The Rock of the Capitol 4/4

The final part of the third tale from Heroes of History

Brennus chose out the hardiest of his mountaineers and directed them to climb up in the dead of night, one by one, in perfect silence, and thus to surprise the Romans and complete the slaughter and victory before the forces assembling at Veii would come to their rescue.

Silently the Gauls climbed, so stilly that not even a dog heard them, and the sentinel nearest to the post, who had fallen into a dead sleep of exhaustion from hunger, never awoke. But the fatal stillness was suddenly broken by loud gabbling, cackling, and flapping of heavy wings. The sacred geese of Juno, which had been so religiously spared in the famine, were frightened by the rustling beneath and proclaimed their terror in their own noisy fashion.

The first to take the alarm was Marcus Manlius, who started forward just in time to meet the foremost climbers as they set foot on the rampart. One, who raised an axe to strike, lost his arm by one stroke of Manlius’s short Roman sword. The next was by main strength hurled backward over the precipice, and Manlius stood along on the top for a few moments, ready to strike the next who should struggle up.

The garrison was soon on the alert, and the attack was entirely repulsed. The sleeping sentry was cast headlong down the rock, and Manlius was brought, by each grateful soldier, that which was then most valuable to all: a little meal and a small measure of wine.

Still, the condition of the Capitol was lamentable. There was no certainty that Pontius had ever reached Camillus in safety, and the discovery of his path by the enemy would rather have led to the supposition that he had been seized and detected.

The best hope lay in wearying out the besiegers, and there seemed to be more chance of this since the Gauls often could be seen from the heights, burying the corpses of their dead; their tall, bony forms looked gaunt and drooping, and here and there unburied carcasses lay amongst the ruins. Nor were the flocks and herds any longer driven in from the country. Either all must have been exhausted, or else Camillus and his friends must be near and preventing their raids.

At any rate, it appeared as if the enemy was quite as ill off as to provisions as the garrison and in worse condition as to health. In effect, this was the first example of the famous saying that Rome destroys her conquerors.

In this state of things one of the Romans had a dream that Jupiter, the special god of the Capitol, appeared to him and gave the strange advice that all the remaining flour should be baked and the loaves thrown down into the enemy’s camp. Telling of the dream, perhaps thinking that this apparent waste would persuade the barbarians that the garrison could not soon be starved out, this person obtained the consent of the rest of the besieged. Some approved the stratagem, and no one chose to act contrary to Jupiter’s supposed advice, so the bread was baked and tossed down by the hungry men.

After a time, the outer guards reported that the Gallic watch had been telling them their leader would be willing to speak with some of the Roman chiefs. Accordingly, Sulpitius, one of the tribunes, went out and had a conference with Brennus, who declared that he would depart, provided the Romans would lay down a ransom for their Capital and their own lives of a thousand pounds’ weight of gold.

To this Sulpitius agreed, and returning to the Capitol, the gold was collected from the treasury and carried down to meet the Gauls, who brought their own weights. The weights did not meet the amount of gold ornaments that had been contributed for the purpose, and no doubt the Gauls were resolved to have all that they beheld, for when Sulpitius was about to try to arrange the balance, Brennus insultingly threw his sword into his own scale, exclaiming, Vae victis!: “Woe to the conquered!”

The Roman was not yet fallen so low as not to remonstrate, and the dispute was waxing sharp when there was a confused outcry in the Gallic camp, a shout from the heights of the Capitol, and into the midst of the open space rode a band of Roman patricians and knights in armor, with the dictator Camillus at their head. He no sooner saw what was passing than he commanded the treasure to be taken back and, turning to Brennus, said, “It is with iron, not gold, that the Romans guard their country.”

Brennus declared that the treaty had been sworn to and that it would be a breach of faith to deprive him of the ransom, to which Camillus replied that he himself was dictator, and no one had the power to make a treaty in his absence. The dispute was so hot that they drew their swords against one another, and there was a skirmish among the ruins, but the Gauls soon fell back and retreated to their camp when they saw the main body of Camillus’s army marching upon them. It was no less than 40,000 in number, and Brennus knew he could not withstand them with his broken, sickly army.

He drew off early the next morning, but was followed by Camillus and routed, with great slaughter, about eight miles from Rome. Very few of the Gauls lived to return home, for those who were not slain in battle were cut off in their flight by the country people, whom they had plundered.

In reward for their conduct on this occasion, Camillus was termed Romulus, Father of His Country, and Second Founder of Rome. Marcus Manlius received the honorable surname of Capitolinus. Even the geese were honored by having a golden image raised to their honor in Juno’s temple, and a live goose was yearly carried in triumph, upon a soft litter, in a golden cage, as long as any heathen festivals lasted. The reward of Pontius Cominius does not appear, but surely he, and the old senators who died for their country’s sake, deserved to be forever remembered for their brave contempt of life when a service could be done to the state.

The End