Текст книги "Roma.The novel of ancient Rome"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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“Of course I don’t, Father. I despise them!”

“Good. Others may praise these savages, but in this family, there are standards to be upheld. The Potitii set an example for all of Roma. So should the Pinarii, but I fear that our cousins may have forgotten their special standing among the people.” He shook his head. “The identities of two of these wolflings is only too obvious-those scoundrels Romulus and Remus. But who was the third wolfling? What innocent youth did the swineherd’s boys lure into playing this disgusting game with them?” He stared directly at Potitius, who turned pale. “Do you think, my son…do you think it might have been your cousin, young Pinarius?”

Potitius swallowed a lump in his throat. “No, Father. I’m quite sure that it wasn’t Pinarius.”

His father grunted and gave him a shrewd look. “Very well. Enough of this matter. I have something much more important to discuss. It involves you, my son.”

“Yes, Father?” said Potitius, relieved at the change of subject.

The elder Potitius cleared his throat. “As priests of Hercules, we play a very important role among the people. Our judgment in matters of the divine is greatly respected. But there is much that we could still learn when it comes to reading the will of gods and numina. Tell me, my son: When a farmer’s well runs dry, whom does he call upon to pacify the spiteful numen that blocked the spring? When a fisherman wants to find a new fishing spot, whom does he call to mark boundaries in the river and say a prayer to placate the water numina? When a bolt of lightning kills an ox, whom does the oxherd consult to determine whether the blasted flesh is cursed and should be consumed by fire upon an altar, or blessed and should be eaten with rejoicing?”

“If they can afford it, people call for an Etruscan diviner-what the Etruscans call a haruspex.”

“Exactly. Our good neighbors to the north, the Etruscans, are very wise in the ways of divination-and Etruscan haruspices make a very good living at it. But divination is simply a skill, like any other. It can be taught, and it can be learned. There is a school of divination in the Etruscan town of Tarquinia. I am assured that it is the finest of all such schools. I have arranged for you to study there, my son.”

Potitius was silent for a long moment. “But Father, I don’t speak Etruscan.”

“Of course you do.”

“Only enough to barter with Etruscan traders in the market.”

“Then you shall learn to speak Etruscan fluently, and then you shall learn all the Etruscans can teach you about divination. When your studies are done, you will return to Roma as a haruspex, and you will become an important man among the people.”

Potitius felt torn between excitement and a fear of leaving family and friends. “How long will I be gone?”

“I’m told that your studies will take three years.”

“Such a long time! When do I leave, Father?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon!”

“The sooner the better. As today’s incident of the wolflings demonstrated all too clearly, there are bad influences among us. I have every faith in your character, my son. Nonetheless, I think it would be best to remove you from those influences, and the sooner the better.”

“But Father, you don’t think-”

“I think that Romulus and Remus must be very persuasive young men. I think their harmful influence might draw even the most upstanding youth into serious trouble. It is my duty as your father to see that such a thing does not happen to you, my son. You will go to Tarquinia. You will obey your instructors in all matters. You will master the Etruscan arts of divination. I suspect you have an aptitude for such things, and the learning will come easily to you. And you will think no more about Romulus and Remus. The swineherd’s brats are good for only one thing-making trouble. They came from nothing and they shall amount to nothing!”

754 B.C.

About his love of learning and his natural aptitude for divination, Potitius’s father proved correct. About the fate of twins, he could not have been more mistaken.

Potitius had been the first youth to fall under the spell of the twins, but he was not the last. The incident of the wolflings greatly elevated their standing among the restless young men of Roma, many of whom were eager to become their companions. Romulus and Remus soon attracted a considerable following, especially among those whom Potitius’s father would have labeled disreputable-young men of obscure family and little means who were not above stealing the occasional cow or shearing a sheep and bartering the wool without its owner’s knowledge.

“They shall come to a bad end,” declared Potitius’s father, glad that his son was away in Tarquinia pursuing his studies. “Romulus and Remus and their little gang think their activities are harmless, that the men they rob are either too wealthy to care or too timid to strike back. But sooner or later, they will cross the wrong man, and that will be the last we see of Romulus and Remus!”

His prediction very nearly came true on the day that Remus and a few companions, venturing farther afield than usual, fell into a skirmish with some shepherds in the vicinity of Alba, a town in a hilly region to the southeast of Roma. Unlike the Romans, the Albans had long ago been subjugated to the strongest man among them, who called himself their king and wore an iron crown. The current king of Alba, Amulius, had accumulated a great store of wealth-precious metals, finely wrought jewelry, exotic clay vessels, and woven goods of the highest quality-which he kept inside a gated compound surrounded by high wooden pickets and guarded by mercenary warriors. He lived not in a hut but in a great hall made of wood.

