The Childhood of Rome Part 3

These banditti came from many towns; some were even of another race, of the strange people beyond the river. There were not very many of them, but there were enough to surprise and beat down a much larger number if circ.u.mstances favored. Their usual plan was not to fight in the open, but creep up near a place where stores or treasure happened to be kept, when the most skillful thieves would get in and carry off the plunder to the hiding-place of the others, who stood ready to fight or to act as porters, whichever might be necessary. If they were chased, the best runners drew off the pursuers after them and joined the rest of the band later.

They did not spend all or even very much of their time in their mountain den. They had picked this country as their headquarters because it was largely wilderness above the farming belt. The rocks held many caves and good strongholds. Often they went off and were gone for perhaps a month at a time, prowling about distant settlements, or haunting the roads the traders traveled. Many a luckless merchant had been knocked on the head from behind, or dragged out of his boat and drowned, by these thieves, with no one to tell the tale.

They had found the Sabines here when they came, and it had not seemed worth while-yet-to quarrel with them. The scattered country folk, who went in deadly fear of the robbers and did whatever they were told, said that the farmers could fight, and kept watch over what they had, and had very little but their animals and food stores. There was no use in provoking a war with them. The better plan would be to terrify them so thoroughly that they would give the bandits anything they asked, to keep the peace.

There was no use in upsetting these quiet folk so that they could not work. They could be told that unless they brought to a certain place, at certain times, grain, cattle and other provision, and left them for the outlaws, something terrible would happen to them. They certainly could not hunt the mountains over for the band, and they could not know how many or how few there were. This plan worked well in other places, and it would do very well here.

The leader, the oldest of the robbers, had once been a slave, and he knew all the things that are done to slaves who resist their masters. The others were afraid of him, and there were very few other things in the world of which they were afraid. He listened to the report of Gubbo and his companion, and sent them back to watch the village during the time of the festival, see who the chief men were, how well off the people seemed to be, how many fighting men they had, and where they kept their grain and other stores.

For five days one or the other of the bandits was always watching from the edge of the rock. If they had been the kind of men to understand beauty, they must have owned that the festival of Maia was a beautiful sight. But it only made them angry and bitter to think that they could not have all the comforts these people had. Often they did not have enough to eat, and then there would be a raid on some village, and all the men would eat far more than was comfortable, and drink more than was at all wise, and the feast usually ended in a fight. This festival in the village was not at all like that.

The young girls had a great part in the dancing and singing and processions of Maia. A tall pillar, decorated with garlands and strips of colored cloth, had been set up, and a circle of white-robed little maidens, with wreaths of flowers on their heads, danced around it. Little Emilia sat sedately in the center, wand in hand, and directed the dancing.

There were stately processions, and marching and countermarching of white figures bearing garlands; the oxen appeared with their horns wreathed in flowers; blossoms were strewn all over the public square as the day pa.s.sed. The blessing of Maia was asked upon the springing grain, now standing like a mult.i.tude of fairy sword blades above the brown soil; upon the bean and pea vines climbing as fast as ever they could up the poles set for them; upon the vineyards, every vine of which was tended like a child; and upon the orchards, all one drift of warm white petals blowing on the wind. The chestnut trees were a-bloom and looked like huge tents with great candelabra set here and there over them; and the steady hum of the bees was like the drone of a chanter.

When the day was over, and all the people were asleep, the spies went back to the den in the rocks and told what they had seen.

The chief decided that these people were to be let alone all through the summer and early fall, until all their stores of wine and grain and fat beasts were in, and they went afield to get nuts in the forest. That would be the time to strike. The child of the head priest could be carried off, perhaps, or the son of the chief man of the village. Then one of the country people would be sent to tell the villagers that unless they agreed to furnish provisions at certain times and places, the child would be killed. That would bring them to heel.

So the summer pa.s.sed, and the unconscious, happy people prayed for a good harvest.

V

THE WOLF CUB

The new moon was rising above a wet waste of marsh and tussock and ta.s.seled reeds. A man and two boys climbed hastily up a hill. Before them they drove a bleating, cold, rain-wet, bewildered flock. As any shepherd will admit, sheep are among the silliest creatures in the world, and if there is any way for them to get themselves into trouble they will do it.

