‘There was something fishy all right, but don’t go about suggesting that he murdered her, young Aemilius,’ said an elderly and short-tempered Senator. ‘In the first place I think it can’t be true; if Perperna were defiled by bloodguilt a man of such superstition would show it. In the second place, we depend on the Luceres. If we quarrel with them they may join the Sabines. Then there will be no room in Rome for Latins.’
‘That’s quite right,’ Proculus announced gravely. ‘We must keep Perperna on our side. Of course he’s not a lucky man. If he were lucky he would not have been driven to come to Rome. We, the founders, were lucky, for we shared in the luck of King Romulus. The later settlers came, not because they wanted to live in Rome, but because they could not find a better refuge.’
‘That’s enough about Perperna, a dull man anyway,’ Aemilius said firmly. ‘Are we all agreed on how to trick the Sabines? Shall we begin by sending an embassy to this Numa, provided of course that he turns out to be as Perperna describes him?’
15. Rome Lives
The embassy was small, but distinguished. Velesius represented the Sabines and Proculus the Latins; Perperna held a watching brief for the miscellaneous Luceres who could not hope to provide a King from their own ranks. Then there were counsellors, and a few slaves to carry presents. It had not been easy to strike the right balance. This was a public mission, which represented the mighty city of Rome; but it had been despatched to a private spearman, not to another sovereign state.
The little backwoods settlement of Cures was no better than any other Sabine village; though because it was the headquarters of an ancient clan strangers sometimes referred to it as a city. Like other Sabine villages it was moved whenever the clan moved to new ploughlands; no building on the present site was more than thirty years old.
There was a big stockade for cattle; beside it a smaller enclosure defended a dozen houses. Facing the only gate was small open space, and beyond it stood the biggest house in the village, the home of Pompilius the clan-chief.
Everything was made of wood, left grey and unpainted. But among the weathered timbers a few posts glowed a deep crimson, marking out a little templum before the house of Pompilius. In the house itself the doorpost on the right, the lucky side, was not only painted; at the top it was carved into the conventional owl-face of a divinity. The envoys stared at this holy thing in disquiet; even Romulus the son of Mars had never employed a god to hold up his roof. The men who lived in this house must be on very good terms with the unseen.
About a hundred Sabine warriors stood round the templum; probably the full strength of clan Pompilia, which was more ancient than powerful. Though the Romans had been admitted within the stockade it could be seen that their hosts were taking no chances. After the embassy had formed up on the consecrated ground nothing whatever happened for a full hour. But that was standard tactics at the reception of unwelcome embassies, and the Romans were not dismayed.
At length Pompilius came out to his porch, his four sons and a few cousins at his back. He was a very old man, clad simply in a grey woollen gown; but for dignity he carried an ancient bronze sword hanging from a crimson baldric. He stood to survey the visitors; then tottered, supported by a son at each arm, down to the templum.
‘Latins,’ he exclaimed with a snort, ‘Latins and renegades from anywhere. Men who live mixed up with one another’s middens, because they are not brave enough to sleep alone in the greenwood. I suppose you have come to beg wives from clan Pompilia. You are always begging for women, except when you steal them by treachery. You can go away again. We have husbands for all our maidens, and if we had not we would not seek them among Latins.’
‘We have not come to seek women, or indeed to seek anything,’ Velesius said angrily. ‘On the contrary, we have come to confer a great favour. But our mission is with your son, Numa. May we speak with him alone?’
A middle-aged man came forward with a pleasant smile. He wore a white linen tunic down to his feet, and instead of weapons he carried an augur’s staff. ‘My father does not like Romans, for he remembers the evil deeds of King Romulus. But that was a long time ago, and we younger men do not hold it against you. I am Numa Pompilius. What do you want of me? My wife came from Rome, and I would like to be your friend.’
Proculus was surprised. Somehow he had taken it for granted that the fourth son of a reigning clan-chief would be a young man, though he should have remembered that Tatia had been given in marriage a full twenty years ago. ‘How old are you?’ he blurted out, and then blushed at his discourtesy.
Numa answered as though the question were the most natural thing in the world. ‘On my next birthday, which is the 21st of March, I shall be forty years old.’
‘How extraordinary,’ exclaimed Proculus. ‘You must have been born on the day when King Romulus founded Rome!’
‘The same day, and at the same hour, so they tell me. The soothsayers were interested. They seemed to think that it linked my fate with Rome’s. That was one reason why I took a Roman wife.’
