It is not to be understood that all the people on the Square Hill approved
of the capture of the Sabine girls. It did not seem to them, of course, as
it would to the society of to-day, because they considered that a girl
ought to marry, in any case, as her elders thought best that she should.
But Tullius the priest, and three or four of the other older men, were
very doubtful about the wisdom of angering the Sabine men by such a
proceeding. Naso and his brother objected to the capture because they had
never heard of such a thing. They were men whose minds never took kindly
to any sort of new idea. When they made their great move and left their
old home, they seemed to have exhausted all the ability to change that
they had. They held to every old custom they had ever heard of, as a
limpet holds to a rock. But the thing was done, and there was nothing they
could do now except to prophesy that it could not possibly turn out well.
The women of the colony were curious to know how far the Sabine marriage
customs were like their own, and whether the wedding would mean to these
girls what it would to a Roman wife. Marcia asked her husband about it on
the night of the festival, when the confusion had quieted somewhat. The
watch-fires of the Sabines could be seen far away on the plain, and in the
stronghold on the Capitoline Hill the sentinels were keeping watch against
any sudden attack.
“Ruffo says,” answered Mamurius, “that they have the same customs as ours,
in the main. The girls are taking it very quietly. I think they stopped
being frightened when they found they were to be in the care of your
mother and the other matrons in the guest house. You know Romulus has
ordered that no maiden shall be married against her will. If she remains
here until after the Saturnalia without making any choice, she shall be
sent back in all honor to her own people. There are none among the girls
who are betrothed to men of their villages.”
Marcia was glad to hear that. During the following days she and the other
young matrons of the colony visited the captive girls and took care that
they lacked nothing in clothing and little comforts. The matrons and the
older men had stood firm in insisting that all possible respect should be
shown these maidens, just as if they were daughters of the colony. If they
were to defend the soldiers’ action as a necessary and wise measure and
not a mere savage raid, this was necessary. Otherwise the Sabine men would
have a right to feel that they could revenge themselves by carrying off
Roman women as slaves, and nobody would be safe. It was much better to
delay the weddings for a few days, see what the mountain people were going
to do, and give the girls a chance to become a little accustomed to their
new surroundings. Naso and some of the other men thought Romulus had gone
rather far in promising that the girls should be sent home if they wished
to go after a certain time, but he would not move an inch from that
position. He had his reasons.
After two or three days the scouts came in to report that the Sabines had
gone back to their villages to gather their forces. It would take time to
do this, and meanwhile the wedding preparations went forward.
The town on the Square Hill was larger and finer than any of the mountain
villages, and after the first shock and fright of their capture passed,
many of the girls began to think that what had happened was not so bad,
after all. They all knew something about Romulus and his mountain troop,
and many of his soldiers had been in the villages at one time and another
on some errand. Apparently these half-outlawed fighters had become great
men in the new settlement. They had a quarter of their own, in which they
had built houses for their brides, shaded by some of the forest trees that
were left when the land was cleared, and furnished with many things not
known in the mountain villages. It was also true, and Romulus had known
all along that it was, that many of his men had known something of the
Sabine maidens, and would have married in the villages before, if they
could. Considering that the elders of the villages would never have
consented to such a thing, this was the only way it could possibly be
brought about. It had seemed to him better to make it a sort of state
affair than to encourage among the soldiers the idea that they could
individually raid the villages and carry off the wives they chose without
any religious authority at all. Romulus heard a great many confidential
secrets from his men, one by one, that would have surprised those who did
not know them. He believed that if it could be managed so that they could
settle down in the quarter which was their own, and have homes of their
own, they would be as good citizens as any in Rome. But he did not waste
time in trying, by argument, to make Tullius and Naso and the other
colonists believe this.
The public square was swept and made clean, and the walls of all the
houses hung with garlands. The Roman matrons, old and young, had taken
from their thrifty stores of home-woven linen and wool, robes and veils
and mantles for the strangers, and provided the wedding feast with as much
care as if each one of them had a daughter who was going to be married. In
fact, according to Roman faith and law, these girls were daughters of Rome
as soon as they became wives of Roman men, and had as much right in all
public worship and festivals as if they had been born on the Palatine
Hill. Since they could not be given away by their own fathers, it had been
decided that they should be treated as daughters of the city, and the ten
original fathers of the colony should be as their fathers.
The procession came out into the square a little after daybreak, and here
the wedding feast was set forth. The maidens were veiled and dressed in
white, and attended by the young Roman girls as bridesmaids, and the
soldiers were drawn up in military order. The feasting and singing and
dancing went on in the usual way, and toward the end of the day the
procession formed again and went down the slope toward the huts of the
soldiers. At the door of each hut the man to whom it belonged claimed his
bride; she lighted the hearth fire, and poured out the libation, and ate
of the bride cake with her husband. It was a strange wedding day, but it
seemed to have ended happily, after all.
