“I have always believed so,” nodded Calvo. “When a man makes a road or a bridge, he does not make it for the strong and powerful alone; it is even more for the weak, the ignorant and those who cannot work for themselves. If the gods meant not this to be so, they would arrange it so that the sun should shine only on a few, and the rest should dwell in twilight; they would give rain only to those whom they favor, and good water only to the chosen of the gods. But the [pg 253]world is not made in that way. Therefore we who are the chosen of the gods to do their will on earth should be of equal mind toward all—men, women and children.”
Calvo paused, as if he were thinking how he should say what he thought, and then went on.
“Whether men are high or low, Romulus, founder of the city, they have minds and they think, and the gods, who know all men’s souls, hear their unspoken thoughts as well as ours. Therefore it is not a small thing when many believe in a man, for their belief, like a river, will grow and grow until it makes itself felt by those who hold themselves as greater. I have seen this happen when a good man whom all men loved came to die. He was greater after his death than when he was alive, for the grief and the love of the poor encompassed his spirit and made it strong.”
Romulus smiled in the way he did when he was thinking more than he meant to say. “I shall be very strong when I am dead,” was his only comment. And Calvo knew that it was the truth.
Romulus was now fifty-eight years old, and Calvo was seventy-two. Both of them were thinking that it would not be many years when they would both, perhaps, be talking together in the world of shadows as they were talking now. [pg 254]Then Romulus told Calvo what he was going to do.
This talk took place a little after the beginning of the fifth month, which the Romans called Quintilis, but which we call July. In this month the sun is hot and the air is sluggish and damp, and in the year when these things happened it was more so than usual. The heralds announced in the market place, one sultry morning, that there would be a meeting of all the people at a place called the Goat’s Marsh some miles outside the city. Romulus would there tell publicly why he sent back their hostages to the Tuscans and how the lands were to be divided among the soldiers. No longer would the people have to depend on what was said by one and another, he would tell them himself. Partly out of curiosity, partly with the determination that they too would speak, the greater part of the patricians also went to hear.
The Goat’s Marsh was no longer a marsh, but it had kept its name partly because of the fig orchards, which bore the little fruits called the goat figs. There was a plain at the foot of a little hill, which made it a good place for any public meeting, and the country people for miles around crowded in to see Romulus and to hear him speak.
They raised a shout as his tall figure appeared but he waved them to silence.
“I have not much to say,” he began, and in the still air the intense interest of his listeners seemed to tingle like lightning before a storm, “but much has been said which was not true. I will not waste time in repeating lies.
“Ye know that the Tuscan cities were here before we came, and that their people are many. We cannot kill them or drive them away, if we would. They are our neighbors.