Roma - Saylor Steven - Страница 17
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When word of Remus’s captivity reached his brother on the Palatine, Romulus set about mustering all the young men of the Seven Hills, calling on them not only to rescue Remus but to defend the pride of Roma. Even men of upstanding families who had never consorted with the twins joined the cause. Knowing the mercenaries of Amulius would be well armed, they gathered whatever weapons they could find—shepherd’s crooks that might serve as staves, butchering knives, slingshots, hunter’s bows and arrows—and set out.
Before the walls of Alba, Romulus demanded that the king release his brother and the other captives. Amulius, flanked by his mercenaries on the parapet, peered down at the motley band and refused.
“Is it ransom you want?” asked Romulus.
Amulius laughed. “What could the likes of you afford to pay? A few moth-eaten sheepskins? No, when I’m done torturing your brother and his friends, I shall cut off their heads and mount them on this picket wall, as a warning to others of their ilk. And if you’re still in my kingdom when morning comes, young fool, your head will end up next to your brother’s!”
Romulus and his men withdrew. The height of the pickets which surrounded the king’s compound at first daunted them, as did the archers who guarded the wall. There seemed no way to storm the compound without being struck down by a hail of arrows. But that night, under cover of darkness, Romulus managed to set fire to a poorly guarded section of the wall. The fire spread quickly. In the chaos that followed, his men proved braver and more bloodthirsty than the mercenaries of Amulius. The king’s guards were slaughtered.
Striding into the great hall, Romulus seized Amulius and demanded to see his brother. The king, shaking with fear, took him to the room where Remus hung in chains, then produced a key and released him from his shackles. Too weak to stand, Remus sank to his knees. While Remus watched, Romulus knocked Amulius to the ground, kicked and beat him until he was senseless, then cut his throat. The king’s crown, a simple circle of iron, went rolling across the floor, spun on its edge, and with a clatter came to rest on the floor before Remus.
“Pick it up, brother,” said Romulus. “It belongs to us now!”
But Remus, his naked body scarred by burns and cuts, was too weak even to lift the iron crown. Weeping to see his brother in such a state, Romulus knelt before him, picked up the crown, and began to place it on Remus’s head.
Then he hesitated. He withdrew crown from his brother’s brow.
“This crown belongs to us both, brother, equally. But only one can wear it at a time. Let me wear it first, so that I can appear before those who fought with me today and show them that the crown of Alba belongs to us now.” Romulus put the iron crown on his own head, then rose and strode out to declare victory to his men.
By seizing the treasure of Alba, Romulus and Remus made themselves wealthy men, far wealthier than any other man in all of Roma. When Remus had recovered sufficiently to travel, they returned home in triumph, surrounded by their loyal companions and followed by wagons loaded with booty.
Not everyone in Roma was pleased by their success. The father of Potitius met with the other elders and voiced his doubts. “If Remus was captured by the shepherds of Amulius while trying to steal their sheep, then King Amulius was in his rights to hold him captive, pending a ransom. In that case, Romulus’s attack upon Alba was unjustified. His killing of the king was murder, and his seizure of the treasure was theft. Are we to make brigands into heroes?”
The elder Pinarius disagreed. “Was Remus up to no good in Alba? It doesn’t matter. After he was taken prisoner, Amulius didn’t demand a ransom or restitution; instead, he proceeded to torture Remus, and plainly stated his intention to kill him. To save his brother, Romulus had no choice but to take up arms. Amulius was a fool, and he died a fool’s death. The wealth that Romulus seized in Alba is his by right.”
“The Albans may not think so,” said the elder Potitius. “Such an incident may set off a blood feud that could last for generations. And the twins may have offended the gods, as well. We should consult a haruspex, to determine the will of the gods in this matter.”
“Pardon me, while I ask an Etruscan if I can take a piss!” said Pinarius, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“As it happens, cousin, we have no need for an Etruscan haruspex. My son has completed his studies. He should arrive home any day now. Potitius can perform the proper rites.”
“How fortunate for the boy, that he was conveniently absent when the battle at Alba took place, and so avoided all danger,” said Pinarius, whose son had fought beside Romulus.
“Those words are uncalled for, Pinarius, and unworthy of a priest of Hercules!” In fact, the elder Potitius was relieved that his son had not returned in time to be recruited by Romulus, but Pinarius’s insinuation of cowardice was unfair. He took a breath to calm himself. “A divination must be taken to determine the will of the gods.”
“And if the divination goes against Romulus? What then?” asked Pinarius. “No, I think there must be some better way to make sure that all concerned, even the Albans, can see that it was just and proper for Romulus to seize the crown and the treasure of King Amulius.” By the shrewd glint in his eyes, Potitius could see that the man had some scheme already in motion.
Potitius arrived home from Tarquinia the next day. The family greeted him with much rejoicing and not a little curiosity, for he was attired in the costume of an Etruscan haruspex. Over a yellow tunic he wore a long, pleated cloak fixed at his shoulder with a bronze clasp, and on his head he wore a conical cap held in place by a strap under his chin. His father noted with pride that he also wore the amulet of Fascinus. When he had given Potitius the amulet, he had told him that he was a man, though in his heart he had not quite believed it. But Potitius had matured greatly in the years he had been away. His confident bearing and his thoughtful way of speaking were those of a man, not a boy.
His father told him about the siege at Alba and the triumphant return of the twins. Rather than exhibiting excitement at the tale, Potitius seemed most concerned about the injuries that Remus had suffered, and this further display of maturity again pleased his father.
“I know you were their friend, my son, despite my disapproval. Go and see them. Talk sense to them. Show them the will of the gods. At the moment, everyone in Roma is singing their praises. Fools like Pinarius will only encourage them to carry out more escapades. They shall grow more and more reckless, until they bring the wrath of some warlord down upon us all. Roma has no walls, like those Amulius built at Alba. Our safety depends entirely upon the good will and self-interest of those who come here to do business. If the twins continue to shed blood and loot their victims—if they turn the local youths into a band of brigands—sooner or later they’ll bite the tail of a wolf bigger than themselves, and the people of Roma will pay a terrible price.”
The next morning, Potitius went to visit his old friends. Despite their newfound wealth, the twins were still living in the swineherd’s hut on the Palatine. Waves of nostalgia swept over Potitius as he scaled the Stairs of Cacus, uttering a prayer of thanksgiving to Hercules as he passed the site of the cave. He reached the top and stepped under the fig tree. The branches hung low with ripe fruit. The shade was so dense that at first he did not see the three figures who sat in a circle near the trunk.
He heard a low whisper: “You see, I told you he was back. And haughtier than ever—look at that fancy hat he’s wearing!”
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Potitius realized that it was neither of the twins who had been whispering; it was his cousin, Pinarius.
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