Текст книги "Roma.The novel of ancient Rome"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 39 страниц)

Dorso felt an impulse to call Pennatus’s bluff and demand the truth from him. And yet…the gods worked their will in mysterious ways, using doubters and disbelievers and even slaves as their unwitting vessels. Pennatus might think he was getting the better of his new master; but in fact, it might be that the gods were guiding both men to do exactly what the gods desired.

Dorso recalled the long walk from the Capitoline to the Quirinal, with Pennatus following behind him. In retrospect, the mad boldness of the act took his breath away, yet it had proved to be the best thing he had ever done, or probably ever would do. That action had made him a famous man; his name would be spoken and revered long after he died. On that day, Dorso had become immortal-and Pennatus had been there with him, every step of the way, helping him keep up his courage simply by showing no fear. Pennatus had done no less than Dorso, yet he would be forgotten by posterity. Did Dorso not owe a debt to Pennatus-a debt so great that it demanded a repayment as bold as the walk to the Quirinal itself?

Dorso nodded gravely. “Very well, Pennatus. I will adopt your…I will adopt the child. He shall be my son.” He took the baby in his arms and smiled at the tiny infant, then laughed aloud at the look of wonderment on Pennatus’s face. “Did you not expect that I would say yes?”

“I hoped…I dreamed…I prayed…” Pennatus dropped to his knees, clutched Dorso’s hand, and kissed it. “May the gods bless you, master!” Reflexively, he reached to clutch the talisman of Fascinus at his breast, but his fingers touched only his own bare flesh.

The scattered exiles returned to Roma. Little by little, order was reestablished in the devastated city. The Senate reassembled. The magistrates resumed their offices.

Almost at once, the Veii Question was raised again. Camillus was determined to settle the matter, once and for all.

A few of the most radical of the tribunes of the plebs argued that the city was so ruined, and its sacred places so polluted by the Gauls, that Roma should be abandoned altogether. They proposed that the entire population should move at once to Veii, where many of the exiles had taken shelter during the occupation and had begun to feel at home. Ignoring all other possibilities, Camillus seized on this argument and decided to frame the debate as an all-or-nothing proposition: Would the citizens completely abandon Roma and move to Veii, or would they pull down every building in Veii for materials to rebuild Roma?

With the Senate united behind him, Camillus came before the people assembled in the Forum. He mounted the speaker’s platform to address them.

“Fellow citizens, so painful to me are these controversies stirred up by the tribunes of the plebs, that in all the time I lived in bitter exile my one consolation was that I was far removed from this unending squabbling! To contend with this nonsense, I would never have returned even if you recalled me by a thousand senatorial decrees. But now I have returned, because my city needed me-and now needs me again, to fight an even more desperate battle, for her very existence! Why did we suffer and shed our blood to deliver her from our enemies, if now we mean to desert her? While the Gauls held the city, a small band of brave men held out atop the Capitoline, refusing to abandon Roma. Now the tribunes would do what the Gaul could not-they would force those brave Romans, as well as the rest of us, to leave the city. Is this a victory, to lose the thing dearest to us?

“Above every other concern, the will of the gods must be considered. When we follow divine guidance, all goes well. When we neglect it, the result is disaster! A voice from the heavens announced the coming of the Gauls to Marcus Caedicius-a clear warning to mind ourselves-and yet, soon after, one of our ambassadors to the Gauls flagrantly violated sacred law and took up arms against them. Instead of being chastised by the people, the offender was rewarded. Soon after, the gods punished us by allowing the Gauls to take our beloved Roma.

“But during the occupation, acts of such great piety occurred that the favor of the gods was restored to us. Against impossible odds, Gaius Fabius Dorso performed a miraculous feat. To honor the divine founder of the city, he left the safety of the Capitoline and walked to the Quirinal, unarmed and oblivious to danger. So overwhelming was the aura of sanctity that shielded him that he returned unscathed! And though the defenders of the Capitoline suffered terribly from hunger, they left the sacred geese of Juno unmolested-an act of piety that resulted in their salvation.

“How lucky we are to possess a city that was founded by Romulus with divine approval. Those who followed filled it with temples and altars, so that gods dwell in every corner of the city. Some fools will say, ‘But surely the gods can be worshiped just as well at Veii as here in Roma.’ Nonsense! Blasphemy! If the gods wished to live in Veii, they would never have allowed it to be conquered. If they did not wish to dwell in Roma, they would never have allowed us to retake the city. The divine favor of a place is not something you can pack in a trunk and take with you!