The cause of the skirmish was later a subject of much debate. Many assumed that Remus and his men were trying to steal some sheep and the Alban shepherds caught them; Remus would later declare that it was the shepherds who picked a fight with his men, taunting them with insults to their manhood and slurs against the people of Roma. Whatever the cause, it was Remus who got the worst of the skirmish. Some of his men were killed, some were captured, and a few managed to escape. Remus himself was taken prisoner, bound with iron chains, and led before King Amulius. Remus’s attitude was defiant. The king, who was not used to being crossed, ordered Remus to be hung from a rafter and set about torturing him, using hot irons, sharp blades, and leather whips.

When word of Remus’s captivity reached his brother on the Palatine, Romulus set about mustering all the young men of the Seven Hills, calling on them not only to rescue Remus but to defend the pride of Roma. Even men of upstanding families who had never consorted with the twins joined the cause. Knowing the mercenaries of Amulius would be well armed, they gathered whatever weapons they could find-shepherd’s crooks that might serve as staves, butchering knives, slingshots, hunter’s bows and arrows-and set out.

Before the walls of Alba, Romulus demanded that the king release his brother and the other captives. Amulius, flanked by his mercenaries on the parapet, peered down at the motley band and refused.

“Is it ransom you want?” asked Romulus.

Amulius laughed. “What could the likes of you afford to pay? A few moth-eaten sheepskins? No, when I’m done torturing your brother and his friends, I shall cut off their heads and mount them on this picket wall, as a warning to others of their ilk. And if you’re still in my kingdom when morning comes, young fool, your head will end up next to your brother’s!”

Romulus and his men withdrew. The height of the pickets which surrounded the king’s compound at first daunted them, as did the archers who guarded the wall. There seemed no way to storm the compound without being struck down by a hail of arrows. But that night, under cover of darkness, Romulus managed to set fire to a poorly guarded section of the wall. The fire spread quickly. In the chaos that followed, his men proved braver and more bloodthirsty than the mercenaries of Amulius. The king’s guards were slaughtered.

Striding into the great hall, Romulus seized Amulius and demanded to see his brother. The king, shaking with fear, took him to the room where Remus hung in chains, then produced a key and released him from his shackles. Too weak to stand, Remus sank to his knees. While Remus watched, Romulus knocked Amulius to the ground, kicked and beat him until he was senseless, then cut his throat. The king’s crown, a simple circle of iron, went rolling across the floor, spun on its edge, and with a clatter came to rest on the floor before Remus.

“Pick it up, brother,” said Romulus. “It belongs to us now!”

But Remus, his naked body scarred by burns and cuts, was too weak even to lift the iron crown. Weeping to see his brother in such a state, Romulus knelt before him, picked up the crown, and began to place it on Remus’s head.

Then he hesitated. He withdrew crown from his brother’s brow.

“This crown belongs to us both, brother, equally. But only one can wear it at a time. Let me wear it first, so that I can appear before those who fought with me today and show them that the crown of Alba belongs to us now.” Romulus put the iron crown on his own head, then rose and strode out to declare victory to his men.

By seizing the treasure of Alba, Romulus and Remus made themselves wealthy men, far wealthier than any other man in all of Roma. When Remus had recovered sufficiently to travel, they returned home in triumph, surrounded by their loyal companions and followed by wagons loaded with booty.

Not everyone in Roma was pleased by their success. The father of Potitius met with the other elders and voiced his doubts. “If Remus was captured by the shepherds of Amulius while trying to steal their sheep, then King Amulius was in his rights to hold him captive, pending a ransom. In that case, Romulus’s attack upon Alba was unjustified. His killing of the king was murder, and his seizure of the treasure was theft. Are we to make brigands into heroes?”

The elder Pinarius disagreed. “Was Remus up to no good in Alba? It doesn’t matter. After he was taken prisoner, Amulius didn’t demand a ransom or restitution; instead, he proceeded to torture Remus, and plainly stated his intention to kill him. To save his brother, Romulus had no choice but to take up arms. Amulius was a fool, and he died a fool’s death. The wealth that Romulus seized in Alba is his by right.”

“The Albans may not think so,” said the elder Potitius. “Such an incident may set off a blood feud that could last for generations. And the twins may have offended the gods, as well. We should consult a haruspex, to determine the will of the gods in this matter.”

