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Against Rome |
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Back to section iii of this chapter III. Aemilia Tertia, Rome, 218 B.C. iv At
the Nones of Quinctilis, the women of the Aemilius Paullus house flocked out the
gate into the Campus Martius, accompanied by young Lucius Aemilius, a year
younger than Aemilia Tertia. Nemain and several other female slaves of the house
carried baskets of food to contribute to the feast and would participate in the
Nones Caprotinae, the Feast of Serving Women. As
this was the first time Aemilia Tertia or Lucius Aemilius had been allowed to
attend this Feast, Prima took it upon herself to explain the event to her
youngest siblings as they strolled out among the crowds, mostly of women. “It
was two hundred years ago when the Gauls invaded Rome herself,” she began. “Not
exactly,” young Lucius Aemilius said. “It was not long after that,
actually.” Prima
cast him a withering look, distorting her pretty face. “Whenever,”
she said. “Anyway, the awful Gauls were threatening Rome—” “Not
the Gauls, the Latins.” “Oh,
all right, Lucius! The Latins.” Secunda
snickered and rubbed against Aemilia Tertia, pinching her as she did. “Do
I look all right, Prima?” Mama asked. “Yes,
Mama. The Latins demanded women be given to them,” Prima went on. “There was
a serving girl named Philotis—” “She
was called Tulola,” Lucius Aemilius said. “If
you don’t shut up, Lucius, I won’t tell it.” “Good,”
Secunda said, and Prima withered her as well. “Children,”
Mama said. “Let Prima tell it her way. I do hope it doesn’t rain. This is a
new dress.” “Yes,
Mama,” Lucius Aemilius said. “And no, it won’t rain, I’m sure of it. Not
a cloud in the sky.” “Fine,”
Prima said. “All right, this Lutola suggested they send serving women
disguised as free women, so they sent some slaves out wearing the fine clothes
of well-to-do ladies.” She looked down her nose at Nemain and the other
slaves. “When
the Latins went to sleep, the serving women disarmed them and Lutola—” “Tulola.” “Tulola,
then! She climbed a tall fig tree and lit a signal to the Romans, who came out
calling each other by name—Gaius, Marcus, Sextus—and fell on the Latins.
That’s why we have the Feast of the Serving Women, because they saved Rome.” “Hah!
It’s a story for babies,” Secunda said. “I don’t believe a word of it.
Slaves could never save Rome. Slaves are worthless.” “Oh,
Secunda,” Lucius Aemilius said, “don’t be foolish. Do you think there
would be a festival if it hadn’t happened?” “Hush,”
Mama said, fanning herself in the heat. “You’re
fools to think so,” Secunda said, having the last word. They
joined the throng of ten or twelve thousand people around several rows of little
booths constructed of fig-tree boughs. When the prayers had been said and a goat
sacrificed beside a little grove of fig trees, out rushed a group of men,
shouting “Gaius!” and “Marcus!” and “Titus!” The crowd enveloped
them and fell upon them cheering. A
feast ensued, with a great many tables set up on trestles, bearing great bowls
and platters of fried squash, beans, leeks, olives, chick peas. There were
mounds of mushrooms, stacks of cheeses, many loaves of bread with beakers of
oil. Egg puddings with pine nuts, figs, grapes, walnuts, apples, and pears.
