Livia walked lightly up the stairs and flattened into the shadows behind the half-closed entry door. She took her bow out from under her cloak and placed the quiver full of sharp arrows on the ground. Aurelius was approaching the swindler.
‘Ah, our mysterious friend with the money. Willing to bet that the black man will lose, then?’
‘I’ve just seen him. He’s frightening! You were right, a real Hercules. How are you going to tame him?’
‘That’s a secret. I can’t say.’
‘You tell me the secret, and I’ll hand over the money,’ he said, shaking the bag he held in his hand.
The man looked at it greedily. ‘If I say it’s a sure thing, you can trust me. Look, this is my share,’ he said, indicating a pile of gold solids.
Other bookmakers near him were shouting: ‘Come forward! On with the bets, folks, the show is about to begin! Who’s betting on the black titan?’ As the buzz and the confusion grew, a group of servants began to set up a kind of iron barrier that marked off the field of combat, while a group of armed men at the end of the room took position. Aurelius looked up towards Livia and nodded towards the security guards, whom she had already spotted.
The first pair of combatants entered the marked off space and the duel began, amidst the increasingly excited goading of the crowd, thronging close. These preliminary fights were just a warm up for the most eagerly awaited event: the ordeal of the black Hercules!
Very little time remained. What had the bookmaker meant about a secret? Aurelius thought he should make him spit it out at any cost, even with a dagger to his ribs; in the confusion, no one would notice. He saw that a huge amount of money was accumulating on the table and was gripped by panic. How could he be so certain that the black man was going to lose? Their eyes met for an instant and the man gestured as if to say: ‘Are you in?’
The guards seemed distracted by the fight, which was getting more furious by the moment as it drew towards its rapid conclusion. Struck in the shoulder, one of the combatants vacillated and his adversary ran him through. The delirious screaming of the crowd exploded into thousands of echoes which shattered against the arches and pillars.
Just then, Aurelius’s ears, which were used to picking up the slightest sound even at the height of a battle, made out some turmoil on his left, coming from the changing room. He slipped along the wall and got close enough to see. Four men had tied up Vatrenus and they were gagging him, while his armour and salleted helmet were being donned by another gladiator of the same build and height.
So that was their strategy! They had realized that Batiatus never dealt a death blow to the man wearing that armour and they were getting ready to punish him for it: Batiatus would be taken by surprise and finished off by an enemy disguised as a friend, and the gamblers would win an enormous sum of money. In his heart, Aurelius thanked the gods who were giving him this magnificent gift, and he crouched into a corner to brood on his fury and channel all of his power into revenge.
They were letting Batiatus out. Wearing only a loin-cloth, his muscular body gleaming with sweat, he carried a small round shield and a short, curved Saracen sword. The crowd roared while the servants dragged away the fallen gladiator by hooking him through the heel. The man disguised as Vatrenus followed close behind. Aurelius saw his moment. He rushed into the changing room, surprising the two guards. He beheaded the first with a swipe of his sword and stuck his dagger hilt-deep into the other’s chest. Both men fell over without uttering a cry.
‘Vatrenus, it’s me!’ he said, untying his friend and removing the gag.
‘By Hercules! How did you get here? Hurry! Batiatus is in danger.’
‘I know. Let’s go.’
As they ran out, Livia, anxious at losing sight of Aurelius, spotted them. She nocked the arrow and pulled the bowstring, ready to strike.
Vatrenus and Aurelius made their way through the noisy crowd, trying to get to the front. Batiatus was faced with three adversaries, but he was clearly striking out much more violently at the two at his sides, and not the man directly in front of him, who he must have thought his friend.
They arrived just as the stand-in for Vatrenus – after a series of spectacular but off-the-mark blows, typical of a sham skirmish – suddenly went directly for the base of the giant’s throat with a well-aimed lunge. At the same instant, the real Vatrenus yelled at the top of his lungs: ‘Batiatus! Beware!’ Batiatus had a flash of recognition and dodged to avoid the death blow, but the blade cut through the skin on his left shoulder.
