The Last Legion

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘Search the houses, then. Force the peasants to talk. You know how, don’t you?’

  ‘We have done already, but many of them don’t even understand us.’

  ‘They’re faking it!’ howled Wulfila. Stephanus observed him without any visible reaction, but in his heart of hearts he gloated, watching that hairy beast in the throes of panic.

  More of the groups arrived around midday. ‘Maybe those of us who headed further north will have more luck,’ said one of the horsemen. ‘We’ve decided to meet in Pisaurum. Whoever arrives first will wait for the others. What are your orders?’

  ‘Resume the hunt,’ replied Wulfila. ‘Now.’

  Stephanus took his leave. ‘I’ll see you back at Ravenna, I imagine. I’ll wait here for the boat that’s coming to collect me.’ Then he gestured for Wulfila to come close again. ‘Is it true the sword had a golden hilt shaped like an eagle’s head?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it. I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ repeated Wulfila.

  ‘Maybe – but if it should ever fall into your hands, remember that there’s someone who is willing to pay any price to have it, to cover you in gold, literally. Understand? Don’t do anything stupid if you do get hold of it. Let me know, and I’ll arrange for you to spend the rest of your life in luxury.’

  Wulfila didn’t answer, staring at him briefly with an inscrutable look. He called his men to order and had them fan out and take off again at a gallop in every direction, personally leading the group headed north. They advanced for days, combing the entire area with no luck, until they finally met up at the gates of Pisaurum with the group that had preceded them. The weather was worsening everywhere, and the light, persistent rain that fell turned the roads into muddy torrents and made the cultivated fields inaccessible. Even the lower slopes of the hills were turning white. The advance guard had already communicated to the garrisons they’d passed that they were looking for a group of five men travelling with a woman, an old man and a boy. Someone was sure to notice them sooner or later. Wulfila proceeded as quickly as possible in the direction of Ravenna, where the most difficult task still awaited him: facing Odoacer.

  *

  The magister militum received him in one of the rooms of the imperial apartments where he had established his quarters. His look made it clear that he already knew about what had happened and that anything that Wulfila said would only serve to worsen his mood. He would have to let his commander’s rage run its course before he spoke.

  ‘My best men!’ shouted Odoacer. ‘My second-in-command, in person, made a fool of by a fistful of spineless Romans: how is that possible?’

  ‘They were not spineless!’ burst out Wulfila.

  ‘That’s evident. So you were the spineless ones.’

  ‘Beware, Odoacer, not even you can afford to talk to me this way.’

  ‘Are you threatening me? After you’ve failed this mission so miserably, so shamefully, you dare to threaten me? You will now tell me everything that happened, without leaving out a single detail. I have to know what kind of men I’ve surrounded myself with; I have to know whether you’ve become as lily-livered and incompetent as the Romans that we’ve subjugated!’

  ‘They took us by surprise. It was a stormy night, and they managed to scale the north wall, a sheer cliff we thought to be inaccessible. They escaped through a secret passage that communicated with the sea. I had the waters patrolled by the two ships I had at my disposal, but the very elements were pitted against us: as the storm started to subside, the volcano erupted, and their boat disappeared in the middle of a black cloud of soot. Their commander was swallowed up by the sea: it was the same man who tried to liberate the boy here, in Ravenna. I saw him go under myself, and yet I didn’t give up the chase.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ interrupted Odoacer in amazement. ‘Are you sure it was the same man? How could you tell if it was as dark as you say?’

  ‘I saw him as I’m seeing you now. I’m sure it was him. In any case, I don’t find it so surprising: he who tries once and fails is bound to try again. Although encountering him face to face again, so far from here, certainly shocked me.’

  ‘Continue,’ said Odoacer, impatient to hear the conclusion of the strange story.

  ‘I could have imagined that they’d been shipwrecked,’ Wulfila went on, ‘that they had been smashed to bits on the rocks; a logical conclusion, given the conditions they were faced with. Instead I crossed the entire Apennine range – arriving the very day they did, although they were advantaged by their knowledge of the territory – and then, the devil knows how, when they were already within my grasp, they slipped away. Without a trace. We ransacked the entire surrounding countryside, but never found a clue.

