Founding Fathers

by Alfred Duggan

  ‘The city gives us safety,’ Claudia agreed, ‘and it doesn’t really interfere too much with our freedom. Roman wives have more privileges than my mother ever enjoyed, and I am used to neighbours watching me all the time.’

  ‘Don’t forget that in addition this city enjoys divine favour,’ said Marcus.

  ‘Oh, that,’ answered Publius with a shrug. ‘Lavinium must enjoy divine favour in plenty, with that shrine just outside the gate. It hasn’t saved the Lavinians from a certain amount of trouble lately.’

  ‘Something brought them great good luck today, anyway,’ said Marcus. ‘It would have been hard for those envoys to watch the execution of fellow-citizens at the hands of foreigners, even though it was deserved. Now they can take them back safely to their own city.’

  ‘I think the people decided rightly,’ Publius pronounced. ‘I myself voted for acquittal, even though the murdered man was my cousin and leader. Those unfortunate Lavinians cannot be blamed for avenging their own kin, but the blood-feud must stop somewhere unless we are always to be at war with all our neighbours.’

  ‘I seem to be the only Tatian left,’ said Claudia with a nervous smile which seemed to apologise for her daring. ‘If the blood-feud is an obligation, and I think it is, the Lavinians were right to murder our King, but you were wrong to let the murderers go free. If the blood-feud does not excuse murder, then they did wrong to kill within the sacred shrine. Whichever way you look at it, they should have been put to death.’

  ‘It’s your memory that is at fault, my dear, not your reasoning,’ said Publius indulgently. ‘You didn’t go back far enough. Our cousins did the first wrong, when they murdered the Lavinian envoys a year ago. Since we Tatians shed first blood we have the right to end the feud.’

  ‘You are all very civilised and highminded and modern.’ Claudia was growing angry and she spoke more sharply than was fitting in a dutiful wife. ‘You took no vengeance when the men who had killed your King were brought bound before the assembly. If strangers can kill your fellow-citizens and you do not avenge them, where is the famous security of this new city? Vengeance is the first duty of a warrior. That’s what I was taught, and if nowadays it isn’t true you must carry a sword wherever you go, for you will not be safe anywhere. Our King put his duty to his kin even before justice. That’s why he would not allow Romulus to punish the killers of the Lavinian envoys. Now he’s dead, and no one can be bothered to kill his murderers. It makes me ashamed to be a Sabine.’

  ‘It was the only sensible course, if we are to stay here,’ answered Publius, speaking gently because pride would not let him rebuke his wife before strangers. ‘King Romulus wants peace. He is the only King left in Rome, and if we had thwarted his wishes he would have found some way to get rid of us.’

  ‘Yes, there’s a difference between the two Kings, isn’t there?’ Claudia replied sweetly. ‘Tatius stuck by his kin, and it brought him untimely death. Romulus won’t avenge his colleague, because peace is so much less trouble than war. Poor Tatius lacked the natural advantages of Romulus. His father was a mortal man, not Mars; and he was an only son, so he couldn’t murder his brother.’

  ‘There is right on both sides,’ said Marcus, hoping to calm the quarrel. ‘I’m glad the assembly voted to send back the Lavinian murderers unharmed, for the murderers had only followed the commands of honour. It’s magnanimous, and will increase the glory of Rome. As to King Romulus, perhaps he should have done more to avenge his colleague; he left the decision to us, but we all knew how he wanted the verdict to go. He’s a queer man, perhaps more than a man. I was there when he killed Remus, though it all seems a very long time ago. There were faults on both sides, you know. Anyway, Romulus has prospered ever since. If he’s guilty of fratricide and still prosperous, that only shows that he enjoys exceptional divine favour.’

  ‘Perhaps, but let’s see how he ends. Sometimes the gods wait a very long time before punishing the wicked. But he is our King now, since we are all Romans; so I suppose I mustn’t ill-wish him.’ Claudia was still unconvinced, but willing to drop the argument.

