When the country had grown peaceful, and there was no more need, for the
time, of sending out warlike expeditions, it began to be seen that the
soldiers who had come in with Romulus or had joined the troops later must
have something to do. Romulus talked the matter over seriously with the
fathers of the colony. If these men were to settle down as citizens,
taking part in the life of the city—and some of them wished to do so—they
ought to have homes; they needed wives. The family life of this people was
the very heart of their religion and their society. The father was high
priest in his family. The public worship was only a greater family
worship, in which all had a part, old and young, living and dead. The gods
themselves were often present unseen to receive prayers and offerings,—so
the people believed.
The question of wives for these men was a serious one. Girls were growing
up within the palisade on the Square Hill, but so were young men. There
would be hardly enough brides for all the youths of their own generation,
even if every girl found a husband. Aside from the fact that the parents
would not like to see their daughters married to strangers of whom they
knew nothing, the young folk themselves would be likely to object.
Although theoretically, marriages were made by the elders without the
girls having anything to say about it, human nature was much the same
there as anywhere. In practice, the bride had some choice and the groom
some independence. Any woman married against her will can make life so
unpleasant for her husband and her husband’s relatives that common sense
would lead a parent to avoid such a result. Care was taken to keep a young
girl from knowing any men who would be unsuitable. A man did not ask any
youth into his house to meet his daughters, on the spur of the moment. He
met a great many men at the midday meal which the men ate together, whom
he would not think of asking to a family supper. He knew a great many with
whom he would not eat at all.
Here and there a soldier found a wife among the country people, but this
did not usually turn out very well. The daughters of herdsmen and hut
dwellers were not trained in the arts which made a woman dear to a
civilized husband. Colonus and his friends wished the wives of the growing
settlement to be women who would add to the wealth of their homes and not
spoil it,—who would love their homes and their husbands, and bring up
their children wisely, and live in peace and friendliness with the other
women. The question which had come up was more important now than it might
be later. A great deal depended on beginning with the right families. The
men now coming in would be the fathers of the future Rome, and on the way
in which their sons were brought up the prosperity and godliness of the
people might rest.
Another possibility was in sight, and it was too nearly a probability to
look very pleasant. The soldiers could get wives across the river among
the Rasennae. But that would be a dangerous plan—dangerous perhaps to the
men themselves and certainly to the colony. Women of a strange land, of a
race so old and strong as the dark people seemed to be—a country where
there was a secret council of priests who knew all sorts of things that
the people did not—such women, married to settlers in the colony, would be
a constant danger. They would learn from their husbands all that went on;
they might persuade them to worship the strange gods; they might help to
break down defences against the unknown power of the foreign priesthood.
That was a plan not to be thought of for a minute.
Romulus sat listening and thinking, with his chin on his strong, brown
hand, and his bright dark eyes gazing straight at the altar fire. When the
others had said what they thought, he spoke. That was his way. He had
perhaps begun in that way because he was not sure he knew all the proper
forms of speech or all the matters that ought to be considered in ruling
the affairs of this people. Now that he was well acquainted with all
these, he still wanted to hear what every one else had to say, before
speaking himself. This was becoming in a man still so young, and it was
also wise.
“There is a plan, my fathers,” he said, “but I do not know whether you
will think that it is the right one. Very long ago, I have heard, our
people used to take their wives by capture. In those days a man never went
openly to ask for his bride. He stole into the village by night with an
armed guard, choosing his closest friends to go with him. Then suddenly
seizing upon the maid he carried her off, and she became dead to her own
family, and one of his people.
“Now this I do not commend, since it is not our wish to war with the
people around us. To raid their towns as did the men of old time, and
steal their maidens, would lead to never-ending war. The custom is an old
one and long given up, and I do not like to return upon a road that I have
traveled, or dig up old bones.
“In the villages on the heights—in the lower valleys of the mountain range
that lies _there_—” he waved a brown arm toward the far blue hills, “the
people who dwell there are worshippers of our gods, and their ways are as
the ways of this colony, O my fathers. Their women spin, they weave, they
grind grain, they tend bees, they keep the household fire alive and
bright, they are fair and pure. These are fit wives for our soldiers—or
for any man.
“In some of these villages were we known, for we were there in the old
days. They are not walled villages, they are scattered among the valleys,
and they have little to do with one another or with strangers. It is in my
mind that if their women were married here, we and they might be one
people. Then all the Seven Hills would be ours, and we and they together
would be a strong nation. But well I know that they would never consent to
give their daughters to strangers.
“This therefore is my thought. I have seen,” the young chief’s dark face
was lighted by a fleeting smile, “that sometimes the will of a young maid
is not wholly that of the old men and women of her people. Forgive me, O
ye elders, if I speak foolishly, but I think that some of these Sabine
girls might not themselves be unwilling to mate with my men. Would it be
so great a crime to take wives from those villages despite the will of the
priests and elders, if the maidens themselves became in time content?
Suppose now that I send my men as messengers, to invite these people to a
festival on the day when the Salii, the Leapers, have their games and
their feast. They also have fraternities like ours; there is a fraternity
of the Luperci, and the Salii, and others, among the Sabines. Let their
young men contend with ours in the games, and their people join with ours
for the day. They are not compelled to come. If they dislike and distrust
us, they will stay in their villages. But if it is as I think, many will
come.
