In previous chapters, we've seen how Romans interacted with Greek myths such as the Trojan cycle and Hercules, as well as native Italian legends such as the phallus. We've seen some of the problems faced by students of these legends, as well as by Roman authors themselves: contradictory narratives and confusion over chronology. We've also noted that Roman legends, although moving steadily towards the foundation of Rome itself, are willing to briefly focus on other locations, such as Alba Longa or Lavinium. Roman authors frequently came from such close suburbs to live in the city. Over time, just as these towns became part of Rome's territory, many local legends became incorporated into Rome's own history.
This process of growth is the focus of this chapter. As we've seen in chapters 2 and 3, Romans saw the city's foundation as a process of continuous development, rather than an instantaneous act. Such self-conception, while not unique to Rome, is different from many Greek foundation narratives, which credit a single founder or single group of founders with the majority of the city's customs, laws, and important sites. Yet Rome balanced the contributions of Aeneas and Romulus, as well as many other subsequent foundation figures. In fact, surviving Roman authors claim that all of their kings were founders, and that the city continued to develop after their time. In that sense, the kings did not perfect or finish Rome, but they left a legacy that contributed to the city.
Each king had a specific area of expertise. Numa was known for founding religious cults. He invented the flamines, pontifex maximus, the Vestals, and other important priesthoods, and he was interested in protecting peace. He was also famous for his friendship with the nymph Egeria (5.2.2). Tullus Hostilius was known for his ferocity. Authors claim that he was more warlike than Romulus; his most famous act was the cruel punishment of the traitor Mettius Fufetius (5.3.3). Ancus Marcius was Numa's grandson, but he didn't inherit the throne. He was in many ways the most balanced king, with interests in both peace and war. He was best known for constructing the port of Ostia. Tarquin the Elder came from Etruria and had Greek connections. He engaged in many large-scale building projects, including the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus (4.6.5, 4.7, 5.4.1c). Although he had at least three of his own children, he adopted Servius Tullius (5.5). In an early sign of trouble for Rome's kingdom, Ancus’ sons organized a plot to kill Tarquin. They succeeded, but Tarquin's wife ensured that Servius Tullius got the throne.
Servius Tullius is depicted as a new Romulus. Chosen by the gods rather than popular vote, he is a usurper: in ancient terms, a “tyrant.” He organized the populace, much as Romulus had. Servius’ administrative reforms are widely accepted as historical and persisted into the Republic. Because they are such a common feature of Roman civilization textbooks, they will not be treated here; a very brief summary can be found in the note.1 Like Numa, Servius was friendly with a goddess (in his case, Fortuna), and like Tarquin, he died violently at the hands of his predecessor's children (5.5.3). This usurper, Tarquin the Proud, won the throne and became Rome's last king. Like his father, Tarquin the Proud was known for public works, including the Capitoline temple and Rome's major drainage project, the Cloaca Maxima.2 His son Sextus was a true tyrant, as his treacherous adventure at Gabii (5.6.2b, 5.6.2d) and the rape of Lucretia (7.6) show.
As you can see, most of the city's oldest customs were traced back to the period of Rome's seven kings (including Romulus). This era is known as the Regal Period in modern scholarship. In canonical dating, these seven kings ruled from the foundation of the city in 753 BCE until the foundation of the Republic in 509. Yet this period of almost 250 years spread over only seven kings is unlikely, as was noticed even in antiquity: each king would have to rule, on average, 35 years. Such lengthy reigns aren't impossible. In modern times, the monarchs of many countries have far surpassed the 35-year mark (the most familiar examples to English-speaking students are probably the British Queens Victoria and Elizabeth II). There are also examples of considerably longer reigns from antiquity: Mithridates of Pontus, for example, ruled for almost 60 years (c. 120–63 BCE), and Bocchus of Mauretania reigned for close to 100 (c. 120–33 BCE). So why have scholars been so hesitant to believe in Rome's king list?
It's not so much the individual reigns that are unlikely, but the series of seven lengthy reigns in a row. As Timothy Cornell (1995, 121) puts it, “244 years for seven kings is without historical parallel” (sources at 423n6). Even in monarchies where one ruler is particularly long-lived, that ruler is generally balanced by shorter reigns. To make the Roman examples more suspicious, the reigns of the individual kings are roughly the same length: Romulus, 36 years; Numa, 42 years; Tullus Hostilius, 31 years; Ancus Marcius, 24 years; Tarquin the Elder, 38 years; Servius Tullius, 44 years; and Tarquin the Proud, 25 years.
