“Ye, the people of Alba Longa, of the ancient home of our race, take Numa for your chief now, and be loyal to him and serve him, for he who took the right from him is dead!”
There was an instant’s pause, and then shouts of “Numa! Numa!” broke from the people. If Romulus had claimed the place for himself they would have shouted his name just as readily, but this was not Romulus’ plan at all. The [pg 138]headship of this people belonged to his grandfather Numa, and there was no question about it. Until the old man was dead, he was the rightful chief, and for his grandsons to push into his place would simply be the same high-handed robbery Amulius had committed. The brothers were his heirs, and they could wait and rule over their own city until they had the right to rule here.
This did away with the last bit of resistance. The remainder of the army was only too glad to surrender, and messengers were sent off to tell Numa the good news and bring him home in triumph to his own place. When they had welcomed him, they would come to the hill beside the river and found their own city.
It was a day long to be remembered when the Romans returned, the young men marching lightly with laughter and singing, their young leaders in the van. The people went out to meet them with music and rejoicing, and there was a great feast in the colony. But to Colonus the most precious moment of that day—not even excepting the first sight of his own son Marcus—was that in which the young and victorious Romulus came to him where he stood with Tullius the priest, and knelt before them, saying,
“Tell me that I have done well, my fathers, [pg 139]for without your approval the rest is nothing. Have I proved myself worthy to found our city, O ye who know the law?”
Then they blessed him and crowned him with the victor’s crown of laurel. The outlaw had found his own people.