there from the beginning, and later a city was founded on the same hill. All the same, it would be difficult to make war on the city without risking damage to the shrine. That’s why every Latin is glad to see peace confirmed.’
‘Is the shrine sacred to all Latins?’ asked Publius, not very interested in the answer. Religion was to him a family affair, and if everyone else in the world went off to worship some holy rock he would still stick to the ancestors of clan Tatia. ‘I thought you fetched your gods with you to Rome, as we did. What does Romulus keep in his storehouse, if his gods live in Lavinium?’
‘We brought our own gods, of course. We didn’t bring all the gods there are. At Lavinium, or rather on the hill above the city, is a rocky cleft in which a god answers questions. Once every twelve years the rulers of all the Latin cities meet there to study the omens. It’s a great festival. After the sacrifice they settle disputes and arrange the marriages of their daughters. It’s a very splendid meeting, and until you have taken your place there you are not truly a King of the Latins.’
‘Ah, I understand. King Romulus must be there, or there will be a slight on his honour. No wonder he wants to keep on good terms with the guardians of the shrine. By the way, you say the meeting is held every twelve years. Did your King attend last time?’
‘The next meeting is a year ahead. That means that the last one was eleven years ago. That was the year after the foundation of the city, and at that time we were a poor and unimporta
nt little place. King Romulus did not go to the meeting, for fear that when he got there the other rulers would not recognise his kingship. So of course he must go next year, if he claims to be as good as the other Kings of the Latins.’
Sabina spoke for the first time. She squatted by the hearth stirring a complicated stew; she was delighted to get back to a kitchen where they understood the full rigours of Sabine cookery. ‘King Romulus would have avoided a lot of misunderstanding if he had explained all this when the embassy arrived. If his dignity is in the hands of these Lavinians of course he must keep on good terms with them. It’s lucky for him and his followers that all the insults were directed at us Sabines.’
‘They were not directed either at Sabines or at Latins. There are no such people here. We are all Romans, and our city has been insulted. Nevertheless our Kings advised us to make peace, and the assembly ratified the proposal. There’s no more to be said. We must obey the Kings and the assembly.’ That was Marcus, putting the point of view of all right-thinking citizens to this group of savage hillmen.
‘Yes, there’s no more to be said.’ Publius agreed. ‘Any one of us is entitled to avenge an insult to clan Tatia; but if our King tells us to ignore it there’s no shame in following his advice.… That Latin festival must be a remarkable gathering. If I get the chance I should like to see it.’
Then dinner was ready, and afterwards the men sat sipping wine while the women cleared away. Marcus was really a very nice little man, for all the lowliness of his birth. The three Sabines were happy listening to his chatter, and felt that they might pick up useful hints on how to live in a city; he enjoyed spreading civilised views among these backward villagers. Each side felt itself superior to the other; until sunset they talked pleasantly and lazily.
Next morning Publius rose early, ready for a long day on his land to make up for yesterday’s idleness. But as he was leaving his hut trumpets sounded on the Palatine, to be answered by the trumpets of the Quirinal. At first they blew the alarm, but before Claudia had finished strapping on his greaves the call changed to an urgent summoning of the assembly. Unarmed, he hastened down the hill to the meeting-place.
King Romulus was already there, though King Tatius had not yet arrived. Behind the King stood his three hundred celeres, fully armed; at most meetings a few of them stood ready to count the votes, and the rest mingled unarmed with the ordinary citizens. Publius was not the only Sabine to take note of this sinister departure from precedent; he saw a group of young boys hurrying down from the Quirinal with their fathers’ shields and weapons. He wished he had thought to hide his own sword under his tunic; but now it was too late to fetch it, for King Tatius arrived at that moment. King Romulus on the tribunal looked round anxiously for an omen. Soon a sharp-eyed celer pointed out a pigeon on the right, the lucky side. With this evidence that the gods were still favourable the assembly might begin its session.
King Romulus stood silent and erect until all eyes were fixed on him. Then, still without speaking, he made a sweeping gesture of grief, both arms outspread; and stooped to pick up grains of dust which he sprinkled on his head. When his hearers were on tiptoe with expectation at last he spoke.
‘Spearmen,’ he shouted, ‘last night the envoys from Lavinium pitched their tents a few miles from the city. This morning they were found with their throats cut. They were ambassadors, dismissed from the city in peace. There is no more to be said. I know, and you know, who killed them. My celeres will now arrest the guilty.’
He waved to the armed men behind him, who began to march purposefully into the unarmed crowd.
King Tatius pushed him aside, calling for attention.
‘Cousins,’ he called. ‘I’m talking to you, not to the foreign spearmen who happen to be here also; though they will be wise to heed my advice. I don’t know who was responsible for the murder of these ambassadors, and King Romulus doesn’t know either. They may not have been murdered at all. Perhaps the gods struck them down, as punishment for their insults to brave Sabine warriors. That’s just as likely as anything else, and King Romulus can’t contradict me; unless indeed he was there when they died, and if he was that will take a bit of explaining. Because of this handful of unexpected sudden deaths, it seems that King Romulus has ordered his celeres to arrest my kinsmen. That is a rash and improvident step. There are three hundred of these celeres, while my kin number about seven thousand spears. So whatever the merits of the case the King enforces his will in a most clumsy fashion. The rest of the Latins may help the celeres, or they may not. If they do, well, some years ago we had quite a good battle on this very patch of ground. The end was a draw, as near as no matter, and I for one am willing to fight it all over again. I’m going now to fetch my sword and shield. I propose that the meeting adjourn until I get back. Now, King Romulus, will your men make these arrests?’
