Livia decided to speak up. ‘Leave Aurelius alone,’ she said, turning towards Stephanus. ‘Fear is fear. He tried once, risked dying and has no intention of trying again.’
‘That’s right,’ confirmed Aurelius without batting an eye.
‘Exactly,’ shot back Livia. ‘We’ll do fine on our own. I’m the one that saved him, not the other way around. What direction did you say the convoy took?’
‘South,’ replied Stephanus. ‘They’re on the road for Fanum.’
‘They must mean to cross the Apennines.’
‘Most probably, but we’re not sure. We’ll soon find out.’
Aurelius continued to adjust the straps on his horse as if the conversation no longer involved him. Livia pretended not to notice and continued talking with Stephanus: ‘Is it true that Mledo has returned?’
‘Last night.’
‘Were there any prisoners?’
Aurelius spun around and his eyes glared with tension: fear, hope, trepidation. Those few words had managed to disintegrate his apparent equilibrium.
‘About fifty, I’d say, but I could be wrong; it was nearly dark.’
Aurelius came closer: ‘Did you recognize . . . anyone?’
‘How could I?’ replied Stephanus. ‘The only one that stood out was a gigantic black man, an Ethiopian, I’d say. At least six feet tall, loaded down with chains.’
‘Batiatus!’ exclaimed Aurelius, his face lighting up. ‘It has to be him!’ He grabbed Stephanus’s cloak: ‘He’s a friend; I fought alongside him for many years. I beg you, tell me where they’ve taken him. Other comrades may be with him.’
Stephanus looked at him with a touch of irony: ‘You’re ready to try another dramatic break-out?’
‘Will you help me or won’t you?’
‘Strange question for someone who has just refused his own help.’
Aurelius bowed his head: ‘I’ll do anything, but just tell me where they’ve been taken, if you can.’
‘To Classis, but that doesn’t mean much. That’s the port of Ravenna; from Classis you can go anywhere in the world.’
Aurelius showed signs of crumbling: his joy at learning that his friend was alive was crushed by the awareness that there was nothing he could do for him. Livia saw the grief and discouragement in his expression and felt pity for him: ‘They may be taking them to Misenus, near Naples. The other base of the imperial fleet is there; it’s almost completely out of commission, but they sometimes need rowers. It’s also the most important slave market on the peninsula. You can try to reach the base and get information. With a little time and patience you may be able to find him. If your friend is as big as Stephanus says, he certainly won’t pass unobserved.
‘Listen,’ continued the girl with a calmer, more conciliating tone, ‘I’ll be heading south to follow the convoy that’s accompanying the emperor. We can start off together, if you like. Then you’ll go your way, and I’ll go mine.’
‘You’re going to try and liberate the boy . . . alone?’
‘That’s my affair, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe not.’
‘And what could make you change your mind?’
‘If I found my comrades, would you help me to free them?’
Stephanus intervened: ‘There’s a large reward, ten thousand silver solidi, for whoever brings the boy to the old port of Fanum on the Adriatic sea. A ship will be waiting there to take him to the East every first day of the new moon, at dawn, for two months, beginning with the moon of December. The ship will be easy to recognize: a standard with a monogram of Constantine will be hoisted astern. With all that reward money you’ll be able to buy your friends back, if you find out where they are.’
‘But if I found them first, they could prove vital on this mission. They are the best combatants on earth, but above all they are Roman soldiers, loyal to the emperor,’ said Aurelius.
Stephanus nodded, seemingly satisfied: ‘What must I tell Antemius?’
‘Tell him we’ll be leaving today, and that I will keep him informed as best I can,’ said Livia.
‘I will,’ replied Stephanus. ‘Well then, good luck.’
‘We’ll need it,’ replied Livia. ‘I’ll let you out. I want to be sure no one has seen you.’
They reached Stephanus’s small, flat-bottomed wooden boat, designed for navigating the lagoon. A servant was sitting at the oars. Livia climbed with amazing agility on to a large willow whose branches stretched over the water. She scanned the area: not a soul to be seen. She signalled to Stephanus, who got into the boat. Livia stopped him: ‘What did Antemius offer Basiliscus to convince him to accept his proposal?’
