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Historic Tales: The Romance of Reality. Vol. 11 (of 15), Roman

by Charles Morris · English · Gutenberg #25673 · 493,954 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Historic Tales: The Romance of Reality. Vol. 11 (of 15), Roman

Author: Charles Morris


        
Release date: June 1, 2008 [eBook #25673]
                Most recently updated: January 3, 2021

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORIC TALES: THE ROMANCE OF REALITY. VOL. 11 (OF 15), ROMAN ***




Produced by David Kline, Greg Bergquist and The Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net







[Illustration: CASTLE S. ANGELO.]




  Edition d'Elite

  Historical Tales

  The Romance of Reality

  By

  CHARLES MORRIS

  _Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors," "Tales from the
  Dramatists," etc._

  IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES

  Volume XI

  Roman


  J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
  PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON




  Copyright, 1896, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.

  Copyright, 1904, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.

  Copyright, 1908, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.




CONTENTS.


                                              PAGE
  HOW ROME WAS FOUNDED                           7

  THE SABINE VIRGINS                            14

  THE HORATII AND CURIATII                      22

  THE DYNASTY OF THE TARQUINS                   26

  THE BOOKS OF THE SIBYL                        32

  THE STORY OF LUCRETIA                         36

  HOW BRAVE HORATIUS KEPT THE BRIDGE            43

  THE BATTLE OF LAKE REGILLUS                   50

  THE REVOLT OF THE PEOPLE                      54

  THE REVENGE OF CORIOLANUS                     60

  CINCINNATUS AND THE AEQUIANS                   68

  THE SACRIFICE OF VIRGINIA                     75

  CAMILLUS AT THE SIEGE OF VEII                 87

  THE GAULS AT ROME                             94

  THE CURTIAN GULF                             105

  ANECDOTES OF THE LATIN AND SAMNITE WARS      108

  THE CAUDINE FORKS                            116

  THE FATE OF REGULUS                          126

  HANNIBAL CROSSES THE ALPS                    135

  HOW HANNIBAL FOUGHT AND DIED                 145

  ARCHIMEDES AT THE SIEGE OF SYRACUSE          152

  THE FATE OF CARTHAGE                         158

  THE GRACCHI AND THEIR FALL                   165

  JUGURTHA, THE PURCHASER OF ROME              173

  THE EXILE AND REVENGE OF MARIUS              180

  THE PROSCRIPTION OF SULLA                    191

  THE REVOLT OF THE GLADIATORS                 198

  CAESAR AND THE PIRATES                        204

  CAESAR AND POMPEY                             208

  THE ASSASSINATION OF CAESAR                   218

  ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA                         227

  AN IMPERIAL MONSTER                          236

  THE MURDER OF AN EMPRESS                     243

  BOADICEA, THE HEROINE OF BRITAIN             250

  ROME SWEPT BY FLAMES                         255

  THE DOOM OF NERO                             262

  THE SPORTS OF THE AMPHITHEATRE               272

  THE REIGN OF A GLUTTON                       280

  THE FAITHFUL EPONINA                         289

  THE SIEGE OF JERUSALEM                       293

  THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII                   301

  AN IMPERIAL SAVAGE                           309

  THE DEEDS OF CONSTANTINE                     319

  THE GOTHS CROSS THE DANUBE                   325

  THE DOWNFALL OF ROME                         331




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


ROMAN.

                                              PAGE
  THE CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO           _Frontispiece_.

  ROME FROM THE DOME OF ST. PETER'S             18

  THE FORUM OF ROME                             26

  BRUTUS ORDERING THE EXECUTION OF HIS SONS     40

  HORATIUS KEEPING THE BRIDGE                   46

  THE SACRIFICE OF VIRGINIA                     75

  RUINS OF THE ROMAN AQUEDUCTS                 106

  HANNIBAL CROSSING THE ALPS                   139

  THE BATHS OF CARACALLA                       150

  THE ASSASSINATION OF CAESAR                   218

  ANTONY'S ORATION OVER CAESAR                  224

  THE GALLEY OF CLEOPATRA                      230

  THE TOMB OF HADRIAN                          260

  A ROMAN CHARIOT RACE                         275

  THE COLISEUM AT ROME                         282

  THE JEWS' WAILING PLACE, JERUSALEM           294

  THE RUINS OF POMPEII                         306

  EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF MARCUS AURELIUS         309

  ARCH OF TITUS, ROME                          320

  THE LAST COMBAT OF THE GLADIATORS            333




_HOW ROME WAS FOUNDED._


Very far back in time, more than twenty-six hundred years ago, on the
banks of a small Italian river, known as the Tiber, were laid the
foundations of a city which was in time to become the conqueror of the
civilized world. Of the early days of this renowned city of Rome we know
very little. What is called its history is really only legend,--stories
invented by poets, or ancient facts which became gradually changed into
romances. The Romans believed them, but that is no reason why we should.
They believed many things which we doubt. And yet these romantic stories
are the only existing foundation-stones of actual Roman history, and we
can do no better than give them for what little kernel of fact they may
contain.

In our tales from Greek history it has been told how the city of Troy
was destroyed, and how AEneas, one of its warrior chiefs, escaped. After
many adventures this fugitive Trojan prince reached Italy and founded
there a new kingdom. His son Ascanius afterwards built the city of Alba
Longa (the long white city) not far from the site of the later city of
Rome. Three hundred years passed away, many kings came and went, and
then Numitor, a descendant of AEneas, came to the throne. But Numitor
had an ambitious brother, Amulius, who robbed him of his crown, and,
while letting him live, killed his only son and shut up his daughter
Silvia in the temple of the goddess Vesta, to guard the ever-burning
fire of that deity.

Here Silvia had twin sons, whose father was said, in the old
superstitious fashion, to be Mars, the God of War. The usurper, fearing
that these sons of Mars might grow up and deprive him of his throne,
ordered that they and their mother should be flung into the Tiber, then
swollen with recent rains. The mother was drowned, but destiny, or Mars,
preserved the sons. Borne onward in their basket cradle, they were at
length swept ashore where the river had overflown its banks at the foot
of the afterwards famous Palatine Hill. Here the cradle was over-turned
near the roots of a wild fig-tree, and the infants left at the edge of
the shallow waters.

What follows sounds still more like fable. A she-wolf that came to the
water to drink chanced to see the helpless children, and carried them to
her cave, where she fed them with her milk. As they grew older a
woodpecker brought them food, flying in and out of the cave. At length
Faustulus, a herdsman of the king, found these lusty infants in the
wolf's den, took them home, and gave them to his wife Laurentia to bring
up with her own children. He gave them the names of Romulus and Remus.

Years went by, and the river waifs grew to be strong, handsome, and
brave young men. They became leaders among the shepherds and herdsmen,
and helped them to fight the wild animals that troubled their flocks.
Their home was on the Palatine Hill, and the cattle and sheep for which
they cared were those of the wicked king Amulius. Near by was another
hill, called the Aventine, and on this the deposed king Numitor fed his
flocks. In course of time a quarrel arose between the herdsmen on the
two hills, and Numitor's men, having laid an ambush, took Remus prisoner
and carried him to Alba, where their master dwelt. This no sooner became
known to Romulus than he gathered the young men of the Palatine Hill,
and set out in all haste to the rescue of his brother.

Meanwhile, Remus had been taken before Numitor, who gazed on him with
surprise. His face and bearing were rather those of a prince than of a
shepherd, and there was something in his aspect familiar to the old
king. Numitor questioned him closely, and Remus told him the story of
the river, the wolf, and the herdsman. Numitor listened intently. The
story took him back to the day, many years before, when his daughter
Silvia and her twin sons had been thrown into the swollen stream. Could
the children have escaped? Could this handsome youth be his grandson? It
must be so, for his age and his story agreed.

But while they talked, Romulus and his followers reached the city, and,
being forbidden entrance, made an assault on the gates. In the conflict
that ensued Amulius took part and was killed, and thus Numitor and his
daughter were at last revenged. Seeking Remus, the victorious shepherd
prince found him with Numitor, who now fully recognized in the twin
youths his long-lost grandsons. Romulus, who was now master of the city,
restored his royal grandfather to the throne.

As for Romulus and Remus, their life as shepherds was at an end. It was
not for youths of royal blood and warlike aspirations to spend their
lives in keeping sheep. But Numitor had been restored to the throne of
Alba, and they decided to build a city of their own on those hills where
all their lives had been passed and on which they preferred to dwell.
The land belonged to Numitor, but he willingly granted it to them, and
they led their followers to the spot.

Here a dispute arose between the brothers. The story goes that Romulus
wished to have the city built on the Palatine Hill, Remus on the
Aventine Hill; and that, as they could not agree, they referred the
matter to their grandfather, who advised them to settle it by
augury,--or by watching and forming conclusions from the flight of
birds. This long continued the favorite Roman mode of settling difficult
questions. It was easier than the Greek plan of going to Delphi to
consult the oracle.

The two brothers now stationed themselves on the opposite hills, each
with a portion of their followers, and waited patiently for what the
heavens might send. The day slowly waned, and they waited in vain. Night
came and deepened, and still their vigil lasted. At length, just as the
sun of a new day rose in the east, Remus saw a flight of vultures, six
in all. He exulted at the sight, for the vulture, as a bird which was
seldom seen and did no harm to cattle or crops, was looked upon as an
excellent augury. Word of his success was sent to Romulus, but he capped
the story with a better one, saying that twelve vultures had just passed
over his hill.

The dispute was still open. Remus had seen the birds first; Romulus had
seen the most. Which had won? The question was offered to the decision
of their followers, the majority of whom raised their voices in favor of
Romulus. The Palatine Hill was therefore chosen as the city's site. This
event took place, so Roman chronology tells us, in the year 753 B.C.

The day fixed for the beginning of the work on the new city--the 21st of
April--was a day of religious ceremony and festival among the shepherds.
On this day they offered sacrifices of cakes and milk to their god
Pales, asked for blessings on the flocks and herds, and implored pardon
for all offences against the dryads of the woods, the nymphs of the
streams, and other deities. They purified themselves by flame and their
flocks by smoke, and afterwards indulged in rustic feasts and games.
This day of religious consecration was deemed by Romulus the fittest one
for the important ceremony of founding his projected city.

Far back in time as it was when this took place, Italy seems to have
already possessed numerous cities, many of which were to become enemies
of Rome in later days. The most civilized of the Italian peoples were
the Etruscans, a nation dwelling north of the Tiber, and whose many
cities displayed a higher degree of civilization than those around
them. From these the Romans in later days borrowed many of their
religious customs, and to them Romulus sent to learn what were the
proper ceremonies to use in founding a city.

The ceremonies he used were the following. At the centre of the chosen
area he dug a circular pit through the soil to the hard clay beneath,
and cast into this, with solemn observances, some of the first fruits of
the season. Each of his men also threw in a handful of earth brought
from his native land. Then the pit was filled up, an altar erected upon
it, and a fire kindled on the altar. In this way was the city
consecrated to the gods.

Then, having harnessed a cow and a bull of snow-white color to a plough
whose share was made of brass, Romulus ploughed a furrow along the line
of the future walls. He took care that the earth of the furrow should
fall inward towards the city, and also to lift the plough and carry it
over the places where gates were to be made. As he ploughed he uttered a
prayer to Jupiter, Mars, Vesta, and other deities, invoking their favor,
and praying that the new city should long endure and become an
all-ruling power upon the earth.

The Romans tell us that his prayer was answered by Jupiter, who sent
thunder from one side of the heavens and lightning from the other. These
omens encouraged the people, who went cheerfully to the work of building
the walls. But the consecration of the city was not yet completed. Its
walls were to be cemented by noble blood. There is reason to believe
that in those days the line of a city's walls was held as sacred, and
that it was desecration to enter the enclosure at any place except those
left for the gates. This may be the reason that Romulus gave orders to a
man named Celer, who had charge of the building of the walls, not to let
any one pass over the furrow made by the plough. However this be, the
story goes that Remus, who was still angry about his brother's victory,
leaped scornfully over the furrow, exclaiming, "Shall such defences as
these keep your city?"

Celer, who stood by, stirred to sudden fury by this disdain, raised the
spade with which he had been working, and struck Remus a blow that laid
him dead upon the ground. Then, fearing vengeance for his hasty act, he
rushed away with such speed that his name has since been a synonyme for
quickness. Our word "celerity" is derived from it. But Romulus seems to
have borne the infliction with much of that spirit of fortitude which
distinguished the Romans in after-times. At least, the only effect the
death of his brother had upon him, so far as we know, was in the remark,
"So let it happen to all who pass over my walls!" Thus were consecrated
in the blood of a brother the walls of that city which in later years
was to be bathed in the blood of the brotherhood of mankind, and from
which was destined to outflow a torrent of desolation over the earth.




_THE SABINE VIRGINS._


A tract of ground surrounded by walls does not make a city. Men are
wanted, and of these the new city of Rome had but few. The band of
shepherds who were sufficient to build a wall, or perhaps only a wooden
palisade, were not enough to inhabit a city and defend it from its foes.
The neighboring people had cities of their own, except bandits and
fugitives, men who had shed blood, exiles driven from their homes by
their enemies, or slaves who had fled from their lords and masters.
These were the only people to be had, and Romulus invited them in by
proclaiming that his city should be an asylum for all who were
oppressed, a place of refuge to which any man might flee and be safe
from his pursuers. He erected a temple to a god named Asylaeus,--from
whom comes the word asylum,--and in this he "received and protected all,
delivering none back, neither the servant to his master, the debtor to
his creditor, nor the murderer into the hands of the magistrate, saying
that it was a privileged place, and they could so maintain it by an
order of the holy oracle, insomuch that the city grew presently very
populous."

It was a quick and easy way of peopling a city. Doubtless the country
held many such fugitives,--men lurking in woods or caves, hiding in
mountain clefts, abiding wherever a place of safety offered,--hundreds
of whom, no doubt, were glad to find a shelter among men and behind
walls of defence. But it was probably a sorry population, made up of the
waifs of mankind, many of whom had been slaves or murderers. There were
certainly no women among this desperate horde, and Romulus appealed in
vain to the neighboring cities to let his people obtain wives from among
their maidens. It was not safe for the citizens of Rome to go abroad to
seek wives for themselves; the surrounding peoples rejected the appeal
of Romulus with scorn and disdain; unless something was done Rome bade
fair to remain a city of bachelors.

In this dilemma Romulus conceived a plan to win wives for his people. He
sent word abroad that he had discovered the altar of the god Consus, who
presided over secret counsels, and he invited the citizens of the
neighboring towns to come to Rome and take part in a feast with which he
proposed to celebrate the festal day of the deity. This was the 21st of
August, just four months after the founding of the city,--that is, if it
was the same year.

There were to be sacrifices to Consus, where libations would be poured
into the flames that consumed the victims. These would be followed by
horse-and chariot-races, banquets, and other festivities. The promise of
merry-making brought numerous spectators from the nearer cities, some
doubtless drawn by curiosity to see what sort of a commonwealth this
was that had grown up so suddenly on the sheep pastures of the Palatine
Hill; and they found their wives and daughters as curious and eager for
enjoyment as themselves, and brought them along, ignoring the scorn with
which they had lately rejected the Roman proposals for wives. It was a
religious festival, and therefore safe; so visitors came from the cities
of Coenina, Crustumerium, and Antemna, and a multitude from the
neighboring country of the Sabines.

The sacrifices over, the games began. The visitors, excited by the
races, became scattered about among the Romans. But as the chariots,
drawn by flying horses, sped swiftly over the ground, and the eyes of
the visitors followed them in their flight, Romulus gave a preconcerted
signal, and immediately each Roman seized a maiden whom he had managed
to get near and carried her struggling and screaming from the ground. As
they did so, each called out "Talasia," a word which means spinning, and
which afterwards became the refrain of a Roman marriage song.

The games at once broke up in rage and confusion. But the visitors were
unarmed and helpless. Their anger could be displayed only in words, and
Romulus told them boldly that they owed their misfortune to their pride.
But all would go well with their daughters, he said, since their new
husbands would take the place with them of home and family.

This reasoning failed to satisfy the fathers who had been robbed so
violently of their daughters, and they had no sooner reached home than
many of them seized their arms and marched against their faithless
hosts. First came the people of Coenina; but the Romans defeated them,
and Romulus killed their king. Then came the people of Crustumerium and
Antemna, but they too were defeated. The prisoners were taken into Rome
and made citizens of the new commonwealth.

But it was the Sabines who had most to deplore, for they had come in
much the greatest number, and it was principally the Sabine virgins whom
the Romans had borne off from the games. Titus Tatius, the king of the
Sabines, therefore resolved upon a signal revenge, and took time to
gather a large army, with which he marched against Rome.

The war that followed was marked by two romantic incidents. Near the
Tiber is a hill,--afterwards known as the Capitoline Hill,--which was
divided from the Palatine Hill by a low and swampy valley. On this hill
Romulus had built a fortress, as a sort of outwork of his new city. It
happened that Tarpeius, the chief who held this fortress, had a daughter
named Tarpeia, who was deeply affected by that love of finery which has
caused abundant mischief since her day. When she saw the golden collars
and bracelets which many of the Sabines wore, her soul was filled with
longing, and she managed to let them know that she would betray the
fortress into their hands if they would give her the bright things which
they wore upon their arms.

They consented, and she secretly opened to them a gate of the fortress.
But as they marched through the gate, and the traitress waited to
receive her reward, the Sabine soldiers threw on her the bright shields
which they wore on their arms, and she was crushed to death beneath
their weight. The steep rock of the Capitoline Hill from which traitors
were afterwards thrown was called, after her, the Tarpeian Rock.

[Illustration: ROME FROM THE DOME OF ST. PETER'S.]

The fortress thus captured, the valley between the hill and the city
became the scene of battle. Here the Sabines repulsed the Romans,
driving them back to one of their gates, through which the fugitives
rushed in confusion, shutting it hastily behind them. But--if we may
trust the legend--the gate refused to stay shut. It opened again of its
own accord. They closed it twice more, and twice more it swung open. The
victorious Sabines, who had now reached it, began to rush in; but just
then, from the Temple of Janus, near by, there burst forth a mighty
stream of water, which swept the Sabines away and saved Rome from
capture. Therefore, in after-days, the gates of the Temple of Janus
stood always wide open in time of war, that the god might go out, if he
would, to fight for the Romans.

Another battle took place in the valley, and the Romans again began to
flee. Romulus now prayed to Jupiter, and vowed to erect to him a temple
as Jupiter Stator,--that is, the "stayer,"--if he would stay the Romans
in their flight. Jupiter did so, or, at any rate, the Romans turned
again to the fight, which now waxed furious. What would have been its
result we cannot tell, for it was brought to an end by the other
romantic incident of which we have spoken.

In fact, while the fathers of the Sabine virgins retained their anger
against the Romans, the virgins themselves, who had now long been
brides, had become comforted, most of them being as attached to their
husbands as they had been to their parents before; and in the midst of
the furious battle between their nearest relatives the lately abducted
damsels were seen rushing down the Palatine Hill, and forcing their way,
with appealing eyes and dishevelled hair, in between the combatants.

"Make us not twice captives!" they earnestly exclaimed, saying
pathetically that if the war went on they would be widowed or
fatherless, both of which sad alternatives they deplored.

The result of this appeal was a happy one. Both sides let fall their
arms, and peace was declared upon the spot, it being recognized that
there could be no closer bond of unity than that made by the daughters
of the Sabines and wives of the Romans. The two people agreed to become
one, the Sabines making their new home on the Capitoline and Quirinal
Hills, and the Romans continuing to occupy the Palatine. As for the
women, there was established in their honor the feast called Matronalia,
in which husbands gave presents to their wives and lovers to their
betrothed. Romulus and Tatius were to rule jointly, and afterwards the
king of Rome should be alternately of Roman and Sabine birth.

After five years Tatius was killed in a quarrel, and Romulus became sole
king. Under him Rome grew rapidly. He was successful in his wars, and
enriched his people with the spoils of his enemies In rule he was just
and gentle, and punished those guilty of crime not by death, but by
fines of sheep or oxen. It is said, though, that he grew somewhat
arrogant, and was accustomed to receive his people dressed in scarlet
and lying on a couch of state, where he was surrounded by a body of
young men called _Celeres_, from the speed with which they flew to
execute his orders.