“Pardon me, while I ask an Etruscan if I can take a piss!” said Pinarius, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“As it happens, cousin, we have no need for an Etruscan haruspex. My son has completed his studies. He should arrive home any day now. Potitius can perform the proper rites.”

“How fortunate for the boy, that he was conveniently absent when the battle at Alba took place, and so avoided all danger,” said Pinarius, whose son had fought beside Romulus.

“Those words are uncalled for, Pinarius, and unworthy of a priest of Hercules!” In fact, the elder Potitius was relieved that his son had not returned in time to be recruited by Romulus, but Pinarius’s insinuation of cowardice was unfair. He took a breath to calm himself. “A divination must be taken to determine the will of the gods.”

“And if the divination goes against Romulus? What then?” asked Pinarius. “No, I think there must be some better way to make sure that all concerned, even the Albans, can see that it was just and proper for Romulus to seize the crown and the treasure of King Amulius.” By the shrewd glint in his eyes, Potitius could see that the man had some scheme already in motion.

Potitius arrived home from Tarquinia the next day. The family greeted him with much rejoicing and not a little curiosity, for he was attired in the costume of an Etruscan haruspex. Over a yellow tunic he wore a long, pleated cloak fixed at his shoulder with a bronze clasp, and on his head he wore a conical cap held in place by a strap under his chin. His father noted with pride that he also wore the amulet of Fascinus. When he had given Potitius the amulet, he had told him that he was a man, though in his heart he had not quite believed it. But Potitius had matured greatly in the years he had been away. His confident bearing and his thoughtful way of speaking were those of a man, not a boy.

His father told him about the siege at Alba and the triumphant return of the twins. Rather than exhibiting excitement at the tale, Potitius seemed most concerned about the injuries that Remus had suffered, and this further display of maturity again pleased his father.

“I know you were their friend, my son, despite my disapproval. Go and see them. Talk sense to them. Show them the will of the gods. At the moment, everyone in Roma is singing their praises. Fools like Pinarius will only encourage them to carry out more escapades. They shall grow more and more reckless, until they bring the wrath of some warlord down upon us all. Roma has no walls, like those Amulius built at Alba. Our safety depends entirely upon the good will and self-interest of those who come here to do business. If the twins continue to shed blood and loot their victims-if they turn the local youths into a band of brigands-sooner or later they’ll bite the tail of a wolf bigger than themselves, and the people of Roma will pay a terrible price.”

The next morning, Potitius went to visit his old friends. Despite their newfound wealth, the twins were still living in the swineherd’s hut on the Palatine. Waves of nostalgia swept over Potitius as he scaled the Stairs of Cacus, uttering a prayer of thanksgiving to Hercules as he passed the site of the cave. He reached the top and stepped under the fig tree. The branches hung low with ripe fruit. The shade was so dense that at first he did not see the three figures who sat in a circle near the trunk.

He heard a low whisper: “You see, I told you he was back. And haughtier than ever-look at that fancy hat he’s wearing!”

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Potitius realized that it was neither of the twins who had been whispering; it was his cousin, Pinarius.

Romulus jumped up. He had grown a thick beard and was brawnier than ever, but his bright smile was the same. He feigned wonderment at Potitius’s exotic garments, cocking an eyebrow and flicking his finger against the conical hat. Potitius likewise lifted an eyebrow and pointed at the crown on Romulus’s head. They both broke into laughter.

Remus rose slowly to his feet. His smile was weak and he walked with a slight limp. He opened his arms and embraced Potitius.

Pinarius hung back, gazing at Potitius with his arms crossed and a sardonic expression on his face. “Good to have you back, cousin. Did your studies go well?”

“Extremely well, once my teachers beat enough Etruscan into my head so that I could follow their lessons.”

“Good for your teachers. Around these parts, the twins have been teaching us all a different sort of lesson-how to throw down a king and take his crown!”

“Yes, my father told me. I thank Hercules that you’re still alive, Remus.”

“Hercules may have helped, but it was my brother who slit that bastard Amulius’s throat.”

Romulus smiled. “Yes, we were just discussing that, with Pinarius.”

Pinarius looked warily at Potitius. “Perhaps I should go now, and we can continue our discussion later.”

“No need for that! Potitius can join us,” said Romulus.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” His cousin’s gaze was so frosty that Potitius turned to leave, but Remus reached for his arm.

“Stay, Potitius. We need your advice.”