‘This I do not know. Antemius doesn’t tell me everything, but in Constantinople everyone knows that nothing happens in the West without Antemius knowing about it. His prestige and power are enormous.’ Livia nodded. ‘That soldier . . . do you really think we can trust him?’
‘He’s like a small army on his own,’ admitted Livia. ‘I know a fighter when I see him. I can recognize the gaze of a lion, even if he’s wounded. But there’s something else in his eyes that reminds me of . . .’
‘Of what?’
Livia’s lips crinkled in a bitter smile: ‘If I knew, I’d be able to give a name and a face to the only person who left a mark in my life and in my soul. Apart from my father and mother, who died such a long time ago.’
Stephanus was about to say something, but Livia had already turned her back to him and was walking away, with that slow, silent, predatory pace of hers. The servant bent his back and dipped the oars into the water, and the little boat slowly drifted away from the shore.
*
The column escorting Romulus’s carriage crossed the countryside along a narrow, arduous trail that skirted Fanum to avoid the great number of curious onlookers who would have lined the way and perhaps interfered with their progress. The orders for silence and secrecy must have been very strict, and Ambrosinus did not fail to note the digressive manoeuvre: ‘I believe our itinerary is leading us to a pass on the Apennines. We’ll be back on via Flaminia soon, and we’ll be crossing the highest peak through a tunnel excavated in the mountain. It is called forulus, an extraordinary work of engineering designed at the time of Emperor Augustus and completed by Emperor Vespasianus. This zone is rough and mountainous, my boy, and crawling with brigands. It is dangerous to cross the pass on one’s own. The authorities have tried time and time again to rid the countryside of this nuisance, even by establishing special guard corps, without success. It is poverty that produces brigands: they are mostly farmers impoverished by exorbitant taxes and famine, who have had no choice but to take to the bush.’
Romulus seemed to be looking at the thick groves of oak and ash which flanked the road and at the herdsmen who here and there were watching some poor thin cows grazing. He was listening, however, and responded thoughtfully: ‘Laying taxes that ruin people is not only unjust; it is stupid. A man brought to ruin pays no taxes, and if he becomes a bandit he obliges the state to spend much more, just to make the roads safe.’
‘Your observation is perfect,’ Ambrosinus complimented him, ‘but perhaps too simple to be put into practice. Governors are greedy and government officials often stupid, and these two problems give rise to frightful consequences.’
‘But there must be an explanation behind all this. Why do governors have to be necessarily greedy, and officials necessarily stupid? You have often taught me that Augustus, Tiberius, Hadrian and Marcus Aurelius were wise and honest princes who punished corrupt governors – but perhaps not even this is true: perhaps men have always been stupid, greedy and evil.’
At that moment Wulfila passed alongside them, galloping up to a hill which would allow him to scrutinize the surrounding countryside and watch his men’s movements. The ugly wound that disfigured him was beginning to scar over, but his face was still quite red and swollen and a purulent liquid seeped from the stitches. Perhaps that was why he was always in such a bad mood. He would fly
into a rage for any reason, and Ambrosinus avoided arousing his suspicion or misgiving in any way. However, he was contemplating a plan to win over the brute’s trust and perhaps even his gratitude.
‘It’s understandable that you have such a negative vision of the world just now,’ he answered Romulus. ‘I would be surprised if you didn’t. In reality, human destiny – and even the destiny of a people or an empire – is often conditioned by causes and events which are beyond man’s control. The empire defended itself for centuries against the barbarian attacks. Many emperors were elected to the dignity of their rank by their soldiers at the front, and died at the front, sword in hand, without ever having seen Rome or discussed any matter whatsoever with the Senate.