“Yes, Roma is in ruins, and for a time we must endure discomfort. But even if we must all live in huts again, what of it? Romulus lived in a hut! Our ancestors were swineherds and refugees, yet they built a city in a few years, out of nothing but forests and swamps. We shall look to their example and rebuild the city better than it was before.

“This disaster of the Gauls is no more than a brief episode. Roma has a great destiny. Her story has only just begun. Have you forgotten how the Capitoline received its name? A human head was exhumed there, which the priests declared to be a mighty omen: In this place would reside one day the head and supreme sovereign power of the world. That day has not yet come-but it will! Abandon Roma, and you abandon your destiny; you consign your descendents to oblivion.

“Look to your hearts, Romans! Thisis your heartland. Let me tell you, from my own experience, nothing is worse than to pine with homesickness. In my exile, I never ceased to dream of these hills and valleys, the winding Tiber, the views from the summits, the endless sky beneath which I was born and raised. Here I belong. Here youbelong. Here, and nowhere else, now and forever!”

The crowd was deeply moved, but remained undecided. They responded to Camillus’s final words with a prolonged, uneasy silence.

Just at that moment, a company of soldiers returning from guard duty arrived at the far end of the Forum. The soldiers scheduled to relieve the company were late. The exasperated commander ordered his men to halt. “No point going elsewhere,” he said. “We might as well settle right here.”

The acoustics of the Forum were such that his words rang out loud and clear to Camillus’s listeners, almost as if they came from the sky. People looked at one another in wonder. There was nervous laughter and cries of amazement.

“It’s an omen!” someone shouted, “an omen from the gods! The voice spoke to Marcus Caedicius before this whole affair began. Now the voice speaks to us again! ‘We might as well settle right here.’”

“Settle right here!” the people chanted. “Settle right here! Settle right here!”

The crowd broke into an uproar of cheering, laughter, and tears of joy. Camillus, who could see to the far side of the Forum and knew exactly where the voice came from, was acutely chagrinned. For all his eloquence and passion, it was a chance remark from an anonymous soldier that tipped the scales.

Standing in a place of honor, maintaining their composure despite the uproar of the crowd, were the Vestals. The Virgo Maxima stood stiffly upright, allowing herself a faint smile. Foslia, more smitten than ever by Camillus, gazed raptly at the dictator. Her hand sought Pinaria’s and squeezed it tightly.

“Oh, Pinaria!” she whispered. “We’ve been through so much-you, more than any of us. And yet, all shall be well again. Vesta never ceased to watch over us, and now her servant Camillus will guide us back to virtue!”

Pinaria did not answer. The loss of her baby and her parting with Pennatus had plunged her into deep sorrow. The resumption of her day-today duties as a Vestal brought her no comfort. Her contemplation of the sacred hearthfire only filled her with doubt. During its hiatus from Roma-so the other Vestals assured her-the fire had never wavered in the least, but burned as steadily as ever. How could that be, when Pinaria had repeatedly broken her vow of chastity? Her transgressions should have extinguished the flame altogether!

What did it mean, that Pinaria had sinned and yet no consequence had followed? Was the goddess oblivious, or forgiving, or did she simply not exist? If a sin had been committed, Pinaria should be dead. If there had been no sin, then she should never have been separated from her baby!

Foslia squeezed her hand and gave her a commiserating smile; poor Pinaria had suffered so much in captivity, it was no wonder that she should weep! When Pinaria bowed her head and clutched her breast, Foslia thought her sister Vestal was suffering a pain in her chest, not knowing of the talisman that was hidden beneath Pinaria’s vestments.

373 B.C.

The citizens voted to demolish Veii and to rebuild Roma. In celebration, a temple was built on the spot where Marcus Caedicius had received the divine warning. It was dedicated to a new deity called Aius Locutius, the Announcing Speaker.

Camillus also decreed an annual ceremony to honor the geese for saving the Romans on the Capitoline. A solemn procession would be led by a sacred goose of Juno perched in state upon a coverlet in a litter to be followed by a dog impaled on a stake.

