Roma.The novel of ancient Rome

“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.

“Perhaps I do believe it,” answered Romulus. “Can you tell me the name of the woman who gave birth to me and to Remus, Potitius? No. Then why not say it was Rhea Silvia?”

“But…that would make Amulius your father-the man you killed for a crown!”

“Perhaps. Or was it the war god Mavors who fathered us? Don’t scoff, Potitius! You say you’re descended from that god that hangs from your neck, and you claim that the blood of Hercules runs in your veins. Why shouldn’t Remus and I be the sons of Mavors? Either way, the story makes us out to be the grandsons and heirs of old King Numitor. When we got rid of Amulius and took his treasury, we were doing nothing more than avenging our grandfather’s murder and reclaiming what was rightfully ours!”

There was a long silence, until Remus finally spoke. “Like Potitius, I have reservations about this idea. But I must admit, claiming a royal bloodline for ourselves might solve a great many problems for us, not only now, to pacify the people in Alba, but later on as well, if people hereabouts waver in their loyalty to us, or grow jealous of our good fortune.”

Romulus placed a hand on Remus’s shoulder and smiled. “My brother is the wisest of men. And you, Pinarius, are the most clever.” Pinarius grinned back at him. “And how lucky we are, on this day, to welcome back our oldest and most loyal friend, after so many years away.” He gazed at Potitius with a look of such warmth and affection that Potitius’s feelings of uneasiness vanished, as morning mist on the Tiber vanishes beneath the rising sun.

753 B.C.

In the months that followed, the twins continued to build on their success at Alba. Scattered across the countryside within a few day’s ride of Roma were numerous men who had accumulated enough wealth and power to rule over their neighbors, surround themselves with warriors, and call themselves kings. One by one, Romulus and Remus found reasons to challenge those men, and one by one they defeated them in battle, claimed their wealth, and invited their warriors to join them at Roma. The twins were ferocious and fearless fighters. As their victories mounted, they acquired a reputation for invincibility. Men found it easy to credit that they were the offspring of Mavors.

As their fame spread, more men flocked to join them, drawn by the chance for adventure and a share of the booty. Every day, new strangers appeared in the marketplace, asking for the twins. These men were very different from the honest traders who had been visiting the market for generations, or the hard-working laborers who passed through, looking for seasonal employment in the butchering pens and meat-salting operations. These newcomers were rough-looking men. Some carried weapons, wore bronze helmets or mismatched pieces of armor, and bore the scars of previous battles. Some arrived with nothing more than the rags they wore, and many of these were shifty- eyed and secretive about their pasts. A few were innocent and starry-eyed, adventure-hungry youths smitten by tales of the twins and eager to serve under them.

“What have they done to our Roma?” moaned the elder Potitius. “I can remember a time when you could circle the Seven Hills and not meet a single person you didn’t know by name. You knew your neighbor; you knew his grandparents, and who his cousins were, and which of the gods were most sacred to his household. Every family among us had been here for generations. Now, every time I leave the hut, I feel I’ve stumbled into a gathering of cast-offs and cattle-thieves! It was bad enough when these strangers began showing up among us, straggling in, uninvited. Now the twins have put out a call for such men to come to Roma! ‘Come, join us!’ they say. ‘It doesn’t matter who you are, or where you’ve been, or what you’re running from. If you’re fit to fight and willing to take an oath of loyalty, then take up arms and go looting with us!’ Every cutthroat and bandit from the mountains to the sea can find a home in Roma, up on Asylum Hill. And why not? Cutthroats and bandits are just the sort of men Romulus and Remus are looking for!”

Potitius, who had his own hut now, living near the twins on the Palatine, had come home merely to pay a brief visit, but had found himself trapped by his father’s rantings. His father’s reference to Asylum Hill was particularly stinging. As the number of the twins’ followers had grown larger and larger, room to lodge them had been found atop the high hill directly above the market. It was a natural spot to lodge an army; the two highest points at opposite ends of the hill afforded commanding views of the surrounding countryside, and steep flanks on every side made the hill the most defensible location in Roma. The name which people had lately given to the hill, Asylum, came from the altar which the twins had erected there, dedicated to Asylaeus, the patron god of