For nearly forty years his reign continued, and then his end came
strangely. One day he called the people together in the Field of Mars.
But suddenly there arose a frightful storm, with such terrible thunder
and lightning and such midnight darkness that the people fled homeward
in affright through the drenching rain. That was the last of Romulus. He
was never seen in life again. He may have been slain by enemies, but the
popular belief was that Mars, his father, had carried him up to heaven
in his chariot. All that the people knew was that one night, when
Proculus Julius, a friend of the king, was on his way from Alba to Rome,
he met Romulus by the way, his stature beyond that of man, and his face
showing the beauty of the gods.

Proculus asked him why he had left the people to sorrow and wicked
surmises, for some said that the senators had made away with him.
Romulus replied that it was the wish of the gods that, after building a
city that was destined to the greatest empire and glory, he should go to
heaven and dwell with the gods.

"Go and tell my people that they must not weep for me any more," he
said; "but bid them to be brave and warlike, and so shall they make my
city the greatest on the earth."

This story satisfied the people that their king had been made a god; so
they built a temple to him, and always afterwards worshipped him under
the name of the god Quirinus. A festival called the Quirinalia was
celebrated each year on the 17th of February, the day on which he had
vanished from the eyes of men.




_THE HORATII AND CURIATII._


Romulus was succeeded by a king named Numa Pompilius, of Sabine origin,
who so loved peace that during his reign Rome had no wars and no
enemies, so that the doors of the Temple of Janus were never once opened
while he was on the throne. He built a temple to Faith, that men might
learn to avoid falsehood and to act honestly. He taught the people to
sacrifice nothing but the fruits of the earth, cakes of flour, and
roasted corn, and to shed no blood upon the altars. And so Home was
peaceful and prosperous throughout his long reign, and grew rapidly in
wealth and population. He died at length when eighty years of age, and
was succeeded by Tullus Hostilius, a king of Roman birth.

The new king loved war as much as the gentle Numa had loved peace. Under
his rule the gates of the Temple of Janus were soon thrown open again,
long to remain so. His first war was with the city of Alba Longa, the
foster-parent of Rome. Some border troubles brought on hostilities, war
broke out, and an Alban army marched until within fifteen miles of Rome.
And here took place a celebrated incident. The two armies were drawn out
on the field, and were about to plunge into the dreadful work of
battle, when the Alban king, to whom the war seemed a foolish and
useless one, stood out between the two armies and spoke in the hearing
of both.

He reminded them that the Romans and Albans were of the same origin, and
that they were surrounded by nations who would like to see both of them
weakened. He proposed, therefore, that the dispute between them should
be decided not by battle, but by a duel between a few soldiers, and that
the side which won should rule the other. This proposal seemed to Tullus
a sensible one, and he accepted it, offering as the combatants on his
side three brothers known as the Horatii.

The Alban army had also three brave brothers, of about the same age as
the Roman champions, known as the Curiatii, and these were chosen to
uphold the honor and dominion of Alba against Rome. So, with the two
armies as spectators, and a broad space between for the deadly duel, the
six champions, fully armed, faced each other in the field.

The onset was fierce, and set every heart in the two armies throbbing in
hope or dread. But after a short time a shout of triumph went up from
the Alban host. Two of the Horatii lay stretched in death on the field.
The Curiatii were all wounded, but they were now three to one, so the
remaining Horatius turned and fled, though he was still unhurt. Dismay
fell on the Romans as they saw their single champion in full flight,
pursued by his opponents. The glad shouts of the Albans redoubled.

Suddenly a change came. The fugitive, whose flight had been a feint, to
separate his foes, now turned and saw that the wounded men were lagging
in pursuit and were widely separated. Running quickly back, he met the
nearest, and killed him with a blow. The other two were met and slain in
succession before they could aid each other. Then, holding up his bloody
sword in triumph, the victor invited the plaudits of his friends, while
shedding dismay on Alban hearts.

The Romans, now lords of the Albans, returned to Rome in triumph, their
advent to the city being marked by the first of those pompous
processions which in after-years became known as Roman Triumphs, and
were celebrated with the utmost splendor and costliness of display.

But the affair of the Horatii and Curiatii was not yet at an end. It was
to be finished in blood and crime. A sister of the Horatii was the
affianced bride of one of the Curiatii, and as she saw her victorious
brother enter the city, bearing on his shoulders the military cloak
which she had wrought for her lover with her own hands, she broke into
wild invectives, tearing her hair, and upbraiding her brother with
bitter words. Roused to fury by this accusation, the victor, in a
paroxysm of rage, struck his sister to the heart with the sword which
had slain her lover, crying out, "So perish the Roman maiden who shall
weep for her country's enemy."

This dreadful deed filled with horror the hearts of all who beheld it.
Men cried that it was a crime against the law and the gods, too great to
be atoned for by the victor's services. He was seized and dragged to the
tribunal of the two judges who dealt with crimes of bloodshed. These
heard the evidence of the crime, and condemned him to death, in despite
of what he had done for Rome.

But the Roman law permitted an appeal from the judges to the people.
This appeal Horatius made, and it was tried before the assembly of
Romans. Here his father spoke in his favor, saying that in his opinion
the maiden deserved her fate. Remembrance of the great service performed
by Horatius was also strong with the people, and the voice of the
assembly freed him from the sentence of death. But blood had been shed,
and blood required atonement, so a sum of money was set aside to pay for
sacrifices to atone for this dreadful deed. Ever afterwards these
sacrifices were performed by members of the Horatian clan.

In a later war the Albans failed to aid the Romans, as they were
required to do by the terms of alliance. As a result the city of Alba
was destroyed, and the Albans forced to come and live in Rome, the
Caelial Hill being given them for a dwelling-place.




_THE DYNASTY OF THE TARQUINS._


The tale we have now to tell forces us to pass rapidly over years of
history. After several kings of Roman and Sabine birth had reigned, a
foreigner, of Greek descent, came to the throne of Rome. This was one
Lucomo, the son of a native of Corinth, who had settled at Tarquinii in
Italy. Growing weary of Tarquinii, Lucomo left that city, with his
family and wealth, and made his way to Rome. As he came near the gates
of the city an eagle swooped down, lifted the cap from his head, and,
bearing it high into the air, descended and placed it on his head again.
His wife Tanaquil, who was skilled in augury, told him this was a happy
omen, and that he was destined to become great.

[Illustration: THE FORUM OF ROME.]

And so he did. His riches, courage, and wisdom brought him great favor
in Rome, and on the death of their king Ancus the people chose Lucius
Tarquinius--as they called him, from his native city--to reign over them
in his stead. He proved a valiant and successful warrior, and in times
of peace did noble work. He built great sewers to drain the city,
constructed a large circus or race-course, and a forum or market-place,
and built a wall of stone around the city in place of the old wooden
wall. He also began to build a great temple on the Capitoline Hill,
which was designed to be the temple of the gods of Rome. In the end
Lucius was murdered by the sons of King Ancus, who declared that he had
robbed them of the throne.

There is a story of the deed of an augur in his reign which is worth
repeating, whether we believe it or not. Lucius had little trust in the
augur, and said to him, "Come, tell me by your auguries whether the
thing I have in my mind may be done or not." "It may," said Attus, the
augur. "It is this," said the king, laughing: "it was in my mind that
you should cut this whetstone in two with this razor. Take them and see
if you can do it."

Attus took the razor and whetstone, and with a bold stroke cut the
latter in two. From that time on Lucius did nothing without first
consulting the augurs, and testing the purposes of the gods by the
flight of birds, and--so say the legends--he prospered accordingly.

The cause of the death of Lucius was this. One day a boy who dwelt in
the palace fell asleep in its portico, and as he lay there some
attendants who passed by saw a flame playing lambently around his head.
Alarmed at the sight, they were about to throw water upon him to
extinguish the flame, when Tanaquil, the queen, who had also seen it,
forbade them. She told the king of what had happened, and said that the
boy whom they were bringing up so meanly was destined to become great
and noble. She bade him, therefore, to rear the child in a way befitting
his destiny.

The boy, whose name was Servius Tullius, was thereupon brought up as a
prince, and when old enough married the king's daughter. Lucius reigned
forty years, and then the sons of Ancus, fearing to be robbed of their
claim to the throne by young Servius, who had become very popular,
managed to get an audience with and kill the king.

The murderers gained nothing by their deed of blood. Queen Tanaquil
shrewdly told the people that Lucius was only stunned by the blow, and
that he wished them to obey the orders of Servius. To the young man she
said, "The kingdom is yours; if you have no plans of your own, then
follow mine." For several days Servius acted as king, and then, the
people and senate having grown used to seeing him on the throne, the
death of Lucius was declared and Servius proclaimed king. He had the
consent of the senate, but had not asked that of the people, being the
first king of Rome who reigned without the votes of the assembly of the
Roman people.

Servius Tullius reigned long and won victories, but his greatest
triumphs were those of peace. He formed a league with the thirty cities
of Latium, and is said to have taken a census of the people of the city,
which was found to have eighty-three thousand inhabitants. To strengthen
his power he married his two daughters to two sons of Lucius Tarquinius,
a well-intended act which led to a tragic and dreadful deed.

The daughters of Servius were very unlike in nature, and the same may be
said of their husbands, and they became unequally mated. Lucius
Tarquinius was proud and full of evil, while his wife, the elder Tullia,
was good and gentle. Aruns Tarquinius was of a mild and kindly nature,
while his wife, the younger Tullia, was cruel and ambitious. They were
thus sadly mismated. But the evil pair saw in each other kindred
spirits, and in the end Lucius secretly killed his wife, and the younger
Tullia her husband. The wicked pair then married, and proceeded to carry
out the purposes of their base hearts.

Servius, being himself of humble birth, had favored the people at the
expense of the nobles. He even made a law that no king should rule after
him, but that two men chosen by the people should govern them year by
year. Thus it was that the commons came to love him and the nobles to
hate him, and when he asked for a vote of the people on his king-ship
there was not a voice raised against him.

Lucius, whom his wicked wife steadily goaded to ambitious aims,
conspired with the nobles against the king. There were brotherhoods of
the young nobles, pledged to support each other in deeds of oppression.
These he joined, and gained their aid. Then he waited till the harvest
season, when the commons were in the fields, gathering the ripened corn.

This absence of the king's friends gave him the opportunity he wished.
Gathering a band of armed men, he suddenly entered the Forum, and took
his seat on the king's throne, before the door of the senate-chamber,
from which Servius was accustomed to judge the people. Word of this act
of treason was borne to the old king, who at once hastened to the Forum
and sternly asked the usurper why he had dared to take that seat.

Lucius insolently answered that it was his father's throne, and that he
had the best right to it. Then, as the aged and unguarded king mounted
the steps of the senate-house, his ambitious son-in-law sprang up,
caught him by the middle, and flung him headlong down the steps to the
ground. Then he went into the senate-chamber and called the senators
together, as though he were already king.

The old monarch, sadly shaken by his fall, rose to his feet and made his
way slowly towards his home on the Esquiline Hill. But when he came near
it he was overtaken by some bravos whom Lucius had sent in pursuit.
These killed the unprotected old man, and left him lying in his blood in
the middle of the street.

And now was done a deed which has aroused the execrations of mankind in
all later ages. Tullia, who had instigated her husband to the murder of
her father, waited with impatience until it was performed. Then,
mounting her chariot, she bade the coachman to drive to the Forum,
where, heedless of the crowd of men who had assembled, she called Lucius
from the senate-house, and cried to him, in accents of triumph, "Hail to
thee, King Tarquinius!"

Wicked as Lucius was, he was not as shameless as his wife, and sternly
bade her to go home. She obeyed, taking the same street as her father
had followed. Soon reaching the spot where the bleeding body of the old
king lay stretched across the way, the coachman drew up his horses and
pointed out to Tullia the dreadful spectacle.

"Drive on," she harshly commanded. "I cannot," he replied. "The street
is too narrow to pass without crushing the king's body." "Drive on," she
again fiercely ordered, and the coachman did so. Tullia went to her home
with her father's blood upon the wheels of her chariot, and with the
execration of all good men upon her head. And thus it was that Lucius
Tarquinius and his wicked wife succeeded the good king Servius upon the
throne.

We may tell here briefly the end of this evil pair. Tarquin the Proud,
as he is known in history, reigned as a tyrant and oppressor, while his
wife was viewed with horror by all virtuous matrons. At length the
people rose against a base deed of the tyrant's son, and the wicked
Tullia fled in terror from her house. No one sought to stop her in her
flight; but all, men and women alike, cursed her as she passed, and
prayed that the furies of her father's blood might take revenge for her
dreadful deed.

She never saw Rome again. Tarquin sought long to regain his crown, but
in vain, and the wicked usurpers died in exile. No king ever again ruled
over the Romans. Tarquin's tyranny had given the people enough of kings,
and the law of good Servius Tullius was at last carried out.




_THE BOOKS OF THE SIBYL._


While Tarquin the Proud was king a strange thing happened at Rome. One
day an unknown woman came to the king, bearing in her arms nine books,
which she offered to sell to him at a certain price. She told him that
they contained the prophecies of the Sibyl of Cumae, and that from them
might be learned the destiny of Rome and the way to carry out this
destiny.

But the price she asked for her books seemed to the king exorbitant, and
he refused to buy them, whereupon the woman went away from the palace
and burned three of the volumes. She then returned with six only and
offered them to the king, but demanded the same price for the six as she
had before done for the nine. King Tarquin heard this demand with
laughter and mockery, and again refused to buy. The woman once more left
the palace, and burned three more of the books.

To the king's astonishment his strange visitor soon returned, bearing
the three books that remained. On being asked their price, she named the
same sum as she had demanded for the six and the nine. This was ceasing
to be matter for mockery. There might be some important mystery
concealed behind this strange demand. The king sent for the augurs of
the court, told them what had happened, and asked what he should do.
They told him that he had done very wrong. In refusing the books he had
refused a gift of the gods. By all means he must buy the books that were
left. He bought them, therefore, at the Sibyl's price. As for the woman,
she was never seen again.

The books were placed in a chest of stone, and kept underground in the
great temple which his father had begun on the Capitoline Hill, and
which he had completed. Two men were appointed to guard them, who were
called the two men of the sacred books; and no treasure could have been
kept with more care and devotion than these mysterious rolls.

The temple in which these books were kept was the grandest edifice Rome
had yet known. When Tarquin proposed to build it he found the chosen
site already occupied by many holy places, sacred to the gods of the
Sabines, the first dwellers on the Capitoline Hill. The augurs consulted
the gods to see if these holy places could safely be removed, to make
room for the new temple. The answer came that they might take away all
except the holy places of the god of Youth and of Terminus, the god of
boundaries. This was accounted a happy augury, for it seemed to mean
that the city should always retain its youth and that no enemy should
remove its boundaries. And when the foundations of the temple were dug a
human head was found, which was held to be a sign that the Capitoline
Hill should be the head of all the earth. So a great temple was built,
and consecrated to Jupiter and to Juno and to Minerva, the greatest of
the Etruscan gods. This edifice, afterwards known as the Capitol, was
the most sacred and revered edifice of later Rome.

In the vaults of this temple the sacred books of the Sibyl were
sedulously kept, and here they were consulted from time to time, as
occasions arose in the history of the city when divine guidance seemed
necessary. None of the people were permitted to gaze within the sacred
cell in which they lay. Only the augurs consulted them, and the word of
the augurs had to be taken for what they revealed. It may be that the
augurs themselves invented all that they told, for the books at length
perished in the flames, and no man knows what secret lore they really
contained.

It was during the wars of Sulla and Marius (83 B.C.) that this disaster
occurred. The Capitol was burned, and with it those famous oracles,
which had so long directed the counsels of the nation. Their loss threw
Rome into the deepest consternation, the loss of the Capitol itself
seeming small beside that of these famous scrolls.

To replace them as far as possible, the senate sent ambassadors to the
various temples of Italy, Greece, and Asia Minor, within which were
Sibyls, or oracle-speaking priestesses. These collected such oracles
referring to Rome as they could find, about one thousand lines in all,
and brought them to Rome, where they were placed in the same locality in
the new Capitol that they had occupied in the old.

These oracles do not appear to have predicted future events, but were
consulted to discover the religious observances necessary to avert great
calamities and to expiate prodigies. During the reign of Augustus they
were removed to the Temple of Apollo on the Palatine Hill, and all the
false Sibylline leaves which were extant were collected and burned. They
remained here until shortly after the year 400 A.D., when they were
publicly burned by Stilicho, a famous general of Christian Rome, as
impious documents of heathen times.




_THE STORY OF LUCRETIA._


We have next to tell how Tarquin the Proud lost his throne, through his
own tyranny and the criminal action of his son. Once upon a time, when
this king was at the height of his power, he, as was usual, offered
sacrifices to the gods on the altar in the palace court-yard. But from
the altar there crawled out a snake, which devoured the offerings before
the flames could reach them.

This was an alarming omen. The augurs were consulted, but none of them
could explain it. So Tarquin sent two of his sons to the Temple of
Delphi, in Greece, whose oracle was famous in all lands, to ask counsel
of Apollo concerning this prodigy. With these two princes, Titus and
Aruns by name, went their cousin, Lucius Junius, a youth who seemed so
lacking in wit that men called him Brutus,--that is, the "Dullard." One
evidence of his lack of wit was that he would eat wild figs with honey.
Just in what way this was an evidence of want of good sense we do not
know, though doubtless the Romans did.

But Brutus was by no means the fool that men fancied him. He was shrewd
instead of stupid. His father had left him abundant wealth, to which
his uncle, King Tarquin, might at any time take a fancy, and sweep him
away to enjoy it. The king had killed his brother for his wealth, and
would be likely to serve him in the same way if he deemed him wise
enough to fight for his inheritance. So, preferring life to money,
Brutus feigned to be wanting in sense.

When he went to Delphi he took with him a hollow staff of horn, which he
had filled with gold, and offered this staff to the oracle as a likeness
of himself,--perhaps as one empty of wit and whose whole merit lay in
his gold. When the three young men had performed the bidding of the
king, and asked the oracle the meaning of the prodigy, they were told
that it portended the fall of Tarquin. Then they said, "O Lord Apollo,
tell us which of us shall be king of Rome." From the depth of the
sanctuary there came a voice in reply, "The one among you who shall
first kiss his mother."

This was one of those enigmas in which the Delphian oracle usually
spoke, saying things with a double meaning, and which men were apt to
take amiss. It was so now. The two princes drew lots which of them
should first kiss their mother on his return; and they agreed to keep
the oracle secret from their brother Sextus, lest he should be king
rather than they. But Brutus was wiser than them both. As they left the
temple together, he pretended to stumble and fell with his face to the
ground. He then kissed the earth, saying, "The earth is the true mother
of us all."

On their return to Rome the princes found that their father was at war.
He was besieging the city of Ardea, which lay south of Rome; and as this
city was strong and well defended the king and his army were kept a long
while before it, waiting until famine, their ally, should force the
inhabitants to surrender. While the army was thus waiting in idleness
its officers had leisure for feasts and diversions, and one of the
king's sons found time to indulge in fatal mischief. This arose from a
supper in the tent of Prince Sextus, at which his brothers Titus and
Aruns, and his cousin Tarquin of Collatia, were present.

While they feasted a dispute arose between them, as to which had the
worthiest wife. It ended in a proposition of Tarquin, "Let us go and see
with our own eyes what our wives are doing, and we can then best decide
which is the worthiest." This proposition hit with their humor, and,
mounting their horses, they rode to Rome. Here they found the wives of
the three princes merrily engaged at a banquet. They then rode on to
Collatia. It was now late at night, but they found Lucretia, the wife of
their cousin, neither sleeping nor feasting, but working at the loom,
with her handmaids busily engaged around her.

On seeing this, they all cried, "Lucretia is the worthiest lady." She
ceased her work to entertain them, after which they took to their horses
again, and rode back to the camp before Ardea.

But Sextus was seized with a vile passion for his cousin's wife, and a
few days afterwards went alone to Collatia, where Lucretia received him
with much hospitality, as her husband's kinsman. He treated her
shamefully in return, forcing her, with wicked threats, to accept him as
her lover and husband, in defiance of the laws of God and man.

As soon as Sextus had left her and returned to the camp, Lucretia sent
to Rome for her father and to Ardea for her husband. Tarquin brought
with him his cousin Lucius Junius, or Brutus the Dullard. When they
arrived the lady, with bitter tears, told them of the wickedness of
Sextus, and said, "If you are men, avenge it!" They heard her tale in
horror, and swore to deeply revenge her wrong.