  ‘It was evident that they knew where the prisoners were being held in Capri, they knew that the northern wall was undefended and they knew of an escape route that we were totally unaware of. Someone was obviously feeding them information.’

  ‘Who?’ demanded Odoacer.

  ‘Someone inside. Almost anyone: a servant, a labourer, a baker or a blacksmith, one of the cooks or the sutlers, or even a prostitute, who knows? But there must have been someone more important behind them; otherwise how could they have known about the secret passage? I limited contact between the villa and the rest of the island as much as possible, but complete prevention was impossible.’

  ‘If there’s someone you suspect, say so.’

  ‘Antemius, maybe. He may have known the villa in Capri well; they say he had many contacts in Naples. Even Stephanus himself . . .’

  ‘Stephanus is intelligent and capable; he’s a practical man and he is useful to me in maintaining relations with Zeno,’ replied Odoacer, but it was obvious that he’d been struck by Wulfila’s words. The Romans who had carried this off were courageous and incredibly shrewd. He realized how difficult – if not impossible – it would be to reign over that country by armed force alone, especially with an army that was perceived as foreign, violent and cruel: barbaric, in a single word. He understood that intelligence was more important to him than swords; knowledge more than strength. He felt more exposed, more vulnerable, in that palace surrounded by hundreds of guards than in the middle of a battlefield – and for a moment he felt threatened by a thirteen-year-old boy: free now, protected and unfindable. He mused over the boy’s promise for revenge that day he mourned his mother down in the crypt of the basilica. ‘So now what do we do?’ he sputtered out in irritation.

  ‘I’ve already taken measures,’ replied Wulfila. ‘I’ve had the boy replaced by a double, a boy his age and build, dressed as he was, who will live in the villa but be approached only by people we trust. The others will only see him from afar. I’ll replace all the guards and servants as quickly as possible. The new ones won’t have anyone to compare him with and will assume he is the true Romulus Augustus.’

  ‘An astute plan. I wouldn’t have said you were capable of it. Fine. Now I’d like to know how you plan to capture the boy and the men who are with him.’

  ‘Give me a decree awarding me full powers, and the authority to set a price on his head. They won’t get away from me. They’re the most mixed bunch you can imagine; it won’t be too difficult to spot them. They will have to come out of hiding sooner or later; they have to buy food, seek lodging. They won’t be able to sleep outdoors this time of year.’

  ‘You don’t even know where they’re headed.’

  ‘I’d say north, seeing that they can’t go east. Where else? They have to be trying to escape Italy, and they won’t be able to get out by ship; the season for navigation is over.’

  Odoacer mulled over his words in silence. Wulfila observed him as he never had before. It had just been a few months, and yet the change in the man was striking. His hair was short and neatly styled, he was freshly shaved, he wore a long-sleeved linen dalmatic robe with embroidered strips of silver and gold descending from his shoulders all the way to the hem. His calfskin boots were decorated with red
and yellow wool embroidery, and red leather laces. A silver medallion with a golden cross hung at his neck, and his belt was silver mesh as well. The ring finger on his left hand bore a stunning cameo. Nothing distinguished him from a great Roman dignitary, except for the colour of his hair, a reddish-blond, and all the freckles scattered over his face and hands.

  Odoacer realized that Wulfila was studying him and decided to cut the embarrassing inspection short. ‘Emperor Zeno has nominated me Roman Patrician,’ he said. ‘This gives me the right to add “Flavius” before my name and to have full power over the administration of this country and the adjacent regions. I shall give you the decree you’ve requested. Since that boy’s life no longer has any political value, at least as far as our relations with the Eastern Empire are concerned, and given the risk of new turbulence, I order you to find him and kill him. Bring me his head; burn the rest and scatter his ashes. The only Romulus Augustus – or Augustulus, as he was called in derision by his own courtiers behind his back – will be the one in Capri. For everyone, and for all time. As far as you are concerned, Wulfila, do not dare return until you’ve fulfilled my orders. Follow him to the ends of the earth if need be. If you come back without his head I’ll take yours instead. You know I’m capable of doing it.’

