Roma - Saylor Steven - Страница 18
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Romulus jumped up. He had grown a thick beard and was brawnier than ever, but his bright smile was the same. He feigned wonderment at Potitius’s exotic garments, cocking an eyebrow and flicking his finger against the conical hat. Potitius likewise lifted an eyebrow and pointed at the crown on Romulus’s head. They both broke into laughter.
Remus rose slowly to his feet. His smile was weak and he walked with a slight limp. He opened his arms and embraced Potitius.
Pinarius hung back, gazing at Potitius with his arms crossed and a sardonic expression on his face. “Good to have you back, cousin. Did your studies go well?”
“Extremely well, once my teachers beat enough Etruscan into my head so that I could follow their lessons.”
“Good for your teachers. Around these parts, the twins have been teaching us all a different sort of lesson—how to throw down a king and take his crown!”
“Yes, my father told me. I thank Hercules that you’re still alive, Remus.”
“Hercules may have helped, but it was my brother who slit that bastard Amulius’s throat.”
Romulus smiled. “Yes, we were just discussing that, with Pinarius.”
Pinarius looked warily at Potitius. “Perhaps I should go now, and we can continue our discussion later.”
“No need for that! Potitius can join us,” said Romulus.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” His cousin’s gaze was so frosty that Potitius turned to leave, but Remus reached for his arm.
“Stay, Potitius. We need your advice.”
The four of them sat in the shade of the fig tree. Romulus resumed the discussion. “This is the problem: There are some who say that what we did in Alba was wrong, that killing Amulius was murder and taking his treasure was theft. Never mind that such talk is stupid; if people think ill of us, it’s likely to cause us problems in the future. Nobody wants a blood feud with Amulius’s kinsmen, or more trouble between Alba and Roma. Don’t mistake me: I’ll fight any man who cares to fight us, and I’ll kill any man who crosses us. But it would all be easier if people could see that we were in the right. If they don’t already see it that way, how can we convince them? Remus and I have been pondering the question for days, getting nowhere, and then, bright and early this morning, here comes Pinarius with an idea that’s so brilliant it lights up the sky. Isn’t it brilliant, Remus?”
“Perhaps.” His tone was less enthusiastic than his brother’s.
“Remus and I aren’t thinkers, we’re doers. That’s why a fellow like Pinarius is such a valuable friend. He fought like a lion at Alba—and he’s got a head on his shoulders, as well!”
Pinarius looked at Potitius smugly.
Potitius frowned. “Romulus, what are you talking about?”
“Pinarius’s plan! Or should I say, the truth that Pinarius has revealed to us, which we shall reveal to the rest of the world. Shall I tell him the tale, or shall you, Remus?”
Remus smiled weakly. “You tell him, brother. I’m afraid I’ll forget something.”
“Very well. Do you remember the story of how Faustulus found us? It was the year of the great flood. Remus and I were set adrift in a wooden cradle that settled on the slope of the Palatine, right over there. That’s where Faustulus found us. Because so many people were drowned, everyone thought we were just two more orphans, so why not let Faustulus and his wife raise us as their own? They’ve always been good to us, no one can deny that. I call them father and mother, and I’m proud to do so.”
Averting his face from the twins, Pinarius flashed a grin. Potitius knew he was thinking of the rude joke about the brothers being suckled by a she-wolf.
“But here’s something that Pinarius has discovered from asking a few questions down in Alba,” Romulus continued. “Remember: All this happened in the year of the great flood. Back then, Amulius wasn’t king of Alba; his brother Numitor was king. But Amulius, bloodthirsty bastard that he always was, killed his brother and took his crown. Now that was murder; that was theft. I think there must be no crime worse than that—a man killing his own brother! The only person who remained who might make trouble for Amulius was his brother’s daughter, Rhea Silvia. What if she had a son, and what if that son someday decided to avenge his grandfather and take back the crown? To keep that from happening, Amulius forced Rhea Silvia to become a priestess of Vesta—Vesta being the hearth goddess they worship in Alba. Her priestesses are called Vestals, and they take a sacred vow to remain virgins, upon penalty of death. Amulius must have thought he was being very clever. He let his niece live, and so avoided staining his hands with more blood, but he found a way to keep her from bearing a possible rival, and did so in a way that he could claim was pleasing to the goddess.
“But something went wrong with Amulius’s plan. Despite her vow, despite being kept in seclusion in a grove sacred to the war god, Mavors, Rhea Silvia became pregnant. Some people in Alba say that Amulius must have raped her, since he was the only man to have access to her, and any man who’d murder his own brother wouldn’t be above raping his own niece. But other people in Alba tell a more curious tale. They think it must have been Mavors who ravished Rhea Silvia, since it was in his grove that she was kept secluded.
“Whoever the father was, Rhea Silvia managed to hide her pregnancy until her labor began. When Amulius was informed, he was furious. Rhea Silvia gave birth—but very soon thereafter she was dead. It may be that Amulius murdered her; it may be that she died in childbirth. But now the tale becomes even more interesting, because the people of Alba say that Rhea Silvia gave birth to twins. And you have to ask yourself: Whatever happened to those two boys, the grandsons of the murdered King Numitor?”
Potitius looked at him dubiously. “Romulus, what are you suggesting?”
“Remember, Potitius, all this happened in the year of the great flood—the very year that Remus and I were found by Faustulus.”
“And you think…?”
“The newborn twins vanished—but how did Amulius dispose of them? He could claim a right to kill Rhea Silvia, you see, because she had broken her vow of chastity, but even Amulius didn’t want the blood of two innocent newborns on his hands. According to the talk in Alba, he did what people usually do when they want to get rid of a deformed or unwanted newborn—he ordered a servant to take the twins to some remote spot and abandon them.”
Potitius nodded gravely. “No one is held responsible for killing babies exposed in the wild. They die by the will of the gods.”
“But do they always die? Everyone has heard tales of exposed infants raised by wild animals, or otherwise rescued because gods or numina saw fit to help them. Who’s to say those two babies, laid side by side in a wooden cradle on some remote hillside, weren’t carried away by the great flood to a place far from Alba, where no one knew them, where they were raised in quiet, humble circumstances, safe from Amulius until the time the gods saw fit to guide them to their destiny?”
Potitius shook his head. “Romulus, this sort of talk is nonsense. It’s mad.”
“Of course it is—brilliantly mad! I give all the credit to Pinarius, who uncovered the tale, saw the obvious connection, and came here today to lay the facts before us.”
Remus stirred. He winced. Was he in pain, or made uncomfortable by his brother’s enthusiasm? “These are hardly facts, Romulus. They’re wild speculations.”
“Perhaps. But isn’t it just the sort of story that people like to believe?”
“Do you believe it, Romulus?” said Potitius. His training as a haruspex had instilled in him a great respect for truth-seeking. Finding the truth was often a difficult business; a man’s own eyes and ears were unreliable, as were the tales of others, and even in the best circumstances the will of the gods could be obscure and open to interpretation. His friend’s glib way of toying with the truth made him uneasy, as he could see it made Remus uneasy.
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