There was only one girl who refused to have any part in the ceremonies.
When the rest of the Sabine maidens left the guest house, she remained.
She was still there when a little before sunset Romulus came back to the
square and entered the room where she sat.
She was a tall and lovely creature, the daughter of the priest Emilius,
and Ruffo the captain had carried her off, but she would have nothing to
say to him. He had consoled himself with the daughter of one of his old
comrades. Her great eyes blazed as she met the look of the young chief,
and she held her head high, but she did not speak.
“You are the daughter of a great man,” said Romulus. “You are Emilia.”
It was surprising that he should know her name, but his knowing who she
was made it all the greater insult that she should have been carried off
by force.
“Long ago,” he went on, “I saw you, a little maid, when I was a poor
shepherd boy. Your mother was kind to me and gave me meat and wine. Your
father reproved me when I in my ignorance would have offended the gods. As
you were then, so you are now,—beautiful as a flower, fierce as a wolf,
Herpilia, the wolf-maiden. You are the mate for me, and when I saw you at
the festival, I knew it.”
“You! An outcast!” the girl cried, her eyes flashing in scorn.
“I am of good blood, and now I rule this city. You shall rule it with me
when you will,” said the chief coolly.
“I would rather be a slave and grind at the mill!”
Romulus smiled. What did this girl know of a slave’s life?
“You had better not,” he said. “But you need not do either. If after the
Saturnalia you wish to go back to your father’s house, you shall go. But
you cannot know much about us until you have seen how we live.” And he
turned and went out.
Emilia did not know exactly what to make of this behavior. She had made up
her mind that if they tried to make her the wife of one of these
strangers, she would stab herself with the knife she carried in her bosom,
or throw herself into the river. But as the days went on and she saw no
more of Romulus, or any other youth, she was still more puzzled. She never
connected him with the lad in the wolfskin tunic who had rescued her from
the banditti many years before. Many stray shepherd boys had been fed in
their village at one time or another. The Sabines themselves had never
known that the strange rescuer of the child and the leader of the mountain
patrol were one and the same. In fact, they had come to believe that the
little Emilia had been saved by Mars himself, in human guise. Romulus had
never told of the matter, even to his own men or to his brother.
The young girls who tended the sacred fire now formed a kind of society by
themselves, like the fraternities of the men. Emilia was allowed to sit
with them and spin and sew, and she lived in the house of Marcus Colonus,
all of whose children were now married. She heard a great deal about
Romulus from time to time, but he never came near her. Sometimes she saw
him marching at the head of his men, or sitting with the elders of the
people on some public occasion. But he never looked her way, or sent her
any word beyond what he had already said.
At first she hoped fiercely that her people would gather an army and come
against the insolent invaders and destroy them, but as time went on, she
began to hope that they would not. A war with this race would be long and
bitter, for they were not the kind to yield. This town would never be
taken but by killing all the men who could fight, and burning the houses,
and enslaving the women and children,—and the women were kind to her.
[Illustration: Emilia was allowed to sit with them and spin and sew]
The settlement was now so large that it covered several of the hills, and
the high steep hill that stood up like the head of a crouching animal, the
Capitoline, had been strongly fortified. On one side it descended almost
straight like a precipice, and from the brink one could see for miles
across the plain.
The captain of the guard there was one of Romulus’s old comrades, Tarpeius
by name. He had a daughter who often spent some hours with the other
maidens, on the Palatine, spinning and gossiping, and singing old songs.
She was very curious about Emilia’s people and said that her mother had
been a Sabine girl. She expressed great admiration for everything about
Emilia—her bright abundant hair, her beautiful eyes, her clear white skin,
her graceful hands and feet, and her clothes. Especially she admired the
band of gold Emilia wore on her left wrist. She was like an inquisitive
and rather impertinent child.
The bracelet was a gift from Emilia’s father; he had ordered it from an
Etruscan trader; it had been made especially for her. Whenever she looked
at it, she felt as if it were a pledge that some day she should see him
again and visit her old home.
One day late in the autumn there was a commotion in the town, and the
sound of many marching feet. From the plain below came shouting, and the
far-off sound of drums and pipes. Emilia’s heart jumped. The Sabine army
was on the way!
Villagers came flying from a distance, wild with fright, and begging to be
protected within the walls. Some had taken time, scared as they were, to
drive in their beasts and bring the grain they had just finished
threshing. Their men joined the defenders, and the women and children were
sheltered among the townspeople, many of whom were relatives.
The Sabines spread their army all around the Roman settlement. They took
possession of a hill near by, almost as great as the Palatine.