Let's compare these kings with the example of Queen Victoria. Although her reign was longer than even Servius’ by two decades, the two kings immediately before her held the throne for fewer than 20 years combined. Victoria's son, who took the throne after her death, also ruled for less than a decade. In fact, if we include the six monarchs from Victoria to Elizabeth II, we find a period of approximately 180 years as of the time of writing. This list includes the two longest-reigning monarchs of British history; to match Rome's list, we would need to include a seventh with similar longevity.
Suspicions about Rome's kings date back to antiquity. Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Roman Antiquities 4.6–7) included a lengthy excursus explaining why Tarquin the Proud couldn't possibly be the son of Tarquin the Elder. Perhaps surprisingly, his careful calculations were largely ignored by later authors. Romans were not stupid or gullible, and we have seen that they could go to great lengths to reconcile chronology when they thought it was necessary (for example, the Alban kings: 2.7). It seems likely, then, that the choice of seven kings was purposeful and more important than strict chronological accuracy or even realism (for a somewhat different view, students are encouraged to consult Cornell 1995, 119–127). The choice of the number seven may be related to Rome's seven hills.
The limit on the number of kings contrasts with the clear desire of members of Rome's elite to see their families appear early in Rome's history. The city's territory expanded many times over the Regal Period, and the leaders of each influx of immigrants were frequently connected to Rome's loftiest citizens. It's very likely that these migration stories were family legends (1.2) that were incorporated into larger-scale histories as those histories began to be written down. Although such stories could be little more than amusing or cautionary tales, over time the repetition of these narratives made the legendary ancestors significant to all Roman readers.
Romans believed that personality quirks, among other characteristics, could be inherited. Early ancestors thus provided models for family behaviors. The most famous and persistent example of such inherited qualities is the pride of the Claudii (see Skinner , 19–32). This pride is apparent in the first Claudius in Rome, Attus Clausus (Livy 2.27) and persists into the Principate (the Emperor Tiberius: see Syme 1989, 84; Barrett 2004, 3–17). Although modern science suggests that personality traits are only partially heritable, Roman families seem to have combined nature and nurture quite strongly. In other words, the belief that the Claudii were proud was self-reinforcing, encouraging members of the Claudian family to act with more arrogance and self-regard than other families thought was appropriate (see Cicero, Letters to Friends 3.7.5). Legendary histories served as crucial tools of self-promotion and self-definition.
You may be surprised to learn that many families claimed descent from Rome's kings. Although Romans presented themselves as resistant to kingship (see Livy 2.1; 8.1–8.3), Roman histories also emphasize the importance of these kings to Rome's historical development. As mentioned above, Romans imagined their city's foundation as a continuing process, rather than a single event. The kings formed part of that process of development, which some writers described in terms of human growth: when the city is founded, it's in its infancy. Romulus and the kings guide it through puberty, and once it's mature, the city becomes the property of the people (Cicero, On the State 1.39, 2.1–3, and 2.21–22; Livy 2.1). While Romans could remember their kings with gratitude as foundational figures, they didn't necessarily want new monarchs. To return to the metaphor of human development, this would be similar to a once-independent adult returning to the household rules and care of his or her parents.
The narratives in this and subsequent chapters can be difficult to grapple with. On the one hand, you are dealing with material that many modern scholars – and most ancient authors – think is historical. That is, we are moving from the realm of “myth” to that of “legendary history.” Compare these stories to the tales of Romulus and Aeneas, which are generally accepted as mythical. Is there a difference in tone or plot?
Although many scholars accept some or all of these figures as historical, substantial differences of opinion remain. Some claim that all of the kings are historical figures, except Romulus. Others are more hesitant, and recognize only the last three kings (the “Tarquin dynasty”) as historical. Still others accept that Rome had kings in the past, but that the kings portrayed by Roman authors are purely fictional. You should carefully read the evidence below and come to your own conclusions. Is the Regal Period elaborated? Invented? Or somewhere in between?
TEXTS
After Romulus died, the new city struggled to replace him. This period without a leader became known as the interregnum (“time between kings”) and was used whenever Rome found herself without leaders.
