How a goose saved ancient Rome from disaster

Within the sacred area of the Capitoline Hill, the Romans kept a flock of geese under the protection of Juno Moneta, the goddess who they believed warned the state of danger.

Her temple was the Templum Iunonis Monetæ, which stood on the Arx, the northern summit of the Capitoline Hill, and was part of Rome’s religious centre.

According to Roman religion, the geese were seen as messengers of the gods which gave signs and warnings that were interpreted by priests.

Juno Moneta was part of the Capitoline Triad with Jupiter and Minerva.

According to sources such as Livy and Pliny the Elder, the sacred geese played an important part in the rituals surrounding the temple of Juno.

Roman augurs viewed the behaviour of birds as signs from the gods and, while chickens and birds of prey were more commonly used in official auspices, the geese held a special place within Juno's cult and symbolic tradition.

The augures were priests who interpreted omens and used the auspicia ex avibus, the signs that were drawn from the cries and flight patterns of birds, to guide decisions of state.

As official temple animals, the geese acted as constant reminders that the safety of the state required proper respect for the gods' authority. 

Over time, the geese were honoured in religious festivals, where garlands were placed around their necks and offerings were made in their name.

Their warning cries had become part of Rome’s sacred story of survival. Public rituals remembered the event for generations, and one of these may have been held on the Kalends of June in Juno’s honour. 

After the Roman army had suffered defeat at the Battle of the Allia on 18 July 390 BCE, the Gallic Senones, led by Brennus, advanced on Rome and entered without resistance.

Because the soldiers had fled in panic and the population had scattered, there was little defence, and those who remained, including priests, senators, and a small military force, took refuge on the Capitoline Hill and prepared for a siege. 

By then, most of the city lay in ruins. The Gauls had occupied it for several months, and had burned buildings and had looted what was left.

On the hill, the defenders relied on stored provisions. Eventually, they had consumed nearly all available animals.

Yet they continued to protect the geese of Juno’s temple. Since killing them would violate religious law, they refused to touch them even during starvation. 

Meanwhile, Brennus grew frustrated with the stalemate and ordered a stealth assault on the citadel.

His men chose the northern face of the Capitoline, likely near the Asylum or the steep slope of the Tarpeian Rock, which appeared too steep to climb and had been left poorly defended.

Under cover of darkness, they had begun to scale the cliff. Roman guards had failed to notice. Even the dogs were reported to be silent. 

Suddenly, the geese raised a loud alarm, and their cries echoed across the hill and reached the ears of Marcus Manlius, who had held the consulship and had taken command of the defence.

He rushed to the edge of the wall and spotted the first Gauls reaching the top. He acted quickly and struck one of them with his shield, which knocked them backwards and caused the others to lose balance.

Several attackers fell from the ledge in panic. 

Since Roman soldiers had gathered and had driven back the intruders who remained, they made the area safe and stepped up patrols to prevent further breaches.

The Gauls had almost succeeded and the Romans came to believe the geese had acted under divine command, so the event became part of state memory tied to the worship of Juno and the religious protection of Rome. 

Each year after the event, Romans held ceremonies to remember the incident, in which they crucified the silent dogs, according to Aulus Gellius and Pliny the Elder, as a punishment for their failure.

They believed that the gods had saved the Republic because the people had maintained their faith, and because they kept sacred rituals even during hardship, the defenders had earned divine assistance.

Ancient historians such as Livy, Plutarch, and Dionysius of Halicarnassus recorded the tale in detailed accounts.

However, their works were written centuries after the event. Livy’s version appears in Ab Urbe Condita, Book 5, composed between 27 and 9 BCE.

Although the sack of Rome by the Gauls is supported by archaeological evidence, including burn layers and structural damage from the early fourth century BCE, some details are uncertain and cannot be definitely connected to the Senones.

The cries of the geese and the silence of the dogs rest entirely on literary tradition. 

Marcus Manlius had held the consulship in 392 BCE and had commanded the defence of the Capitoline during the siege.

Later accusations that he wanted more political power led to his execution when he was thrown from the Tarpeian Rock.

Roman writers may have exaggerated his heroism at the Capitoline to explain his reputation and the mixture of honour and shame that followed his death.

Although Roman sources praise his actions, he was not the first in his family to carry the cognomen “Capitolinus,” which other members of the Manlia gens had used earlier, though his name would later be associated with charges of treason. 

Importantly, the religious role of the geese was not an invention of the later historians.

Records of rituals that involved the sacred birds continued well into the Roman Republic and were likely based on traditions that had continued for a long time.

Romans believed that signs from the gods appeared in moments of danger, the tale seemed more believable to many Romans. 

Some modern historians suggest that the tale may have developed as a political and religious story with a moral.

Since Rome had survived the siege despite overwhelming odds, later writers needed a divine reason for that survival, and the geese provided an answer that matched the city’s trust in signs from the gods and emphasised pious conduct, and they warned that human failure could bring ruin.

Some ancient accounts also mention that the Gauls demanded a ransom of 1,000 pounds of gold, and that Brennus famously threw his sword onto the scales with the words "Vae victis!" 

Ultimately, the historical truth of the incident may never be fully known. Yet the tale's survival suggests how stories about help from the gods influenced Roman thinking.