  Wulfila did not deign to answer this threat. ‘You prepare those decrees,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave as soon as I have them.’ Before exiting the room, he stopped a moment at the threshold. ‘What ever happened to Antemius?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you care?’

  ‘I’m trying to figure out how Stephanus got to be so important all of a sudden.’

  ‘Stephanus has made it possible to rebuild relations between the East and West,’ replied Odoacer, ‘He has been instrumental in stabilizing my position here in Ravenna – a complex and delicate operation that you could never even manage to understand. As far as Antemius is concerned – he met with the end he deserved. He had promised Basiliscus a base in the lagoon in exchange for protecting Romulus. What’s more, they were plotting to assassinate me. He was strangled.’

  ‘I see,’ said Wulfila, and left the room.

  *

  From that moment on, Wulfila made sure he would be informed of Stephanus’s every move. He’d understood several basic things about him. That sword obsessed him, at least as much as it did Wulfila himself. The reason for such obsession escaped him, but both power and money must be involved, if he was willing to hand over such a huge sum for it. Furthermore, Stephanus must have inherited the network of informers who once worked for Antemius, and had managed to remove the old man from the picture without having to dirty his hands personally. He was the most calculating and dangerous person Wulfila had ever had to deal with. Coming to terms with him would mean playing on his turf, and he would surely lose. The best strategy was to wait until something moved Stephanus away from Ravenna. He had the feeling that this would happen soon enough; and then he’d stick to him like his shadow until Stephanus took him where he wanted to go. In the meantime, Wulfila had already sent couriers everywhere on the look-out for a company of six or seven people travelling with a woman, an old man and a boy.

  *

  Aurelius’s little caravan had managed to elude Wulfila’s men by journeying up the sunken, hidden valley of a small torrent. They then stayed high enough on the flanks of the mountainside to ensure their vantage over a vast range of territory. They had separated into three groups, and were marching at about a mile’s distance from each other. Batiatus was on foot, wearing a long hooded cloak that covered him completely; he walked alone so that his size would not be as evident as if he were travelling with a group. Romulus was with Livia and Aurelius, seeming a family on the move with their modest belongings. The others were together. They all kept their weapons hidden under their cloaks, except for the shields, which were too bulky. These were loaded on to the back of Ambrosinus’s mule and covered by a blanket. It was he who had suggested these stratagems while Livia had chosen the itinerary, showing the expertise of a consummate veteran once again. There was snow almost everywhere, but it wasn’t deep enough to impede their passage, and the temperature wasn’t too cold, since the sky was always overcast. The first night they prepared a makeshift lodging by chopping down fir branches and building a little hut sheltered against the wind. When they were certain that the enemy wasn’t at their heels, they lit a fire in the forest, screened by the thick vegetation.

  The next day the sky cleared and the inland temperature dropped; the warmer, more humid air which came from the sea condensed on the lower slopes of the Apennines to create a dense curtain of fog that would keep them completely hidden from any search parties roaming below. As they neared the plain on the evening of the second day they had to decide whether to descend and cross it or to remain on the Apennine ridge which would take them westward. This would have certainly been the easier and perhaps the safer route, but it meant they would be forced to travel along the Ligurian coast towards Gaul, where they would surely find garrisons of Odoacer’s men alerted to their possible passage. Wulfila may even have sent someone capable of recognizing the fugitives to man each of the passes; dozens of his warriors knew both Romulus and his tutor quite well, having accompanied them to Capri and guarded the boy’s prison. The map that Ambrosinus had providentially copied at the mansio in Fanum became precious as night fell and they gathered around the campfire to decide their itinerary and strategy.

  ‘I would refrain from moving to the plain and crossing Aemilia now,’ said Ambrosinus. ‘We’re still too close to Ravenna, and Odoacer’s spies will be watching for us. I say we stay in the mountains, continuing westward at mid-slope until we are even with Placentia. At that point we’ll have to decide whether to go on until we reach Postumia and from there descend to Gaul, or to turn north towards Lake Verbanus. We’ll be close to the pass that puts the Po valley in communication with western Rhaetia, which is now controlled by the Burgundians.’