  ‘Let’s drink the toast again,’ said Sabina, glad at the chance of peace. ‘To Rome everlasting, and to you and me and all of us, and to all the other Romans who will come after, until the world ends.’

  8. The Fugitive

  Even in this desperate crisis the service of the gods might not be neglected; when the city was in such need of divine assistance it was all the more important that they should be served with due devotion. But there were barely enough warriors to man the wall, after the heavy losses of that earlier defeat. The priests and diviners were all under arms, and only one young man, with an elderly cripple to help him, could be spared to offer the morning sacrifice.

  Perperna, aged seventeen, had never before conducted a sacrifice; but then he had never fought in a battle either, though he had been trained as both warrior and haruspex. The chief priest had decided that he could be spared for an hour, to kill a ram and look at its liver. A recruit would be no great loss to the outnumbered garrison, and his education ensured that he would read the omens rightly, while not even careful training could make certain that an untried spearman would be of much use in battle. It was an important trust. For an hour the luck of the city would lie in his hands. He must remember all he had been told, and not scamp the ritual.

  The holy place was in the oldest part of the city, the flat-topped rocky crag encircled on three sides by a sinuous river which had been the fortress of the original settlers. Now it was the only quiet part, for the attackers could not approach its water-lapped walls. A brisk dawn wind carried off the sound of the fighting, and the early sun left most of the lower town in shadow. To Perperna, looking out southward over the river, it seemed for a moment that all was as it had been, and that the city was still at peace.

  Carefully he removed his iron corselet; the gods do not care for innovation and it is bad manners to bring the new-fangled metal within their holy place. In addition he took off his helmet and greaves. They were of blameless bronze, which the gods know and like; but the haruspex must approach the altar barefoot, and greaves seemed to infringe that rule. He must also veil his head in a special cloth woven from pure linen, and he could not do that while he wore a helmet.

  Stripped to his tunic, he bent down and picked up his sword. He slipped the baldric over his left shoulder, and then hesitated. It was a very fine sword, and a free Etruscan should go armed while his city is under attack; but there was no doubt that it was made of iron. Keeping carefully just outside the sacred furrow he edged along to the spot nearest the altar, then laid down the sword with its hilt towards the holy ground. He would cross the furrow undefiled by iron, but in two strides he could once more be an armed free man.

  The ram stood by the altar quietly, as they stood always. As was customary, the attendant had fed it with grain soaked in wine until it was drunk and cheerful; for a ram which showed reluctance to be sacrificed would be about the worst omen it was possible to imagine. The old man, standing crooked on his injured leg,was not strong enough to lift it to the stone of sacrifice. Perperna must do that himself, with one easy motion of his smooth young shoulders.

  Now the ram lay on his back, with the attendant pulling hard at his hind legs. In this position it looked so like a bent old man that for a moment, standing with the bronze knife bare in his hand, Perperna felt that he was about to do murder. That was as it should be. He knew that the ram was a substitute for a man. The gods would be better pleased if a human being were sacrificed to them; but it would be murder to kill a fellow-citizen and much too expensive to kill a slave every day; so this ram must fill the gap. He stabbed downward into the windpipe, and then sawed at the veins.

  Now the beast was dead, its blood smoking on the stone altar to please the gods and persuade them to help Etruscans hard-pressed by the attack of northern savages. Perperna took a fresh grip of the bronze knife, and after a tussle laid open the victim’s belly. Before the next oper
ation he hesitated; to plunge his hand into those reeking entrails and grub about for the liver was still disgusting to him. But it was one of the most important duties of a haruspex, and in time he would grow accustomed to it. The chief priest, who was always clean and neat, could pull out a liver without getting a single spot of blood on his gown.

  From the lower town came a sudden outburst of shouting, the haphazard lowing of a single bronze trumpet, the rhythmic clashing of sword against shield with which the savages heartened themselves for the charge. Normally the savages were late risers, so that in the besieged town dawn was the quietest period of the day; just for this once they seemed to be trying a dawn attack on the walls. The noise was so loud and threatening that Perperna was tempted to snatch up his arms and run down to his station by the north gate. But he knew that what he did was more important than anything a single warrior could do on the wall. With a shudder of repugnance he forced his right hand into the slim mass of guts.