“Then when all are gathered together, and weapons are laid for the games,
let our young men, at a given signal, seize each his chosen maiden and
bring her back within our walls to be his wife. In token that they are not
to be slaves but honorable wives, whose work is to spin, let our young men
shout as they go, ‘Talassa! Talassa!’
“Have I spoken well, my father?” He looked straight at Colonus. “If ye
have a better plan, let no more be said of this.”
But there was no better plan; in fact, there seemed to be no other plan at
all. Romulus knew this very well. There was nothing in this idea that was
offensive to the general opinion in those days. It was not so very long
since marriage by capture was the usual way of getting wives. If the
Sabine girls were brought into the colony the soldiers would be sure of
having wives with the customs and the same gods of the other matrons. If
they were brought in a company and lived in the same quarter of the town,
they would form a little society of their own. It would not be a life
entirely new and strange.
It was decided that the plan should be tried. If any of the messengers did
a little courting in the villages, nothing was said of it.
The place chosen for the festival was a plain where there would be room
for all the games and the feasting and the ceremonies. Romulus and some of
the young men went out there a few days before the appointed date to level
off the ground, arrange seats for the public men, and make ready. In
removing a bowlder which would be in the way of racers, and smoothing the
ground, Tertius Calvo found his pick striking on something strange. He dug
down a little way and unearthed a flat stone which seemed to be the top of
an altar. He called the others to look, and Romulus caught his breath with
a queer gasp. He remembered something.
[Illustration: There was a gleam of bright metal in the hole they were
digging]
“Jove!” said Mamurius, a few minutes later, “Here’s something else!” There
was a gleam of bright metal in the hole they were digging. The altar, a
small square one of a whitish stone, was lifted out, and then something
struck with a muffled clang against Mamurius’ spade. They were all
excitedly gazing by that time, and when the round metal thing was lifted
out, and the earth cleaned off it with grass, and it was rubbed with a
piece of leather, it almost blinded them. It was a golden shield.
Where it had come from, no human creature knew. Nothing else like it was
ever found in that neighborhood. It may have belonged to some Etruscan
nobleman in far-off days, when a battle was fought on that plain; it may
have been part of the plunder of some city; but there it was, and the
decoration showed that it was made by a smith who worshiped Mars.
Reverently the young men carried it back to Rome, after they had set up
the altar on the field where they found it. It seemed like a sign that the
gods approved what they were doing. It was hung up in the temple, and was
considered the especial property of the Salii, or Leapers, the young men
who danced the war dance, for it was they who had found it. But Romulus
told none of them of the witch’s prophecy that he would find an altar and
a shield in just this place.
The day appointed for the feast was fair, and early in the morning the
mountain people could be seen coming across the plain or camped near the
field.
The soldiers who were to take part in the festival in this unexpected and
startling way were very far from being the same rude outlaws who had
followed their young leader to the Long White Mountain. They had been
living within the bounds of a civilized settlement, and the life had had
its effect on them. They had seen men handle the spade and the plough as
if they were weapons, and treat the earth as if it were the most
interesting thing in the world to study. They had seen how interesting it
was to change the face of the land, to make a wild and dreary waste into a
rich farming country, to fight flood and fire and other mighty natural
enemies,—and win. They had seen, though at a distance, the gracious
manners and gentle ways of the matrons, the sweetness and dignity of the
young girls. They had fought and worked side by side with the young men
who were proud to be the sons of such fathers. Many of the outlaws had had
ancestors who were strong and brave and intelligent. They had the sense to
see that if they joined this new settlement they would have a place and a
power. And last but not least there was a great deal of wholesome comfort
in the life of this place. To men who had slept unsheltered in cold and
rain, who had worn sheepskins and wolfskins, who had gone without food,
often for days, and never had a really good meal unless they had unusual
luck, the life of the colonists was a revelation. Good beds, fresh
vegetables, well-cooked meats, cakes made with honey, were luxuries they
appreciated. The dress of the people was simple enough; a tunic for
working, and over that for warmth or holiday dignity the large square of
undyed wool called a toga; a pair of sandals for the feet, a cap or helmet
for the head, a leather girdle and pouch. But it was a long way better
than rawhide. In short, these young fellows had discovered that they liked
a civilized life. They were a very fine looking company as they marched
down the hill from their barracks and went with their long, swinging
stride over the plain to the place where the strange, little old altar
stood.
The games went on, and at the height of the gayety and excitement there
was a sudden trumpet call, and all was in confusion. Each soldier seized a
Sabine maiden and carried her off as if she were a child. The men who were
not so burdened formed a rear guard. The older people were already on
their way home. Some of them did not know what had happened. Before
anything could be done by the startled and angry Sabine men, the soldiers
were inside the walls of the city and the shout of “Talassa! Talassa!”
revealed that this was a revival of the ancient custom of marriage by
capture.
The Sabines were angry enough to go to war, But they could do nothing that
night, for a successful war would need preparations. There was a parley,
and Romulus himself informed the commissioners that the weddings would
take place with all due ceremony, and that in the meantime the girls were
in the city, under the care of matrons of the best families, and would be
given the best of care and provided with all things necessary for a bride.
Let there be no mistake about this: if any attempt were made to recapture
the Sabine girls the soldiers would fight. They had got their brides, and
they meant to keep them. It was a sleepless night in the town by the
riverside, but in the morning the Sabines were seen returning to their
mountains.