"I am not guilty," she now said; "yet I too must share in the punishment
of this deed, lest any should think that they may be false to their
husbands and live." As she spoke she drew a knife from her bosom and
stabbed herself to the heart.

As they saw her fall, a cry of horror arose from her husband and father.
But Brutus, who saw that the time had come for him to throw off his
pretence of stupidity and act the man, drew the knife from the bleeding
wound and held it up, saying, in solemn accents, "By this blood, I swear
that I will visit this deed upon King Tarquin and all his accursed race!
And no man hereafter shall reign as king in Rome, lest he may do the
like wickedness."

He then handed the knife to the others, and bade them to take the same
oath. This they did, wondering at the sudden transformation in Brutus.
They then took up the body of the slain woman and carried it into the
forum of the town, crying to the gathering people, "Behold the deeds of
the wicked family of Tarquin, the tyrant of Rome!"

The people, maddened by the sight, hastily sought their arms, and while
some guarded the gates, that none might carry the news to the king, the
others followed Brutus to Rome. Here the story of the wickedness of
Sextus and the self-sacrifice of Lucretia ran through the city like
wildfire, and a multitude gathered in the Forum, where Brutus addressed
them in fervent words. He recalled to them all the tyranny of Tarquin
and the vices of his sons, reminding them of the murder of Servius, the
impious act of Tullia, and ending with an earnest recital of the wrongs
of the virtuous Lucretia, whose bleeding corpse still lay in evidence in
the forum of Collatia.

[Illustration: BRUTUS ORDERING THE EXECUTION OF HIS SONS.]

His words went to the souls of his hearers. An assembly of the people
being quickly called, it was voted that the Tarquins should be banished,
and the office of king should be forever abolished in Rome. Tullia,
learning of the cause of the tumult, hastily left the palace, and fled
from Rome in her chariot through throngs that followed her with threats
and curses. Brutus, perhaps with the crimsoned knife still in his hand,
bade the young men to follow him, and set off in haste to Ardea, to
spread through the army the story of the deed of crime and blood.

Meanwhile, Tarquin had been told of the revolt, and was hurrying to Rome
to put it down. Brutus turned aside from the road that he might not meet
him, and hastened on to the camp, where the story of the revolt and its
cause was told the soldiers. On hearing the story the whole army broke
into a tumult of indignation, drove the king's sons from the camp, and
demanded to be led to Rome. The siege of Ardea was at once abandoned and
the backward march began.

Meanwhile, Tarquin had reached the city, but only to find the gates
closed against him and stern men on the walls. "You cannot enter here,"
they cried. "You are banished from Rome, you and all of yours, and shall
never set foot within its walls again. And you are the last of our
kings. No man after you shall ever call himself king of Rome."

Just in what threats, promises, and persuasions Tarquin indulged we do
not know. But the men on the walls were not to be moved by threats or
promises, and he was obliged to take himself away, a crownless wanderer.
As for Sextus, to whom all the trouble was due, some say that he was
killed in a town whose people he had betrayed, while others say that he
was slain in battle while his father was fighting to regain his throne.

But this is certain, no king ever reigned in Rome again. The people,
talking among each other, said, "Let us follow the wise laws of good
King Servius. He bade us to meet in our centuries (or hundreds) and to
choose two men year by year to govern us, instead of a king. This let us
do, as Servius would have done himself had he not been basely murdered."

So the centuries of the people met in the Campus Martius (Field of
Mars), and there chose two men,--Brutus, the leader in the revolution,
and Lucius Tarquin, the husband of the fated Lucretia. These officials
were afterwards called Consuls, and were given ruling power in Rome.
But they had to lay down their office at the end of the year and be
succeeded by two others elected in their stead. The people, however,
were afraid of the very name of Tarquin, and in electing Lucius to the
consulate it seemed as if they had put a new Tarquin on the throne. So
they prayed him to leave the city; and, taking all his goods, he went
away and settled at Lavinium, a new consul being elected in his place. A
law was now passed that all the house of the Tarquins should be
banished, whether they were of the king's family or not.

Thus ended the kingly period in Rome, after six kings had followed
Romulus. With the consuls many of the laws of King Servius, which
Tarquin had set aside, were restored, and a much greater degree of
freedom came to the people of Rome. But that there might not now seem to
be two kings instead of one, it was decreed that only one of the consuls
should rule at a time, each of them acting as ruler for a month, and
then giving over the power to his associate.




_HOW BRAVE HORATIUS KEPT THE BRIDGE._


The banished King Tarquin did not lightly yield his realm. He roused the
neighboring cities against Rome and fought fiercely for his throne. Soon
after he was exiled from Rome he sent messengers there for his goods.
These the senate decreed should be given him. But his messengers had
more secret work to do. They formed a plot with many of the young nobles
to bring back the king, and among these traitors were Titus and
Tiberius, the sons of Brutus.

A slave overheard the conspirators and betrayed them to the consuls, and
they were seized and brought to the judgment-seat in the Forum. Here
Brutus, sitting in judgment, beheld his two sons among the culprits. He
loved them, but he loved justice more, and though he grieved deeply
inwardly, his face was grave and stern as he gave judgment that the law
must take its course. So the sons of this stern old Roman were scourged
with rods before his eyes, and then, with the other conspirators, were
beheaded by the lictors, while he looked steadily on, never turning his
eyes from the dreadful sight. But men could see that his heart bled for
his sons.

Soon afterwards Tarquin led an army of Etruscans against Rome, and the
two consuls marched against them at the head of the Roman army. In the
battle that followed Brutus met Aruns, the king's son, in advance of the
lines of battle. Aruns, seeing Brutus dressed in royal robes and
attended by the lictors of a king, was filled with anger, and levelled
his spear and spurred his horse against him. Brutus met him in
mid-career with levelled spear. Both were run through, and together fell
dead upon the field.

The day ended with neither party victors. But during the night a
woodland deity was heard speaking from a forest near by. "One man more
has fallen of the Etruscans than of the Romans," it said; "the Romans
are to conquer." This strange oracle ended the war. It was a reason,
surely, for which war was never ended before or since. The Etruscans,
affrighted, marched hastily home; while the Romans carried home their
slain patriot, for whom their women mourned a whole year, in honor of
his noble service in avenging Lucretia.

The banished king still craved his lost kingdom, and made other efforts
to regain it. Having failed in his first attempt, he went to another
city, named Clusium, in the distant part of Etruria, and here besought
Lars Porsenna, the king of that city, to aid him recover his throne.
Lars Porsenna, with a fellow-feeling for his dethroned brother king,
raised a large army and marched with Tarquin and his fellow-exiles
against defiant Rome.

The Romans now awaited him at home, and the two armies met on the hill
called Janiculum, beyond the river from the city. Here came the crash of
battle, but the men of Clusium proved the stronger, and after a sharp
struggle the Romans gave way and were driven pell-mell down the hill and
across the bridge which spanned the Tiber at this point. This was a
wooden bridge on which the Romans set great store, as it was their only
means of crossing the stream. But it now was likely to serve as a means
of the loss of their city. Their flying army was pouring in panic across
it, with the Etruscans in hot pursuit, seeking strenuously to win the
bridge.

The bridge must be speedily destroyed or the city would be lost, but it
seemed too late for this; unless the enemy could in some way be kept
back till the bridge was cut down, Tarquin and his allies would be in
the streets of Rome.

At this juncture a brave and stalwart son of Rome, Horatius Cocles by
name, stepped forward and offered his life in his city's defence. "Cut
away with all haste," he said; "I will keep the bridge until it falls."
Two others, Spurius Lartius and Titus Herminius, sprang to his side, and
the three, fully armed and stout of heart, ranged themselves across the
narrow causeway, while behind them the axes of the Romans played
ringingly upon the supports of the bridge.

On came the Etruscans in force. But the bridge was so narrow that only a
few could advance at once, and these found in the way the sharp spears
and keen-edged blades of the patriot three. Down went the leading
Etruscans, and others pressed on, only to fall, till the defenders of
the bridge had a bulwark of the slain in their front.

[Illustration: HORATIUS KEEPING THE BRIDGE.]

And now the bridge creaked and groaned as the axes kept up their lively
play, the ring of steel finding its chorus in the cheering shouts of the
Romans on the bank.

"Back! back!" cried the axemen. "It will be down in a minute more; back
for your lives!"

"Back!" cried Horatius to his comrades, and they hastily retreated; but
he stood unmoving, still boldly facing the foe.

"Fly! It is about to fall!" was the shout.

"Let it," cried Horatius, without yielding a step.

And there he stood alone, defying the whole army of the Etruscans. From
a distance they showered their javelins on him, but he caught them on
his shield and stood unhurt. Furious that they should be kept from their
prey by a single man, they gathered to rush upon him and drive him from
his post by main force; but just then the creaking beams gave way, and
the half of the bridge behind him fell with a mighty crash into the
stream below.

The Etruscans paused in their course at this crashing fall, and gazed,
not without admiration, at the stalwart champion who had stayed an army
in its victorious career. He was theirs now; he could not escape; his
life should pay the penalty for their failure.

But Horatius had no such thought. He looked down on the stream, and
prayed to the god of the river, "O Father Tiber, I pray thee to receive
these arms and me who bear them, and to let thy waters befriend and
save me."

Then, with a quick spring, he plunged, heavy with armor, into the
swift-flowing stream, and struck out boldly for the shore. The foemen
rushed upon the bridge and poured their darts thick about him; yet none
struck him, and he swam safely to the shore, where his waiting friends
drew him in triumph from the stream.

For this grand deed of heroism the Romans set up a statue to Horatius in
the comitium, and gave him in reward as much land as he could drive his
plough round in the space of a whole day. Such deeds cannot be fitly
told in halting prose, and Lord Macaulay, in his "Lays of Ancient Rome,"
has most ably and picturesquely told

  "How well Horatius kept the bridge
    In the brave days of old."

But though Rome was saved from capture by assault, the war was not
ended, and other deeds of Roman heroism were to be done. Porsenna
pressed the siege of the city so closely that hunger became his ally,
and the Romans suffered greatly. Then another patriot devoted his life
to his city's good. This man, a young noble named Caius Mucius, went to
the senate and offered to go to the Etruscan camp and slay Lars Porsenna
in the midst of his men.

His proposal acceded to, he crossed the stream by stealth and slipped
covertly into the camp, through which he made his way, seeking the king.
At length he saw a man dressed in a scarlet robe and seated on a lofty
seat, while many were about him, coming and going. "This must be King
Porsenna," he said to himself, and he glided stealthily through the
crowd until he came near by, when, drawing a concealed dagger from
beneath his cloak, he sprang upon the man and stabbed him to the heart.

But the bold assassin had made a sad mistake. The man he had slain was
not the king, but his scribe, the king's chief officer. Being instantly
seized, he was brought before Porsenna, where the guards threatened him
with sharp torments unless he would truly answer all their questions.

"Torments!" he said. "You shall see how little I care for them."

And he thrust his right hand into the fire that was burning on the
altar, and held it there till it was completely consumed.

King Porsenna looked at him with an admiration that subdued all anger.
Never had he seen a man of such fortitude.

"Go your way," he cried, "for you have harmed yourself more than me. You
are a brave man, and I send you back to Rome free and unhurt."

"And you are a generous king," said Caius, "and shall learn more from me
for your kindness than tortures could have wrung from my lips. Know,
then, that three hundred noble youths of Rome have bound themselves by
oath to take your life. I am but the first; the others will in turn lie
in wait for you. I warn you to look well to yourself."

He was then set free, and went back to the city, where he was
afterwards known as Scaevola, the left-handed.

The warning of Caius moved King Porsenna to offer the Romans terms of
peace, which they gladly accepted. They were forced to give up all the
land they had conquered on the west bank of the Tiber, and to agree not
to use iron except to cultivate the earth. They were also to give as
hostages ten noble youths and as many maidens. These were sent; but one
of the maidens, Cloelia by name, escaped from the Etruscan camp, and,
bidding the other maidens to follow, fled to the river, into which they
all plunged and swam safely across to Rome.

They were sent back by the Romans, whose way it was to keep their
pledges; but King Porsenna, admiring the courage of Cloelia, set her
free, and bade her choose such of the youths as she wished to go with
her. She chose those of tenderest age, and the king set them free.

The Romans rewarded Caius by a gift of land, and had a statue made of
Cloelia, which was set up in the highest part of the Sacred Way. And
King Porsenna led his army home, with Tarquin still dethroned.




_THE BATTLE OF LAKE REGILLUS._


A third time Tarquin the Proud marched against Rome, this time in
alliance with the Latins, whose thirty cities had joined together and
declared war against the Romans. But as many of the Romans had married
Latin wives, and many of the Latins had got their wives from Rome, it
was resolved that the women on both sides, who preferred their native
land to their husbands, might leave their new homes and take with them
their virgin daughters. And, as the legend tells, all the Latin women
but two remained in Rome, while all the Roman women returned with their
daughters to their fathers' homes.

The two armies met by the side of Lake Regillus, and there was fought a
battle the story of which reads like a tale from the Iliad of Homer; for
we are told not of how the armies fought, but of how their champions met
and fought in single combats upon the field. King Tarquin was there, now
hoary with years, yet sitting his horse and bearing his lance with the
grace and strength of a young man. And there was Titus his son, leading
into battle all the banished band of the Tarquins. And with them was
Octavius Mamilius, the leader of the Latins, who swore to seat Tarquin
again on his throne and to make the Romans subjects of the Latins.

On the Roman side were many true and tried warriors, among them Titus
Herminius, one of those who fought on the bridge by the side of Horatius
Cocles, when that champion fought so well for Rome.

It is too long to tell how warrior rode against warrior with levelled
lances, and how this one was struck through the breast and that one
through the arm, and so on in true Homeric style. The battle was a
series of duels, like those fought on the plain of Troy. But at length
the Tarquin band, under the lead of Titus, charged so fiercely that the
Romans began to give way, many of their bravest having been slain.

At this juncture Aulus, the leader of the Romans, rode up with his own
chosen band, and bade them level their lances and slay all, friend or
foe, whose faces were turned towards them. There was to be no mercy for
a Roman whose face was turned from the field. This onset stopped the
flight, and Aulus charged fiercely upon the Tarquins, praying, as he did
so, to the divine warriors Castor and Pollux, to whom he vowed to
dedicate a temple if they would aid him in the fight. And he promised
the soldiers that the two who should first break into the camp of the
enemy should receive a rich reward.

Then suddenly, at the head of the chosen band, appeared two unknown
horsemen, in the first bloom of youth and taller and fairer than mortal
men, while the horses they rode were white as the driven snow. On went
the charge, led by these two noble strangers, before whom the enemy fled
in mortal terror, while Titus, the last of the sons of King Tarquin,
fell dead from his steed. The camp of the Latins being reached, these
two horsemen were the first to break into it, and soon the whole army of
the enemy was in disorderly flight and the battle won.

Aulus now sought the two strange horsemen, to give them the reward he
had promised; but he sought in vain; they were not to be found, among
either the living or the dead, and no man had set eyes upon them since
the camp was won. They had vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.
But on the hard black rock which surrounds the lake was visible the mark
of a horse's hoof, such as no earthly steed could ever have made. For
ages afterwards this mark remained.

But the strangers appeared once again. It was known in Rome that the
armies were joined in battle, and the longing for tidings from the field
grew intense. Suddenly, as the sun went down behind the city walls,
there were seen in the Forum two horsemen on milk-white steeds, taller
and fairer than the tallest and fairest of men. Their horses were bathed
in foam, and they looked like men fresh from battle.

Alighting near the Temple of Vesta, where a spring of water bubbles from
the ground, these men, whom no Romans had ever seen before, washed from
their persons the battle-stains. As they did so men crowded round and
eagerly questioned them. In reply, they told them how the battle had
been fought and won,--though in truth the battle ended only as the sun
went down over Lake Regillus. They then mounted their horses and rode
from the Forum, and were seen no more. Men sought them far and wide, but
no one set eyes on them again.

Then Aulus told the Romans how he had prayed to Castor and Pollux, the
divine twins, and said that it could be none but they who had broken so
fiercely into the enemy's camp, and had borne the news of victory with
more than mortal speed to Rome. So he built the temple he had vowed to
the hero gods, and gave there rich offerings as the rewards he had
promised to the two who should first enter the camp of the foe.

Thus ended the hopes of King Tarquin, against whom the gods had taken
arms. His sons and all his family slain, he was left ruined and
hopeless, and retired to the city of Cumae, whence formerly the Sibyl had
come to his court. Here he died, and thus passed away the last of the
Roman kings.




_THE REVOLT OF THE PEOPLE._


The overthrow of the kings of Rome did not relieve the people from all
their oppression. The inhabitants of that city had long been divided
into two great classes, the Patricians, or nobles, and the Plebeians, or
common people, and the former held in their hand nearly all the wealth
and power of the state. The senate, the law-making body, were all
Patricians; the consuls, the executors of the law, were chosen from
their ranks; and the Plebeians were left with few rights and little
protection.

It was through the avarice of money-lending nobles that the people were
chiefly oppressed. There were no laws limiting the rate of interest, and
the rich lent to the poor at extravagant rates of usury. The interest,
when not paid, was added to the debt, so that in time it became
impossible for many debtors to pay.

And the laws against debtors had become terribly severe. They might,
with all their families, be held as slaves. Or if the debtor refused to
sell himself to his creditor, and still could not pay his debt, he might
be imprisoned in fetters for sixty days. At the end of that time, if no
friend had paid his debt, he could be put to death, or sold as a slave
into a foreign state. If there were several creditors, they could
actually cut his body to pieces, each taking a piece proportional in
size to his claim.

This cruel severity was more than any people could long endure. It led
to a revolution in Rome. In the year 495 B.C., fifteen years after the
Tarquins had been expelled, a poor debtor, who had fought valiantly in
the wars, broke from his prison, and--with his clothes in tatters and
chains clanking upon his limbs--appealed eloquently to the people in the
Forum, and showed them on his emaciated body the scars of the many
battles in which he had fought.

His tale was a sad one. While he served in the Sabine war, the enemy had
pillaged and burned his house; and when he returned home, it was to find
his cattle stolen and his farm heavily taxed. Forced to borrow money,
the interest had brought him deeply into debt. Finally he had been
attacked by pestilence, and being unable to work for his creditor, he
had been thrown into prison and cruelly scourged, the marks of the lash
being still evident upon his bleeding back.

This piteous story roused its hearers to fury. The whole city broke into
tumult, as the woful tale passed from lip to lip. Many debtors escaped
from their prisons and begged protection from the incensed multitude.
The consuls found themselves powerless to restore order; and in the
midst of the uproar horsemen came riding hotly through the gates, crying
out that a hostile army was near at hand, marching to besiege the city.

Here was a splendid opportunity for the Plebeians. When called upon to
enroll their names and take arms for the city's defence, they refused.
The Patricians, they said, might fight their own battles. As for them,
they had rather die together at home than perish separate upon the
battle-field.

This refusal left the Patricians in a quandary. With riot in the streets
and war beyond the walls they were at the mercy of the commons. They
were forced to promise a mitigation of the laws, declaring that no one
should henceforth seize the goods of a soldier while he was in camp, or
hinder a citizen from enlisting by keeping him in prison. This promise
satisfied the people. The debtors' prisons were emptied, and their late
tenants crowded with enthusiasm into the ranks. Through the gates the
army marched, met the foe, and drove him in defeat from the soil of the
Roman state.

Victory gained, the Plebeians looked for laws to sustain the promises
under which they had fought. They looked in vain; the senate took no
action for their redress. But they had learned their power, and were not
again to be enslaved. Their action was deliberate but decided. Taking
measures to protect their homes on the Aventine Hill, they left the city
the next year in a body, and sought a hill beyond the Anio, about three
miles beyond the walls of Rome. Here they encamped, built
fortifications, and sent word to their lordly rulers that they were done
with empty promises, and would fight no more for the state until the
state kept its faith. All the good of their fighting came to the
Patricians, they said, and these might now defend themselves and their
wealth.

The senate was thrown into a panic by this decided action. When the
hostile cities without should learn of it, they might send armies in
haste to undefended Rome. The people left in the city feared the
Patricians, and the Patricians feared them. All was doubt and anxiety.
At length the senate, driven to desperation, sent an embassy to the
rebels to treat for peace, being in deadly fear that some enemy might
assail and capture the city in the absence of the bulk of its
inhabitants.