The city was rebuilt in hurried and often haphazard fashion. Neighbors built across each other’s property lines. New construction often encroached on the public right-of-way, pinching streets into narrow alleys or blocking them altogether. Disputes over property would continue for generations, as would complaints that sewer lines that originally ran under public streets now ran directly under private houses. For centuries to come, visitors to Roma would remark that the general layout of the city more closely resembled a squatters’ settlement than a properly planned city, like those of the Greeks.

The son of Pinaria and Pennatus-who unknowingly carried the patrician bloodlines of both the Pinarii and the Potitii-was duly adopted into the almost equally ancient family of the Fabii. Dorso named the boy Kaeso, and raised him as lovingly as if he had sprung from his own loins. If anything, young Kaeso received greater favor than his siblings, for he was a constant reminder to Dorso of the best days of his own youth. No other time of his life would ever be as special to Dorso as those months of captivity atop the Capitoline, when nothing seemed impossible and every day of survival was a gift from the gods.

Pennatus lived out his life as the loyal slave of Gaius Fabius Dorso. His cleverness and discretion got his master out of many scrapes over the years, often without Dorso ever knowing. Pennatus especially looked after young Kaeso. Friends of the family ascribed Pennatus’s special affection for his young charge to the fact that he had discovered and rescued the foundling. To see the two of them walking across the Palatine, Pennatus doting on the boy and the boy gazing up at the slave with complete trust, was a touching sight.

Pinaria remained a Vestal all her life, though she was plagued by doubts that she kept secret and expressed to no one. Not so secretly, she cherished the gift Pennatus had given her, from which she carefully removed the lead, restoring its golden luster, and which she wore openly after Postumia died and Foslia was made Virgo Maxima. When the other Vestals expressed curiosity, she explained the antiquity of Fascinus without revealing its origin.

Foslia was especially intrigued by the protective qualities of Fascinus. As Virgo Maxima she introduced the practice of incorporating Fascinus into triumphal processions. She had a copy made of Pinaria’s original and placed it out of sight under the chariot of a victorious general, where it served to avert any evil that might be cast by envious eyes. The placement beneath the chariot of this object, called a fascinum, became a traditional duty of the Vestals from that time forward. Similar amulets made of base metals quickly spread into common use. In time, almost every pregnant women in Roma wore her own fascinum to protect her and her baby from malicious spells. Some had wings, but most did not.

Pinaria had become very fond of Dorso during their captivity on the Capitoline. Afterward, she was careful to keep a respectable distance from him, lest their friendship arouse unsavory suspicions. Nevertheless, at public ceremonies their paths frequently crossed. On those occasions, Pinaria sometimes caught glimpses of Pennatus. She avoided looking into his eyes and never spoke to him.

These occasions also allowed Pinaria to see her son at various stages as he grew up. When Kaeso attained his majority and celebrated his sixteenth birthday by donning a man’s toga, no one, including Kaeso, thought it odd that Pinaria should be invited to the celebration. Everyone knew that the Vestal had witnessed his father’s famous walk beyond the barricades, and that his father held her in special esteem.

But young Kaeso was a little surprised when Pinaria asked him to join her alone in the garden. He was still more surprised at the gift she gave him. It was a gold chain upon which hung a gleaming golden amulet of the sort called a fascinum.

Kaeso smiled. With his unruly, straw-colored hair and his bright blue eyes, he still looked like a child to Pinaria. “But I’m not a baby. And I’m certainly not a pregnant woman! I’m a man. That’s the whole point of this day!”

“Even so, I want you to have this. I believe that a primal force-a power older than the gods-accompanied your father and protected him on his famous walk. That force resides in this very amulet.”

“Are you saying that my father wore this when he walked among the Gauls?”

“No, but it was very close to him, nonetheless. Very close! This is no common fascinum, of the sort that anyone can buy in the market for a few coins. This is the first of all such amulets, the original. This is Fascinus, who dwelled in Roma before any other god, even before Jupiter or Hercules.”

Kaeso was a little taken aback. These were odd words, coming from a Vestal. An image of the masculine generator of life was an odd gift to receive from a sacred virgin. Nonetheless, he obediently put the necklace over his head. He examined the amulet. Its edges were worn from time. “It doeslook very old.”

“It’s ancient-as old as the divine power it represents.”

“But it’s too precious! I can’t accept it from you.”

“You can. You must!” She took his hands and held them tightly. “On this, your sixteenth birthday, I, the Vestal Pinaria, make a gift of Fascinus to you, Kaeso Fabius Dorso. I ask you to wear it on special occasions, and to pass it on, in time, to your own son. Will you do that for me, Kaeso?”