Even so small a flock as this had proved it abundantly.

A dry time, when all the gra.s.s in the usual pastures was burned brown or eaten down to the roots, had been followed by a rainy fall and winter. The shepherd and his two foster sons-his wife had long been dead-left their hillside pastures by the river and went with their flock wherever they could find any gra.s.s. They meandered about for some time on the great plain that was usually too wet for sheep; that gra.s.s was rank and sometimes unwholesome, but it was better than nothing. When the wet weather began, they were on the other side, and they edged up among the foothills of the mountains that stood around it, wherever they could without getting into trouble with people who had cattle there. They would have had more difficulty than they did if it had not been for the wolf cub which the taller of the two boys had tamed. He was named Pincho, and he seemed to be everywhere at once. No sheep ever delayed for an instant in obeying him.

For hours they herded the tired flock up and down, among hills and gullies, until they came on a little hollow among bushes, out of the way of the water, where they could stop and get a little sleep. The man and the boys were all three wet, cold and hungry, even hungrier than the sheep were, for they could not eat gra.s.s; hungrier than Pincho, who now and then caught some sort of wild creature and ate it on the spot. They ate what little they had left, and then one kept watch while the others slept, by turns, in the driest place that could be found.

When it was light enough to see, they looked about to find out where they were. Farther down the slope and to one side of them was a village, and the people there kept sheep and also cattle. n.o.body seemed to be doing much work, for half the men were standing about talking, and the shrill note of a flute player came up the hill as if it were a signal.

The boys did not know what this meant, for they had never been near a village on a holiday,-and not often at any time. But the shepherd knew; he knew that it must be a feast day, and he told the boys that if they wished to go to the village and see what was going on, he would look after the sheep. They must not try to go in unless they were asked, and they ought not to take Pincho; some one might see him and kill him for a wolf, not knowing that he was tame.

But Pincho had something to say about that. He had no intention of being left behind, and the shepherd had to cut a thong off his sheepskin cloak to tie up the determined beast. Then when the boys were about two-thirds of the way to the village, something came sniffing at their heels, and there was Pincho, with the thong trailing after him; he had gnawed it in two.

His young master only laughed. "Here, Pincho!" he said good-humoredly, and as the young wolf came and licked his hand he made a loop of the trailing end and thrust his strong brown fingers into it. And so they came up to the edge of the village where the people were making ready the feast,-two boys and a wolf.

The lads were both rather tall for their years, and moved with the wild grace of creatures that constantly use every muscle and never get stiff or lazy. They wore only the shepherd's tunic of sheepskin with the wool outward, and a braided leather girdle to hold a knife and a leather pouch.

In his left hand each held a crook, with a sharp flint point at the other end so that it could be used as a spear if a weapon were needed. The taller led the wolf, which fawned and licked his bare feet; the other, who was not quite so dark of hair and eye, was playing on a reed pipe, taking up the call of the pipers and weaving it into a simple melody. For a moment the people did not know who they could be. All the shepherd boys in that neighborhood were known. Surely only G.o.ds come out of the forest would be accompanied by a wolf.

They did not enter the village. They halted on the outside where they could look into the square and see what was going on, and they stared in silent wonder, like animals.

The fact was that they were so hungry that if they had dared, they would have rushed on the tables and seized the bread and meat and honey cakes, and run away into the forest to devour them as if they were wolves themselves. As it was, the intelligent nose of Pincho caught the maddening odor of meat, and it was all his master could do to hold him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Whoever they were, it was proper at this time to offer food to strangers]

Whoever they were, it was proper at this time to offer food to strangers, and if they were G.o.ds or wood spirits this was the way to find it out. The wife of Emilius the priest, a tall and gracious woman, took up a flat basket-work tray and filled it with portions of the various good things on the nearest table. By the way they took the food and ate it, she saw that they were probably only hungry boys. Pincho got the bones, but only when it was certain they were not mutton bones. He had never been allowed to find out what the flesh of a sheep was like. This was a portion of a yearling calf.

