“You know what people say about us—what they call us behind our backs?” said Romulus.
Not sure how to respond, Potitius shrugged, and tried not to wince at the pain.
“They call us wolves. Romulus and Remus are a pair of wolves, they say, suckled by a she-wolf.”
“People are stupid,” said Potitius.
“People are frightened by wolves, that’s what they are,” said Remus.
“Especially girls,” added his brother. “Here, look at this.” He reached for something at the base of the fig tree and drew it over his head. It was a wolf’s pelt, fashioned so that the head of the wolf fit over his face and formed a mask, leaving his mouth uncovered. “What do you think?”
With his hands on his hips and the face of the wolf taking the place of his own, Romulus presented a fearsome image. Potitius gazed up at him, speechless. Remus produced another pelt, fitted it over his head, and stood beside his brother.
Romulus smirked, pleased by the look of amazement on Potitius’s face. “Of course, if it’s just Remus and me, everyone will know it’s us. That’s why there has to be a third wolf in the pack—to throw people off the scent.”
“A third wolf?” said Potitius.
Remus tossed something to him. Potitius gave a start but managed to catch it. “Put it on,” Remus said.
It was another wolfskin. With trembling hands, Potitius fitted the head over his face. A rank odor filled his nostrils. Looking through the eye-holes, he felt strangely concealed from the world and curiously transformed.
Romulus smiled. “You look very fierce, Potitius.”
“Do I?”
Remus laughed. “But you sound like a little boy. You must learn to growl—like this.” He demonstrated. Romulus joined him. After a moment’s hesitation, Potitius did his best to emulate them.
“And you must learn to howl.” Remus threw back his head. The sound that came from his throat sent a shiver up Potitius’s spine. Romulus joined him, and the harmony produced by their baying was so uncanny that Potitius was covered with gooseflesh. But when he himself let out a howl, the other two broke into laughter.
“Obviously, this will take some practice,” said Romulus. “You’re not ready yet. You must learn to howl like a wolf, Potitius. You must learn to move like a wolf, and to think like a wolf. You must become a wolf!”
“And when that day arrives, you must be sure to remove that amulet,” added his brother. “Otherwise, someone is bound to recognize it and report us to your father.”
Potitius shrugged. The pain in his shoulders was gone. “I could always wear Fascinus inside my tunic, where no one would see.”
“Your tunic?” Romulus laughed. “Wolves don’t wear tunics!”
“But—what will we be wearing?”
Romulus and Remus looked at each other and laughed, then threw back their heads and howled.
Winter came before the twins felt that Potitius had sufficiently mastered the ways of a wolf. It would not do to carry out their scheme when the weather was cold and wet. They waited until the weather turned warm again. At last the perfect day arrived—a clear, mild day when everyone across the Seven Hills would be out and about.
Very early that morning they went hunting. The twins had been tracking a wolf for several days, watching its movements to discover its lair. Shortly after sunrise They flushed it out and hunted it down. It was Romulus who killed the beast with his spear.
On a makeshift altar—a simple slab of rock—they skinned the wolf and bathed their hands in its blood. They cut the skin into strips and tied these around their wrists, ankles, thighs, and arms. Other strips they carried in their hands. It seemed to Potitius that he could feel the life force of the beast still emanating from the warm, supple hide.
It no longer felt strange to Potitius to run naked across the hills. He had done it many times with Romulus and Remus, though usually at night and away from the settlements. What still felt strange was the mask of wolf hide that covered his face. Peering out the eye-holes, knowing he was hidden, imagining his ferocious appearance—all this gave him a feeling of power and a sense that his relationship to everything around him was changed, as if the mask truly bestowed on him faculties that were other than human.
They ran over the hills and across the valleys, from settlement to settlement, howling and yelping and brandishing their straps. Whenever they encountered a young female, they ran straight toward her, competing to see who could reach her first and give her a smack with his strap. They were the wolves, and the girls might have been sheep; like sheep, most of them were out in groups, going about their morning chores, fetching water or carrying burdens. Some cried out in alarm at the sight of them. Others shrieked with laughter.
Potitius had never done anything so exhilarating in all his life. He became physically aroused. Many of the girls seemed more alarmed by the sight of his swaying sex than by the threat of his wolfhide strap, although some of them seemed amused, tittering behind their hands and averting their eyes. Romulus and Remus, seeing his excitation, converged on him. Laughing and yelping, they took aim at his sex with their wolf-hide straps.
“Too bad you left that amulet at home today,” whispered Romulus. “You’ve no phallus at your neck to protect the one between your legs!”
“Stop trying to cover yourself,” said Remus, shaking with laughter. “A good strapping with one of these will make you more potent than ever! You’ll have the power of the wolf between your legs!”
At last the twins relented, and the three of them returned to their pursuit of screaming girls.
As the twins had predicted, the incident became the talk of all Roma. That evening, Potitius’s father gathered the immediate family—Potitius, his mother, and sisters—to discuss it.
“Three youths, naked except for wolfskins concealing their cowardly faces, running all over the Seven Hills, terrifying everyone they met—such behavior is an outrage!”
“Did no one try to stop them?” said Potitius’s mother.
“A few elders dared to berate them for their behavior; the scoundrels ran circles around the poor fellows, howling like animals, scaring them half to death. A few of the younger men gave chase, but the troublemakers outran them.”
“But what did they look like, husband? Was there nothing to distinguish them?”
“I didn’t see them myself. Did any of you?”
Potitius averted his eyes and said nothing. He nervously bit his lip when one of his sisters, who was a little younger than himself, meekly spoke up. “I saw them, father. I was visiting a friend over on the Viminal when they came tearing through the village, howling and growling.”
Her father’s face stiffened. “Did they molest you in any way?”
She blushed. “No, Father! Except…”
“Speak, daughter!”
“Each of them carried a thing in his hand; I think it must have been a long, narrow strip of wolf hide. They snapped them in the air, like little whips. And they…”
“Go on.”
“Whenever they came to a girl or a young woman, they struck her with it.”
“Struck her?”
“Yes, Father.” She blushed more furiously than ever. “On her bottom.”
“And did they strike you, daughter—on your bottom?”
“I—I don’t really remember, Father. It was all so frightening, I can’t recall.”
Liar! Potitius wanted to say. He remembered the moment quite clearly. So, he was sure, did his sister. It was Remus who had slapped her bottom, and, far from being frightened, she had run after them, giggling and trying to give Remus’s naked bottom a slap in return. Despite his nervousness, Potitius had to force the grin from his face.
Potitius’s father shook his head. “As I said, an outrage! What’s even more outrageous is the fact that not everyone thinks as we do about this matter.”