The messenger sent, Menenius Agrippa Lanatus, was a man famed for
eloquence, and a popular favorite. In his address to the people in their
camp he repeated to them the following significant fable:

"At a time when all the parts of the body did not agree together, as
they do now, but each had its own method and language, the other parts
rebelled against the belly. They said that it lay quietly enjoying
itself in the centre, while they, by care, labor, and service, kept it
in luxury. They therefore conspired that the hands should not convey
food to the mouth, the mouth receive it, nor the teeth chew it. They
thus hoped to subdue the belly by famine; but they found that they and
all the other parts of the body suffered as much. Then they saw that the
belly by no means rested in sloth; that it supplied instead of receiving
nourishment, sending to all parts of the body the blood that gave life
and strength to the whole system."

It was the same, he said, with the body of the state. All must work in
unity, if all would prosper. This homely argument hit the popular fancy.
The people consented to treat for their return if their liberties could
be properly secured. But they must now have deeds instead of words. It
was not political power they sought, but protection, and protection they
would have.

Their demands were as follows: All debts should be cancelled, and all
debtors held by their creditors should be released. And hereafter the
Plebeians should have as their protectors two officials, who should have
power to veto all oppressive laws, while their persons should be held as
sacred and inviolable as those of the messengers of the gods. These
officials were to be called Tribunes, and to be the chief officers of
the commons as the consuls were of the nobles.

This proposition was accepted by the senate, and a treaty signed between
the contesting parties, as solemnly as if they had been two separate
nations. It was an occasion as important to the liberties of Romans as
the treaty signed many centuries afterwards on the field of Runnymede,
between King John and his barons, was to the liberties of Englishmen,
and was held by the Romans in like high regard. The hill on which the
treaty had been made was ever after known as the Sacred Mount. Its top
was consecrated and an altar built upon it, on which sacrifices were
made to Jupiter, the god who strikes men with terror and then delivers
them from fear; for the people had fled thither in dread, and were now
to return home in safety.

Thus ended the great revolt of the people, who had gained in the
Tribunes defenders of more power and importance than they or the senate
knew. They were never again to suffer from the bitter oppression to
which they had been subjected in preceding years. As for Lanatus, to
whose pleadings they had yielded, he died before the year ended, and was
found to have not left enough to pay for his funeral. Therefore the
Plebeians collected funds to give him a splendid burial; but the senate
having decreed that the state should bear this expense, the money raised
by the grateful people was formed into a fund for the benefit of his
children.




_THE REVENGE OF CORIOLANUS._


Caius Marcius, a noble Roman youth, descended from the worthy king Ancus
Marcius, fought valiantly when but seventeen years of age in the battle
of Lake Regillus, and was there crowned with an oaken wreath, the Roman
reward for saving the life of a fellow-soldier. This he showed with the
greatest joy to his mother, Volumnia, whom he loved exceedingly, it
being his greatest pleasure to receive praise from her lips for his
exploits. He afterwards won many more crowns in battle, and became one
of the most famous of Roman soldiers.

One of his memorable exploits took place during a war with the
Volscians, in which the Romans attacked the city of Corioli. The
citizens made a sally, and drove the Romans back to their camp. But
Caius, with a few followers, stopped them and turned the tide of battle,
driving the Volscians back. As they fled into the city through the open
gates, he cried, "Those gates are set open for us rather than for the
Volscians. Why are we afraid to rush in?" And suiting his act to his
words, the daring soldier pursued the enemy into the town.

Here he found himself almost alone, for very few had followed him. The
enemy turned on the bold invaders, but Caius proved so strong of hand
and stout of heart that he drove them all before him, keeping a way
clear for the Romans, who soon thronged in through the open gate and
took the city. The army gave Caius the sole credit for the victory,
saying that he alone had taken Corioli; and the general said, "Let him
be called after the name of the city." He was, therefore, afterwards
known by the name of Caius Marcius Coriolanus.

Courage was not the only marked quality of Coriolanus. His pride was
equally great. He was a noble of the nobles, so haughty in demeanor and
so disdainful of the commons that they grew to hate him bitterly. At
length came a time of great scarcity of food. The people were on the
verge of famine, to relieve which shiploads of corn were sent from
Sicily to Rome. The senate resolved to distribute this corn among the
suffering people, but Coriolanus opposed this, saying, "If they want
corn let them show their obedience to the Patricians, as their fathers
did, and give up their tribunes. If they do this we will let them have
corn, and take care of them."

When the people heard of what the proud noble had said they broke into
such fury that a mob gathered around the doors of the senate house,
prepared to seize and tear him to pieces when he came out. They were
checked in this by the tribunes, who said, "Let us not have violence. We
will accuse him of treason before the assembly, and you shall be his
judges."

The tribunes, therefore, as the law gave them the right, summoned
Coriolanus to appear before the popular tribunal and answer to the
charges against him. But he, knowing how deeply he had offended them,
and that they would show him no mercy, stayed not for the trial, but
fled from Rome, exiled from his native land by his pride and disdain of
the people.

The exile made his way to the land of the Volscians, and seating himself
by the hearth-fire of Attius Tullius, their chief, waited there with
covered head till his late bitter foe should come in. How Attius would
receive him he knew not; but he was homeless, and had now only his
enemies to trust. But when the chieftain entered, and learned that the
man who sat crouched beside his hearth, subject to his will, was the
great warrior who by his own hands had taken a Volscian city, but was
now banished and a fugitive, he was filled with compassion. He greeted
him kindly and offered him a home, saying to himself, "Caius, our worst
foe, is now our friend and a foe to Rome; we will make war against that
proud city, and by his aid will conquer it."

But the Volscians were not eager for war. They were afraid of the
Romans, who had so often defeated them, and Attius sought in vain to
stir them to hostility. Failing to rouse them by eloquence, he practised
craft. There was a great festival at Rome, to which had come the people
of various cities, among them many of the Volscians. Attius now went
privately to the Roman consuls and bade them beware of the Volscians,
lest they should stir up a riot and make trouble in the city, hinting
that mischief was intended. In consequence of this warning proclamation
was made that every Volscian should leave Rome before the setting of the
sun.

This produced the effect which Attius had hoped. He met the Volscians on
their way home, and found them fired with indignation against Rome. He
pretended similar indignation. "You have been made a show of before all
the nations," he cried. "You and your wives and children have been
basely insulted. They have made war on us while their guests; if you are
men you will make them rue this deed."

His words inflamed his countrymen. The story of the insult spread widely
through the country, all the tribes of the Volscians took up the
quarrel, and a great army was raised and set in march towards Rome, with
Attius and Coriolanus at its head.

The Volscian force was greater than the Romans were prepared to meet,
and the army marched victoriously onward, taking city after city, and
finally encamping within five miles of Rome. When the Volscians entered
Roman territory they laid waste, by order of Coriolanus, the lands of
the commons, but spared those of the nobles, the exiled patrician
deeming the former his foes and the latter his friends. The approach of
this powerful army threw the Romans into dismay. They had been assailed
so suddenly that they had made no preparations for defence, and the city
seemed to lie at the mercy of its foes. The women ran to the temples to
pray for the favor of the gods. The people demanded that the senate
should send deputies to the invading army to treat for peace. The
senate, apparently no less frightened than the people, obeyed, sending
five leading Patricians to the Volscian camp.

These deputies were haughtily received by Coriolanus, who offered them
the following severe terms: "We will give you no peace till you restore
to the Volscians all the land and cities which Rome has ever taken from
them, and till you make them citizens of Rome, and give them all the
rights in your city which you have yourselves."

These conditions the deputies had no power to accept, and they threw the
senate into dismay. The deputies were sent again, instructed to ask for
gentler terms, but now, Coriolanus refused even to let them enter his
camp.

This harsh repulse plunged Rome into mortal terror. The senate, helpless
to resist, now sent the priests of the gods and the augurs, all clothed
in their sacred garments, and bearing the sacred emblems from the
temples. But even this solemn delegation Coriolanus refused to receive,
and sent them back to Rome unheard.

Where all this time was the Roman army, which always before and after
made itself heard and felt? This we are not told. We are in the land of
legend, and cannot look for too much consistency. For once in its
history Rome seems to have forgotten that its mission was not to plead,
but to fight. Perhaps its armies had been beaten and demoralized in
previous battles. At any rate we can but tell the story as it is told to
us.

The help of delegates, priests, and augurs having proved unavailing,
that of women was next sought. A noble lady, Valeria by name, who with
other suppliants had sought the Temple of Jupiter, was inspired by a
sudden thought, which seemed sent by the god himself. Rising, and
bidding the other noble ladies to accompany her, she proceeded to the
house of Volumnia, the mother of Coriolanus, whom she found with
Virgilia, his wife, and his little children.

"We have come to ask you to join us," she said, "in order that we women,
without aid from man, may deliver our country, and win for ourselves a
name more glorious even than that of the Sabine wives of old, who
stopped the battle between their husbands and fathers. Come with us to
the camp of Caius, and let us pray him to show us mercy."

"It is well thought of; we shall go with you," said Volumnia, and, with
Virgilia and her children, the noble matron prepared to seek the camp
and tent of her exiled son.

It was a sad and solemn spectacle, as this train of noble ladies, clad
in their habiliments of woe, and with bent heads and sorrowful faces,
wound through the hostile camp, from which they were not excluded, like
the men. Even the Volscian soldiers watched them with pitying eyes, and
spoke no word as they moved slowly past. On reaching the midst of the
camp, they saw Coriolanus on the general's seat, with the Volscian
chiefs gathered around him.

At first he wondered who these women could be. But when they came near,
and he saw his mother at the head of the train, his deep love for her
welled up so strongly in his heart that he could not restrain himself,
but sprang up and ran to meet and kiss her. The Roman matron stopped him
with a dignified gesture, saying,--

"Ere you kiss me, let me know whether I am speaking to an enemy or to my
son; whether I stand here as your prisoner or your mother."

He stood before her in silence, with bent head, and unable to speak.

"Must it then be that if I had never borne a son, Rome would have never
seen the camp of an enemy?" said Volumnia, in sorrowful tones. "But I am
too old to bear much longer your shame and my misery. Think not of me,
but of your wife and children, whom you would doom to death or to life
in bondage."

Then Virgilia and the children came up and kissed him, and all the noble
ladies in the train burst into tears and bemoaned the peril of their
country. Coriolanus still stood silent, his face working with contending
thoughts. At length he cried out, in heart-rending accents, "O mother,
what have you done to me?"

Clasping her hand, he wrung it vehemently, saying, "Mother, the victory
is yours! A happy victory for you and Rome, but shame and ruin to your
son."

Then he embraced her with yearning heart, and afterwards clasped his
wife and children to his breast, bidding them return with their tale of
conquest to Rome. As for himself, he said, only exile and shame
remained.

Before the women reached home the army of the Volscians was on its
homeward march. Coriolanus never led them against Rome again. He lived
and died in exile, far from his wife and children. When very old, he
sadly remarked, "That now in his old age he knew the full bitterness of
banishment."

The Romans, to honor Volumnia and those who had gone with her to the
Volscian camp, built a temple to "Woman's Fortune" on the spot where
Coriolanus had yielded to his mother's entreaties; and the first
priestess of this temple was Valeria, who had been inspired in the
temple of Jupiter with the thought that saved Rome.




_CINCINNATUS AND THE AEQUIANS._


In the old days of Rome, not far from the time when Coriolanus yielded
up his revenge at his mother's entreaty, the Roman state possessed a
citizen as patriotic as Coriolanus was proud, and who did as much good
as the other did evil to his native land. This citizen, Lucius Quinctius
by name, was usually called Cincinnatus, or the "crisp-haired," from the
fact that he let his hair grow long, and curled and crisped it so
carefully as to gain as much fame for his hair as for his wisdom and
valor.

Cincinnatus was the simplest and least ambitious of men. He cared
nothing for wealth, and had no craving for city life, but dwelt on his
small farm beyond the Tiber, which he worked with his own hands,
content, so his crops grew well, to let the lovers of power and wealth
pursue their own devices within the city walls. But he was soon to be
drawn from the plough to the sword.

While Cincinnatus was busy ploughing his land, Rome kept at its old work
of ploughing the nations. War at this time broke out with the AEquians, a
neighboring people; but for this war the AEquians were to blame. They had
plundered the lands of some of the allies of Rome, and when deputies
were sent to complain of this wrong, Gracchus, their chief, received
them with insulting mockery.

He was sitting in his tent, which was pitched in the shade of a great
evergreen oak, when the deputies arrived.

"I am busy with other matters," he answered them; "I cannot hear you;
you had better tell your message to the oak yonder."

"Yes," said one of the deputies, "let this sacred oak hear, and let all
the gods hear also, how treacherously you have broken the peace. They
shall hear it now, and shall soon avenge it; for you have scorned alike
the laws of the gods and of men."

The deputies returned to Rome, and reported how they had been insulted.
The senate at once declared war, and an army was sent towards Algidus,
where the enemy lay. But Gracchus, who was a skilled soldier, cunningly
pretended to be afraid of the Romans, and retreated before them, drawing
them gradually into a narrow valley, on each side of which rose high,
steep, and barren hills.

When he had lured them fairly into this trap, he sent a force to close
up the entrance of the valley. The Romans suddenly found that they had
been entrapped into a _cul-de-sac_, with impassable hills in front and
on each side, and a strong body of AEquians guarding the entrance to the
ravine. There was neither grass for the horses nor food for the men.
Gracchus held not only the entrance, but the hill-tops all round, so
that escape in any direction was impossible. But before the road in the
rear was quite closed up five horsemen had managed to break out; and
these rode with all speed to Rome, where they told the senate of the
imminent danger of the consul and his army.

These tidings threw the senate into dismay. What was to be done? The
other consul was with his army in the country of the Sabines. He was at
once sent for, and hastened with all speed to Rome. Here a consultation
took place, which ended in the leading senators saying, "There is only
one man who can deliver us. We must make Lucius Quinctius Master of the
People." Master of the People meant in Rome what we now mean by
Dictator,--that is, a man above the law, an autocrat supreme. What
service this unambitious tiller of the ground had previously done for
Rome to make him worthy of this distinction we are not told, but it is
evident that he was looked upon as the man of highest wisdom and
soldiership in Rome.

Caius Nautius, the consul, appointed Cincinnatus to this high office, as
he alone was privileged to do, and then hastened back to his army. Early
the next morning deputies from the senate sought the farm of the new
dictator, to apprise him of the honor conferred on him. Early as it was,
Cincinnatus was already at work in his fields. He was without his toga,
or cloak, and vigorously digging in the ground with his spade, never
dreaming that he, a simple husbandman, had been chosen to save a state.

"We bring you a message from the senate," said the deputies. "You must
put on your cloak to receive it with the fitting respect."

"Has evil befallen the state?" asked the farmer, as he bade his wife to
bring him his cloak. When he had put it on he returned to the deputies.

"Hail to you, Lucius Quinctius!" they now said. "The senate has declared
you Master of the People, and have sent us to call you to the city; for
the consul and the army in the country of the AEquians are in imminent
danger."

Without further words, Cincinnatus accompanied them to the boat in which
they had crossed the Tiber, and was rowed in it to the city. As he left
the boat he was met by a deputation consisting of his three sons, his
kinsmen and friends, and many of the senators of Rome. They received him
with the highest honor, and led him in great state to his city
residence, the twenty-four lictors walking before him, with their rods
and axes, while a great multitude of the people crowded round with
shouts of welcome. The presence of the lictors signified that this plain
farmer had been invested with all the power of the former kings.

The new dictator quickly proved himself worthy of the trust that had
been placed in him. He chose at once as his Master of the Horse Lucius
Tarquinius, a brave man, of noble descent, but so poor that he had been
forced to serve among the foot-soldiers instead of the horse. Then the
two entered the Forum, where orders were given that all booths should be
closed and all lawsuits stopped. All men were forbidden to look after
their own affairs while a Roman army lay in peril of destruction.

Orders were next given that every man old enough to go to battle should
appear before sunset with his arms and with five days' food in the
Field of Mars, and should bring with him twelve stakes. These they were
to cut where they chose, without hinderance from any person. While the
soldiers occupied themselves in cutting these stakes, the women and
older men dressed their food. Such haste was made, under the energetic
orders of the dictator, that an army was ready, equipped as commanded,
in the Field of Mars before the sun had set. The march was at once
begun, and was continued with such rapidity that by midnight the
vicinity of Algidus was reached. On the enemy being perceived, a halt
was called.

Cincinnatus now rode forward and inspected the camp of the enemy, so far
as it could be seen by night. He then ordered the soldiers to throw down
their baggage, and to keep only their arms and stakes. Marching
stealthily forward, they now extended their lines until they had
completely surrounded the hostile camp. Then, upon a given signal, a
simultaneous shout was raised, and each soldier began to dig a ditch
where he stood and to plant his stakes in the ground.

The shout rang like a thunder-clap through the camp of the AEquians,
waking them suddenly and filling them with dismay. It also reached the
ears of the Romans who lay in the valley, and inspired them with hope,
for they recognized the Roman war-cry. They raised their own
battle-shout in response, and, seizing their arms, sallied out and made
a fierce attack upon the foe, fighting so desperately that the AEquians
were prevented from interrupting the work of the outer army. All the
remainder of the night the battle went on, and when day broke the
AEquians found that a ditch and a palisade of stakes had been made around
their entire camp.

This work accomplished, Cincinnatus ordered his men to attack the foe,
and thus aid their entrapped countrymen. The AEquians, finding themselves
between two armies, and as closely walled in as the Romans in the valley
had before been, fell into a panic of hopelessness, threw down their
arms, and begged their foes for mercy. Cincinnatus now signalled for the
fighting to cease, and, meeting those who came to ask on what terms he
would spare their lives, said,--

"Give me Gracchus and your other chiefs bound. As for you, you can have
your lives on one condition. I will set two spears upright in the
ground, and put a third spear across, and every man of you, giving up
your arms and your cloaks, shall pass under this yoke, and may then go
away free."

To go under the yoke was accounted the greatest dishonor to a soldier.
But the AEquians had no alternative and were obliged to submit. They
delivered up to the Romans their king and their chiefs, left their camp
with all its spoil to the foe, and passed without cloaks or arms under
the crossed spears, their heads bowed with shame. They then went home,
leaving their chiefs as Roman prisoners. Thus was Gracchus punished for
his pride.

In less than a day's time Cincinnatus had saved a Roman army and
humiliated the AEquian foe. As for the battle-spoils, he distributed them
among his own men, giving none to the consul's army, and degraded the
consul, making him his under-officer. He then marched the two armies
back to Rome, which he reached that same evening, and where he was
received with as much astonishment as joy. The rescued army were too
full of thankfulness at their escape to feel chagrin at their loss of
spoil, and voted to give Cincinnatus a golden crown, calling him their
protector and father.

The senate decreed that Cincinnatus should enter the city in triumph. He
rode in his chariot through the gates, Gracchus and the chiefs of the
AEquians being led in fetters before him. In front of all the standards
were borne, while in the rear marched the soldiers, laden with their
spoil. At the door of every house tables were set, with meat and drink
for the soldiers, while the people, singing and rejoicing, danced with
joy as they followed the conqueror's chariot, and all Rome was given up
to feasting and merry-making.

As for Cincinnatus, he laid down his power and returned to his farm,
glad to have rescued a Roman army, but caring nothing for the pomp and
authority he might have gained. And for all we know, he lived and died
thereafter a simple tiller of the ground.




_THE SACRIFICE OF VIRGINIA._


In the year 504 B.C. a citizen of Regillum, of much wealth and
importance, finding himself at odds with his fellow-citizens, left that
city and proceeded to Rome, with a long train of followers, much as the
elder Tarquin had come from Tarquinii. His name was Atta Clausus, but in
Rome he became known as Appius Claudius. He was received as a patrician,
was given ample lands, and he and his descendants in later years became
among the chief of those who hated and oppressed the plebeians.

[Illustration: THE SACRIFICE OF VIRGINIA.]

About half a century after this date, one of these descendants, also
named Appius Claudius, was a principal actor in one of the most dramatic
events of ancient Rome. The trouble which had long existed between the
patricians and the plebeians now grew so pronounced, and the demand for
a reform in the laws so great, that in the year 451 B.C. a commission
was sent to the city of Athens, to report on the system of government
they found there and elsewhere in Greece. After this commission had
returned and given its report, a body of ten patricians was appointed,
under the title of Decemvirs (or ten men), to prepare a new code of laws
for Rome. They were chosen for one year, and took the place of the
consuls, tribunes, and all the chief officials of Rome.