It began to seem after a time as if the siege might last indefinitely. The
Roman fortifications were strong and well manned, and they had plenty of
provision. Now that the marsh was drained, only a most unusual flood would
drive away the enemy, and they did not seem inclined to storm the hills,
even if they could. Matters might have gone on so much longer but for the
thoughts in the head of a girl.
Tarpeia, the daughter of the captain of the guard, watched eagerly the
Sabine captains, and saw the gleam of the ornaments they wore. One night
she slipped out by a way she knew and crept past the Roman guards into the
Sabine camp. She had learned something of their talk from Emilia and
easily made herself understood. She told Tatius the Sabine general, when
they brought her to him, that she would open the gates of the stronghold
to his men for a reward. She would do it if they would give her _what they
wore on their left arms_.
Tatius looked at the willowy figure and the common, rather pretty face
with its greedy eyes and eager smile, and agreed, with a laugh. Tarpeia
returned to the stronghold, and that night, when the darkness was
thickest, she slid past the sleepy guard and unbarred the gates, and
waited.
Tatius had no respect for traitors, though he was willing to make use of
them when they came and offered him the chance. He reasoned that a girl
clever and wicked enough for this would betray him and his own men just as
quickly as she betrayed her father and his people. He told his men to give
her exactly what he had promised her—what they wore on their left arms,
and _all of it_! As they rushed past her and she drew back a little toward
a hollow in the hill, Tatius first and the others after him flung at her
not only their bracelets, but the heavy oval shields they carried on their
left arms, beating her down as if she had been struck by a shower of
stones. The garrison, taken by surprise, had no chance. Brave old Tarpeius
died fighting, without knowing what had become of his treacherous
daughter. At dawn the stronghold was in Sabine hands. They had won the
first move.
Now indeed the two armies must join battle, with the odds against the
Romans. They met in a level place between the two hills but not so low as
the plain, and the fighting was fierce enough. The Sabine and Roman women
watched from the walls of the Palatine, and the Sabine girls, some of them
with babies in their arms, were crying as if their hearts would break.
Whichever army won, they would mourn men who loved them, for their fathers
and brothers were fighting against their husbands.
The line of fighting surged to and fro. A stone from a sling struck
Romulus on the head, and stunned him. The Romans gave back, fighting every
inch of the way. Romulus came to himself and tried to rally them, but in
vain. He flung up his arms to heaven and uttered a desperate prayer to
Jupiter, Father of the Gods, to save Rome.
Emilia could not bear it any longer. She stood up among the other Sabine
women, her eyes bright and her face as white as a lily, and spoke to them
quickly.
“Come with me!” she called, moving swiftly toward the door of the temple
of Vesta where they were gathered. “We will end this war—or die with our
men! Come to the battle field!”
The women guessed what she meant to do, and with a soft rush like a flock
of birds, they went past the guards and out of the gates, down over the
hillside, between the armies, which had halted an instant for breath. With
tears and soft little outcries they flung themselves into the arms of
their fathers and brothers in the Sabine army, and some sought out their
husbands begging them to stop the fighting, and not to make them twice
captives by taking them away from their homes. A more astonished battle
line was probably never seen than the Sabine front. The Romans on the
other side of the field were nearly as much taken aback.
There is no denying that most of the men felt rather silly. There could be
no more fighting without leading the women and babies back to the town,
and they probably would not stay there. It dawned on the Sabines all at
once that if the women who were now wives of the Romans were contented
where they were, and loved their husbands, it would be cruel as well as
senseless to force them back to their mountain villages. The war stopped
as soon as the generals on both sides could frame words of some dignity to
express their feelings. Emilia’s father, when he found that his daughter
was unharmed, and had been treated during the past year like an honored
guest, declared that there should be peace without delay. The conclusion
of the whole matter was an agreement to form an alliance. The Sabines and
the Romans were to share the Seven Hills and rule together. All the
customs common to both should be continued, and each settlement should
have freedom to govern itself in the customs peculiar to itself.
Romulus came toward Emilia and her father about sunset, after the wounded
had been made comfortable and the treaty agreed upon. They were in the
doorway of the priest’s tent. The Roman general looked very tall and
handsome and full of authority. His shining helmet and shield, short
sword, and light body armor of metal plates overlapping like plumage were
as full of proud and warlike strength as the wings of an eagle. He bowed
before the two; then he looked at the maiden.
“It is nearly a year. The time has not gone quickly.”
“He told me,” explained Emilia, “that if after the Saturnalia I wished to
return, he would send me home.”
“And do you wish to go home, my daughter?” asked the priest.
Emilia looked up at Romulus.
“I will go home,” she said, “with my husband.”
And the news ran through the camps that Romulus had taken a Sabine bride.