The four of them sat in the shade of the fig tree. Romulus resumed the discussion. “This is the problem: There are some who say that what we did in Alba was wrong, that killing Amulius was murder and taking his treasure was theft. Never mind that such talk is stupid; if people think ill of us, it’s likely to cause us problems in the future. Nobody wants a blood feud with Amulius’s kinsmen, or more trouble between Alba and Roma. Don’t mistake me: I’ll fight any man who cares to fight us, and I’ll kill any man who crosses us. But it would all be easier if people could see that we were in the right. If they don’t already see it that way, how can we convince them? Remus and I have been pondering the question for days, getting nowhere, and then, bright and early this morning, here comes Pinarius with an idea that’s so brilliant it lights up the sky. Isn’t it brilliant, Remus?”

“Perhaps.” His tone was less enthusiastic than his brother’s.

“Remus and I aren’t thinkers, we’re doers. That’s why a fellow like Pinarius is such a valuable friend. He fought like a lion at Alba– andhe’s got a head on his shoulders, as well!”

Pinarius looked at Potitius smugly.

Potitius frowned. “Romulus, what are you talking about?”

“Pinarius’s plan! Or should I say, the truth that Pinarius has revealed to us, which we shall reveal to the rest of the world. Shall I tell him the tale, or shall you, Remus?”

Remus smiled weakly. “You tell him, brother. I’m afraid I’ll forget something.”

“Very well. Do you remember the story of how Faustulus found us? It was the year of the great flood. Remus and I were set adrift in a wooden cradle that settled on the slope of the Palatine, right over there. That’s where Faustulus found us. Because so many people were drowned, everyone thought we were just two more orphans, so why not let Faustulus and his wife raise us as their own? They’ve always been good to us, no one can deny that. I call them father and mother, and I’m proud to do so.”

Averting his face from the twins, Pinarius flashed a grin. Potitius knew he was thinking of the rude joke about the brothers being suckled by a she-wolf.

“But here’s something that Pinarius has discovered from asking a few questions down in Alba,” Romulus continued. “Remember: All this happened in the year of the great flood. Back then, Amulius wasn’t king of Alba; his brother Numitor was king. But Amulius, bloodthirsty bastard that he always was, killed his brother and took his crown. Now thatwas murder; thatwas theft. I think there must be no crime worse than that-a man killing his own brother! The only person who remained who might make trouble for Amulius was his brother’s daughter, Rhea Silvia. What if she had a son, and what if that son someday decided to avenge his grandfather and take back the crown? To keep that from happening, Amulius forced Rhea Silvia to become a priestess of Vesta-Vesta being the hearth goddess they worship in Alba. Her priestesses are called Vestals, and they take a sacred vow to remain virgins, upon penalty of death. Amulius must have thought he was being very clever. He let his niece live, and so avoided staining his hands with more blood, but he found a way to keep her from bearing a possible rival, and did so in a way that he could claim was pleasing to the goddess.

“But something went wrong with Amulius’s plan. Despite her vow, despite being kept in seclusion in a grove sacred to the war god, Mavors, Rhea Silvia became pregnant. Some people in Alba say that Amulius must have raped her, since he was the only man to have access to her, and any man who’d murder his own brother wouldn’t be above raping his own niece. But other people in Alba tell a more curious tale. They think it must have been Mavors who ravished Rhea Silvia, since it was in his grove that she was kept secluded.

“Whoever the father was, Rhea Silvia managed to hide her pregnancy until her labor began. When Amulius was informed, he was furious. Rhea Silvia gave birth-but very soon thereafter she was dead. It may be that Amulius murdered her; it may be that she died in childbirth. But now the tale becomes even more interesting, because the people of Alba say that Rhea Silvia gave birth to twins. And you have to ask yourself: Whatever happened to those two boys, the grandsons of the murdered King Numitor?”

Potitius looked at him dubiously. “Romulus, what are you suggesting?”

“Remember, Potitius, all this happened in the year of the great flood-the very year that Remus and I were found by Faustulus.”

“And you think…?”

“The newborn twins vanished-but how did Amulius dispose of them? He could claim a right to kill Rhea Silvia, you see, because she had broken her vow of chastity, but even Amulius didn’t want the blood of two innocent newborns on his hands. According to the talk in Alba, he did what people usually do when they want to get rid of a deformed or unwanted newborn-he ordered a servant to take the twins to some remote spot and abandon them.”

Potitius nodded gravely. “No one is held responsible for killing babies exposed in the wild. They die by the will of the gods.”

