Camillus

In their perplexity, a serving-maid named Tutula, or, as some call her, Philotis, advised the magistrates to send her to the enemy with some maidservants of the comeliest sort and most genteel appearance, all arrayed like freeborn brides; she would attend to the rest. The magistrates yielded to her persuasions, chose out as many maid-servants as she thought meet for her purpose, arrayed them in fine raiment and gold, and handed them over to the Latins, who were encamped near the city.

In the night, the rest of the maidens stole away the enemy’s swords, while Tutula, or Philotis, climbed a wild fig-tree of great height, and after spreading out her cloak behind her, held out a lighted torch towards Rome, this being the signal agreed upon between her and the magistrates, though no other citizen knew of it. Hence it was that the soldiers sallied out of the city tumultuously, as the magistrates urged them on, calling out one another’s names, and with much ado getting into rank and file. They stormed the entrenchments of the enemy, who were fast asleep and expecting nothing of the sort, captured their camp, and slew most of them.

This happened on the Nones of what was then called Quintilis, now July, and the festival since held on that day is in remembrance of the exploit. For, to begin with, they run out of the city gate in throngs, calling out loudly many local and common names, such as Gaius, Marcus, Lucius, and the like, in imitation of the way the soldiers once called aloud upon each other in their haste.

Next, the maidservants, in gay attire, run about jesting and joking with the men they meet. They have a mock battle, too, with one another, implying that they once took a hand in the struggle with the Latins. And as they feast, they sit in the shade of a fig-tree’s branches. The day is called the Capratine Nones, from the wild fig-tree, as they suppose, from which the maid held forth her torch; this goes by the name of caprificus.