After the controversy over the kingship, an offer is made to the outsider Numa. He has the virtue of being both a Sabine and a philosopher. Philosophy made him uninterested in kingship. Because heated desire for the throne was causing problems among the Roman nobility (5.1), Numa's utter lack of interest made him the perfect candidate. Once he became king, Numa focused on religious reforms, and most of the stories about him deal with the origins of Roman rites or priesthoods.
Friendship with deities offered one way to account for exceptionally innovative or smart ideas in antiquity. Some later Romans would also claim a special relationship with one divinity to further their political goals: for example, Sulla associated himself with Fortune. Judgments of Numa's relationship with the nymph Egeria varied: some authors considered it a divine marriage, others claimed it was mentorship, and some called it a convenient lie.
Although Numa's reign is marked by religious innovation, the episode of Jupiter Elicius is unusual. Numa here changes his role from the philosopher and lawgiver we've seen so far to a trickster. His seemingly cavalier attitude towards the gods Faunus, Picus, and Jupiter is typical of Roman religious behavior: Romans could bargain with the gods and were willing to make hairsplitting distinctions (Watson 1992, 30–38). Both elements are on display in this myth. The ritual was referenced in 4.5.2.
A large number of Roman noble families claimed to descend from Numa or his family. In some ways, this is not surprising: Numa is the only king known for not wanting to rule. Connecting oneself with Numa was a compromise between claiming a privileged background and seeming too regal. Moreover, since Romulus died without children, it's Numa who offered Roman nobility the first opportunity to insert themselves into early Roman history – an act which some later writers found contrived. For some families, a connection with Numa may have been associated with hereditary religious offices.
Roman authors were less interested in Numa's peaceful death than the violent death of other kings. But the king also had an unusual burial request: his body and his books. The books of Numa were mysterious even to Romans; Livy relates that when Numa's tomb was found, there was a coffin for the books and it was empty (40.29), although they are absent from his account of Numa's reign. The account of the books’ rediscovery is reminiscent of the myth of Tages (4.4.1, 4.4.3, 4.4.5, 4.4.6).
Hostilius was the grandson of Romulus’ general Hostus Hostilius (3.5.2). Thus the order of Rome's four kings alternates between Latin (Romulus, Hostilius) and Sabine (Numa, Ancus); it's not clear why the Sabine element is stressed so strongly in Rome's early myths. Most of the myths about Tullus Hostilius center around war, particularly the long war with Rome's metropolis24 Alba and its treacherous leader Mettius Fufetius.
The concept of war that's similar to civil war recurs in early Roman history. The war with the Sabines is compared to war between fathers and sons; the war with Alba comes down to siblings; later wars with the Etruscans will also be compared in familial terms. The metaphor emphasizes Rome's fortune and the struggles the city overcame as it rose to power. For readers living at the time of Rome's civil wars in the first century, it was a metaphor that became all too real.
The major event of this war was the duel between two sets of triplets, one from each city. The choice of triplets is intriguing: such multiple births were extremely rare in antiquity, and the number three has magical qualities in many cultures. Our major sources for the duel, Livy and Dionysius, offer substantially different descriptions of the same acts. Consider the effect of Dionysius’ more tragic version compared to Livy's, which suggests Roman pride. How do the authors evoke these different emotions?
After the victory of Horatius, the Albans submitted to Roman power. Rome asked for military aid against the Etruscans (see 8.3 and 8.9 for further wars with Etruria). The Alban leader Mettius Fufetius agreed, but secretly allied with the Etruscans and planned to abandon Rome in the heat of battle. Instead, he double-crossed both sides and withdrew from fighting entirely. After Tullus Hostilius won the day, he called an assembly of the combined Roman and Alban troops and punished Mettius’ treachery.
Tullus Hostilius was known for his ferocity, not religious sentiment. When he tries, in old age, to gain some of Numa's sanctity, he learns that piety requires more than show.
After Tullus Hostilius, Ancus Marcius (r. 641–617) took the throne. He was Numa's grandson, and some suspicions about him are clear from variant accounts of his accession (5.3.4b). His reign is the shortest of all Rome's kings, and much of it is overshadowed by the arrival of the next king, Tarquin.