“Of course I will, Vestal. You honor me.”

Both heard a slight noise, and turned to see that the slave Pennatus was watching them from the portico. There was a look on his face such as Kaeso, who had known the slave all his life, had never seen before, an extraordinary expression of mingled sorrow and joy, fulfillment and regret. Confused, Kaeso looked again at the Vestal, and was astounded to see the very same expression on her face.

Pennatus disappeared within the house. Pinaria released Kaeso’s hands and departed in a different direction, leaving him alone in the garden with the amulet she had given him.

Adults were so very mysterious! Kaeso wondered whether he was ready to become one of them, despite the fact that this was his toga day.

THE ARCHITECT OF HIS OWN FORTUNE

312 B.C.

“So, young man, this is your toga day-and what a splendid day for it! Tell me, how have you celebrated so far?”

Surrounded by the magnificent gardens at the center of his magnificent house, wearing his finest toga for the occasion, Quintus Fabius sat with his arms crossed, wrinkled his craggy brow, and appeared to scowl at his visitor. Young Kaeso had been warned about his eminent cousin’s severe expression; Roma’s greatest general was not known for smiling. Kaeso tried not to be intimidated. Even so, he had to clear his throat before he could answer.

“Well, cousin Quintus, I rose very early. My father presented me with a family heirloom, a golden fascinum on a golden chain, which he took from his own neck to place over mine. There’s a story connected with it; it was given to my grandfather long ago by the famous Vestal Pinaria. Then father presented me with my toga, and helped me put it on. I never imagined it would be so complicated, to make the folds hang correctly! We took a long walk around the Forum, where he introduced me to his friends and colleagues. I was allowed to mount the orator’s platform, to see what the Forum looks like from the perspective of the Rostra.”

“Of course, when I was boy,” said Quintus, interrupting, “the speaker’s platform was not yet called the Rostra, because it hadn’t yet been decorated with all those ships’ beaks. Do you know when that happened?”

Kaeso cleared his throat again. “I believe it was during the consulship of Lucius Furius Camillus, the grandson of the great Camillus. The coastal city of Antium was subdued by Roman arms, and the Antiates were made to remove the ramming prows-the so-called rostra, or ‘beaks’-from their warships, and send them as tribute to Roma. The beaks were installed as decorations on the orator’s platform; hence the platform’s name, the Rostra.”

Quintus scowled and nodded. “Go on.”

“After I stood on the Rostra, we ascended the Capitoline. There we observed a Dorso family tradition-retracing the route taken by my great-grandfather, Gaius Fabius Dorso, when he walked from the Capitoline to the Quirinal, defying the Gauls. At the Altar of Quirinus, an augur took the auspices. A single hawk was seen flying from left to right. The augur declared it a favorable omen.”

“Favorable, indeed! The hawk will watch after you in battle. And how does it feel, young man, to be wearing a toga?”

“It feels very good, cousin Quintus.” In fact, the woolen garment was heavier and hotter than Kaeso had expected.

Quintus nodded. He thought the toga looked rather incongruous on young Kaeso, serving only to emphasize his boyish good looks-his blond curls and blushing, beardless cheeks, his full red lips and bright blue eyes. Aloud, Quintus merely said, “You are a man, now. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, cousin Quintus.” Kaeso forced a smile. Of all the day’s events, this visit might the most important of all; in honor of his ascent to manhood, he had been invited to dine, alone, with the most eminent of all the Fabii, the leading member of the many branches of the family, the great statesman and general Quintus Fabius. Nervous and tired, but determined to make a good show of himself, Kaeso sat stiffly in his backless chair and met his cousin’s steely gaze.

“Well, then, let us retire to the dining room,” said Quintus. “You and I shall eat and drink like two men of the world, and talk about your future.”

In fact, the discussion was almost entirely about the past. Over various delicacies-pork liver with celery in a wine sauce, tripe stewed with cinnamon and nutmeg, mutton in fennel cream-Quintus imparted bits of family history. Kaeso had heard almost all of these tales before, but never as told by the great Quintus. Kaeso’s great-grandfather had still been alive when Quintus was young; Quintus had met the illustrious Dorso on several occasions, and had heard the tale of the famous walk from the man himself.

