For though the two settlements were crowded and populous they could not be called cities, at least by an Etruscan. They were defended by stakes on top of earthen banks, not by proper stone walls; and the houses within were round huts, thatched with rushes. It looked as though some lesser race of villagers had tried to copy the great cities of the Rasenna as well as their limited technique and limited intelligence would permit. Perperna guessed that this must be one of the new Italian cities; in the good old days when he was himself a citizen he had heard of them. Here he might find a better welcome than in a real city inhabited by civilised men; at least the experiment would be worth trying.
The strangers had some tincture of civilisation. That short stretch of road by the ford was better made than anything he had seen in his own country. As he looked closer he saw that the ford itself was paved with great slabs of flat stone. The fields were neatly cultivated, and vines grew as well as barley. He might find a good home in these alien villages; but not if they made him a slave, or even a labourer working all day for the night’s food and shelter. He must inquire cautiously, and not let himself be captured before he had decided to enter of his own free will. He settled down to wait in hiding until he had a chance to talk with one of the natives alone.
These people were well organised. Towards sunset he could see them all coming in from the fields, while a guard of fully armed men marched out to watch over the cattle penned in the valley. Then a trumpet blew, and the gates of the palisades closed. Now he dared not approach, for a stranger prowling by night would be treated as an enemy. There was cold bacon in his pouch, but he dared not light a fire. Wrapped in his cloak, he settled down to wait for the day.
At dawn the trumpet sounded again, and the gates opened. Perperna was preparing to cross the river when he saw a party splashing through the ford towards him. It was a patrol of a dozen fully armed spearmen. He waited for them, since they were exactly the kind of people with whom he could safely make contact. They would not be afraid when he sprang out before them, but if they were hostile he ought to be able to run away from men who carried shields and full armour.
Better still, when the patrol reached his side of the river the men spread out to search the bushes. One man came quite close to him, where he crouched among the thorns. He could talk to a single man, as he had planned.
The approaching warrior was stocky and bearded, apparently in his middle thirties; his armour was plain but serviceable, with more leather in it than bronze. He did not look as though he enjoyed patrolling, but he did his duty carefully, without scamping it. Perperna stuck his head out of the bush and called quietly: ‘Can I speak to you? I come in peace.’
He spoke in Etruscan, because in moments of stress that was the language which came automatically to his mind. The other luckily understood it after a fashion, though he answered in Italian.
‘Peace it is then. What do you want?’
‘I am an Etruscan and a fugitive,’ said Perperna in Italian. ‘My city has been destroyed by savages, and I am looking for a new home. What is the name of your town, over the river? Do you allow strangers to join you?’
‘Our city is called Rome, because it was founded by King Romulus, son of the god Mars. You may not have heard of it, for it’s no older than you are, about eighteen years I suppose. Some strangers are welcome among us, and others are not. We need warriors, but we have thieves enough. Stand up and let me have a look at you. If you look all right to me I shall call my commander and you must tell him your story.’
Perperna stood, threw his sword at the other’s feet, and held out both hands to prove they were empty. ‘I’m harmless enough, as you can see. But I don’t fancy being captured by a patrol of foreigners of whom I know nothing. Don’t call your commander, or I shall run off faster than you can follow me. Can’t I talk to you alone, and find out more about this place before I put myself in your hands?’
‘Certainly, if that’s what you want. I’m not afraid of you. I’m not hunting for slaves either, in case you are afraid of me. We can’t keep discontented slaves in our place, so near the Etruscan boundary. Unless you have been robbing among our farms, on the other side of the river, we won’t do anything worse than chuck you out if we decide not to keep you.’
‘I have never in my life crossed this river, so I can’t have robbed Romans on the far side. You can see that I live as a robber, but that’s not really my trade. I am a fugitive, and if I went to an Etruscan city they would keep me a landless labourer all my life. I stole to stay alive; though sometimes I worked, and I’m willing to work again. I want to join a city, or a village, or a clan, anything where they will let me fight in the army and perhaps give me land of my own to plough.’