With the first King Tarquin, we reach the mythic version of Etruscan influence in Rome. There's no doubt that Rome and Etruria had mutual cultural exchange from an early period; it's hard to find a time when Rome wasn't in contact with Etruria. There's little reason to believe that these contacts were due to an Etruscan ruler. Some scholars point to the monumental building projects that Tarquin is believed to have initiated, but Etruria was not the only part of Italy with monumental architecture at that date. Meanwhile, the choice of an Etruscan king as Rome expands continues the pattern of alternating a Latin king (Ancus, Servius) with a foreign king – in this case, the Greco-Etruscan Tarquins. It's likely that this pattern plays a similar role to the interpretation of Rome's foundation as a process: as Rome expands, so too do its influences and rulers. That is not to say that it's impossible that Rome had Etruscan kings; it's simply unlikely that those kings were the Tarquins we read about.
Roman authors frequently confused the deeds of the first and second Tarquin. As you will see, several of the stories that you read below will reappear in 5.6.32 The confusion between the two Tarquins is understandable, since ancient sources frequently refer to these kings as “Tarquin,” without explaining which. A list of overlaps is in the note.
Roman accounts stress that the first Tarquin was half Greek, the son of an exile from Corinth. He thus combines two cultural debts into one: Greek birth, but Etruscan upbringing. His wife, Tanaquil, is a stereotypical Etruscan: a politically active and religiously knowledgeable woman. She plays a huge role in the Tarquins’ history.
The story of Attus Navius is one of several that advertise the power of augury (Rome's preferred method of divination) over other civic, military, or political goals (for another example, see 3.3). Attus Navius the augur was remembered both for his skill and for standing up to the king. Importantly, Tarquin cooperates – a sign that he was not as disrespectful of the gods as the later Tarquins would be.
Servius was born in Tarquin's household. There is significant controversy, ancient and modern, about whether he was actually a slave. Some scholars find it strange that he was a slave, despite Rome's mythical open-doors policy (and first king, Romulus). They prefer to follow the emperor Claudius (4.6.4b) in equating him with the Etruscan warrior Mastarna. In the majority of Roman accounts, however, Servius Tullius seems more similar to Romulus or Iulus: he has strong connections with the hearth and fire, and was an exile from a young age.
You may have noticed that few Roman kings died natural deaths. Tarquin is no exception: the sources are unanimous that he was murdered. Although some suggest that he died in an Etruscan coup (4.6.1), it's far from certain. The jealousy of Ancus’ sons fall into a typical Roman historical pattern of desire for kingship, as we have already seen with Ascanius and Silvius (2.7), Amulius and Numitor (3.1), Romulus and Remus (3.3, 3.4), and Tullus and Ancus (5.3.4b).
Servius was, as 5.4.4a reminds us, the first king to rule without being elected. His reign thus marks a change from elective monarchy to dynasty. Nonetheless, he was fondly remembered as a “good” king by later Romans, possibly due to his social reforms or perhaps by embodying social mobility without a threat to the status quo. He's credited with wanting to make Rome a republic, with substantial policy revisions that had a lasting impact, and with just rule (despite his unorthodox rise to power). His assassination led to the crisis of the monarchy.
Servius’ reign recalls several previous kings. Some versions of his birth story share similarities to Romulus’ (5.4.3), and the “Servian reforms” organize Rome's citizens much as Romulus developed the tribes and curiae (3.5.6, 3.6.1). His association with the goddess Fortune is similar to Numa's relationship with the nymph Egeria (5.2.2), and perhaps should be seen as a mark of later Romans’ approval. (However, there may also be a historical basis to a tyrant claiming Fortune's support; the Pyrgi Tablets, contemporary documents from Etruria, suggest that Etruscan rulers also claimed the support of divine Fortune.) Servius’ ascent to the throne shares themes with the rise of Ancus Marcius. Finally, his building projects associate him with the other two Tarquin rulers. Despite these thematic repetitions, many modern scholars think Servius truly did rule Rome.
As a king who had technically usurped the throne, Servius asserted his right to power in several ways. One was through claiming a special relationship with the goddess of luck.
There are several variations on this story of the theft (or attempted theft) of a divine token. The motif is repeated in 4.6.5b and 8.9.2. Although the success of the thief varies, the message of the story remains the same in every version: Rome is meant to rule the world.