‘We want you to come to Rome. We want you as our King,’ said Velesius in sudden excitement.
‘What a curious whim! But come inside and talk it over.’
When he had received the formal proposal Numa answered without hesitation. He was smiling pleasantly, and obviously anxious not to give offence; but he did not try to soften his refusal.
‘At my age I have found the way of life that suits me. Why should I change it? I like to live in peace, and I pass my leisure inquiring into the nature of the gods and discovering how to placate them. The King of Rome, a city always at war, would have no time for such a hobby. Of course, if I were a King I should be richer than I am now. But already I have enough to eat and a roof over my head. I don’t want more. The other obvious drawback is the danger. King Romulus was the son of Mars, and his infancy was guarded by a divine wolf; the gods were on his side from the beginning. Yet at one time he was in danger from his colleague, my father-in-law, King Tatius; and his strange disappearance has given rise to all sorts of rumours, though now you tell me it was all for the best – in fact that your late King has been promoted to a high post in heaven.…
‘But I am a mortal man, with no gods in my pedigree; and I have no reason to suppose that the gods will afford me special protection when I run into danger. You can’t offer me anything I want, and so far you have not claimed that I am under any obligation to help you. I prefer to stay here.’
‘But it has taken us two years to reach this compromise,’ wailed Proculus in dismay. ‘After all those long arguments, after coming to the very brink of civil war, the whole Senate was unanimous that you should be our King. If now we have to start looking for another candidate it’s likely that Rome will fall to pieces before we find him.’
‘Consider that calmly and you will see that it’s not such a dreadful prospect,’ answered Numa. ‘We have all heard of the luck of King Romulus, more luck than has ever been granted to any other mortal man. His luck was so tremendous that it did not even end with his death, and now he is happy in heaven. A man endowed with such luck did right to found a city, so that his followers might share his advantages. You shared his luck, and it has made you prosperous. But no one can maintain that your city was a good thing in itself. The world in general has not gained by it. Your city was founded on luck. That luck has now been withdrawn. Be sensible about it. Rome stood for forty years, and so that it should stand tens of thousands of spearmen died in the prime of their youth. Now it’s all over. Go back in peace to your villages, richer and wiser for your experience of city life. Don’t hazard more and more bloody battlefields until the luck turns against you and your widows are enslaved. Without Rome the world will live easier.’
Proculus answered at once, speaking with a fiery energy that surprised his companions. ‘You hold yourself out to be a servant of the gods, Numa Pompilius. But if Rome falls the gods will be ill served. Five hundred years ago grandfather Aeneas brought to Italy the sacred t
hings of Samothrace and Troy; he brought even the Palladium, the image of the Maiden. Her shrine must be in the heart of a great city; that is her due. For five hundred years we Latins tilled the soil and lived in villages, preparing to found a city worthy of her. We are not such evil people as our neighbours suppose. We can talk things over and abide by the decision of the assembly. We make good laws, and enforce them. Our wives are treated with honour, and our children reverence their parents. In war each man takes his place in the shield-wall, knowing that his comrade will guard his side. Thus after five hundred years we have our city. Omens sent by the gods tell us that one day it will rule the world. Remember those omens, the vultures in the noon sky and the bleeding head of the Capitol. It must be the wish of the gods that Rome should endure. But Rome cannot endure without you. Will you thwart the designs of the gods, and so become one of the most unlucky men alive – just because ruling a great city seems to you a burden?’
‘That’s a good point,’ said Numa. ‘I don’t want to thwart the will of the gods. But I don’t see how their will can be thwarted by any mortal man. If Rome disappears it will prove that after all the gods do not desire her to continue. Can anyone give me another reason, besides the supposed will of the gods, why Rome should continue?’
‘I can,’ answered young Velesius. ‘I am a Sabine like yourself, and I don’t see why the gods should want Latins in particular to live in a fine city. But Rome is a fine city, and worth preserving. In my father’s time my clan fought against the Romans; we had good cause for our enmity. Then King Tatius led us to settle in the city, and the Latins dealt fairly by us. Is that the usual end of a bitter war? In Rome we make peace honestly, and our treaties endure. I was born in Rome, it is my home, and if everyone else goes away I shall never leave it. We have learned the art of living together, which is most difficult. Do you know of another city where two nations share in the government? I suppose there isn’t another town like it in the world; a place where any stranger can find his own level, and no one inquires into his ancestry. There were men who said that Sabines could never learn to live in a crowded city. We have proved them wrong. But no other city has Sabine citizens. If Rome disappears you will have destroyed one of the glories of the Sabine race.’
