“I think so.”
They crossed the Piazza Campidoglio and went out by the left side of the Palazzo del Senatore. Down the Via dell’ Arco di Severo, a street that runs down steps to the Forum, they saw a large arch that seemed sunk in the ground, and beyond, further away, another smaller arch with only one archway, which arose in the distance as if on top of the big arch. A square yellow tower, burned by the sun, lifted itself among the ruins; some hills showed rows of romantic cypresses, and in the background the blue Alban Mountains stood out against a grey sky.
“Would you like to go down to the Forum?” said the abbé. “Down there where the stones are? No. What for?”
“Do you wish to see the Tarpeian Rock?”
“Yes, man. But explain to me what this rock was.”
Preciozi got together all his information, which was not much.
They went by the Via Monte Tarpea, and came back by the Via della Consolazione.
“They must have thrown people who were already dead off the Tarpeian Rock,” said Cæsar, after hearing the explanation.
“No, no.”
“But if they threw them down alive, the majority of those they chucked down here would not have died. At most they would have dislocated an arm, a leg, or a finger-joint. Unless they chucked them head first.”