“But do they always die? Everyone has heard tales of exposed infants raised by wild animals, or otherwise rescued because gods or numina saw fit to help them. Who’s to say those two babies, laid side by side in a wooden cradle on some remote hillside, weren’t carried away by the great flood to a place far from Alba, where no one knew them, where they were raised in quiet, humble circumstances, safe from Amulius until the time the gods saw fit to guide them to their destiny?”

Potitius shook his head. “Romulus, this sort of talk is nonsense. It’s mad.”

“Of course it is-brilliantly mad! I give all the credit to Pinarius, who uncovered the tale, saw the obvious connection, and came here today to lay the facts before us.”

Remus stirred. He winced. Was he in pain, or made uncomfortable by his brother’s enthusiasm? “These are hardly facts, Romulus. They’re wild speculations.”

“Perhaps. But isn’t it just the sort of story that people like to believe?”

“Do youbelieve it, Romulus?” said Potitius. His training as a haruspex had instilled in him a great respect for truth-seeking. Finding the truth was often a difficult business; a man’s own eyes and ears were unreliable, as were the tales of others, and even in the best circumstances the will of the gods could be obscure and open to interpretation. His friend’s glib way of toying with the truth made him uneasy, as he could see it made Remus uneasy.

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

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

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

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

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

753 B.C.

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

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

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

Potitius, who had his own hut now, living near the twins on the Palatine, had come home merely to pay a brief visit, but had found himself trapped by his father’s rantings. His father’s reference to Asylum Hill was particularly stinging. As the number of the twins’ followers had grown larger and larger, room to lodge them had been found atop the high hill directly above the market. It was a natural spot to lodge an army; the two highest points at opposite ends of the hill afforded commanding views of the surrounding countryside, and steep flanks on every side made the hill the most defensible location in Roma. The name which people had lately given to the hill, Asylum, came from the altar which the twins had erected there, dedicated to Asylaeus, the patron god of vagabonds, fugitives, and exiles, who offered sanctuary to those who could find it nowhere else. As a haruspex, and because of his training as a priest of Hercules, Potitius had presided at the consecration of the Altar of Asylaeus. His father’s harsh words about the Asylum and its inhabitants struck Potitius as a personal rebuke.

But the elder Potitius was only beginning his tirade. “And you, my son-you go on these raids with them. You join in the looting!”

“I travel with Romulus and Remus as their haruspex, father. At river crossings, I ask the numina for safe passage. Before each battle, I take the auspices, reading the entrails of birds to determine if the day is propitious for victory. During storms, I study the lightning for signs of the gods’ will. These are the things I was trained to do, during my schooling in Tarquinia.”

“Before you became a haruspex, you were a priest of Hercules, my son. First and foremost, you are the keeper of the Ara Maxima.”

“I know that, Father. But consider: Hercules was the son of a god, and a hero to the people. So are Romulus and Remus.”

“No! The twins are nothing more than orphans raised by a pig farmer and his whore of a wife. They’re more like Cacus than like Hercules.”

“Father!”

“Think, my son. Hercules rescued the people and moved on, asking for nothing. Cacus killed and stole without remorse. Which of those two do your beloved twins more closely resemble?”

Potitius gasped at the recklessness of his father’s words. If he himself had ever harbored such thoughts, he had banished them once he made the decision to stand by the twins and to bind his fortunes to theirs.

“And now,” his father went on, “they plan to encircle a good portion of Roma with a wall, even higher and stronger than the pickets that surrounded the great house of Amulius at Alba.”

“But surely, Father, a wall is a good thing. Roma will become a proper city. If we’re attacked, people can find safety inside the walls.”

“And why should anyone wish to attack the good, honest people of Roma-except for the fact that the twins have wrought bloodshed and misery on others, and brought home more loot than they have any need for? There are two ways of making a way in the world, my son. One is the way that your ancestors pursued-trading with others peacefully and fairly, offering hospitality to strangers, accumulating no more wealth then is needed to live comfortably, and diligently seeking to offend neither men nor gods. People must barter for the things they need; Roma provided a safe, honest place to do so, and thus it was to everyone’s advantage to leave Roma unmolested. And because we did not pile up riches, we did not attract the envy of greedy, violent men.

“But there is another way of living, the way of men like Amulius, and of Romulus and Remus-to take by force that which other men have accumulated by hard work. Yes, their way leads quickly to great wealth-and just as surely to bloodshed and ruin. It is all very well to bully and rob your neighbors, then use the treasure you’ve stolen to pay strangers to help you bully and rob yet more neighbors. But what will happen when those neighbors unite and come looking for vengeance, or a stronger bully appears on the scene and comes looking to steal the twins’ treasure?