‘That’s even better,’ said Numa. ‘But you must not suppose that I owe a duty to the Sabine race. Besides, it may be our destiny to live as simple villagers. No. Rome began as a city of brigands. I don’t like brigands. I don’t see why it should continue.’
‘Then perhaps I can give another reason,’ said Perperna, ‘for in my youth I myself was a brigand. Rome cured me of brigandage. For the last few years we have lived without war, and if you come to rule us we shall remain peaceful. But that isn’t really what I want to say. Rome is something unique, something that ought not to disappear from the world. The city is not yet forty years old, but the citizens are counted in tens of thousands; and every man of them is a Roman because he wants to be a Roman. We are a great community, inhabited only by willing settlers. And we are not exclusive. Besides Latins and Sabines we have a third tribe, open to foreigners of every kind. I myself am an Etruscan, a Rasenna of pure blood. I, and all my tribe of the Luceres, came to Rome because it was the city of our choice. We are equal to those who were born there. Only one thing is lacking in Rome. Though King Romulus gave us his own astounding luck, we do not know how best to serve the gods. You, if you become our King, will instruct us in that heavy task. So there it is. Rome the lucky, Rome the hospitable, Rome where law reigns, where men live in peace with strangers, Rome that is mighty in conquest and merciful to the conquered – all this will end unless you come to rule us.’
‘You have spoken of mercy. You need say no more. I consent to rule you.’
The wedding feast of Macro and Domitia, daughter of Perperna, was a very splendid affair. At the high table couches were provided, in the Etruscan manner, and the King, the guest of honour, reclined graciously as though reclining at meals were also a Sabine custom. Of course the bride sat upright on a stool; and Macro sat beside her for a few minutes, while they shared the cake of old-fashioned lucky grain which was more pleasing to the gods than modern barley. The sacramental meal was an Italian custom, as novel to an Etruscan as to Macro the Greek; but in Rome they were twining together the rites of every race, for a man needs all the luck he can find.
The bride and the other ladies withdrew before the drinking began. Domitia would wait in the nuptial bed until her new husband was ready to come to her. She hoped he would not be helplessly drunk, though she must not blame him for anything. But Macro had promised to drink as little as politeness would allow, since he really wanted to please this frightened young girl who had come to him as a stranger.
Perperna, the host, made it as easy for him as he could, mixing plenty of water with the wine and seeing that the bridegroom had the smallest cup in his store. But Macro could not refuse when friends wandered up to sit on the edge of his couch and drink with him.
The first to come up was old Marcus Aemilius, who wanted to fulfil the obligations of courtesy and get home as early as he could. At his age all-night drinking had lost its appeal. He sat on the end of the couch, staring owlishly at the bridegroom; he had taken as much as he could carry, for at home he seldom tasted wine. With the solemnity of the half-tipsy he spoke his mind.
‘Are you quite sure that you are free to marry? It would be terrible if you find that the Old Women still pursue you.’
‘I am really free at last,’ Macro answered without hesitation. ‘Our new King has power over the underworld, and he has freed me. Do you think my patron would have permitted the marriage if he had felt any doubt? Perperna knows the ways of the gods, and he can recognise the authority of King Numa, The blood of my brother no longer cries for vengeance. I may live in peace.’
‘I’m glad of that. What will you do now? Go home to Cumae?’
‘Never. I am at home, here in Rome. You don’t know the extent of my good fortune. The King has appointed me to be a priest, a builder of bridges between the worlds of the living and the dead. I am fitted for that, since my guilt made me sacred to the gods below. With my priesthood I shall be rich enough to become a horseman of Rome. When I have a horse in my keeping I shall never wish to leave the city.’
‘I am delighted to hear you speak so,’ said Perperna, who had strolled up to add his good wishes. ‘It’s funny when you come to think of it. Most of us came to Rome because no other city was open to us. We came to the second best, meaning to go back when our troubles were over. But there is something about this city, its goods luck or its favour with the gods or perhaps just its fertile fields, that makes everyone want to stay.’
‘It’s none of those things,’ said Macro happily. ‘It’s the other Romans. It’s all of us. This is the home of justice. We live in friendship together, men from all over the world; and our descendants will rule the world.’
‘For so long as they do justice,’ added King Numa, from his place of honour.
Copyright
First published in 1959 by Faber & Faber
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Copyright © Alfred Duggan, 1959
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Founding Fathers Page 30