Boars and haunches of venison roasting on a hundred spits. And several hundred
amphorae of wine. Five hundred slaves cooked, carved, and dished heaps of food
onto the plates as people crowded in on them. When
all had settled down on blankets spread over the ground, plates they had brought
along balanced on their laps, Nemain and the other slaves, some two or three
hundred of them, gathered in a cleared area and began a traditional mock battle
with fig-tree sticks as swords, fighting among themselves. While
many of the women flailed wildly with their sticks, some with arms over their
eyes, timid or frightened, others, like Nemain, fought with gusto. Nemain
grinned constantly as she whacked one woman after another, accurate and
determined. Although she took many blows herself, she delivered far more. Aemilia
Tertia sat with Lucius Aemilius, the two of them giggling quietly at Prima’s
expense. “Lutola,” Aemilia Tertia whispered. “The Gauls,” Lucius
Aemilius shot back, and both were off on a gale of laughter until Mama shut them
up. Lucius
Aemilius, despite being a boy, was Aemilia Tertia’s only source of kindness,
the only one in the family who would spend time with her, though of course he
disdained the kinds of games she most loved. But they played together, at swords
and wrestling, at word games and hide and seek, just the two of them, and
sometimes one or two of the slaves’ children. Thus
they kept their heads together all through the mock battle of the serving women,
and Mama had to reprimand them repeatedly. Tata
often crowed that his son was a manly boy, though to Aemilia Tertia Lucius
Aemilius’s nature was as unlike their father’s as it was possible to be.
Manly, yes, but also gentle and thoughtful. Protective. Generous. Though Tata
was a powerful man in Rome, he spent considerable time with Lucius Aemilius,
whom he petted and praised and taught the manly arts. With the rest of the
family he was remote and critical. Fortunately,
young Lucius Aemilius seemed immune to Tata’s caresses. He gave his Tata
all the signs of affection a boy ought to, enjoyed the praise, but remained a
pleasant, happy boy. As the only son in the family, he stood to inherit all of Tata’s
wealth except what went for the three girls’ dowries. And with his goodness
and strength Aemilia Tertia had no doubt he would do great things as a man. When
it came to Hannibal, Lucius Aemilius’s eyes glowed with a great fervor. He
could talk of little else, much like his elders. Some of his eagerness he
imbibed from Tata and his friends, who were all eager for war. “I
want to see a real fight,” Lucius Aemilius said quietly. “No, I want to be
in a real fight.” “You
will one day, Lucius,” Aemilia Tertia said. She was particularly pleased with
Lucius Aemilius today as he had sat between her and Secunda. “Oh,
I know it, Tertia, but it’s so long from ten to seventeen! I can’t be a
cadet, even, for almost as long as I’ve already been alive.” When
Nemain and the others came back to the blankets, perspiring in the Quinctilis
heat after their mock struggle, Aemilia Tertia rose to hug her servant. “You
fought beautifully, Nemain.” “Thank
you, Tertia. It’s only fun, of course. I have no idea what I’d do in a real
fight.” “You’d
win, Nemain.” And
so she might, for Nemain did often stand her ground, though Mama sometimes
punished her for it. Mama stood for no impertinence. Probably because she was
always too preoccupied to listen to anyone’s grievances but her own. As
the children heard endlessly all the way home. Too hot. Too vulgar. Too long. *
* * “Prima,”
Mama would say to her eldest daughter with Aemilia Tertia playing nearby, “you
must understand that a woman’s life is hard. It’s a man’s world, and men
think little of us women. I’ve never understood them, for they can be cruel
and heartless. When you marry, you must understand these things. Even so, you
must do your duty to your father and your husband, even when it is very hard.” Prima,
as befit her nature, would turn her bland, beautiful face to Mama and say
something like: “When will I marry, Mama? And whom do you think Tata
will pick for me?” The fifteen-year-old’s face turned dreamy. Aemilia
Tertia thought at such times that if life was hard for grown women, what about
young girls? Aemilia
Secunda, the hated one, received these admonitions as well, though less often,
for she was only thirteen. With her, they passed without comment, though Mama
always got a radiant smile. Only
eleven, Aemilia Tertia never heard such talk aimed at herself, for it was plain
in the house that Tata favored her and had said to all of them that he
would not think of finding her a marriage. So
Aemilia Tertia resigned herself to remain a girl, spending her time with young
Lucius Aemilius, suffering Tata’s invasions and Secunda’s torments,
occasionally worrying about Hannibal. She avoided thinking about the future, for
she could see none. End of Chapter 3 Back to Top
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