Aurelius had already knocked over the barrier and run through one of the surviving gladiators, while Vatrenus took care of the other. Batiatus recognized his friend fighting bare-faced alongside him and, having recovered his balance, charged at Vatrenus’s double and felled him with a single slash of his sword. Before the throng could comprehend what was happening, the three of them burst forward with their weapons outstretched, cutting through the crowd and running to the stairs.
‘This way!’ shouted Aurelius. ‘Hurry!’ Pure pandemonium broke loose, with the terrified onlookers scattering in every direction.
The guards gave chase, but Livia was waiting for them. The first two were struck with deadly precision, one in the chest and the other in the middle of his forehead. A third was nailed to the ground just a few steps from the stairs. The others, about twenty in all, managed to reach the base of the stairway and set off in pursuit, shouting out in alarm. The custodian leaned over the gallery to see what was going on, but Livia gave him a push that sent him tumbling over. His scream was only interrupted by a brutal meeting with the floor one hundred feet below.
Aurelius and his comrades had almost reached the exit when the door snapped shut from outside, with the sound of a bolt being drawn. The guards were close behind them on the stairs and the four fugitives had no choice but to turn around and face them. Batiatus grabbed the first within reach and dashed him into the others like a rag doll, sending them all rolling down the stairs. Then he turned and shouted ‘Get back!’ His friends moved aside as he lunged at the door like a battering ram. Shoved off its hinges, it crashed to the ground and the four of them ran outside. One of the guards had been crushed by the falling door, while the other took off at the mere sight of that black demon emerging from a cloud of plaster dust.
‘This way! Follow me!’ shouted Livia, but Aurelius headed towards the flood gate of the water supply circuit.
‘They wanted a swim and they’ll have one, by Hercules!’
‘There’s no time!’ pleaded Livia. ‘We have to go! Now!’
But Aurelius was already at the winch with Batiatus at his side. The gears were rusty and jammed, but the giant’s force released the mechanism. The gate lifted and the water rushed inside with the din of a waterfall. The desperate cries of the crowd issued from the narrow door opening like a choir of damned souls from the depths of hell. The two friends were already running after Livia and Vatrenus down the slope to where Aurelius had tied their horses.
A shout reached them: ‘Wait for us! We’re coming with you!’
‘Who are they?’ demanded Aurelius, looking back.
‘Companions in misfortune!’ replied Batiatus, panting. ‘Move it! There’s not a moment to lose!’
Aurelius and Livia leaped on their horses and guided the others to the mill at the edge of an olive grove where three more steeds were waiting.
‘I didn’t think there’d be so many of you! The lightest pair up,’ ordered Aurelius. ‘Batiatus, that one’s yours!’ he added, pointing at a massive Pannonian steed, black as coal.
‘I’ll bet he is!’ shouted Batiatus, springing into the saddle. At that moment, a trumpet sounded sharp blasts of alarm.
‘Let’s go!’ cried Livia. ‘They’ll be on us any moment!’
They galloped through the olive wood until they reached a cave dug into the tufa, a shelter for the sheep that grazed at night among the stubble. Completely concealed from view, they watched as the fields filled with shado
wy figures on horseback, their burning torches slicing through the darkness like plunging meteors. Shouts, angry orders and calls echoed in every crag and cranny, but the old comrades in arms saw nothing and heard nothing. Out of their minds with joy and still unbelieving, they embraced each other with fervour. They recognized each other in the dark without the need for sight, by their smells, by the sounds of their voices broken by emotion, by the rock hardness of their bodies, like old mastiffs returning from a midnight round up: Aurelianus Ambrosius Ventidius, Rufius Aelius Vatrenus and Cornelius Batiatus, soldiers of Rome, Romans by Roman oath.
PART TWO
13
THEY SET OFF AGAIN immediately at a gallop towards Cuma, where a little fishermen’s village rose on the sea near the ruins of the once-glorious Greek city. Livia seemed to know the territory quite well and she moved in the semi-darkness with great speed and confidence. The escape of four slaves, the killing of half a dozen guards and the flooding of the piscina mirabilis had caused such an uproar that it was in their best interest to find a safe and out-of-the-way haven. Batiatus was so enormous that he would attract people’s attention no matter where he was, so they had to find a way to get by unobserved. They decided to avoid lodging houses, taverns and public places. Livia had them take haven in a part of the dead city which was said to be the ancient lair of the Sybil of Cuma, a dark cave supposedly frequented by demons. She figured that one more black demon would only serve to stoke the popular imagination.
