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.”