At the head of this body was Appius Claudius. The laws of Rome had
previously been only partly written, the remainder being held in memory
or transmitted as traditions. A complete code of written laws was
desired, and to this work the decemvirs set themselves diligently. After
a few months they prepared a code of laws, which was accepted by nobles
and people alike as fair and satisfactory, and it was ordered that these
laws should be engraved upon ten tables of brass and hung up in the
comitium, or place of assembly of the people, where all might read them
and learn under what laws they lived. It is probable that the plebeian
demand for reform was so great that the decemvirs did not dare to
disregard it.

At the end of the year of office of these officials it was felt that
they had done so well that it was thought wise to continue them in power
for another year. But when the time for election came round, Appius
Claudius managed to have his nine associates defeated, he alone being
re-elected. The other nine chosen were men whom he felt sure he could
control. And now, having a year's rule assured him, he threw off the
cloak of moderation he had worn, and began a career of oppression of the
plebeians, aided by his subservient associates. The first step taken was
to add two new laws to the code, which became known, therefore, as the
"Twelve Tables." These new laws proved so distasteful to the people that
they almost broke into open rebellion. It was evident that the haughty
decemvirs were seeking to increase the power of their class.

The decemvirs did not confine themselves to passing oppressive laws.
They began a career of outrage and oppression that filled Rome with woe.
The youthful patricians followed their lead, and insult and murder
became common incidents in Rome. When the second year of the decemvirate
expired, Appius and his colleagues, knowing that they could not be
elected again, showed no intention of yielding up their authority. They
were supported by the senate and the patricians, and had gained such
power that they defied the plebeians. Those of the people who were
active in opposition were quietly disposed of, and so intolerable became
the tyranny that numbers of the plebeian party fled from Rome.

While this was going on war broke out with the Sabines and the AEquians.
Of the armies sent against these nations, one was commanded by Lucius
Sicinius Dentatus, among the bravest of the Romans, and who had fought
in one hundred and twenty battles and was covered with the scars of old
wounds. On his way to his post this veteran was murdered by bravos sent
by Appius Claudius. Decemvirs were now appointed to command the armies,
Appius and one of his colleagues remaining in Rome to look after the
safety of the city.

The story goes that both armies were beaten by their foes, and forced to
retreat within Roman territory. While they lay encamped, not many miles
from Rome, an event occurred in the city which gave them new work to do,
and proved that the worst enemies of Rome were not without, but within,
her walls.

In the army sent against the AEquians was a centurion named Lucius
Virginius, who had a beautiful daughter named Virginia, whom he had
betrothed to Lucius Icilius, recently one of the tribunes of Rome. But
the tyranny of the decemvirs was directed against the wives and
daughters as well as the men of the plebeians, as was now to be
strikingly shown.

One day, as the beautiful maiden was on her way, attended by her nurse,
to school in the Forum (around which the schools were placed), she was
seen by Appius Claudius, who was so struck by her beauty that he
determined to gain possession of her, and sought to win her by insidious
words. The innocent girl repelled his advances, but this only increased
his desire to possess her, and he determined, as she was not to be had
by fair means, to have her by foul. He therefore laid a wicked plot for
her capture.

Marcus Claudius, one of his clients, instigated by him, seized the girl
as she entered the Forum, claiming that she was his slave. The nurse
screamed for help, and a crowd quickly gathered. Many of these well knew
the maiden, her father, and her betrothed, and vowed to protect her from
wrong. But the villain declared that he meant no harm, and that he only
claimed his own, and was quite willing to submit his claim to the
decision of the law.

Followed by the crowd, he led the weeping maiden to where Appius
Claudius occupied the judgment-seat, and demanded justice at his hands.
He declared that the wife of Virginius, being childless, had got this
child from its mother and presented it to Virginius as her own, and said
that the real mother had been his slave, and that, therefore, the
daughter was his slave also. This he would prove to Virginius on his
return to Rome. Meanwhile it was but just that the master should keep
possession of his slave.

This specious appeal was earnestly combated by the friends of the
maiden, many of whom were present in the throng. Virginius, they said,
was absent from Rome in the service of the commonwealth. To take such
action in his absence was unjust. They would send him word at once, and
in two days he would be in the city.

"Let the case stand until he can appear," they demanded. "The law
expressly declares that in cases like this every one shall be considered
free till proved a slave. The maiden, therefore, should legally be left
with her friends till the day of trial. Put not her fair fame in peril
by giving up a free-born maiden into the hands of a man whom she knows
not."

To this reasonable appeal Appius, with a show of judicial moderation,
replied,--

"Truly, I know the law you speak of, and hold it just and good, for it
was enacted by myself. But this maiden cannot in any case be free; she
belongs either to her father or to her master. And as her father is not
here, who but her master can have any claim to her? I decide, therefore,
that M. Claudius shall keep her till Virginius comes, and shall require
him to give sureties to bring her before my judgment-seat when the day
comes for hearing the case between them."

This illegal decision was far from satisfying the multitude. The
decemvirs and their adherents had gained an unholy reputation for
dishonorable treatment of the wives and daughters of the people, and it
was not safe to trust a maiden in their hands. Word had been hastily
sent to Numitorius, the uncle of Virginia, and Icilius, her betrothed,
and they now came up in great haste, and protested so vigorously against
the sentence, that the surrounding people became roused to fury. Appius,
seeing the temper of the throng, and fearing a riotous demonstration,
felt forced to change his decision. He said, therefore, that, in view of
the rights of fathers over their children, he would let the case rest
till the next day.

"If, then," he said, with a show of stern dignity, "Virginius does not
appear, I plainly tell Icilius and his fellows that I will support the
laws which I have made. Violence shall not prevail over justice at this
tribunal."

Obliged to be content with this, the friends of Virginia conducted her
home, and Icilius sent messengers in all haste to the camp, to bid
Virginius come without an hour's delay to Rome. Surety was given that
the maiden should appear before Appius the next day.

It was fortunate that the army in which Virginius was a centurion had
been obliged to retreat, and then lay not many miles from Rome. The
messengers sent reached the camp that same evening, and told Virginius
of the peril of his daughter. Appius had also sent messengers to his
colleagues in command of the army, secretly instructing them not to let
Virginius leave the camp on any pretence. But the messengers of right
outstripped those of wrong, and when word came from the decemvirs in
command to restrain Virginius he had already been given leave of
absence, and was speeding on the road to Rome, spurred by love and
indignation.

Morning came, and Appius resumed his judgment-seat, under the delusion
that his vile scheme was safe. To his surprise and dismay, he saw
Virginius, whom he supposed detained in camp, dressed in mean attire,
like a suppliant, and leading his daughter into the Forum. With him came
a body of Roman matrons and a great troop of friends, for the affair had
roused the people almost to the point of revolt.

"This is not my cause only, but the cause of all," said Virginius, in
moving accents, to the people. "If my daughter shall be robbed from me,
what father and mother among you all is safe?"

Icilius earnestly seconded this appeal, and the mothers who stood by
wept with pity, their tears moving the people even more than the words
of the father and lover.

But Appius was not to be moved by tears or appeals. Bent on gaining his
unholy ends, he did not even give Virginius time to address the
tribunal, but before Claudius had done speaking he hastened to give
sentence. The maiden, he said, should be considered a slave until proved
to be free-born. In the mean time she should remain in the custody of
her master Claudius.

This monstrous decision, a perversion of all law, natural and civil,
filled the people with astonishment. Could the maker of the laws of Rome
thus himself set them at defiance? They stood as if stunned, until
Claudius approached to lay hands on the maiden, when the women and her
friends gathered around her and kept him off, while Virginius broke out
in passionate threats that he would not tamely submit to so great a
wrong.

Appius had prepared for this. He had brought with him a body of armed
patricians, and, supported by them, he bade his lictors to drive back
the crowd. Before their threatening axes the unarmed people fell back,
and the weeping maiden was left standing alone. Virginius looked on in
despair. Was he to be robbed of his daughter in the face of Rome, and in
defiance of all justice and honor? There was one way still to save her,
and only one.

With an aspect of humility he asked Appius to let him speak one word to
the nurse in the maiden's hearing, that he might learn whether she were
really his child or not. "If I am not indeed her father, I shall bear
her loss the lighter," he said.

Appius, with a show of moderation, consented, and the distracted father
drew the nurse and his daughter aside to a spot where stood some
butchers' booths, for the Forum of Rome was then a place of trade as
well as of justice. Here he snatched a knife from a butcher, and,
holding the poor girl in his arm, he cried, "This is the only way, my
child, to keep thee free," and plunged the weapon to her heart.

Then, turning to Appius, he cried, in threatening accents, "On you and
on your head be the curse of this blood!"

"Seize the madman!" yelled Appius.

But, brandishing the bloody knife, Virginius broke through the
multitude, which readily made way for his passage, and flew to the city
gates, where, seizing a horse, he rode with wild haste to the camp of
Tusculum.

Meanwhile Icilius and Numitorius held up the maiden's body, and bade the
people see the bloody result of the decemvir's unholy purpose. A tumult
instantly arose, the people rushing in such fury upon the tribunal that
the lictors and armed patricians were driven back, and Appius, stricken
with fear, covered his face with his robe and fled into a neighboring
house.

Never had Rome been so stirred to fury. The colleague of Appius rushed
with his followers to the Forum, but the people were too strong for all
the force he could gather. The senate met, but could do nothing in the
excited state of public feeling. An attempt to support the decemvirs now
might cause the commons once more to secede to the Sacred Hill.

While this was going on in the city, Virginius, followed by many
citizens, had reached the camp. Here the encrimsoned knife he held, the
blood on his face and body, and the many unarmed citizens who followed
him, brought the soldiers crowding round to learn what all this meant.

The tale was told in moving accents. On hearing it the whole army burst
into a storm of indignation. Heedless of the orders of their generals,
they rushed excitedly to arms, pulled up their standards, and put
themselves in hasty march for Rome. The only leader they recognized was
Virginius, who, knife in hand, led the way in the van.

Reaching the city, the soldiers called on the commons to assert their
liberties and elect new tribunes, the decemvirs having deprived them of
these officials. They then marched to the Aventine Hill, where they
selected ten military tribunes. The senate sent to them to know what
they wanted, but they replied that they had no answer to give except to
their own friends.

The other army had also heard of the outrage, and soon appeared at the
Aventine, led by Icilius and Numitorius, who had hastened with the
dreadful story to its camp. It, too, elected ten tribunes, and waited to
hear what the senate had to propose. They waited in vain. No word came
to them. The senate, distracted by the sudden occurrence, sought to
temporize, but the people were in too deadly earnest to be thus dealt
with. In the end the armies left the Aventine, marched through the city,
and made their way to the Sacred Hill, where the seceding commoners had
established themselves on a famous occasion long before. Men, women, and
children followed them in multitudes. Once more the city was deserted by
the plebeians, and the patricians were left to keep Rome together as
they could.

This brought the senate to terms. The decemvirs agreed to resign.
Deputies were sent to ask what the people demanded. They replied that
they wanted their tribunes and the right of appeal restored, full
indemnity for all the leaders in the secession, and the punishment of
their oppressors.

"These decemvirs," said Icilius, "are public enemies, and we will have
them die the death of such. Give them up to us, that they may be burnt
with fire, as they have richly deserved."

This blood-thirsty desire, however, was not insisted on. All their other
requests were granted, and the people returned to Rome. The decemvirs
had resigned. Ten tribunes were chosen, among them Virginius and
Icilius. The people of Rome had regained the liberty of which they had
been robbed by their late oppressors.

But though the decemvirs had been spared from death by fire, they were
not forgiven. Virginius, as a tribune, impeached Appius for having given
a decision in defiance of the law. The proud patrician appeared in the
Forum surrounded by a body of young nobles, but he gained nothing by
this bravado. He refused to go before the judge, appealed to the people,
and demanded to be released on bail. This Virginius refused. He could
not be trusted at liberty. He was therefore thrown into prison, to await
the judgment of the people.

This judgment he did not live to hear. Whether he killed himself in
prison, or was killed by order of his accusers, we do not know. We only
know that he died. His colleague, who had come to his aid on that fatal
day, was also thrown into prison, on the charge of having wantonly
scourged an old and distinguished soldier. He also died there. The other
decemvirs, with M. Claudius, who had claimed Virginia as his slave, were
allowed to give bail, and all fled from Rome. The property of all of
them was confiscated and sold.

Rome had experienced enough of decemvirate rule. The tribunes of the
people were restored, and thereafter they were both freely chosen by the
people, which had not been the case before.

And thus it was that Virginia was revenged and justice once more reigned
in Rome.




_CAMILLUS AT THE SIEGE OF VEII._


We have now to tell the story of another dictator of Rome. Like
Cincinnatus, Camillus is largely a creature of legend, but he plays an
active part in old Roman annals, and the tale of his doings is well
worth repeating.

Rome was at war with the city of Veii, a large and strong city beyond
the Tiber, and not many miles away. In the year of Rome 350 (or 403
B.C.) the siege of Veii began, and was continued for seven years. We are
told that the Romans surrounded the city, five miles in circumference,
with a double wall, but it could not have been complete, or the
Veientians could not have held out against starvation so long. For the
end of the siege and the taking of the city we must revert to the
legendary tale.

For seven years and more, so the legend says, the Romans had been
besieging Veii. During the last year of the siege, in late summer, the
springs and rivers all ran low; but of a sudden the waters of the Lake
of Alba began to rise, and the flood continued until the banks were
overflowed and the fields and houses by its side were drowned. Still
higher and higher the waters swelled till they reached the tops of the
hills which rose like a wall around the lake. In the end they
overflowed these hills at their lowest points, and poured in a mighty
torrent into the plain beyond.

The prayers and sacrifices of the Romans had failed to check the flood,
which threatened their city and fields, and despairing of any redress
from their own gods they sent to Delphi, in Greece, and applied there to
the famous oracle of Apollo. While the messengers were on their way, it
chanced that a Roman centurion talked with an old Veientian on the walls
whom he had known in times of peace, and knew to be skilled in the
secrets of Fate. The Roman condoled with his friend, and hoped that no
harm would come to him in the fall of Veii, sure to happen soon. The old
man laughed in reply, and said,--

"You think, then, to take Veii. You shall not take it till the waters of
the Lake of Alba are all spent, and flow out into the sea no more."

This remark troubled the Roman, who knew the prophetic foresight of his
friend. The next day he talked with him again, and finally enticed him
to leave the city, saying that he wished to meet him at a certain secret
place and consult with him on a matter of his own. But on getting him in
this way out of the city, he seized and carried him off to the camp,
where he brought him before the generals. These, learning what the old
man had said, sent him to the senate at Rome.

The prisoner here spoke freely. "If the lake overflow," he said, "and
its waters run out into the sea, woe unto Rome; but if it be drawn off,
and the waters reach the sea no longer, then it is woe unto Veii."

This he gave as the decree of the Fates; but the senate would not accept
his words, and preferred to wait until the messengers should return from
Delphi with the reply of the oracle.

When they did come, they confirmed what the old prophet had said. "See
that the waters be not confined within the basin of the lake," was the
message of Apollo's priestess: "see that they take not their own course
and run into the sea. Thou shalt take the water out of the lake, and
thou shalt turn it to the watering of the fields, and thou shalt make
courses for it till it be spent and come to nothing."

What all this could possibly have to do with the siege of Veii the
oracle did not say. But the people of the past were not given to ask
such inconvenient questions. The oracle was supposed to know better than
they, so workmen were sent with orders to bore through the sides of the
hills and make a passage for the water. This tunnel was made, and the
waters of the lake were drawn off, and divided into many courses, being
given the duty of watering the fields of the Romans. In this way the
water of the lake was all used up, and no drop of it flowed to the sea.
Then the Romans knew that it was the will of the gods that Veii should
be theirs.

Despite all this, the army of Rome must have met with serious
difficulties and dangers at Veii, for the senate chose a dictator to
conduct the war. This was their ablest and most famous man, Marcus
Furius Camillus, a leader among the aristocrats, and a statesman of
distinguished ability.

Under the command of Camillus the army hotly pressed the siege. So
straitened became the Veientians that they sent envoys to Rome to beg
for peace. The senate refused. In reply, one of the chief men of the
embassy, who was a skilled prophet, rebuked the Romans for their
arrogance, and predicted coming retribution.

"You heed neither the wrath of the gods nor the vengeance of men," he
said. "Yet the gods shall requite you for your pride; as you destroy our
country, so shall you shortly after lose your own."

This prediction was verified before many years in the invasion of the
Gauls and the destruction of Rome,--a tale which we have next to tell.

Camillus, finding that Veii was not to be taken by assault over its
walls, began to approach it from below. Men were set to dig an
underground tunnel, which should pass beneath the walls, and come to the
surface again in the Temple of Juno, which stood in the citadel of Veii.
Night and day they worked, and the tunnel was in course of time
completed, though the ground was not opened at its inner extremity.

Then many Romans came to the camp through desire to have a share in the
spoil of Veii. A tenth part of this spoil was vowed by Camillus to
Apollo, in reward for his oracle; and the dictator also prayed to Juno,
the goddess of Veii, begging her to desert this city and follow the
Romans home, where a temple worthy of her dignity should be built.

All being ready, a fierce assault was made on the city from every side.
The defenders ran to the walls to repel their foes, and the fight went
vigorously on. While it continued the king of Veii repaired to the
Temple of Juno, where he offered a sacrifice for the deliverance of the
city. The prophet who stood by, on seeing the sacrifice, said, "This is
an accepted offering. There is victory for him who offers the entrails
of this victim upon the altar."

The Romans who were in the secret passage below heard these words.
Instantly the earth was heaved up above them, and they sprang, arms in
hand, from the tunnel. The entrails were snatched from the hands of
those who were sacrificing, and Camillus, the Roman dictator, not the
Veientian king, offered them upon the altar. While he did so his
followers rushed from the citadel into the streets, flung open the city
gates, and let in their comrades. Thus both from within and without the
army broke into the town, and Veii was taken and sacked.

From the height of the citadel Camillus looked down upon the havoc in
the city streets, and said in pride of heart, "What man's fortune was
ever so great as mine?" But instantly the thought came to him how little
a thing can bring the highest fortune down to the lowest, and he prayed
that if some evil should befall him or his country it might be light.

As he prayed he veiled his head, according to the Roman custom, and
turned toward the right. In doing so his foot slipped, and he fell upon
his back on the ground. "The gods have heard my prayer," he said. "For
the great fortune of my victory over Veii they have sent me only this
little evil."

He then bade some young men, chosen from the whole army, to wash
themselves in pure water, and clothe themselves in white, so that there
would be about them no stain or sign of blood. This done, they entered
the Temple of Juno, bowing low, and taking care not to touch the statue
of the goddess, which only the priest could touch. They asked the
goddess whether it was her pleasure to go with them to Rome.

Then a wonder happened; from the mouth of the image came the words "I
will go." And when they now touched it, it moved of its own accord. It
was carried to Rome, where a temple was built and consecrated to Juno on
the Aventine Hill.

On his return to Rome Camillus entered the city in triumph, and rode to
the Capitol in a chariot drawn by four white horses, like the horses of
Jupiter or those of the sun. Such was his ostentation that wise men
shook their heads. "Marcus Camillus makes himself equal to the blessed
gods," they said. "See if vengeance come not on him, and he be not made
lower than other men."

There is one further legend about Camillus. After the fall of Veii he
besieged Falerii. During this siege a school-master, who had charge of
the sons of the principal citizens, while walking with his boys outside
the walls, played the traitor and led them into the Roman camp.

But the villain received an unexpected reward. Camillus, justly
indignant at the act, put thongs in the boys' hands and bade them flog
their master back into the town, saying that the Romans did not war on
children. On this the people of Falerii, overcome by his magnanimity,
surrendered themselves, their city, and their country into the hands of
this generous foe, assured of just treatment from so noble a man.

But trouble came upon Camillus, as the wise men had predicted. He was an
enemy of the commons and was to feel their power. It was claimed that he
had kept for himself part of the plunder of Veii, and on this charge he
was banished from Rome. But the time was near at hand when his foes
would have to pray for his return. The next year the Gauls were to come,
and Camillus was to be revenged upon his ungrateful country. This story
we have next to tell.




