All throughout its long, long history Rome had its
heart divided into two. On the one side: gates open to the east, the Greeks and
its Gods and Goddesses and philosophers (how far from Romans were these
theorethical fellows from the lawful, practical Romans…), and Egypt with its
mysterious and mistycal charms; on the other side, the culture of the Sabins,
where the true roots of the Roman seed came: grain and sheep and olive groves
and vinyards in the rich countryside that stretches inland, toward the Adriatic
sea. It is there in the lands of the Sabins (Sabo meaning sacred) that I spent
some of this long, hot, sunny summer. It is there, in the silver hills that I
could trace back on the flight of thought where everything began.
It is there that I met, let’s say it in a
methaphorical way, the great king Numa, who came after Romulus, and was consacrated
to the Gods of his silver lands. He was the one to organize the priesthoods in
Rome, he put together Romans and Sabins (after the famous rape of the beautiful
sabin girl) to build the future grandness of the Roman venture. He used to talk,
for counseling, with the Nymph Egeria, who helped him in the difficult art of
ruling his people. He listened to her wise words and ruled in wisdom for many,
many years. As I read about him, I could see him come alive in the lands where
he always lived, even as the King of Rome. There are no Numas, now in Italy,
but the memory of this great King still lives in Plutarch and sometimes, in my
sabin nights, I could just hear him wisper in my ear the true story of the
forgotten sabin roots of the Roman Empire…