Quintus also related the most famous and tragic exploit of the Fabii, their great sacrifice during a war against Veii, when the family raised a whole army from its own ranks, only to see all but one killed in a terrible ambush. “Out of three hundred and seven warriors, that young man alone survived to carry on the family name,” said Quintus. “Like a forest of noble trees destroyed by fire, from a single seedling the family regenerated itself-proof of the gods’ determination that the Fabii should play a great role in Roma’s history.”

Quintus was no less shy about trumpeting his own accomplishments. Early in his career, as Master of the Horse to the dictator Lucius Papirius Cursor, he had engaged in battle with the Samnites against the dictator’s express orders. Though he won a resounding victory, he had faced death for his disobedience.

“There I stood in the Forum, with my father on his knees before Papirius, pleading for my life. Only a great outcry from the Senate and the people stayed the dictator from ordering his lictors to execute me on the spot with their rods and axes. Though I was stripped of my office, I kept my head-barely! But reversals of fortune can be swift. Just three years later, I became one of the youngest men ever to be elected consul. I soundly defeated the Samnites once again, and was awarded a great triumph. The very next year, the consuls who succeeded me handed the Samnites one of their greatest victories over us. For better or worse, I was not present at the disaster of the Caudine Forks. I suppose you know the shameful story?”

Kaeso quickly lowered the olive that was on its way to his mouth. “Yes, cousin. A Roman army under the consuls Titus Veturius Calvinus and Spurius Postumius, seeking a shortcut, passed through a narrow defile into a gorge that narrowed even more at its far end. When they reached the second narrows, the army found that the passage had been completely blocked with felled trees and other debris. They hastened back to the entrance, only to discovered that it, too, had been made impassable by the enemy. These narrow defiles were the Caudine Forks, between which the whole army was helplessly trapped. Days passed. Rather than allow the men to starve, or attempt an impossible escape that would have resulted in a complete massacre, the consuls submitted to the terms of their Samnite captors.”

“And what did those terms include?” said Quintus. “Go ahead, young man, tell me what you’ve been taught.”

“The Romans were made to lay down their arms and their armor, and to strip off every garment. Naked, they were made to exit through the defile passing under a yoke, as a symbol of their subjugation to the enemy. Even the consuls were forced to do this. The Samnites jeered and laughed at them, and brandished their swords in the Romans’ faces. The soldiers returned home alive but in disgrace. It was a very dark day for Roma.”

“The darkest since the coming of the Gauls!” declared Quintus. “But rather than pretend it never happened, we must acknowledge it, and by perceiving the mistake which the consuls made-failing to scout the path ahead of them-we will make sure that such a thing never happens again. Meanwhile, the war with the Samnites continues, but there can be no doubt as to the eventual outcome. Only by conquest can we continue to prosper. Only conquest can make us secure! It is the duty of every Roman to raise his sword and lay down his life, if he must, to fulfill Roma’s destiny: the domination of all Italy, and after that, expansion to the north, where we shall one day revenge ourselves upon the Gauls and make sure they never menace us again. Will you do your duty to Roma, young man?”

Kaeso took a deep breath. “I should very much like to kill a few Samnites, if I’m able. And perhaps a few Gauls, as well.”

For the first time, Quintus smiled. “Good for you, young man!” His scowl returned as he began to expound on politics. As patricians, he asserted, it was incumbent on the Fabii to assert their hereditary privileges at all times, and to protect those privileges against any further encroachment by the plebeians.

“To be sure, there are some plebeians worthy of attaining high office. It is to Roma’s benefit that the most ambitious and capable of the plebeians have risen to join the ranks of the nobility, intermarrying with us and ruling the city alongside us. Roma rewards merit. The rabble, foreigners, even freed slaves are given a chance to work their way up the ladder, although there are plenty of barriers to slow their advance, which is as it should be!

Democracy as practiced by some of the Greek colonies in southern Italy-giving every man an equal say-has been kept out of Roma, thank the gods! Here, republican principles reign, by which I mean the freedom of the noble elite to compete equally and openly for political honors.”

He leaned back on his couch and ceased his discourse for a few moments to enjoy a plate of sauteed carrots and parsnips. “But I’ve strayed from the subject of family history, a more suitable topic for your toga day. The origin of the Fabii is shrouded in mystery, of course, as are all matters that stretch back to a time before writing was introduced among the Romans. However, our best authorities believe that first Roman families were descended from the gods.”