They stopped inside the tumbledown city walls and Livia took her companions inside the cave, actually a kind of artificial trapezium-shaped tunnel dug into the stone. They managed to light a feeble fire, and then Livia stitched up Batiatus’s wound, bandaging it as well as possible. She gave him her blanket to cover himself, as the others tried to settle in that uncomfortable shelter. Aurelius gathered up a quantity of dried leaves; some he threw on the fire, obtaining more smoke than flames, while the others he spread out on the ground so they would have something to stretch out on. Livia took all the food she had out of her satchel, too little for all of them: some cheese and olives and a loaf of bread. She offered it to those exhausted men.
‘It’s not much, just enough to fool our stomachs for tonight. Tomorrow we’ll see what we can find. We all need our rest now; it’s almost dawn.’
‘Rest?’ said Batiatus. ‘You must be joking, girl! There are too many things we have to tell each other. Do you know who we are? How much we’ve gone through together? Gods in heaven, I just can’t believe it. This fellow says: “Hey, sack of coal, don’t disappoint me with all the money I’ve bet on you.” I turn around to spit in the son of a bitch’s face, and who do I see? Aurelianus Ambrosius Ventidius in flesh and blood, right in front of me! By Hercules, I thought I was going to drop dead right then and there, and I said to myself, “What can a no-good like him be up to here? Want to bet that the bastard came all the way here just to free his good old friend?”’ His voice trembled as he spoke and his eyes twinkled like a child’s. ‘“Want to bet that he tracked me down in this disgusting hole?” But then, I think, “How did he ever find me in this shit hole, who told him I was here . . .” Gods in heaven, I still can’t believe it. Punch me, I want to know if I’m dreaming.’
Vatrenus dealt him a heavy blow on the head: ‘See? You’re awake! Everything’s all right now, black man. We made it, we made it out! We fucked them all! Can you imagine, once the public authorities got there, how many respectable people, how many devoted matrons, they found floundering in the water? Caught red handed at a clandestine gladiators’ fight? If only I’d been a frog, to see their faces! Can you imagine how many people will be sneezing and coughing tomorrow in the city?’
Aurelius burst out laughing, and all the others with him, laughter that left them gasping for air, laughter as liberating as the cry of a babe who has been in fear’s grip too long.
Livia watched them silently. Their male camaraderie was fascinating, a concentration of all men’s best virtues: friendship, solidarity, sacrifice, enthusiasm. Not even their rough barracks talk, which she certainly wasn’t used to, bothered her in the midst of their glee.
Then, suddenly, silence fell: the silence of remembrance and regret; the silence of the common memories of men who had faced the same dangers and suffered the same pain and the same toil for years, with only their friendship to comfort them, only the esteem and faith they had in each other; the silence of deep feeling and incredulous delight at finding each other again, against all possible odds, against the most adverse destiny. She could almost see the thoughts that passed through their moist eyes, under their furrowed brows; she could see their past in their callused hands, their scarred limbs, their shoulders that seemed to sag under the weight of their arms. They were thinking of the comrades who were no longer with them, those they had lost forever, of their commander, Claudianus, wounded and then slain by the fury of his enemies, deprived of the patrician honour of sleeping in the mausoleum of his ancestors.
It was Aurelius who broke that emotion-laden silence as he intercepted the curious glances of his comrades towards Livia. They must have been asking themselves who she was and how she had ended up in such a place with them.
‘This is Livia Prisca,’ he said. ‘She comes from a village of huts on the lagoon between Ravenna and Altinum, and she’s the chief here, whether you like it or not.’
‘You’re kidding. You’re the chief here, although I could pull rank on you,’ shot back Vatrenus.