‘The attack was often multilateral, coming in waves from various directions, and waged by many populations at once. This is why the great wall was built, at such expense, extending from the mountains of Britannia to the deserts of Syria. Over three thousand miles long! Hundreds of thousands of soldiers were recruited. As many as thirty-five legions were called up at once, with nearly half a million men! No expense, no sacrifice seemed too great to the Caesars in order to save the empire, and civilization with it, but in doing so they did not realize that costs had become intolerable, and that the taxes they levied to cover them impoverished the farmers, the breeders, the craftsmen, destroying trade and even reducing the number of births! Why put children into the world to have them live in misery and deprivation?
‘Eventually, it became impossible to stave off the invasions, and so our leaders imagined that they could settle the barbarians peaceably within our own borders and recruit them into our army so they could fight off other barbarians . . . It was a fatal error, but perhaps they had no choice: poverty and oppression had killed off patriotism in the citizens, and it became necessary to use mercenaries – who have now turned into our masters.’
Ambrosinus fell silent, aware that this was not just a history lesson for his pupil. He had called up very real and very recent events for the boy, events that had wounded him to the quick. That sad boy sitting opposite him was the last Emperor of the Western Empire, after all – an actor in the immense tragedy, despite himself, not a mere spectator.
‘Will you write all these things in your history?’ asked Romulus.
‘I do not aspire to writing history: others can do that much better than me, using more elegant language. I only want to leave a memory of my personal affairs and the events I’ve witnessed directly.’
‘You’ll have time to do that. Years and years of imprisonment. Why did you want to come with me? You could have stayed in Ravenna or gone back to your homeland, in Britannia. Is it true that the nights have no end there?’
‘You already know the answer to your first question. I care for you deeply and I am firmly devoted to your family. As far as the second, it’s not quite—’ began Ambrosinus, but Romulus interrupted him.
‘That’s what I’d like for myself. A night without end. A sleep without dreams.’ The boy’s eyes were empty, and Ambrosinus did not know how to answer.
*
They travelled all day, and the tutor tried to be sensitive to every change of mood of his pupil, without losing sight of what was happening outside. They didn’t stop until dusk. The days had become very short, and marching hours were limited. The barbarian soldiers lit a fire, and a few of them disappeared on a horseback raid through the countryside, returning with some chickens tied in bunches and slaughtered sheep hanging from their saddles. They must have sacked some isolated farms. Their easy prey was soon skinned and feathered and roasting on the embers.
Wulfila sat on a rock apart from the others and awaited his portion. His face was dark and his features were exaggerated dramatically by the reflection of the flames. Ambrosinus, whose eye was always on his enemy, walked up to him slowly and in full light so he wouldn’t become riled or suspicious. When he was close enough to make himself heard, he said: ‘I am a doctor and an expert in medicines. I can do something for that wound: it must hurt terribly.’
Wulfila sneered and made a gesture as if to squash an irritating insect, but Ambrosinus did not move and carried on regardless: ‘I know what you’re thinking: you’ve been wounded many a time before, and sooner or later the lesion has healed and the pain has passed. It’s very different in this case. One’s face is the most difficult part of the body to cure, because your soul emerges more in your face than anywhere else. It is much more sensitive and much more vulnerable as well. That wound is infected, and if the infection spreads it will devastate your appearance beyond all recognition.’
He turned back towards the carriage, but Wulfila’s voice stopped him: ‘Wait.’
Ambrosinus took his satchel and had the soldiers bring him some wine which he used to wash the wound, squeezing out the pus until the skin bled clean. He removed the stitches, applying a paste of malva and wheat bran and then bandages.
‘Don’t think even for an instant that I’m grateful to you,’ grumbled Wulfila when Ambrosinus had finished.
‘I certainly would not expect that.’
‘Why did you do it then?’
‘You are a beast. Your pain can only make you more ferocious. I did it in my own interest, Wulfila, and in the boy’s.’
He returned to the carriage to put away his satchel. A soldier arrived with some roast meat on a spit which the old man and the boy ate. The air was cold; they were in the mountains at the end of autumn and the hour was late. Ambrosinus preferred to ask for another blanket rather than lie down next to the fire, as the others were doing. The heat made their stink unbearable. Romulus ate the meat and even drank some wine, at his tutor’s insistence, which gave him a little energy and desire to live.