‘Then you have come to the right place. If we accept you, you will have your station in the ranks and a vote in the assembly and a ploughland of your own. But I can’t make you a Roman. Not even my commander can do that. First you will have to speak to King Romulus, and then if he recommends you the assembly of spearmen must accept you. But only the King matters. The assembly never goes against his wishes.’
‘Must I enter your palisade, and be your prisoner, before I know whether you are willing to accept me?’
‘You sound very cautious, for a bold, wicked, single-handed robber. Do you think we shall cook you for supper? Look here, I’ll take an oath if you like. My name is Marcus Aemilius, and I came here as one of the original founders of the city, eighteen years ago. I’ve lived here ever since, and I have a wife and children up on the hill. Now then, I don’t know anything about your complicated and powerful Etruscan gods, so I shall put my hand on this rock. I swear that if you speak to King Romulus no harm will come to you, and that if we don’t accept you as a citizen you will be free to leave. My oath is as firm as this boulder, and if I break it may all the rocks in the world fall on my head.’
‘That’s a good oath, and I trust it. My name will be Perperna when I am a proper spearman again, but since my city has been destroyed it would be unlucky to name it. Will you carry my sword as we cross the river? By the way, what are you doing on this side of it?’
‘Looking for traces of Etruscan raiders, as we do every morning. The river is a boundary, and we don’t want to be caught napping. Now it’s time to go back again. You keep close to me, and I’ll see you’re not bothered until King Romulus has decided your case.’
Perperna came willingly, carrying his sword since the other did not seem to want it. There was an aura of practical honest kindliness about this Marcus. He was not a gentleman and he was shamefully ignorant concerning the gods, but it was obvious that his word could be trusted.
They found the King just on the other side of the ford, in the valley between the two fortified hilltops. He had been performing some kind of sacred ceremony in a templum marked out near the river-bank, though Perperna thought privately that this son of Mars went about the service of his relatives in a very amateurish way. Surely while sacrificing he did not carry iron weapons, or keep his armed bodyguard within the sacred enclosure? Yet it seemed he had done so.
Romulus was a tall, imposing warrior in early middle age; his bushy beard and the fine carriage of his head gave him a presence. But he was running to fat, and when his paunch grew he would cease to look dignified. There were lines on his face as though he frowned often, though he greeted his subject with a cheerful smile. It seemed a lax kind of court. Anyone could come up without notice and consult the King on public or private affairs. There were no servile prostrations, no preliminary search for hidden weapons. Yet the armed and suspicious bodyguard of surly young men remained within hearing, their swords loose in their scabbards.
‘So another man wants a share in the celebrated luck of Rome,’ the King said affably, as soon as Marcus had explained his errand. ‘Well, we used to take anyone, anyone who chose to seek refuge in our Asylum over there. But since we prospered we have closed it, and now we pick and choose. However, we still have room for stout warriors; and a man who
can live as a solitary brigand, with no comrade to guard his back, must be worth his place in the battle line. We have other Etruscans here, a number of them, and some are well born by their own account. But Latin is the language of the city, so it’s just as well you can understand it. You seem to be the kind of man we want, and if you answer my questions satisfactorily I shall ask the assembly to accept you. All the same, these questions must be cleared up. To begin with, have you any reason to suppose that the gods are angry with you?’
‘My city was destroyed by savages from over the mountains,’ answered Perperna, ‘which makes it seem that the gods are displeased with me. On the other hand, I got away safely; which more or less cancels it out.’
‘That isn’t what I mean. Cities rise and fall. Except my Rome, of course, which is destined to endure for all eternity. Have you yourself done anything to anger the gods, incest, or sacrilege, or the murder of a kinsman?’
‘Never.’
‘You are very certain in your answer. Sometimes these crimes can be committed unaware, as dozens of stories tell us.’