  He could feel the liver, just where he had been taught to look for it. Even though this was his first performance as chief haruspex he would not pull out some other organ by mistake, which would be a very unlucky thing to do. The liver came out, a horrid bloody brown lump in the palm of his hand. He held it aloft, so that Skyfather should see it first; then lowered his extended arm and waited for the attendant to take it from him.

  Without conscious thought he pronounced the ritual prayer, his eyes fixed on the sky as was proper. But he did not at once feel the attendant taking the liver from him. How tiresome. This was the very first time he had been trusted to perform the sacrifice by himself, and he had done his part just as it should be done. Now the rite would be marred because this veteran attendant, who had done it thousands of times before, was woolgathering when he should be ready.

  The attendant was staring at the low town. ‘The fighting is very noisy, my lord,’ he said nervously, ‘and there are roofs burning. Perhaps some of the savages are over our wall. We have given the life of this ram to the gods above, and that’s what matters. Shall we go straight down and join in the fight?’

  ‘Is this a religious rite or a chat about the progress of the siege?’ Perperna asked angrily. ‘You know as well as I do that within the sacred enclosure we must speak only the words of the ritual. But since you have broken that rule I may as well break it also. Of course we must complete the rite before we leave. Skyfather wants only the life of a ram, and that we have given him. But the city needs divine guidance, to tell us how to beat these savages. Hold that liver steady, while I inspect it and read its message.’

  The attendant took the liver in his cupped hands, making a clumsy little bob as he held it under the nose of the young man; by rights he should have presented it on bended knee, but his stiff leg excused him. Then he glanced down casually at the bloody fragments in his hands, just like all the other livers he had held out for inspection during long years of service. Perperna saw his face fall.

  Generally speaking, one sheep’s liver is very like another; skill and care are needed to spot the tiny wrinkles, warts, and other irregularities which tell of good fortune or ill. Perperna had studied the science for years, with a-clay model to guide him; but he was prepared to find, when he examined the sacrifice, that it would indicate nothing in particular. He would have to report that today the gods had no message for their devout worshippers. There would be no harm in that, for no news was reckoned as a favourable omen.

  But this liver was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was hard, shrivelled and at the same time rotten; thin threadlike worms writhed within it and already it stank. It was horrible, and frightening.

  ‘As bad as can be,’ muttered young Perperna. ‘After such an omen we ought to do nothing at all, except sit quietly with our heads covered until the bad luck has begun to wear off. And instead we are fighting a desperate battle! Come with me. We must get hold of the chief priest and see if he can’t stop the fighting before the anger of the gods destroys the whole city.’

  ‘Too late, young master. That liver was rotten all through, as a sign that our city is finished. Listen. The fighting sounds closer all the time. And look behind you! The savages are climbing into the citadel itself, and there’s no one here to throw them out!’

  The attendant pointed to the wall. Perperna looked quickly round, to see three leather helmets bearing the bull’s horns of the savages rising above the low curtain which, with the rocky river-bank, was the only defence of this high plateau. The precipice below was steep and exposed, though not quite unclimbable. A single sentry was here an adequate guard; but now, with the battle raging in the lower town, the sentry had slipped away to join his comrades.

  The lame attendant hobbled downhill, shouting and waving his arms to summon help, Perperna ran to his sword. There was no time to pick up shield and spear, if he was to reach the wall before the invaders were within.

  A hairy face gazed into his eyes, all long moustache and beard under the fantastic bull’s horns. The savage wore a stout leather corselet and carried a great oval shield. But just at that moment a swordsman covered only by a linen tunic might take him at a disadvantage; for his left arm with the shield on it was hooked over the top of he wall, and his right hand, encumbered by the sword, clutched a knob of rock outside the citadel. Perperna had never been in battle, but this seemed easy. He lodged his sword in one of the ridiculous bull’s horns which made the gaudy helmet useless for serious warfare; the leather cap flew off, and a heavy downward stroke sent the savage toppling to the river far below. Perperna peered over the edge, to watch the body spinning down.