‘No. She saved my life and she gave me something worth fighting for. She’s a woman who’s a lot like a man . . . but better, in many ways. And she’s the one . . . that is, she’ll pay you to join us in a mission, a mission that I’ll be leading. Is that clear?’
Batiatus shook his head, perplexed, but Livia interrupted, nodding towards the two men who had joined them in their escape: ‘What about them? Who are they? Can we trust them?’
‘We’re grateful that you’ve let us come with you,’ said one of them. ‘You’ve saved our lives. My name is Demetrius, I’m a Greek from Heracleia and I’m a prisoner of war. I was captured by the Goths at Sirmium while I was patrolling the Danube in my boat, and then sold to Odoacer’s Heruli. I was sent here to serve in the fleet because I was a sailor. I’m an excellent swordsman, that I can assure you, and no one can best me in the art of knife-throwing. This is my friend and comrade in arms Orosius. He’s taken part in military campaigns all over the world, and his skin is as tough as leather.’
‘They are worthy men,’ added Vatrenus. ‘They’ve always acted fairly, in all the time we’ve been together. They detest the barbarians as we do, and their only dream is to become free men again.’
‘Do you have families?’ asked Aurelius.
‘I had a family,’ answered Demetrius. ‘A wife and two boys of fourteen and sixteen, but I’ve heard nothing of them for five long years. They lived in the village near our winter camp. While I was away on a reconnaissance mission down the river, the Alans set up a bridge of boats during the night. They took our people by surprise and massacred them. When I returned, I found only ash and coal and black mud, under torrential rain. And corpses. Everywhere. Were I to live a hundred years, I will never forget that scene. I turned them over one by one, so much anguish in my heart, expecting at any moment to see a beloved face . . .’ His voice broke and he fell still.
‘I had a wife and a daughter,’ began his companion. ‘My wife’s name was Asteria and she was as lovely as the sun. One day, when I returned on leave from a long campaign in Mesia, I found that my city had been sacked by the Rugians. Both my wife and my daughter had been carried off. I’d heard that the tribe was still in the area, and my commander sent out native guides with a ransom request, but those savages demanded an exorbitant sum. I knew I would never be able pay them off. Then they vanished back into their immense grasslands, just as they had appeared. Since then, I’ve dreamt of nothing but setting out after them. But where? How? At night, before I fall asleep, I try to
imagine where my wife and daughter have ended up, under what sky, and I wonder what my little girl looks like now.’ He bowed his head without saying another word.
They were stories like many others he had heard, but Aurelius was moved none the less. He had never truly resigned himself to this catastrophe. He had never shared the dream of the city of God as proclaimed by Augustine of Hippona. He had never imagined cities in the sky amidst the clouds. The only city for him was Rome of the seven hills, protected by Aurelian’s wall, founded on the divine Tiber. Rome, violated yet immortal, the mother of all lands and of all lands daughter, repository of the most sacred memories. He asked them: ‘And now that you are free, where would you like to go?’
‘We have no place to go,’ replied Orosius.
‘We have nothing. No one,’ echoed Demetrius. ‘Take us with you on this mission of yours.’
Aurelius looked at Livia, unsure. She nodded: ‘They seem the right sort, and we certainly need men.’
‘They may not want to stay on when they’ve heard what we plan to do.’
The men looked each other grimly in the face at these words.
‘If you don’t tell us, how will we ever know?’ prompted Batiatus.
‘What’s all this mystery about? Out with it!’ said Vatrenus.
‘You can trust us. Our friends know this. We’ve always tried to protect each other in the fights,’ insisted Demetrius and Orosius.
Aurelius exchanged a rapid glance with Livia, who nodded again.
‘We want to liberate Emperor Romulus Augustus from Capri, where he is being held prisoner.’
‘What did you say?’ asked Vatrenus incredulously.
‘What you heard.’
‘By Hercules,’ swore Batiatus. ‘That’s a big job.’
‘A big job! It’s pure foolishness! He’ll be watched over day and night by a multitude of guards,’ exclaimed Vatrenus.
‘Freckle-faced pigs,’ Batiatus commented again. ‘I hate them.’
The Last Legion Page 13