_THE GAULS AT ROME._


We have related in the preceding tale how a Veientian prophet predicted
the ruin of Rome, in retribution for the cruelty of the Romans to the
people of Veii. It is the story of this disaster which we have now to
tell. While the Romans were assailing Veii and making other conquests
among the neighboring cities, a new people had come into Central Italy,
a fair-faced, light-haired, great-bodied tribe of barbarians, fierce in
aspect, warlike in character, the first contingent of that great
invasion from the north which, centuries afterwards, was to overthrow
the empire of Rome.

These were the Gauls, barbarian tribes from the region now known as
France, who had long before crossed the Alps and made themselves lords
of much of Northern Italy. Just when this took place we do not know, but
about the time with which we are now concerned they pushed farther
south, overthrew the Etruscans, and in the year 389 B.C. crossed the
Apennines and penetrated into Central Italy.

And now the proud city of Rome was to come face to face with an enemy
more powerful and courageous than any it had hitherto known. In the year
named the Gauls besieged the city of Clusium, in Etruria, the city of
Lars Porsenna, who in former years had aided Tarquin against Rome. The
Roman senate, alarmed at their approach, sent three deputies to observe
these barbarian bands. What follows is the story as told in Roman
annals. It cannot be accepted as the exact truth, though no one
questions the destruction of Rome by the Gauls.

The story goes, then, that the deputies sent to the barbarians, and
asked by what right they sought to take a part of the territory of
Clusium, a city in alliance with Rome. Brennus, the leader of the Gauls,
who knew little and cared less about Rome, replied, with insolent pride,
that all things belonged to the brave, and that their right lay in their
swords.

Soon after, in a sortie that was made from the city, one of the Roman
deputies joined the soldiers, and killed a Gaulish champion of great
size and stature. On this being reported to Brennus he sent messengers
to Rome, demanding that the man who had slain one of his chiefs, when no
war existed between the Gauls and Romans, should be delivered into his
hands for punishment. The senate voted to do so, as the demand seemed
reasonable; but an appeal was made to the people, and they declared that
the culprit should not be given up. On this answer being taken to
Brennus, he at once ordered that the siege of Clusium should be
abandoned, and marched with his whole army upon Rome.

A Roman army, forty thousand strong, was hastily raised, and crossed the
Tiber, marching towards Veii, where they expected to meet the advancing
enemy. But they reckoned wrongly: the Gauls came down the left bank of
the river, plundering and burning as they marched. This threw the Romans
into the greatest alarm. For many miles above Rome the Tiber could not
be forded, there were no bridges, and boats could not be had to convey
so large an army. The Romans were forced to march back with all speed to
the city, cross the river there, and hasten to meet their foes before
they got too near at hand. But when they came within sight of the Gauls
the latter were already within twelve miles of Rome.

The Roman army was drawn up behind the Alia, a little stream whose deep
bed formed a line of defence. But the Gauls made their attack upon the
weakest section of the Roman army, hewing them down with their great
broadswords, and assailing their ears with frightful yells. The Roman
right wing, formed of new recruits, gave way before this vigorous
charge, and in its flight threw the regular legions of the left wing
into disorder. The Gauls pursued so fiercely that in a short time the
whole army was in total rout, and flying as Roman army had never fled
before.

Many plunged into the river, in hope of escaping by swimming across it.
But of these the Gauls slew multitudes on the banks, and killed most of
those in the stream with their javelins. Others took refuge in a dense
wood near the road, where they lay hidden till nightfall. The remainder
fled back to the city, where they brought the frightful tidings of the
utter ruin of the Roman army.

The news threw Rome into a panic. Of those who escaped from the battle,
the majority had crossed the river and made their way to Veii. No other
army could be raised. Most of the other inhabitants left the city, as
the people of Athens had done when the army of Xerxes approached. It was
resolved to abandon the city to the barbarians, but to maintain the
citadel, the home of the gods of Rome. The holy articles in the temples
were buried or removed, the Vestal Virgins sent away, and the flower of
the patricians took refuge in the Capitol, determined to defend to the
last that abiding-place of the guardian gods of Rome.

But there were aged members of the senate, old patricians who had filled
the highest offices in the state, and venerable ministers of the gods,
who felt that they had a different duty to perform. They could not serve
their country by their deeds; they might by their death. They devoted
themselves and the army of the Gauls, in solemn invocations, to the
spirits of the dead and to the earth, the common grave of man. Then,
attiring themselves in their richest robes of office, each took his seat
on his ivory chair of magistracy in the gate-way of his house.

Meanwhile the Gauls had delayed for a day their attack on the city,
fearing that the silence portended some snare. When they did enter, the
people had escaped with such valuables as they could carry. The Capitol
was provisioned and garrisoned, and the aged senators awaited death in
solemn calm.

On seeing these venerable men, sitting in motionless silence amid the
confusion of the sack of the city, the Gauls viewed them with awe,
regarding them at first as more than human. One of the soldiers
approached M. Papirius, and began reverently to stroke his long white
beard. Papirius was a minister of the gods, and looked on this touch of
a barbarian hand as profanation. With an impulse of anger he struck the
Gaul on the head with his ivory sceptre. Instantly the barbarian,
breaking into rage, cut him down with his sword. This put an end to the
feeling of awe. All the old men were attacked and slain, their vow being
thus fulfilled.

Rome, except its Capitol, was now in the hands of the Gauls. The sack
and ruin of the city went mercilessly on. But the Capitol defied their
efforts. It stood on a hill which, except at a single point, presented
precipitous sides. The Gauls tried to storm it by this single approach,
but were driven back with loss. They then blockaded the hill, and spent
their time in devastating the city and neighboring country.

While this was going on the fugitives from Rome had gathered at Veii,
where they daily became more reorganized. And now they turned in their
distress to a man whom they had injured in their prosperity. Camillus,
the conqueror of Veii, had been exiled from Rome on a charge of having
been dishonest in distributing the spoils of the conquered city. He was
now living at Ardea, whither messengers were sent, begging him to come
to the aid of Rome. He sent word back that he had been condemned for an
offence of which he was not guilty, and would not return unless
requested to do so by the senate.

But the senate was shut up in the Capitol. How could it be reached? In
this dilemma a young man, Pontius Cominius, volunteered for the
adventure. He swam the Tiber at night, climbed the hill by the aid of
shrubs and projecting stones, obtained for Camillus the appointment as
dictator, and returned by the same route.

The feat of Cominius, whatever its real purpose, came near being a fatal
one to Rome. He had left his marks on the cliff. Here the soil had been
trodden away and stones loosened; there bushes had been broken or torn
from the soil. The sharp eyes of the Gauls saw, in the morning light,
these proofs that some one had climbed or descended the hill. The cliff,
then, could be climbed. Some Roman had climbed it; why not they? The
spot, supposed to be inaccessible, was not guarded. There was no wall at
its top. Here was an open route to that stubborn citadel. They resolved
to attempt it as soon as night should fall.

It was midnight when the Gauls began to make their way slowly and with
difficulty up the steep cliff. The moon may have aided them with its
rays, but, if so, it revealed them to no sentinel above. The very
watch-dogs failed to scent and signal their approach. They reached the
summit, and, to their gratification, no alarm had been given. The Romans
slept on.

The fate of Rome in that hour hung in the balance. Had the citadel been
taken and its defenders slain, Rome might never have recovered from the
blow. The whole course of history might have been changed. It was the
merest chance that saved the city from this impending disaster.

It chanced that on this part of the hill stood the temple of the
guardian gods of Rome,--Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva,--and in this temple
were kept a number of geese, sacred to Juno. Though food was not
abundant, the garrison had spared these sacred geese. They were now to
be amply repaid, for the geese alone heard the noise of the ascending
Gauls, and in alarm began a loud screaming and flapping of wings.

The noise aroused Marcus Manlius, who slept near. Hastily seizing his
sword and shield, he called to his comrades and ran to the edge of the
cliff. He reached there just in time to see the head and shoulders of a
burly Gaul, who had nearly attained the summit. Dashing the rim of his
shield into the face of the barbarian, Manlius tumbled him down the
rock, and with him those who followed in his track. The others,
dismayed, dropped their arms to cling more closely to the rocks. Unable
to ascend or descend, they were easily slaughtered by the guards who
followed Manlius. The Capitol was saved. As for the captain of the
watch, from whose neglect of duty this peril had come, he was punished
the next morning by being hurled down the cliff upon the slaughtered
Gauls.

Manlius was rewarded, says the story, by each man giving him from his
scanty store a day's allowance of food,--namely, half a pound of corn
and five ounces in weight of wine. As for the real defenders of Rome,
the geese of the Capitol, they were ever after held in the highest honor
and veneration.

As the Capitol could not be taken by assault or surprise, there
remained only the slow process of siege. For six or eight months the
Gauls blockaded the hill. So says the story, but it was probably not so
long. However, in the end the Romans were brought to the point of
famine, and offered to ransom their city by paying a large sum of gold.
Brennus, the Gaulish king, was ready to accept the offer. His men were
suffering from the Roman fever; food had grown scarce; he agreed, if
paid a thousand pounds' weight of gold, to withdraw his army from Rome.

Much gold had been brought by the fugitive patricians into the Capitol.
From this the delegates brought down and placed in the scales a
sufficient quantity. But while they found the gold, the Gauls found the
weights, and it was soon discovered that the wily barbarians were
cheating. Their weights were too heavy. Complaint of this fraud was made
by the Roman tribune of the soldiers. In reply Brennus drew his heavy
broadsword and threw it into the scale with the weights.

"What does this mean?" asked the tribune.

"It means," answered the barbarian, haughtily, "woe to the vanquished!"
"_Vae victis esse!_"

While this was going on, says the legend, Camillus, the dictator, was
marching to Rome with the legions he had organized at Veii. He appeared
at the right minute for the dramatic interest of the story, entered the
Forum while the gold was being weighed, bade the Romans take back their
gold, threw the weights to the Gauls, and told Brennus proudly that it
was the Roman custom to pay their debts in iron, not in gold.

A fight ensued, as might be expected. The Gauls were driven from the
city. The next day Camillus attacked them in their camp, eight miles
from Rome, and defeated them so utterly that not a man was left alive to
carry home the tale of the slaughter.

This story of the coming of Camillus is too much like the last act of a
stage-play, or the denouement of a novel, to be true. Most likely the
Gauls marched off with their gold, though they may have been attacked on
their retreat, and most or all of the gold regained.

Camillus, however, is said to have saved Rome in still another way. The
old city was in ashes. Most of the citizens were at Veii, where they had
found or built new homes. They were loath to come back to rebuild a
ruined city. This Camillus induced them to do. Every appeal was made to
the local pride and the religious sentiments of the people. A centurion,
marching with his company, and being obliged to halt in front of the
senate-house, called to the standard-bearer, "Pitch your standard here,
for this is the best place to stop at." This casual remark was looked
upon as an omen from heaven, and by this and the like means the people
were induced to return.

Then the rebuilding of Rome began. The sites of the temples were
retraced as far as could be done in the ruins. The laws of the twelve
tables and some other records were recovered, but the mass of the
historical annals of Rome had been destroyed. Some relics were said to
have been miraculously preserved, among them the shepherd's crook of
Romulus.

But the bulk of the possessions of the Romans had vanished in the
flames; the streets were mere heaps of ashes; the very walls had been in
part pulled down; rubbish and ruin lay everywhere. Rome, like the
phoenix, had to be born again from its ashes. Men built wherever they
could find a clear spot. Stones and roofing-material were brought from
Veii, and one city was dismantled that another might be restored. Stones
and timber were supplied to any man from the public lands. The city
rapidly rose again. But it was an irregular city; the streets ran
anywhere; no effort was made at rule or system in the making of the new
Rome.

As for Camillus, he came to be honored as the second founder of Rome.
While the Romans were at work on their new homes they were harassed by
their foes, and he was kept busy with the army in the field. He lived
for twenty-five years longer, and in the year 367 B.C., when some eighty
years of age, he marched again to meet the Gauls in a new assault upon
Rome, and defeated them with such slaughter that they left Rome alone
for many years afterwards.

Marcus Manlius, the preserver of the Capitol, was not so fortunate. He
came forward as the patron of the poor, who began to suffer again from
the severe laws against debtors. Finally he began to use his large
fortune to relieve suffering debtors, and is said to have paid the debts
of four hundred debtors, thus saving them from bondage. This generosity
won him the unbounded affection of the people, who called him the
"Father of the Commons." But it aroused the suspicion of the patricians,
and some of these, against whom he had used violent language, had him
arrested on a charge of treason, perhaps with good reason. Though he
showed the many honors he had received for services to his country, he
was condemned to death and his house razed to the ground. Thus the
patricians dealt with the benefactors of the poor.




_THE CURTIAN GULF._


During three years--363 to 361 B.C.--Rome was ravaged by the plague,
which was so violent and fatal as to carry off the citizens by hundreds.
In its first year it found a noble victim in Camillus, the conqueror of
Veii and the second founder of Rome, who four years before had a second
time defeated the Gauls. He was the last of the old heroes of Rome,
those whose glory belongs to romance rather than history. The Gauls had
destroyed the records of old Rome, and left only legend and romance.
With the new Rome history fairly began.

But we have another romantic tale to tell before we bid adieu to the
story of early Rome. In the second year of the pestilence a strange and
portentous event occurred. The Tiber rose to an unusual height,
overflowed with its waters the great circus (_Circus Maximus_), and put
a stop to the games then going on, which were intended to propitiate the
wrath of heaven, and induce the gods to relieve man from the evil of the
plague.

And now, in the midst of the Forum, there yawned open a fearful gulf, so
wide and deep that the superstitious Romans viewed it with awe and
affright. Whether it was due to an earthquake or the wrath of the gods
is not for us to say. The Romans believed the latter; those who prefer
may believe the former. But, so we are told, it seemed bottomless.
Throw what they would in it, it stood unfilled, and the feeling grew
that no power of man could ever fill its yawning depths.

Man being powerless, the oracles of the gods were consulted. Must this
gaping wound always stand open in the soil of Rome? or could it in any
way be filled and the offended deities who had caused it be propitiated?
From the oracle came the reply that it must stand open till that which
constituted the best and true strength of the Roman commonwealth was
cast as an offering into the gulf. Then only would it close, and
thereafter forever would the state live and flourish.

[Illustration: RUINS OF THE ROMAN AQUEDUCTS.]

The true strength of Rome! In what did this consist? This question men
asked each other anxiously and none seemed able to answer. But there was
one man in Rome who interpreted rightly the meaning of the oracle. This
was a noble youth, M. Curtius by name, who had played his part valiantly
in war, and gained great fame by brave and manly deeds. The true
strength of Rome? he said to the people. In what else could it lie but
in the arms and valor of her children? This was the sacrifice the gods
demanded.

Going home, he put on his armor and mounted his horse. Riding to the
brink of the gulf, he, before the eyes of the trembling and awe-struck
multitude, devoted himself to death for the safety and glory of Rome,
and plunged, with his horse, headlong into the gaping void. The people
rushed after him to the brink, flung in their offerings, and with a
surge the lips of the gap came together, and the gulf was forever
closed. The place was afterwards known by the name of the Curtian Lake,
in honor of this sacrifice.

There are two other stories of this date worth repeating, as giving rise
to two great names in Rome. T. Manlius, the future conqueror of the
Latins, fought with a gigantic Gaul on the bridge over the Anio on the
Salarian road. Slaying his enemy, he took from his neck a chain of gold
(_torques_), which he afterwards wore upon his own. From this the
soldiers called him Torquatus, which name his descendants ever
afterwards bore.

In a later battle Marcus Valerius fought with a second gigantic Gaul.
During the combat a wonderful thing happened. A crow perched on the
helmet of the Roman, and continued there as the combatants fought.
Occasionally it flew up into the air, and darted down upon the Gaul,
striking at his eyes with its beak and claws. The Gaul, confounded by
this attack, soon fell by the sword of his foe, and then the crow flew
up again, and vanished towards the east. The name of Corvus (crow) was
added to that of Valerius, and was long afterwards borne by his
descendants.

These stories are rather to be enjoyed than believed. They probably
contain more poetry than history, particularly that of Curtius and the
gulf. Yet they were accepted as history by the Romans, and are given in
all their detail in the fine old work of Livy, the rarest and raciest of
the story-tellers of Rome.




_ANECDOTES OF THE LATIN AND SAMNITE WARS._


The conquest of Italy by Rome was attended by many interesting events,
of which we propose to relate here some of the more striking. The
capture and burning of Rome by the Gauls, and the dispersal of her army
and people, ruinous as it seemed, was but an event in her career of
conquest. The city was no sooner rebuilt than the old regime of war was
resumed, and it was no longer a struggle between neighboring cities, but
of Rome against powerful confederacies and peoples, such as the
Volscians, the Etruscans, the Latins, the Campanians, and the Samnites,
the final conquest of which gave her the dominion of Italy.

The war with the Latins was attended with some circumstances showing
strongly the stern and indomitable spirit of the Romans. This war was
carried into Campania, in Southern Italy; and here, on a celebrated
occasion, when the two armies lay encamped in close vicinity on the
plain of Capua, the Roman consuls issued a strict order against
skirmishing or engaging in single encounters with the enemy. The two
peoples were alike in arms and in language, and it was feared that such
chance combats might lead to confusion and disaster.

The only man to disobey this order was T. Manlius, the son of one of
the consuls. A Latin warrior, Geminus Metius, of Tusculum, challenged
young Manlius to meet him in single combat; and the youthful warrior,
fired by ambition and warlike zeal, and eager to sustain the honor of
Rome, accepted the challenge, despite his father's order. If killed, his
fault would be atoned; if successful, victory over a noted warrior must
win him pardon and praise.

The duel that ensued was a fierce and gallant one. It ended in the
triumph of the young Roman, who laid his antagonist dead at his feet.
Shouts of triumph from the Roman soldiers hailed his victory; and when
he had despoiled his slain foe of his arms, and borne them triumphantly
from the field, the exultation of the Romans was as unbounded as the
chagrin of the Latins was deep. Towards his father's tent the young
victor proudly went, through exulting lines of troops, and laid his
spoils in triumph at the feet of the stern old man.

The poor youth, the rejoicing soldiers, knew not the man with whom they
had to deal. A military order had been disobeyed. To old Manlius the
fact that the culprit was his son, and that he had added honor to the
Roman arms, weighed nothing. Discipline stood above affection or
victory. Turning coldly away, the iron-hearted old Roman ordered that
the soldiers should be immediately summoned to the praetorium, or
general's tent, and that his son should be beheaded before them.

This cruel and inhuman order filled the whole army with horror. Yet none
dared interfere, and the unnatural mandate was obeyed, in full view of
an army whose late exultation was turned to deepest woe and indignation.
The youngest soldiers never forgave the consul for his inhuman act, but
regarded him with abhorrence to the end of his life. But their hatred
was mingled with fear and respect, and the stern lesson taught was
doubtless felt for years in the discipline of the armies of Rome.

The next event worthy of record took place in the vicinity of Mount
Vesuvius, under whose very shadow a fierce battle was fought between the
Latin and Roman armies, with the then silent volcano as witness. Two
centuries more were to pass before Rome would learn what fearful power
lay sleeping in this long voiceless mountain.

Before the battle joined, the gods, as usual, were appealed to. During
the night both consuls had dreamed the same dream. A figure of more than
human stature and majesty had appeared to them, and told them that the
earth and the gods of the dead claimed as their victims the general of
one party and the army of the other. When the sacrifices were made, the
signs given by the entrails of the victims signified the same thing. It
was resolved, therefore, that if the army of Rome anywhere gave way, the
general commanding on that side should devote himself, and the army of
the enemy with him, to the gods of death and the grave. "Fate," said the
augurs, "requires the sacrifice of a general from one party and an army
from the other. Let it be our general and the Latin army that shall
perish."

It was the left wing of the Romans, commanded by the consul Publius
Decius, that first gave way. The consul at once accepted his fate. By
the direction of the chief priest, he wrapped his consular toga around
his head, holding it to his face with his hand, and then set his feet
upon a javelin, and repeated after the priest the words devoting him to
the gods of death. Then, arming himself at all points, and wrapping his
toga around his body in the manner usual in sacrifices, he sprang upon
his horse, and spurred headlong into the ranks of the enemy, where he
soon fell dead.