‘Yes, my lord. It is possible to anger the gods by accident, though only when the gods are already hostile can the accident befall. I might have done some forbidden deed, not knowing that it was forbidden. But if heaven were hunting me for some crime I should immediately be aware of it. I am of pure Etruscan birth, true Rasenna on both sides of the family; and I have been trained as a sacrificing priest and haruspex. I am not accursed, for if I were I should hear in my mind the snuffling of the Old Women as they followed my trail.’
‘Don’t speak of the Old Women here, in this lucky place. But I understand that you know what you are talking about, and I accept your word that you do not bring bad luck into my city. There is still one other question. You are an Etruscan of pure race; but the Etruscans live just across the river. Will you fight honestly for your city, if we go to war against your own people?’
‘Certainly. If those Etruscans were my people I would not be here. They make fugitives into landless labourers, and the League never helped us when the savages were battering our wall.’
‘Very well. Now one last point. You are quite alone? No comrades, no kin, no wife or concubine, no children? I see. Then go up that path there to the Palatine and ask for the royal hut, the Regia. My servants will look after you until the assembly meets this evening. They will also lend you armour and a shield, so that you make a decent show at the meeting. Come down here in the evening and let the citizens see you, and I shall recommend that you be accepted.’
9. Religion and War
By the autumn Perperna had settled into his new life until it was hard to remember a time when he was not climbing up and down the steep path to the Palatine. He attended the assembly when it met, which was nearly every day; and on the rare occasions when a vote was demanded he had his place in the tribe of Etruscans and other non-Latins, the Luceres. He had been allotted a ploughland, though he could not begin to cultivate it until spring. When the spearmen mustered in arms he took his place in the front rank with the best warriors. He assisted at the sacrifices, because his early training had taught him how to behave in a consecrated templum. In law, in religion, in military affairs, he was a free Roman citizen.
And the whole business was a sham, as he reminded himself whenever he felt too cheerful. He had no weapons of his own, no plough or seedcorn, no beasts to offer in the daily sacrifices. He might go through the motions of citizenship, but in fact he was as completely the servant of King Romulus as if he were a bought slave. His arms were borrowed from the King’s store, from the King he must seek all the equipment of a farmer, every day he ate the King’s bread and at night he lay by the King’s fire. (These Romans made a fuss about the King’s fire; it must burn continually, which meant that the girls of the King’s household spent most of their time tending it.) At first the King demanded nothing in return, which made the position all the more unpleasant; for the borrowed shield, even the borrowed shoes, might be taken back on any excuse or none. It was a relief when King Romulus suggested that he might care to serve him as a celer.
That was a queer, busy life; but in a way it was reassuring, for he was giving value for his weapons and the King was his friend. Every morning he must report for orders. He would be detailed for the bodyguard, sent on an errand, or, occasionally, given a day off to attend to his private affairs.
There were in all about three hundred celeres, past or present; for many senior members of the band were practically retired. These seniors were quiet elderly Latin spearmen; they had followed Romulus all his life and defended him from his wicked uncle in the old days before Rome had been founded. Perperna felt at ease with them, as much as any young Etruscan could feel at ease with elderly Latins. They were sensible, honest veterans, with wives and children and well-tended ploughlands. They were absolutely loyal to their lord, and would defend him against any foe; but they had their private self-respect, and there were things they would not do, even at the word of command.
The younger men were not such pleasant companions; they reminded Perperna of the brigands he had met on his travels. They were brave warriors, and so poor that they would have found it difficult to remain free citizens without this steady employment. Nearly all of them were also fugitives from some disaster in the outside world, strangers utterly dependent on the King’s bounty. Some were rogues who bullied timid citizens and pilfered from their property; though, like brigands, they would not steal from a comrade and Perperna was safe from their depredations. There were cut-throats among them, who boasted of the evil deeds that had sent them into exile. Taken as a whole, the younger celeres were the rowdiest and least reputable of the citizens, and it seemed odd that the King had chosen them for his close companions.