The murder of Servius Tullius repeats many themes found in the murder of Tarquin the Elder. Some scholars have also suggested similarities with the rex Nemorensis, the slave priest of Diana at Nemi who was hunted and killed by his rival.
After killing Servius, Tarquin becomes king. He starts off on the wrong foot: despite many military successes and important public works, he's Rome's last king. This Tarquin becomes known as “The Proud,” a characteristic that is common in tyrant narratives. The “pride” that Tarquin displays is a little different from the qualities you might associate with the word. In Rome, the concept is closely related to transgressing boundaries. Tarquin is “proud” because he ignores the Senate, overworks the people, and puts personal interest before Rome's interest (compare 3.6). These actions may be acceptable for other kings, but Roman kings are more cooperative rulers (3.6.1). By abandoning this model, Tarquin risks his throne.
Tarquin the Proud, as discussed in 5.4. introduction, shares many deeds with the first Tarquin. This doubling is a feature of oral traditions. Because stories are handed down about “Tarquin,” over time the specific Tarquin is lost. To compensate, the narrative becomes associated with both kings.
Although this Tarquin is known as a “tyrant,” you may be surprised by how mild most of his deeds are. The majority of the atrocities in his reign are committed by his relatives (wife and son). Tarquin's failure to rein in his relations, like the failure of Tatius 200 years earlier (3.6.2, 3.6.3), is disastrous for his rule.
Like earlier kings, Tarquin the Proud both fights and makes alliances with nearby cities. His treatment of enemy cities is comparable to earlier kings as well. But Roman sources are eager to emphasize his cruelty towards the conquered, an aspect we saw previously with Tullus Hostilius (5.3.3). Tarquin's cruelty is one marker of his status as a tyrant; interestingly, so are the strengthened relationships with allies that we saw in 5.6.1.
Like his father, Tarquin was associated with a number of city beautification projects, most notably the Temple of Jupiter and the Cloaca Maxima (Rome's city sewer, which drained the Forum). The Tarquins’ building program has led some scholars to call sixth-century Rome “the great city of the Tarquins.”
The Sibyl was the shared name of several female prophets of Apollo. The Sibyl at Cumae is most famous for her role in Vergil's Aeneid (book 6; 2.3.2), but other writers told stories about her as well. One of the most famous is the Sibyl's arrival in Rome with books of prophecy, which Romans consulted and added to for generations. The original Sibylline books burned in the first century BCE and were replaced; the replacements were destroyed in the fifth century ce, although some fragments remain. The Sibyl's cave has been identified and may be visited near Cumae.
The omen of Tarquin's downfall is dramatic, but takes a while to play out in full. The end of the dynasty is mythically guaranteed by Tullia's behavior towards her father; the omen acts as a divine warning; eventually, matters will come to a head when the family commits another crime, the rape of Lucretia (7.6).
Rome's kings came from all over central Italy, but you may have noticed that most of the stories about them center on Rome. This is no accident. Rome gained predominance in this part of Italy long before our sources were writing (potentially as early as the fifth century BCE, and certainly by the third). By the time these local histories were written down, they had a dual role to play: both to burnish the reputation of the locals and to provide a connection with the superpower of Rome. It's not clear that one of these two purposes was more important. Instead, different Roman authors seem to have emphasized different aspects of these tales.
But the centrality of Rome does not completely explain our lack of information about other cities. We also suffer from a loss of information. In the second and first centuries BCE, we know that there were more local histories in circulation. For example, Cato the Elder wrote a work called the Origins, collecting the histories of the towns around Rome itself. The surviving fragments of this work, which you've seen cited in this and earlier chapters, still offer us a valuable alternative vision of Italian history – and come from a man who benefited immensely from Rome's generous open-doors policy. Similarly, the Roman scholar Varro wrote several books on popular customs, religion, and history, which may well have included the customs of Latins in general as well as Roman material.
It may help to think about the lost material in more concrete terms. Consider the various stories you've read in this chapter and in chapters 2 and 3. These three chapters form the backbone of Rome's foundation story: Greek connections (via Troy, Hercules, and Evander), local connections (Romulus), and historical development (the kings). It is likely that most cities in the region once had a fully developed history, like Rome did. Although it is difficult (even impossible) to reconstruct those traditions, we should nonetheless remain aware of their existence. In later years, these towns remained proud of their local legends and heroes. We will learn more about Rome's heroes in chapters 7 and 8.