This sacrifice filled the Romans with hope, and the Latins, who
understood its meaning, with dismay. Yet the latter, after being driven
back, soon recovered, and, despite the self-devotion of Decius, would
probably have won the victory had not the remaining consul brought up
his reserve troops just in time. In the end the Latins were utterly
defeated, and Vesuvius looked down on the massacre of one army by the
swords of another, scarcely a fourth of the Latins escaping. Thus the
gods seemed to keep their word, though probably the Roman reserve force
had more to do with the victory than all the gods of Rome.

The next event which we have to relate took place during the second
Samnite war. Its hero was L. Papirius Cursor, one of the favorite heroes
of Roman tradition, and the avenger of the disgrace of the Caudine
Forks, the story of which we have next to tell. This famous soldier is
said to have possessed marvellous swiftness of foot and gigantic
strength, with extraordinary capacity for food, while his iron
strictness of discipline was at times relieved by a rough humor. All
this made his memory popular with the Romans, who boasted that Alexander
the Great would have found in him a worthy champion, had that conqueror
invaded Italy.

The event we have now to narrate occurred early in the war. One of the
consuls, being taken ill, was ordered to name a dictator to replace him,
and chose Papirius Cursor. This champion appointed Q. Fabius Rullianus,
another famous soldier, his master of the horse, and marched out to
attack the Samnites.

As it happened, the auspices taken by the dictator at Rome before
marching to the seat of war were of no particular significance. Not
satisfied with them, he decided to take them again, and returned to Rome
for this purpose, the auspices being of a kind which could only be taken
within the city walls. He ordered the master of the horse to remain
strictly on the defensive during his absence.

Fabius did not obey this order. He attacked the enemy and gained some
advantage. The annals say that he won a great victory, defeating the
Samnites with a loss of twenty thousand men; but the annals have a habit
of magnifying small affairs into large ones where they have any object
to gain.

On hearing that his orders had been disobeyed, Papirius hurried back to
the camp in a violent rage, and with the intention of making such an
example of discipline as Manlius had made in the execution of his son.
On reaching camp he ordered that Fabius should be immediately executed.
His authority as dictator gave him power for this violent act; but he
failed to reckon on the spirit of the soldiers, who supported Fabius to
a man, and broke into a violent demonstration that was almost mutiny. So
strong was their feeling that the furious dictator found himself obliged
to halt in his purpose.

But Fabius knew too well the iron nature of his antagonist to trust his
life in his hands. That night he fled from the camp to Rome, and
immediately appealed to the senate for protection. Papirius followed in
hot haste, and while the senators were still assembling arrived in Rome,
where, under his authority as dictator, he gave order for the arrest of
the culprit. In this critical situation the prisoner's father, M.
Fabius, appealed to the tribunes for the protection of his son, saying
that he proposed to carry the case before the assembly of the people.

The tribunes found themselves in a dilemma. Papirius warned them not to
sanction so flagrant a breach of military discipline, nor to lessen the
majesty of the office of dictator, and they found themselves hesitating
between their duty to support the absolute power of the dictator and
their abhorrence of an exercise of this power that must shock the
feelings of the whole Roman people. The people themselves relieved their
tribunes from this difficulty. They hastily met in assembly, and by a
unanimous vote implored the dictator to be merciful, and for their sakes
to forgive Fabius. His authority thus acknowledged, Papirius yielded,
and declared that he pardoned the master of the horse. "And the
authority of the Roman generals," says Livy, "was established no less
firmly by the peril of Q. Fabius than by the actual death of the young
T. Manlius."

It was well for Rome that Fabius was spared, for he afterwards proved
one of their ablest generals. The time came, also, when he was able to
confer a benefit upon Papirius Cursor. This was during a subsequent war
with the Etruscans, in which he commanded as consul and gained great
victories. Meanwhile a Roman army was defeated by the Samnites, and on
the news of this defeat reaching Rome the senate at once resolved to
appoint Papirius once more as dictator.

But this appointment must be made by a consul. One consul was with the
defeated army, perhaps dead. It was necessary to apply to Fabius, the
other consul, and the declared enemy of the proposed dictator. To
overcome his personal feelings, a deputation of the highest senators was
sent him, who read him the senate's decree and strongly urged him to
support it. Fabius listened in dead silence, not answering by word or
look. When they had ended, he abruptly withdrew from the room. But at
dead of night he pronounced, in the usual form, the nomination of
Papirius as dictator. When the deputies thanked him for his noble
conquest over his feelings, he listened still in dead silence, and
dismissed them without a word in answer.

We must now pass over years of war, in which both Fabius and Papirius
gained honor and fame, and come to an occasion in which the son of
Fabius led a Roman army as consul, and met with a severe defeat by a
Samnite army. He had been tricked by the Samnites, and great indignation
was aroused against him in Rome. It was proposed to remove him from his
office, a disgrace which no consul ever experienced in Roman history. It
was also proposed that old Fabius should be appointed dictator. But the
aged soldier, to preserve the honor of his son, offered to go with him
as his lieutenant, and the offer was accepted by the senate.

A second battle ensued, in the heat of which the consul became
surrounded by the enemy, and his aged father led the charge to his
rescue. His example animated the Romans, they followed him in a vigorous
assault, and a complete victory was won. Twenty thousand Samnites were
slain, four thousand taken prisoners, and with them their general, C.
Pontius. After other victories the younger Fabius returned to Rome and
was given a triumph, while behind him rode his old father on horseback,
as one of his lieutenants, delighting in the honor conferred on his son.
The Samnite general was made to walk in the procession, and at its end
was taken to the prison under the Capitoline Hill and there beheaded. It
was thus that Rome dealt with its captured foes.




_THE CAUDINE FORKS._


Westward from Rome rise the Apennine Mountains, the backbone of Italy;
and amid their highest peaks, where the snow lies all the year long, and
whence streams flow into the two seas, dwelt the Sabines, an important
people, from whom came the mothers of the Roman state. There is a legend
concerning this people which we have now to tell. For many years they
had been at war with their neighbors, the Umbrians; and at length,
failing to conquer their enemies by their own strength, they sought to
obtain the help of the divinities. They made a vow that if victory was
given to them, all the living creatures born that year in their land
should be held as sacred to the gods.

The victory came, and they sacrificed all the lambs, calves, kids, and
pigs of that year's birth, while they redeemed from the gods such
animals as were not suitable for sacrifice. But, as it appeared, the
deities were not satisfied. The land refused to yield its fruits, and
the Sabines were not long in deciding why their crops had failed. They
had neither sacrificed nor redeemed the children born that year, and had
thus failed in their duty to the gods.

To atone for this fault, all their children of that year's birth were
devoted to the god Mamers, and when they had grown up they were sent
away to make themselves a home in a new land. As the young men started
on their pilgrimage a bull went before them, and, as they fancied that
Mamers had sent this animal for their guide, they piously followed him.
He first lay down to rest when he had come to the land of the Opicans.
This the Sabines took for a sign, and they fell on the Opicans, who
dwelt in villages without walls, and drove them out from their country,
of which the new-comers took possession. They then sacrificed the bull
to Mamers; and in after-ages they bore the bull for their device. They
also took a new name, and were afterwards known as Samnites.

While the Romans were extending their dominion in Central Italy, the
Samnites were conquering the peoples farther south. Their dominion
became great, and at one time included the famous cities of Herculaneum
and Pompeii and many others of the cities of the southern plains. In the
centre of the Samnite country stood a remarkable mountain mass, an
offshoot from the Apennines. This mountain, now called the Matese, is
nearly eight miles in circumference, and rises abruptly in huge
wall-like cliffs of limestone to the height of three thousand feet. Its
surface is greatly varied in character, now sloping into deep valleys,
now rising into elevated cliffs, of which the loftiest is six thousand
feet high. It is rich in springs, which gush out in full flow, and
disappear again in the caverns with which limestone rocks abound. Its
valleys yield abundant pasture and magnificent beech forests, while on
its highest summits the snow tarries till late summer, and in the
hottest months of summer the upland pastures continue cool.

This mountain fastness formed the citadel from which the Samnites issued
in conquering excursions over the surrounding country, and enabled them
in time to extend their dominion far and wide, and to rival Rome in the
width and importance of their state. Thus Rome and Samnium approached
each other step by step, and the time inevitably came when they were to
join issue in war.

Three wars took place between the Romans and the Samnites. In the first
of these Valerius Corvus (the origin of whose name of Corvus we have
already told) led the Roman army to victory. In honor of this victory
Rome received from Carthage (with which city it was to engage in a
desperate contest in later years) a golden crown, for the shrine of
Jupiter in the Capitol.

In 329 B.C. Rome finally overcame the Volscians, with whom they had been
many years at war, and three years afterwards war with the Samnites was
again declared. The latter were invading Campania, in which country lay
the volcano of Vesuvius and the city of Naples. Rome came to the aid of
the Campanians, and a war began which lasted for more than twenty years.

Of this war we have but one event to tell, that in which Rome suffered
the greatest humiliation it had met with in its entire career, the
famous affair of the Caudine Forks. It was in the fifth campaign of the
war that this event took place. Two Roman armies had marched into
Campania and threatened the southern border of Samnium, which the
Samnite general Pontius was prepared to defend. His force occupied the
passes which led from the plain of Naples into the higher mountain
valleys; but he deceived the Romans by spreading the report that the
whole Samnite army had gone to Apulia, where they were besieging the
city of Luceria. His purpose was to lure the Romans into these difficult
defiles under the impression that the Samnites were trusting to the
natural strength of their country for its defence.

The trick succeeded. The Roman consuls believed the story, and, in their
haste to go to the aid of their allies in Apulia, chose the shortest
route, that which led through the Samnian hills. The absence of the
Samnite army would enable them, they thought, to force their way through
Samnium without difficulty; and, blinded by their false confidence, the
consuls recklessly led their men into the fatal pass of Caudium.

This pass was a narrow opening in the outer wall of the Apennines, which
led from the plain of Campania to Maleventum. To-day it is traversed by
the road from Naples to Benevento, and is called the valley of Arpaia.
In the past it was famous as Caudium.

Into this defile the Romans marched between the rugged mountain
acclivities that bounded its sides, and through the deep silence that
reigned around. The pass seemed utterly deserted, and they expected
soon to emerge into a more open valley in the interior of the hills.

But as they advanced the pass contracted, until it became but a narrow
gorge, and this they found to be blocked up with great stones and felled
trees. Brought to a halt, the troops stood gazing in dismay and dread on
these obstacles, when suddenly the silence was broken, loud war-cries
filled the air, and armed Samnites appeared as if by magic, covering the
hills on both flanks, and crowding into the pass in the rear.

The Romans were caught in such a trap as that from which Cincinnatus had
rescued a Roman army many years before. But there was here no
Cincinnatus with his stakes, and they were far from Rome. The entrapped
army made a desperate effort to escape, attacking the Samnites in the
rear, and seeking to force their way up the rugged surrounding hills.
They fought in vain. Many of them fell. The Samnite foe pressed them
still more closely into the rocky pass. Only the coming of night saved
them from total destruction.

But escape was impossible. The gorge in front was completely blocked up.
The pass in the rear was held by the enemy in force. The flanking hills
could hardly have been climbed by an army, even if they had not been
occupied. No resource remained to the Romans but to encamp in the
broader part of the narrow valley, and there wait in hopeless despair
the outcome of their folly.

The Samnites could well afford to let them wait. The rear was held by
the bulk of their army. The obstacles in front were strongly guarded.
Every possible track by which the Romans might try to scale the hills
was held. Some desperate attempts to break out were made, but they were
easily repulsed. Nothing remained but surrender, or death by famine.

One or other of these alternatives had soon to be chosen. A large army,
surprised on its march, and confined within a barren pass, could not
have subsistence for any long period. Nothing was to be gained by delay,
and they might as well yield themselves prisoners of war at once.

So the Romans evidently thought, and without delay they put themselves
at the mercy of their conquerors. "We yield ourselves your captives,"
they said, "to do with as you will. Put us all to the sword, if such be
your decision; sell us into slavery; or hold us as prisoners until we
are ransomed: one thing only we ask, save our bodies, whether living or
dead, from all unworthy insults."

In this request they forgot the record that Rome had made; forgot how
often noble captives had been forced to walk in Roman triumphs and been
afterwards slain in cold blood in the common prison; forgot how they had
recently refused the rites of burial to the body of a noble Samnite. But
Pontius, the Samnite general, was much less of a barbarian than the
Romans of that age. He was acquainted with Greek philosophy, had even
held conversation, it is said, with Plato, and was not the man to
indulge in cruel or insulting acts.

"Restore to us," he said to the consuls, "the towns and territory you
have taken from us, and withdraw the colonists whom you have unjustly
placed on our soil. Conclude with us a treaty of peace, in which each
nation shall be acknowledged to be independent of the other. Swear to do
this, and I will grant you your lives and release you without ransom.
Each man of you shall give up his arms, but may keep his clothes
untouched; and you shall pass before our army as prisoners who have been
in our power and whom we have set free of our own will, when we might
have killed or sold them, or held them for ransom."

These terms the consuls were glad enough to accept. They were far better
than they would have granted the Samnites under similar circumstances.
Pontius now called for the Roman fecialis, whose duty it was to conclude
all treaties and take all oaths for the Roman people. But there was no
fecialis with the army. The senate had sent none, having resolved to
make no terms with the Samnites, and to accept only their absolute
submission. They had never dreamed of such a turn of the tide as this.

In the absence of the proper officer, the consuls and all the surviving
officers took the oath, while it was agreed that six hundred knights
should be held as hostages until the Roman people had ratified the
treaty. Why Pontius did not insist on treating with the senate and
people of Rome at once, instead of trusting to them to ratify a treaty
made with prisoners of war, we are not told. He was soon to learn how
weak a reed to lean upon was the Roman faith.

The treaty made, the humiliating part of the affair came. The Roman
army was obliged to march under the yoke, which consisted of two spears
set upright and a third fastened across their tops. Under this the
soldiers of the legions without their arms, and wearing but a single
article of clothing,--the campestre or kilt, which reached from the
waist to the knees,--passed in gloomy succession. Even the consuls were
obliged to appear in this humble plight, the six hundred hostage knights
alone being spared.

This was no peculiar insult, but a common usage on such occasions. The
Romans had imposed it more than once on defeated enemies. They were now
to endure it themselves, and the affair, under the name of the Caudine
Forks, has become famous in history.

Pontius proved, indeed, generous to his foes. He supplied carriages for
the sick and wounded, and furnished provisions to last the army until it
should arrive at Home. When that city was reached the senate and people
came out and welcomed the soldiers with the greatest kindness. But the
wounded pride of the legionaries could not be soothed. Those who had
homes in the country stole from the ranks and sought their several
dwellings. Those who lived in Rome lingered without the walls until
after the sun had fallen, and then made their way home through the
darkness. The consuls were obliged to enter in open day, but as soon as
possible they sought their homes, and shut themselves up in privacy.

As for the city, it went into mourning. All business was suspended; the
patricians laid aside their gold rings and took off the red border of
their dresses which marked their rank; the plebeians appeared in
mourning garbs; there was as much weeping for those who had returned in
dishonor as for those left dead on the field; all rejoicings, festivals,
and marriages were set aside for a year of happier omen.

The final result was such as might have been expected from the earlier
record of Rome. The senate refused to recognize the treaty. The defeated
consuls themselves sustained this bad faith, saying that they and all
the officers should be given up to the Samnites, as having promised what
they were unable to perform.

This was done. Half stripped, as when they passed under the yoke, and
their hands bound behind their backs, the officers were conducted by the
fecialis to the Samnian frontier, and delivered to the Samnites as men
who had forfeited their liberty by their breach of faith. The surrender
completed, Postumius, one of the consuls, struck a fecialis violently
with his knee,--his hands and feet being bound,--and cried out,--

"I now belong to the Samnites, and I have done violence to the sacred
person of a Roman fecialis and ambassador. You will rightfully wage war
with us, Romans, to avenge this outrage."

This transparent trick was wasted on Pontius. He refused the victims
offered him. They were not the guilty ones, he said. The legions must be
placed again in the Caudium Valley, or Rome keep the treaty. Anything
else would be base and faithless.

The treaty was not kept. The war went on. And nearly thirty years
afterwards, as we have told in the preceding story, Pontius, who had
behaved so generously to the Romans, was led as a prisoner in a Roman
triumph, and then basely beheaded while the triumphal car of the victor
ascended the Capitoline Hill. His death is one of the darkest blots on
the Roman name. "Such a murder," we are told, "committed or sanctioned
by such a man as Q. Fabius, is peculiarly a national crime, and proves
but too clearly that in their dealings with foreigners the Romans had
neither magnanimity, nor humanity, nor justice."




_THE FATE OF REGULUS._


We have followed the growth of Rome from its seed in the cradle of
Romulus and Remus to its early maturity in the conquest of Italy. Its
triumph over the Latins, Samnites, and Etruscans had made it virtually
master of that peninsula. In the year 280 B.C. it was first called upon
to meet a great foreign soldier in the celebrated Pyrrhus of Epirus, who
had invaded Italy. How this great soldier scared the Romans with his
elephants and defeated them in the field, but was finally baffled and
left the country in disgust, we have told in "Historical Tales of
Greece." It was not many years after this that Rome herself went abroad
in search of new foes, and her long and bitter struggle with Carthage
began.

The great city of Carthage lay on the African side of the Mediterranean,
where it had won for itself a great empire, and had added to its
dominion by important conquests in Spain and Sicily. Settled many
centuries before by emigrants from the Phoenician city of Tyre, it
had, like its mother city, grown rich through commerce, and was now lord
of the Mediterranean and one of the great cities of the earth. With this
city Rome was now to begin a mighty struggle, which would last for many
years and end in the utter destruction of the great African city and
state.

Pyrrhus of Epirus, on leaving Sicily, had said, "What a grand arena this
would be for Rome and Carthage to contend upon!" And it was in the
island of Sicily that the struggle between these two mighty powers
began. In the year 264 B.C., nearly five centuries after the founding of
Rome, that city first sent its armies beyond the borders of Italy, and
the long contest between Rome and Carthage was inaugurated.

Some soldiers of fortune, who had invaded Sicily and found themselves in
trouble, called upon Rome for help. Carthage, which held much of the
island, was also appealed to, and both sent armies. The result was a
collision between these armies. In two years' time most of Sicily
belonged to Rome, and Carthage retained hardly a foothold upon that
island.

This rapid success of the Romans in foreign conquest encouraged them
greatly. But they were soon to find themselves at a disadvantage. Being
an inland power, they knew nothing of ocean warfare, and possessed none
but small ships. Carthage, on the contrary, had a large and powerful
fleet, and now began to use it with great effect. By its aid the
Carthaginians took from Rome many towns on the coast of Sicily. They
also landed on and ravaged the coasts of Italy. It was made evident to
the Roman senate that if they looked for success they must meet the
enemy on their own element, and dispute with Carthage the dominion of
the sea.

How was this to be done? The largest ships they knew of had only three
banks of oars. Carthage possessed war vessels with five banks of oars,
and built on a plan different from that of the smaller vessels. Rome had
no model for these ships, and was at a loss what to do. Fortunately a
Carthaginian quinquereme (a ship with five banks of oars) ran ashore on
the coast of Italy, and was captured and sent to Rome. This served as a
model for the shipwrights of that city, and so energetically did they
set to work that in two months after the first cutting of the timber
they had built and launched more than a hundred ships of this class.

And while the ships were building the crews selected for the
quinqueremes were practising. Most of them had never even seen an oar,
and they were now placed on benches ashore, ranged like those in the
ships, and carefully taught the movements of rowing, so that when the
ships were launched they were quite ready to drive them through the
waves. The Romans, who could fight best hand to hand, added a new and
important device, providing their ships with wooden bridges attached to
the masts, and ready to fall on an enemy's vessel whenever one came
near. A great spike at the end was driven into the deck of the enemy's
ship by the weight of the falling bridge, and held her while the Romans
charged across the bridge.

The new fleet was soon tried. It met a Carthaginian fleet on the north
coast of Sicily. The Romans proved poor sailors, but the bridges gave
them the victory. These could be wheeled round the mast and dropped in
any direction, and, however the Carthaginians approached, they found
themselves grappled and boarded by the Romans, whose formidable swords
soon did the rest. In the end Carthage lost fifty ships and ten thousand
men, and with them the dominion of the seas.