The matron's little daughter, a straight, slender, bright-haired child, came with her, and when Pincho sniffed curiously at her little sandalled feet she did not draw back, but stooped and patted his head. The boy with the reed pipe, when he had finished his share of the food, sidled away toward the musicians, but the other one stayed where he was, his arm round the s.h.a.ggy neck of the young wolf, and they asked him questions. He explained, when they were able to make out what he said-for he spoke in a thick voice as the peasants did-that he and his brother lived with a shepherd on the other side of the great plain. The shepherd had told them to ask whether they might let their sheep graze here awhile, until the water had gone down so that they could get back. Emilius the priest and some of the other men were there by this time, and they said that this would be allowed.

"Why do you stay away from your own village on a holiday?" asked the child straightforwardly.

"We have no village," the boy answered. "We live by ourselves."

The little maiden knit her straight, dark, delicate brows. People who had no village and lived by themselves had never come to her knowledge before.

She thought it must be very dull not to have any holidays, or playmates.

"Do the sheep and the wolves live together in your country?" she asked, watching Pincho's wedge-shaped, savage head as he gnawed his bone.

"No; but Pincho is not really a wolf. He is my friend."

"How can you be friends with a wolf?" persisted the small questioner.

"Wolves are thieves and murderers. They kill sheep. If they killed only the old sheep, I would not care. The old ram with horns knocks people down. But they kill the little lambs."

"Pincho has never killed a sheep."

"Emilia, my child," said her mother, "it is time for the dance of the children." And she led her little daughter away.

The boys of the village were very curious about Pincho. He had been caught when he was a tiny cub and his mother had been killed. There were two cubs, but the other one died. This one slept at his master's feet every night. The lad beckoned to his brother, who began to play a curious, jerky tune, and then the boy and the wolf danced together, to the wonder and entertainment of the villagers. Then in his turn the boy began to ask questions. What was a holiday and why did they keep it?

The boys explained that there were many holidays at different times. There was one in the later days of winter called the Lupercal, in honor of the G.o.d who protected the sheep. That was the shepherds' festival, and when it took place, the young men ran about with thongs in their hands, striking everybody who came in the way. The day they were now keeping was Founder's Day, in honor of the founder of their town.

This was puzzling. How could one man found a town? A town grew up where many people came to live in one place.

"Nay, my son," said a white-haired old man, the oldest man in the village, who had sat down near the group. He spoke in the language the shepherd spoke, so that it was easy to understand him. "That is nothing more than a flock of crows or a herd of cattle that eat together where there is food.

The man who founds a city determines first to make a home for the spirits of his people, as a man who builds a house makes a home for his family.

His G.o.ds dwell in this place, and he himself will dwell there when he is dead, and his spirit is joined to theirs. Without the good will of the spirits there is no good fortune. How can men know what is wise to do, or what is right, if they do not ask help of the G.o.ds, as a child asks its father's will? Have you never heard this? Has your father not told you?"

"We have neither father nor mother," said the boy, but not shamefacedly,-even a little proudly. "We were found when we were little children by Faustulus the shepherd who is to us as a father, and we serve him."

This did seem rather strange. Some of the village people drew back and whispered among themselves. Could the lads be G.o.ds or spirits indeed? They were strong and handsome-but who knew what things lived in the forest?

"Nay," said Emilius, "they have eaten our salt."

"The shepherd sometimes prays," the lad was saying thoughtfully. "He prays when he has lost his way. I asked him once when I was very small what he was saying, and he said that he prayed to his G.o.d. He said the G.o.d was like a man, but had goat's legs and little horns under curling hair, and played on a reed pipe. My brother said that he had seen him in the forest, but I never did. When the shepherd sees anything unlucky, he makes the sign of his G.o.d-thus."

He held up his fist with all the fingers except the little finger doubled in; this, with the thumb, stuck straight up. "He calls it 'making the horns.' "

"The people across the river have many G.o.ds," he went on cheerfully. "Once I ran away and found a boat, and went over there, to see what it was like.

The priests watch the flight of birds for signs; and the people give a great deal of time to fortune telling. An old witch told mine for love, and she said that I should rule over a great people. Then I laughed and came away, for I knew that she must think me a fool to be pleased with lies. She said that their laws were taught the priests by a little man no bigger than a child, who came up out of a field which a farmer was plowing."