THE TAKING OF ALBA LONGA
Never in his life had Romulus felt in his own soul the strength of kinship as he felt it after the colonists agreed to join their forces with his. He had made his men into a fighting force when courage was almost the only virtue they had, but there was no natural comradeship between them as a whole. Here were men of his own people, welded together by all the ties of a boyhood and manhood spent together in one place, and they were ready to stand by him to the death. It seemed to give him a strength more than human. Remus was his brother, but he too was different and did not understand. He was no dreamer; he would have been content to go on all his life a shepherd boy or a soldier. But these men understood; they looked down the road of the years to come and planned for their children and grandchildren. That was why they were willing to let their sons go to fight against the tyrant Amulius under a stranger and a cap[pg 131]tain of outlaws,—because they saw that in the end the war must be fought, and all the men who could fight were needed.
There were anxious days in the settlement by the yellow river, after the young men marched away. Even if Romulus won the victory, perhaps there would be some who would not come back. And if he failed, the first the colonists would know of it would be an army coming to kill or enslave them all.
Not quite a month after the departure of the little fighting force the watchmen on the wall saw far away on the plain a single running figure. At first they could not be sure who it was. The word flew about the colony and soon the people were gathered wherever they could get a view of the running man. It was toward evening; the long shadows stretched over the level ground, and the red sunset made the still waters look like pools of blood. Everything was very quiet. They could hear the croak and pipe of the frogs, far below at the foot of the hill.
On and on came the racing figure, and now he had caught sight of the people on the hill, for he lifted his arm and waved to them again and again. It was good tidings; that was the meaning of his gesture in their signal language. Many hastened to meet him, but the path down [pg 132]the hill was a winding one and those who stayed where they were heard the news almost as soon. The runner was Caius Cossus, who always outstripped every other lad of his age in the races, and when he came to the foot of the hill he shouted:
“Ai-ya! Victory! Vic-to-ry! Romulus forever!”
His mother began to cry for joy and pride. The other women did not dare to yet. They did not allow themselves to be really glad until the small boys came scampering in ahead of their elders, to be the first to tell. Amulius was dead [pg 133]and Numa ruled in his place, and not one of their own men had been killed. Cossus reached the gate carried on men’s shoulders, for he was almost worn out. He had had nothing to eat for several hours, and had been running all the last part of the way, to get home before it was too dark to see.
Caius Cossus lived to be very old, and his long life brought him much honor and happiness, but never again, so long as he lived, did he have so glad a triumph as when he came in at the gate of the little, rude town by the river, and told the story of the fight at Alba Longa to the fathers and mothers who had the best right to be proud of it. It was the first battle the young men of the colony had ever been in, and a great deal would have depended on it in any case. They were strangers, with their reputation for courage and coolness all to make.
When the young messenger had had a chance to get his breath and some food and drink—and the best in the place was none too good for him—he told the story of the campaign from the beginning.