  Ambrosinus also recalled that while journeying to Italy he had found a trail near the pass which wasn’t too impracticable and which led through the territory of the Moesians to a Rhaetian village which was practically at the watershed.

  ‘If you want my advice,’ he concluded, ‘I would reject the first route, because the area is heavily frequented and we would be exposed to constant danger. The northern itinerary is much more arduous, and safer for that very reason.’

  Aurelius agreed, as did Batiatus and Vatrenus. Ambrosinus couldn’t help but notice the unanimous reaction of the three comrades: they knew that choosing the western route meant passing through Dertona, where the fields still gleamed white with the unburied bones of their fallen mates.

  23

  ‘IT’S VERY LONG THAT WAY,’ observed Livia, breaking the silence that had suddenly fallen over their little camp. ‘We’ll need money and we haven’t any.’

  ‘That’s true,’ admitted Ambrosinus. ‘To buy food, to pay for passage on the bridges and ferries, forage for the horses on the highlands and lodging for us, when it becomes too cold to sleep in the open.’

  ‘There’s only one way,’ said Livia. ‘Stephanus must be back in Rimini by now, in his villa at the sea. He owes us the reward money for the mission we completed. Even if he can’t pay it all, I don’t think he’ll refuse to help us. I know where the villa is; I once met Antemius there, and it won’t be difficult for me to reach it.’

  ‘Can we trust him?’ asked Aurelius.

  ‘He was the one who came to Fanum to warn us and offer us a means of escape. Stephanus has to survive, just like the rest of us, and adapt to all these sudden changes in the balance of power, but if Antemius trusted him, it must have been with good reason.’

  ‘That’s what worries me. Antemius betrayed us.’

  ‘That’s what I thought at first as well, but then I realized that the change of throne in Constantinople must have put him in an impossible situation. Perhaps they found him out, tortured him . . . it’s difficult to imagine what really ha
ppened. In any case, the rest of you won’t risk anything. I’m going alone.’

  ‘No, I’m coming with you,’ insisted Aurelius.

  ‘It’s better you don’t,’ Livia replied. ‘You’re needed here, alongside Romulus. I’ll leave before dawn, and if all goes well, I’ll be back the day after, towards evening. If you don’t see me, go on without me. You’ll manage to survive somehow, even if you never get Stephanus’s money. You’ve been through worse.’

  ‘But are you sure you can go back and forth in so little time?’ asked Ambrosinus.

  ‘Certainly. If nothing unexpected happens, I’ll be at Stephanus’s villa before dark. The next day I’ll leave before dawn and I’ll be back here to spend the night with you.’

  Her comrades looked at each other perplexed.

  ‘What is there to be afraid of ?’ asked Livia in a reassuring tone. ‘Before you met me, you always got along just fine. And you know I’m capable of getting the job done; you’ve seen me in action, haven’t you?’

  Ambrosinus lifted his eyes from the map. ‘Listen to me, Livia,’ he said. ‘Splitting up means creating a difficult situation. If the wait lasts longer than expected, those left behind think up the strangest explanations, counting the steps of the missing person, calculating and recalculating how long his return should take, and the conjectures invented to explain a delay never match up with what is really happening. On the other side, an unexpected delay causes no end of worry; the person thinks, if only we’d have agreed upon a few hours more, my friends would be spared all this anguish. So, Livia, my friend, what we need is a second appointment. If we don’t see you the day after tomorrow in the evening, we’ll remain here all night none the less; we won’t leave before dawn the following day. If we still haven’t seen you, we’ll know that some insurmountable obstacle has placed itself between us. I want to show you where we’ll be crossing the Alps. See, here, on the map, the Moesian pass,’ he said, pointing at it. ‘You can keep this; I’ll trace out the route for you. I already know all the details by heart. It will guide you to the pass, so you can join up with us on your own if necessary.’