Romulus stamped with rage. Then he pulled himself together, standing erect, grave and still.
‘Thirteen years ago I founded this city,’ he said in a quiet, carrying voice. ‘The omens that were then granted to us made me think that my city will one day rule the world. I am the son of Mars, those omens were granted to us. You do believe me, spearmen, don’t you? You must understand, it’s so terribly important. Now for those thirteen years the city has grown and prospered until we are nearly ready to begin the conquest of Etruria which will make us great. We are so nearly there – if only you will have patience it will be so easy. Yet here you stand, threatening to smash the most important city in Italy just because you stick by your kinsmen even when you know in your hearts that they are utterly in the wrong. Very well, you blood-stained Sabines, have it your own way. To me Rome is the most important thing in the world, more important than law and right dealing and the sanctity of envoys. You murdered those men – everyone knows it, I know it. But rather than destroy Mars’s own city I shall permit your crime to go unpunished. You are shameless, and I must be shameless also. We will offer no satisfaction to Lavinium. No one will be punished for this atrocity. In return grant me this much. If the wronged citizens of Lavinium are willing to live in peace with us, do them no further harm. The wolf was my foster-mother,’ but I have seen my spearmen behave more savagely than wolves. Don’t become wolves in all your dealings. Don’t be wolves to every civilised Latin who worships the gods of the Latins, the gods who have promised us unimaginable prosperity.’
Overcome with grief and shame, he sank down on the tribunal, his head buried in his hands. Grinning, King Tatius came forward.
‘Now, you celeres, you heard what your master said. Why not go home and put away your weapons, instead of starting a war against twenty times your numbers? As for the rest of us, and my cousins in particular – the best thing we can do is to let bygones be bygones. Those men are dead, aren’t they? Killing other men won’t bring them to life. We shan’t send a message of any kind to Lavinium. They sent one to us, and it turned out most unluckily. If they make war on us we can deal with them, if they are willing to keep the peace we shan’t do them any further harm. That seems to me fair and straightforward. There’s one other thing I want my cousins to remember. You know very well that you are completely in the wrong. I’ve saved you from the punishment you deserve. That’s what the tie of kinship means, saving your kin from what they deserve; you would save any stranger if he were to be punished unjustly. So remember this: I’ve done my duty, fulfilled all my obligations. Next time you do wrong you take the consequences – that is, if you get found out. You silly fools, why couldn’t you wait until they were a bit farther from Rome before you cut their throats?’
He turned on his heel and left the tribunal. The celeres, or most of them, had already vanished. The assembly dispersed.
Publius slouched away, his hands clasped behind his back. He was almost ashamed to be a Sabine. But he was proud to be the kinsman of King Tatius, a gallant warrior who stood by his cousins through thick and thin. It was comforting to know that such a faithful leader would guard you when you wer
e in danger.
7. Murder Breeds Murder
All the Sabines on the Quirinal were unhappy and ashamed. Even those who had taken no part in the murder understood that their support had enabled the murderers to escape punishment, which meant that every Sabine shared in the guilt. But autumn was on the way, and there was no time for idle repining.
Rome had fallen into the unresting rhythm of an agricultural community. After harvest came the ploughing; then the seed must be sown, the most important event of the farming year. But before the sowing the fields must be prepared to receive the purifying influence of heaven. In that task everyone helped, warriors, soothsayers, craftsmen, even slaves if they had something to contribute from the magic of their own countries; but it was especially the responsibility of the women.
The Sabines realised the full enormity of their guilt when they discovered that Latin women from the Palatine would not join them in the sacred task. It was all the more bitter in that many of these Latin women were Sabine by origin, wives stolen at that notorious mass-marriage. But now, mothers of Latin sons, when it came to choosing sides they sided with their husbands.
The women of Rome were always meeting one another, at the springs from which they drew water, at the washing-place on the river-bank, on the bleaching grounds where cloth was spread on the grass. If King Romulus had thought that by forbidding Roman wives to work in the fields he would keep them separate in their huts that only proved that no man understands the life of a wife and mother. Claudia saw Sabina nearly every day, and at first could not understand why this unfortunate and ill-treated Sabine girl always had some urgent engagement which made it impossible for her to join in the women’s rites below the Quirinal. At length Sabina lost patience, and explained in blunt words.
‘It’s no good, my dear. As you say, I am a fertile mother, just the kind of women who can show the barley how to increase in the ground. But this year I can’t help you at all. Your man did not murder an envoy, but he helped the murderers to escape justice. That would be in my mind while I danced among the furrows, and the seed-corn would know my thoughts. The barley would learn from me that the slayers of envoys, and their supporters, deserve to go hungry. Nothing at all would come up where I trod in your fields.’
Founding Fathers Page 12
