History of Rome

​A huge force of the Sabines advanced with hostile devastation almost to the very walls of the city; the fields were laid waste, and terror was struck into the city. Then the plebeians willingly took up arms; while the tribunes protested in vain, two large armies were enrolled.

​Nautius led one of them against the Sabines and, having pitched his camp near Eretum, by means of small expeditions, for the most part nocturnal incursions, inflicted such vast devastation on the Sabine territory that, compared to it, the Roman borders seemed almost untouched by war.

​Minucius had neither the same fortune nor the same strength of mind in conducting his business; for although he had pitched his camp not far from the enemy, without having suffered any great disaster, he kept himself fearfully within his camp.

​When the enemy perceived this, their boldness grew, as usually happens, from the fear of another; and having attacked the camp by night, after open force had made little progress, they surrounded it with works on the following day. Before these, being thrown up on all sides, could close the exits with a rampart, five horsemen, sent out through the enemy’s outposts, carried the news to Rome that the consul and his army were besieged.

​Nothing so unexpected or unlooked for could have happened. Therefore, there was as much panic and trepidation as if the enemy were besieging the city itself, and not the camp.

​They summoned the consul Nautius. Since there seemed to be too little security in him, and it was resolved that a dictator should be appointed to restore the shattered state of affairs, Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus was named by consensus of all.

​It is worth while for those to hear who despise all human things in comparison with riches, and who think that there is no place for great honor or virtue except where wealth flows in abundance. The sole hope of the empire of the Roman people, ​Lucius Quinctius, was cultivating a field of four iugera across the Tiber, opposite that very place where the dockyards are now, which is called the Quinctian Meadows.

​There, being found by the ambassadors—whether digging a ditch leaning on his spade, or while plowing, but certainly, as is well established, intent on rustic labor—after greetings were given and returned in turn, he was requested to put on his toga and hear the senate’s commands, with the prayer that it might turn out well for himself and the republic. Filled with wonder, and asking repeatedly “Is all well?”, he ordered his wife Racilia to bring his toga quickly from the cottage.

​As soon as he stepped forward, clad in it after wiping away the dust and sweat, the ambassadors congratulated him and hailed him as dictator, invited him to the city, and explained what terror there was in the army.

​A boat was publicly provided for Quinctius, and when he had crossed over, three of his sons, who had come out to meet him, received him, and then other relatives and friends, and then the greater part of the senators.

​Surrounded by this crowd, with the lictors preceding him, he was conducted to his house. There was also a huge gathering of the plebeians; but they by no means looked upon Quinctius with such joy, thinking both the power of the office to be excessive and the man himself to be more vehement than the office itself. And indeed, on that night, nothing was done in the city except keeping watch.