Perperna would have liked to make other friends; but there were few Etruscans of good birth in Rome, for all that the tribe of the Luceres, one-third of the community, was called by an Etruscan name. The Lucumo, their leader, no longer appeared in public; he was still a young man, but some past blow on the head had brought ever-increasing damage to his wits. When Perperna called on him formally in his hut the unfortunate noble greeted him politely; but within five minutes he had forgotten the name of his guest and once more greeted him as a stranger. He had found a safe refuge, but he could not lead the Etruscans of Rome.
Some of the other Luceres had been born in Etruscan communities, which made them Etruscan in the eyes of their Italian neighbours. But in the cities of southern Etruria only a small ruling class were true Rasenna; most of these mongrels of mixed blood were as foreign to the well-born Perperna as any Latin.
When he was not standing, fully armed, behind King Romulus, or carrying out the royal commands, he led an aimless and lonely life. There was only one home where he could drop in uninvited; for in general the Romans, strangers gathered from every quarter of Italy, kept themselves more private than the citizens of other cities. The friendly family was the household of Marcus Aemilius, the spearman who had persuaded him to try his luck in this uncongenial settlement. But for that cheerful fireside, where a handsome matron presided over a brood of young children, he might have moved on to seek another refuge before winter.
Marcus was not a lively companion or a witty talker; in fact he was a bit of a bore. But after listening to the boasts of vicious young celeres Perperna was glad to visit the family so that he could bathe himself, for a change, in an atmosphere of simple goodness. Sabina did not scuttle into a back room at the approach of a strange man; if she was cooking, or washing the children, she joined in the talk, and if for once she had nothing to do she pulled up a stool and took her share as the wine-bowl passed round. It was obvious that husband and wife were friends and partners. Even a visitor could see that these people were governed by a moral code; unlike the young celeres, they would not do anything at all merely because the King had commanded it.
That was the real trouble about Rome, Perperna thought to himself; the lack of a moral co
de. This place was not yet truly a city, though in time it might become one; and the reason was that the inhabitants had not yet made up their minds whether they were farmers or bandits. Even Marcus was always talking about the wild plans for universal rapine which had brought the original settlers to this exposed cluster of hills on the frontier. It was odd to see his wrinkled farmer’s face and his stiff, weather-beaten ploughman’s body, and to hear coming from those bearded lips speculations about the great raids they would undertake next spring. His stocky bow-legs would never carry him over an Etruscan wall, yet he talked like a blood-thirsty pirate. But when Perperna inquired about the profits from last year’s raids it gradually emerged that Rome was at peace, though there had been a few skirmishes soon after the founding of the city. When Marcus genuinely made plans, instead of talking idly about what he hoped might happen, all his projects were for the improvement of his land; next year he would plant vines on the steeper slopes, for already there was more than enough barley in Rome.
That seemed to be the general opinion, when the time came for everyone to turn out to gather the harvest. Only the younger, landless, celeres remained under arms to man the outposts, while citizens and slaves, women and children, worked in the fields. Perched on his watchtower, Perperna felt out of things; but next year he would have his own land and go harvesting with the rest of the community.
At nightfall he went back to eat supper in the King’s hall as usual. As soon as he reached the Palatine he saw that something was wrong. Harvest is a time of rejoicing, but everyone looked gloomy and frightened. The first slave-girl he met in the hall told him the reason. ‘Haven’t you heard? There’s no yield to the barley. It looks all right until you cut it, but then there’s no grain in the ear. All day I was reaping, and I don’t suppose I gathered enough for supper.’
‘You’ll get by, sweetheart,’ a young celer put in. ‘A strong woman will always fetch a good price. If the King can’t feed you he will sell you for foreign corn, and in the winter you will eat bread every night while we are boiling nettles. But the rest of us may be hungry before next harvest.’
Founding Fathers Page 17