This success was a great event in the history of Rome. The victory was
celebrated by a great naval triumph, and a column was set up in the
Forum, which was adorned with the ornamental prows of ships.

Three years afterwards Rome resolved to carry the war into Africa, and
for this purpose built a great fleet of three hundred and thirty ships,
and manned by one hundred and forty thousand seamen, in addition to its
soldiers or fighting men. These were largely made up of prisoners from
Sardinia and Corsica, Carthaginian islands which had been attacked by
the Roman fleets. The two consuls in command were L. Manlius Vulso and
M. Atilius Regulus.

The great fleet of Rome met a still greater Carthaginian one at Ecnomus,
on the southern coast of Sicily, and here one of the greatest sea-fights
of history took place. In the end the Romans lost twenty-four ships,
while of those of the enemy thirty were sunk and sixty-four captured.
The remainder of the enemy's fleet fled in all haste to Carthage.

The Romans now prepared to take one of the greatest steps in their
history,--to cross the sea to the unknown African world. The soldiers
murmured loudly at this. They were to be taken to a new and strange
land, burnt by scorching heats and infested with noisome beasts and
monstrous serpents; and they were to be led into the very stronghold of
the enemy, where they would be at their mercy. Even one of their
tribunes supported the soldiers in this complaint. But Regulus was equal
to the occasion: he threatened the tribune with death, forced the
soldiers on board, and sailed for the African coast.

The event proved very different from what the soldiers had feared. The
army of Carthage was so miserably commanded that the Romans landed
without trouble and ravaged the country at their will; and instead of
the scorching heats and deadly animals they had feared, they found
themselves in a fertile and thickly-settled country, where grew rich
harvests of corn, and where were broad vineyards and fruitful orchards
of figs and olives. Towns were numerous, and villas of wealthy citizens
covered the hills.

On this rich and undefended country the hungry Roman army was let loose.
Villas were plundered and burnt, horses and cattle driven off in vast
numbers, and twenty thousand persons, many of them doubtless of wealth
and rank, were carried away to be sold as slaves. Meanwhile the army of
Carthage lurked on the hills, and was defeated wherever encountered.
Regulus, who had been left in sole command of the Roman army, overran
the country without opposition, and boasted that he had taken and
plundered more than three hundred walled towns or villages.

The Carthaginians, who were also attacked by roving desert tribes, who
proved even worse than the Romans, were in distress, and begged for
peace. But the terms offered by Regulus were so intolerable that it was
impossible to accept them. "Men who are good for anything should either
conquer or submit to their betters," said Regulus, haughtily. He had not
yet learned how unwise it is to drive a strong foe to desperation, and
was to pay dearly for his arrogance and pride.

The tide of war turned when Carthage obtained a general fit to command
an army. An officer who had been sent to Greece for soldiers of fortune
brought with him on his return a Spartan named Xanthippus, a man who had
been trained in the rigid Spartan discipline and had played his part
well in the wars of Greece. He openly and strongly condemned the conduct
of the generals of Carthage; and, on his words being reported to the
government, he was sent for, and so clearly pointed out the causes of
the late disasters that the direction of all the forces of Carthage was
placed in his hands.

And now a new spirit awakened in Carthage. Xanthippus reviewed the
troops, taught them how they should meet the Roman charge, and filled
them with such enthusiasm and hope that loud shouts broke from the
ranks, and they eagerly demanded to be led at once to battle.

The army numbered only twelve thousand foot, but had four thousand
cavalry and a hundred elephants, in which much confidence was placed.
The demand of the soldiers was complied with; they boldly marched out,
and now no longer to the hills, but to the lower ground, where the
devastation of the enemy was at once checked.

Regulus was forced to risk a battle, for his supply of food was in
peril. He marched out and encamped within a mile of the foe. The
Carthaginian generals, on seeing these hardy Roman legions, so long
victorious, were stricken with something like panic. But the soldiers
were eager to fight, and Xanthippus bade the wavering generals not to
lose so precious an opportunity. They yielded, and bade him to draw up
the army on his own plan.

In the battle that ensued the victory was due to the cavalry and
elephants. The cavalry drove that of Italy from the field, and attacked
the Roman rear. The elephants broke through the Roman lines in front,
furiously trampling the bravest underfoot. Those who penetrated the line
of the elephants were cut to pieces by the Carthaginian infantry. Of the
whole Roman army, two thousand of the left wing alone escaped; Regulus,
with five hundred others, fled, but was pursued and taken prisoner; the
remainder of the army was destroyed to a man. The defeat was total. Rome
retained but a single African port, which was soon given up. Xanthippus,
crowned with glory and richly rewarded, returned to Greece to enjoy the
fame he had won.

For five years Regulus remained a prisoner in Carthage, while the war
went on in Sicily. Here, in the year 250 B.C., the Romans gained an
important victory at Panormus (now Palermo), and Carthage, weary of the
struggle, sent to Rome to ask for terms of peace. With the ambassadors
came Regulus, who had promised to return to Carthage if the negotiations
should fail, and whom the Carthaginians naturally expected to use his
utmost influence in favor of peace.

They did not know their man. Regulus proved himself one of those
indomitable patriots of whom there are few examples in the ages. On
reaching the walls of Rome he refused at first to enter, saying that he
was no longer a citizen, and had lost his rights in that city. When the
ambassadors of Carthage had offered their proposal to the senate,
Regulus, who had remained silent, was ordered by the senate to give his
opinion of the proposed treaty. Thus commanded, he astonished all who
heard by strongly advising the senate not to make the treaty. He might
die for his words, he might perish in torture, but the good of his
country was dearer to him than his own life, and he would not counsel a
treaty that might prove of advantage to the enemy. He even spoke against
an exchange of prisoners, saying that he had not long to live, having,
he believed, been given a secret poison by his captors, and would not
make a fair exchange for a hale and hearty Carthaginian general.

Such an instance of self-abnegation has rarely been heard of in history.
It has made Regulus famous for all time. His advice was taken, the
treaty was refused; he, refusing to break his parole, or even to see his
family, returned to Carthage with the ambassadors, knowing that he was
going to his death. The rulers of that city, so it is said, furious
that the treaty had been rejected through his advice, resolved to
revenge themselves on him by horrible tortures. His eyelids were cut
off, and he was exposed to the full glare of the African sun. He was
then placed in a cask driven full of nails, and left there to die.

It is fortunate to be able to say that there is no historical warrant
for this story of torture, or for the companion story that the wife and
son of Regulus treated two Carthaginian prisoners in the same manner. We
have reason to believe that it is untrue, and that Regulus suffered no
worse tortures than those of shame, exile, and imprisonment.




_HANNIBAL CROSSES THE ALPS._


In the year 235 B.C. the gates of the Temple of Janus were closed, for
the first time since the reign of Numa Pompilius, the second king of
Rome, nearly five centuries before. During all that long period war had
hardly ever ceased in Rome. And these gates were soon to be thrown open
again, in consequence of the greatest war that the Roman state had ever
known, a war which was to bring it to the very brink of destruction.

The end of the first Punic War--as the war with Carthage was
called--left Rome master of the large island of Sicily, the first
province gained by that ambitious city outside of Italy. Advantage was
also taken of some home troubles in Carthage to rob that city of the
islands of Sardinia and Corsica,--a piece of open piracy which redoubled
the hatred of the Carthaginians.

Yet Rome just now was not anxious for war with her southern rival. There
was enough to do in the north, for another great invasion of Gauls was
threatened. And about this time the Capitol was struck by lightning, a
prodigy which plunged all Rome into terror. The books of the Sibyl were
hastily consulted, and were reported to say, "When the lightning shall
strike the Capitol and the Temple of Apollo, then must thou, O Roman,
beware of the Gauls." Another prophecy said that the time would come
"when the race of the Greeks and the race of the Gauls should occupy the
Forum of Rome."

But Rome had its own way of dealing with prophecies and discounting the
decrees of destiny. A man and woman alike of the Gaulish and of the
Greek race were buried alive in the Forum Boarium, and in this cruel way
the public fear was allayed. As for the invasion of the Gauls, Rome met
and dealt with them in its usual fashion, defeating them in two battles,
in the last of which the Gaulish army was annihilated. This ended this
peril, and the dominion of Rome was extended northward to the Alps.

It was fortunate for the Romans that they had just at this time rid
themselves of the Gauls, for they were soon to have a greater enemy to
meet. In the first Punic War, Carthage had been destitute of a
commander, and had only saved herself by borrowing one from Greece. In
the second war she had a general of her own, one who has hardly had his
equal before or since, the far-famed Hannibal, one of the few soldiers
of supreme ability which the world has produced.

During the peace which followed the first Punic War Carthage sent an
expedition to Spain, with the purpose of extending her dominions in that
land. This was under the leadership of Hamilcar, a soldier of much
ability. As he was about to set sail he offered a solemn sacrifice for
the success of the enterprise. Having poured the libation on the
victim, which was then duly offered on the altar, he requested all those
present to step aside, and called up his son Hannibal, at that time a
boy of but nine years of age. Hamilcar asked him if he would like to go
to the war. With a child's eagerness the boy implored his father to take
him. Then Hamilcar, taking the boy by the hand, led him up to the altar,
and bade him lay his hand on the sacrifice, and swear "that he would
never be the friend of the Romans." Hannibal took the oath, and he never
forgot it. His whole mature life was spent in warfare with Rome.

From the city of New Carthage (or Carthagena), founded by Carthage in
Spain, Hamilcar gradually won a wide dominion in that land. He was
killed in battle after nine years of success, and was succeeded by
Hasdrubal, another soldier of fine powers. On the death of Hasdrubal,
Hannibal, then twenty-six years of age, was made commander-in-chief of
the Carthaginian armies in Spain. Shortly afterwards his long struggle
with Rome began.

Hannibal had laid siege to and captured the city of Saguntum. The people
of Saguntum were allies of Rome. That city, being once more ready for
war with its rival, sent ambassadors to Carthage to demand that Hannibal
and his officers should be surrendered as Roman prisoners, for a breach
of the treaty of peace. After a long debate, Fabius, the Roman envoy,
gathered up his toga as if something was wrapped in it, and said, "Look;
here are peace and war; take which you choose." "Give whichever you
please," was the haughty Carthaginian reply. "Then we give you war,"
said Fabius, shaking out the folds of the toga. "With all our hearts we
welcome it," cried the Carthaginians. The Romans left at once for Rome.
Had they dreamed what a war it was they were inviting it is doubtful if
they would have been so hasty in seeking it.

War with Rome was what Hannibal most desired. He was pledged to
hostility with that faithless city, and had assailed Saguntum for the
purpose of bringing it about. On learning that war was declared, he
immediately prepared to invade Italy itself, leading his army across the
great mountain barrier of the Alps. He had already sent messengers to
the Gauls, to invite their aid. They were found to be friendly, and
eager for his coming. They had little reason to love Rome.

A significant dream strengthened Hannibal's purpose. In his vision he
seemed to see the supreme god of his fathers, who called him into the
presence of all the gods of Carthage, seated in council on their
thrones. They solemnly bade him to invade Italy, and one of the council
went with him into that land as guide. As they passed onward the divine
guide warned, "See that you look not behind you." But at length,
heedless of the command, the dreamer turned and looked back. He saw
behind him a monstrous form, covered thickly with serpents, while as it
moved houses, orchards, and woods fell crashing to the earth. "What
mighty thing is this?" he asked in wonder. "You see the desolation of
Italy," replied the heavenly guide; "go on your way, straight forward,
and cast no look behind." And thus, at the age of twenty-seven,
Hannibal, at the command of his country's gods, went forward to the
accomplishment of his early vow.

His route lay through northern Spain, where he conquered all before him.
Then he marched through Gaul to the Rhone. This he crossed in the face
of an army of hostile Gauls, who had gathered to oppose him. He had more
difficulty with his elephants, of which he had thirty-seven. Rafts were
built to convey these great beasts across the stream, but some of them,
frightened, leaped overboard and drowned their drivers. They then swam
across themselves, and all were safely landed.

[Illustration: HANNIBAL CROSSING THE ALPS.]

Other difficulties arose, but all were overcome, and at length the
mountains were reached. Here Hannibal was to perform the most famous of
his exploits, the crossing of the great chain of the Alps with an army,
an exploit more remarkable than that which brought similar fame to
Napoleon in our own days, for with Hannibal it was pioneer work, while
Napoleon profited by his example.

The mountaineers proved to be hostile, and gathered at all points that
commanded the narrow pass. But they left their posts at night, and
Hannibal, when nightfall came, set out with a body of light troops and
occupied all these posts. When morning dawned the natives, to their
dismay, found that they had been outgeneralled.

Soon after the day began the head of the army entered a dangerous
defile, and made its way in a long slender line along the terrace-like
path which overhung the valley far below. The route proved
comparatively easy for the foot-soldiers, but the cavalry and the
baggage-animals only made their way with great difficulty, finding
obstacles at almost every step.

The sight of the struggling cavalcade was too much for the caution of
the natives. Here was abundant plunder at their hands. From many points
of the mountain above the road they rushed down upon the Carthaginians,
arms in hand. A frightful disorder followed. So narrow was the path that
the least confusion was likely to throw the heavily-laden
baggage-animals down the precipitous steep. The cavalry horses, wounded
by the arrows and javelins of the mountaineers, plunged wildly about and
doubled the confusion.

It was fortunate for Hannibal that he had taken the precaution of the
night before. From the post he had taken with his light troops the whole
scene of peril and disorder was visible to his eyes. Charging down the
hill, he attacked the mountaineers and drove them from their prey. But
it was a dearly bought victory, for the fight on the narrow road
increased the confusion, and in seeking the relief of his army he caused
the destruction of many of his own men.

At length the perilous defile was safely passed, and the army reached a
wide and rich valley beyond. Here was the town of Montmelian, the
principal stronghold of the mountaineers. This Hannibal took by storm,
and recovered there many of his own men, horses, and cattle which the
natives had taken, while he found an abundant store of food for the use
of his weary soldiers.

After a day's rest here the march was resumed. During the next three
days the army moved up the valley of the river Isere without difficulty.
The natives met them with wreaths on their heads and branches in their
hands, promising peace, offering hostages, and supplying cattle.
Hannibal mistrusted the sudden friendliness of his late foes, but they
seemed so honest that he accepted some of them as guides through a
difficult region which he was now approaching.

He had reason for his mistrust, for they treacherously led him into a
narrow and dangerous defile, which might have easily been avoided; and
while the army was involved in this straitened pass an attack was
suddenly made by the whole force of the mountaineers. Climbing along the
mountain-sides above the defile, they hurled down stones on the
entangled foe, and loosened and rolled great rocks down upon their
defenceless heads.

Fortunately Hannibal, moved by his doubts, had sent his cavalry and
baggage on first. The attack fell on the infantry, and with a body of
these he forced his way to the summit of one of the cliffs above the
defile, drove away the foe, and held it while the army made its way
slowly on. As for the elephants, they were safe from attack. The very
sight of these huge beasts filled the barbarians with such terror that
they dared not even approach them. There was no further peril, and on
the ninth day of its march the army reached the summit of the Alps.

It was now the end of October. The grass and flowers which carpet that
elevated spot in summer had become replaced by snow. In truth, the
climate of the Alps was colder at that period than now, and snow lay on
the higher passes all through the year. The soldiers were disheartened
by cold and fatigue. The scene around them was desolate and dreary. New
perils awaited their onward course. But no such feeling entered
Hannibal's courageous soul. Fired by hope and ambition, he sought to
plant new courage in the hearts of his men.

"The valley you see yonder is Italy," he said, pointing to the sunny
slope which, from their elevated position, appeared not far away. "It
leads to the country of our friends, the Gauls; and yonder is our way to
Rome." Their eyes followed the direction of his pointing hand, and their
hearts grew hopeful again with the cheerfulness and enthusiasm of his
words.

Two days the army remained there, resting, and waiting for the
stragglers to come up. Then the route was resumed.

The mountaineers, severely punished, made no further attacks; but the
road proved more difficult than that by which the ascent had been made.
Snow thickly covered the passes. Men and horses often lost their way,
and plunged to their death down the precipitous steep. Onward struggled
the distressed host, through appalling dangers and endless difficulties,
losing men and animals at every step. But these troubles were trifling
compared with those which they were now to endure. They suddenly found
that the track before them had entirely disappeared. An avalanche had
carried it bodily away for about three hundred yards, leaving only a
steep and impassable slope covered with loose rocks and snow.

A man of less resolution than Hannibal might well have succumbed before
this supreme difficulty. The way forward had vanished. To go back was
death. It was impossible to climb round the lost path, for the heights
above were buried deep in snow. Nothing remained but to perish where
they were, or to make a new road across the mountain's flank.

The energetic commander lost not an hour in deciding. Moving back to a
space of somewhat greater breadth, the snow was removed and the army
encamped. Then the difficult engineering work began. Hands were
abundant, for every man was working for his life. Tools were improvised.
So energetically did the soldiers work that the road rapidly grew before
them. As it was cut into the rock it was supported by solid foundations
below. Many ancient authors say that Hannibal used vinegar to soften the
rocks, but this we have no sufficient reason to believe.

So vigorously did the work go on, so many were the hands engaged, that
in a single day a track was made over which the horses and
baggage-animals could pass. These were sent over and reached the lower
valley in safety, where pasture was found.

The passage of the elephants was a more difficult task. The road for
them must be solid and wide. It took three days of hard labor to make
it. Meanwhile the great beasts suffered severely from hunger, for
forage there was none, nor trees on whose leaves they might browse.

At length the road was strong enough to bear them. They safely passed
the perilous reach. After them came Hannibal with the rear of the army,
soon reaching the cavalry and baggage. Three days more the wearied host
struggled on, down the southward slopes of the Alps, until finally they
reached the wide plain of Northern Italy, having safely accomplished the
greatest military feat of ancient times.

But Hannibal found himself here with a frightfully reduced army. The
Alps had taken toll of their invader. He had reached Gaul from Spain
with fifty thousand foot and nine thousand horse. He reached Italy with
only twenty thousand foot and six thousand horse. No fewer than
thirty-three thousand men had perished by the way. It was a puny force
with which to invade a country that could oppose it with hundreds of
thousands of men. But it had Hannibal at its head.




_HOW HANNIBAL FOUGHT AND DIED._


The career of Hannibal was a remarkable one. For fifteen years he
remained in Italy, frequently fighting, never losing a battle, keeping
Rome in a state of terror, and dwelling with his army in comfort and
plenty on the rich Italian plains. Yet he represented a commercial city
against a warlike state. He was poorly supported by Carthage; Rome was
indomitable; great generals rose to command her armies; in the end the
mighty effort of Hannibal failed, and he was forced to leave Rome
unconquered and Italy unsubdued.

The story of his deeds is a long one, a record of war and bloodshed
which our readers would be little the wiser and none the better for
hearing. We shall therefore only give it in the barest outline.

Hannibal defeated the Romans on first meeting them, and the Gauls
flocked to his army. But of the elephants, which he had brought with
such difficulty over the Rhone and the Alps, the cold of December killed
all but one. But without them he met a large Roman army at Lake
Trasimenus, and defeated it so utterly that but six thousand escaped.

Rome, in alarm, chose a dictator, Fabius Maximus by name. This leader
adopted a new method of warfare, which has ever since been famous as
the "Fabian policy." This was the policy of avoiding battle and seeking
to wear the enemy out, while harassing him at every opportunity. Fabius
kept to the hills, followed and annoyed his great antagonist, yet
steadily avoided being drawn into battle.

For more than a year this continued, during all which time Fabius grew
more and more unpopular at Rome. The waiting policy was not that which
the Romans had hitherto employed, and they became more impatient as days
and months passed without an effort to drive this eating ulcer from
their plains. In time the discontent grew too strong to be ignored. A
_man of business_, who was said to have begun life as a butcher's son,
Varro by name, became the favorite leader of the populace, and was in
time raised to the consulship. He enlisted a powerful army, ninety
thousand strong, and marched away to the field of Cannae, where Hannibal
was encamped, with the purpose of driving this Carthaginian wasp from
the Italian fields.

It was a dwarf contending with a giant. The vainglorious Varro gave
Hannibal the opportunity for which he had long waited. The Roman army
met with such a crushing defeat that its equal is scarcely known in
history. Baffled, beaten, and surrounded by Hannibal's army, the Romans
were cut down in thousands, no quarter being asked or given, till when
the sun set scarce three thousand men were left alive and unhurt of
Varro's h

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