  In the same glance he saw a dozen other savages clambering up the rocky face. A small party was evidently trying an escalade while the defenders were busy fighting in the lower town. Even a dozen invaders on the level platform of the citadel would mean irreparable disaster. But the lame attendant would send help as soon as he reached the warleader, and in the meantime one active man standing securely on the summit might be able to hold the wall against a weak and disjointed attack. Perperna ran swiftly to the right, where another savage was climbing in.

  He was just too late. This second attacker was not actually over the wall; but his feet were on firm ground, and while holding the coping with his left hand he still kept his shield in a useful position. His body was encased in hairy rawhide which would turn a swordcut. Perperna fenced with him cautiously, hampered by the lack of his own shield.

  It was novel to feel the jar of a strong blow strongly parried, and to know that the stroke had been aimed to kill him. It was so absurdly like a fencing-lesson that he had to remind himself that one mistake would be his last. Really these savages fenced very clumsily! That was a long sword, but the man used it as though he feared it would break if it met a parry. Fighting in deadly earnest was not nearly so difficult as one might expect; he could keep this up indefinitely, even if he could not kill his adversary.

  It was most unfair that other people should join in, just when he was doing very well in his first fight. As he stepped back to disengage he heard footsteps behind him, and out of the corner of his eye saw the glint of a sword raised to strike. He leapt aside to avoid the blow. A quick turn of the head showed three other savages closing in on him.

  This must be the end – of the city, of his friends and family, of himself. The savages had won the citadel, and it hardly mattered how the fighting went in the lower town. Even the bravest warrior might now think of saving his own life.

  Perperna ran swiftly to an angle of the wall. The savages were after him, but he was stripped to his linen tunic while they were burdened with shield and corselet. With the point of an enemy sword at his back he leapt the low wall exactly at the spot he had chosen. As he salled over with room to spare he heard a shout of triumph and derision from his pursuers. To all the savages on the citadel it must have seemed that this panic-stricken Etruscan had jumped down a sheer precipice, avoiding their swords only to be dashed to pieces in the rocky river-bed below. The
re would be no pursuit.

  He landed, as he had planned, with his heels digging into a narrow funnel of loose scree; the stones slid with him, but they slowed up his fall. He was not the only young man in the city who knew of this private way out; but since it was impossible to climb back up the shifting scree there had been no obligation to report a weakness in the defences. Once on the river-bed he dodged among the boulders, waded the shallow summer stream in the middle of the wide channel, and climbed out on the southern bank. Crouched behind a bush, he looked back to see the end of his city.

  That it was the end there could be no doubt The town was burning all over, and capering savages danced on the walls. Many of them carried armfuls of human heads, and none drove captives before him. These invaders sought only plunder and trophies, being too brutal to value slaves. No citizens would survive the disaster, unless there were a few other lucky fugitives like himself.

  The threat had been there for years, since before Perperna was born; but the end had come suddenly, so suddenly that still he could not adjust his mind to knowledge of it. The city had been an outpost, the only Etruscan settlement north of the river; all around were barbarous Ligurians who complained that Etruscan ploughs ruined their hunting-grounds. That had continued for three generations, and Ligurian enmity had never been dangerous. The natives were too poor to use decent weapons, and too barbarous to combine into proper armies; they might pounce on strayed citizens, but they feared to attack stone walls.

  Three years ago a new foe had come down from the unknown lands beyond the mountains. These men had iron swords and bronze armour, and they moved about in real armies that did nothing but fight; after a victory they took their plunder back over the mountains, so that nobody knew how they lived in their homeland. The few tame Ligurians who would talk to Etruscans said that this new race of warriors called themselves Celts, and that beyond the mountains they owned all the land as far as the edge of the world. The Ligurians, in abject terror, were fleeing from their hunting-grounds in the level river-plain and taking refuge in the jagged hills to the westward.