“My friend Marcus Julius claims that his family is descended from Venus,” said Kaeso.

“Indeed,” said Quintus, raising an eyebrow. “That might explain why the Julii make better lovers than fighters. Our pedigree is a bit more heroic. According to family historians, the very first Fabius was the child of Hercules and a wood nymph, born on the banks of the Tiber at the dawn of time. Thus the blood of Hercules flows in the veins of the Fabii even now.” Quintus begrudged Kaeso a second smile, then abruptly frowned and fell silent.

There was an uncomfortable moment as both men realized they were thinking the same thought-that Kaeso’s immediate branch of the family, springing as it did from an adoption, did not actually carry the ancient Fabian blood. Neither Quintus nor Kaeso had any way of knowing that the truth was considerably more complicated. In fact, the claim of the Fabii to be descended from Hercules was completely spurious, while the blood of the visitor later identified as Hercules did indeed flow in Kaeso’s veins, through his descent from the Potitii, a circumstance unknown to either man.

The uncomfortable moment stretched intolerably. Kaeso’s face grew hot. They had drawn close to a subject that had made Kaeso uneasy ever since the day he first learned, as a child, that his grandfather was not born a Fabius, but was an adopted foundling. The story was told with pride, for it demonstrated the piety of the great Dorso, who from the ruins of Roma brought up a newborn orphan to be his son. It had also been explained to Kaeso that his grandfather was special. Had not the gods themselves determined that the foundling should be made a Fabius? The gods set life in motion; what mattered after that was what a man made of himself. The true test of a Roman-so said Kaeso’s father-lay not in his pedigree, but in bending the world to his will.

Despite these assertions and reassurances, the fact that his actual bloodline was unknown had frequently caused Kaeso to wonder and to worry about his origins. It seemed inevitable that the subject would come up on this particular day, and so it had, even if it remained unspoken.

Kaeso became so flustered that he abruptly changed the subject. “You spoke earlier of your own illustrious career, cousin, but you made no mention of an episode that has always intrigued me.”

“Oh, yes?” said Quintus. “What is that?”

“I believe it happened not too long before I was born, when you were just beginning your political career. It had to do with a famous case of poisoning-or rather, many cases of poisoning.”

Quintus nodded grimly. “You refer to the investigation that took place the year I served as curule aedile. A veritable plague of poison!”

“If you had rather not talk about it-”

“I’m quite willing to discuss it. As with the disaster of the Caudine Forks, there is no sense in hiding such an episode, no matter how distasteful. As you say, I was a young man, and quite thrilled to have been elected curule aedile, a magistracy that automatically admitted me to the ranks of the Senate. To me fell the responsibility of keeping law and order in the city.”

“That sounds like a fascinating job.”

“Does it? For the most part, it consists of tedious administrative duties-fining citizens who’ve damaged public property, investigating accusations of overcharging by moneylenders, that sort of thing. Not a happy post for a man who would rather be fighting! But my complaints paled beside the general gloom that reigned over the city that year. People were fearful and uneasy, for it seemed that a terrible plague of a most peculiar nature had descended on us. Its victims were all men-not a woman among them-and the symptoms varied inexplicably. Some died swiftly. Others recovered for a while and then relapsed and expired. Even odder was the fact that a disproportionate number of those who died were men of high standing. Plagues tend to strike the poor and the lowborn in preference to their betters, not the other way around. The peculiar nature and the mounting toll of this plague were only gradually perceived over a course of months, and by that time the priests and magistrates were greatly alarmed. It seemed that the wrath of the gods must be at work. What had the people of Roma, especially their leading men, done to offend them?

“Eventually, the Senate resorted to an ancient recourse in times of epidemic. As you know, there is a wooden tablet inside the Temple of Jupiter, affixed to the doorway that leads into the sanctuary of Minerva on the right. Since the founding of the temple, every year, on the Ides of September, one of the consuls drives a nail into that tablet, to mark the passage of each year; thus the age of the temple and of the Republic can be calculated. The tablet adorns Minerva’s sanctuary because numbers were one of her gifts to mankind. But the tablet has another, rarer function. In times of epidemic, a special dictator may be named-a religious, not military appointment-to carry out a single duty: He must drive an additional nail into the wooden tablet. How this custom came about, no one knows, but its effect is to lessen the ravages of plague. Thus, also, the years of plague can be recalled, and the frequency of such outbreaks reckoned.