They stretched out next to each other under the starry sky.
‘Do you understand why I did that?’ asked Ambrosinus.
‘Cleaned that butcher’s face? Yes, I can imagine why you did it; you mustn’t stroke a ferocious dog the wrong way.’
‘Yes, that’s it, more or less.’
They fell into silence, listening to the crackle of the fire as the soldiers kept adding dry branches, and watching the sparks that whirled up into the sky.
‘Do you pray, before sleeping?’ asked Ambrosinus.
‘Yes,’ replied Romulus. ‘I pray to the spirits of my parents.’
8
LIVIA SPURRED ON HER horse along a narrow trail that climbed towards the mountain ridge, then stopped to wait for Aurelius who had taken another route through the woods. From the crest they could easily spy the opening to the Flaminia tunnel which crossed the mountain from side to side. They took up position behind some beech shrubs, and didn’t have to wait long before a group of Heruli on horseback emerged. Their commander appeared at the head of about thirty armed soldiers and then came the carriage, followed by the rear guard.
Aurelius started as he recognized Wulfila, and instinctively looked at the bow Livia had strapped across her back.
‘Don’t think about it,’ said the girl, catching on. ‘Even if you managed to hit him, the others would overpower us, and they’d probably take out their anger on the boy.’
Aurelius bit his lip.
‘The time will come,’ insisted Livia. ‘We must have patience now.’
Aurelius watched the rickety carriage until it disappeared round a bend in the road. Livia put a hand on his shoulder: ‘There’s unresolved business between the two of you, isn’t there?’
‘I killed some of his best men, tried to carry off the prisoner in his custody and sliced his face in two when he tried to stop me. I’ve turned him into a monster for the rest of his days: is that enough for you?’
‘So it’s simply revenge, is it? I would have said a question of life or death.’
Aurelius didn’t answer. He was chewing on a blade of dry grass and looking down towards the valley.
‘Don’t tell me that was the first time you’d met.’
‘It’s possible that I’d seen h
im before, but I don’t remember. I’ve met more barbarians than I can count through all these years of war.’ But in that moment he saw himself face to face with Wulfila in the corridor of the imperial palace, sword against sword, and the hoarse voice of his adversary saying: ‘I know you, Roman! I’ve seen you before.’
Livia stood in front of him and looked searchingly into his eyes. Aurelius looked away.
‘You’re afraid to look into yourself, and you don’t want anyone else to do it either. Why?’ demanded Livia.
‘Would you strip nude here in front of me?’ he replied, eyes inflamed.
She stared back without batting an eye: ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘If I loved you.’
‘But you don’t love me. And I don’t love you. Right?’
‘That’s right,’ replied Livia with a voice just as firm as his.
Aurelius took Juba by the bridle and waited until the girl untied her bay. ‘We have a mission to carry out that will keep us side-by-side for some time. We will have to work together very closely and we have to be able to count on one another blindly. Each of us must avoid making the other uncomfortable or troubled. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?’
‘Perfectly,’ responded Livia.
Aurelius began to descend the mountain side, leading Juba by the reins. ‘If we want to attempt to rescue the emperor,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘it has to be along the way. Once the convoy has reached its destination, it will be impossible.’
‘Two against seventy? Doesn’t sound like a good idea to me – and your wound hasn’t completely healed. We can’t risk failing again.’
‘Well, what do you propose then? You must have a plan. Or are we just going to continue on without rhyme or reason?’
‘First we have to find out where they’re headed, then we’ll come up with a plan for breaking in and carrying off the boy. There’s no other way: we didn’t have time to enrol any men of our own in Ravenna, and even if we had, Odoacer’s spies are so numerous that the plot would have been uncovered immediately. Even though this may seem strange to you, our main advantage lies in the fact that no one knows we exist. No one would ever suspect that two wayfarers could attempt such a feat. You nearly succeeded the first time just because no one could have expected such a sortie. If we do involve others, it must be far away from Ravenna, where no one knows anything about us.’
The Last Legion Page 8
