Wolves of Rome

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘Armin! Armiiiiin!’ he cried out, trying to make his voice heard over the hissing wind. All at once, he fell to the ground and tumbled almost all the way down to the edge of the rocky path.

  His brother’s voice sounded, angry and close. ‘Idiot! Follow me.’

  He got to his feet, sore all over. ‘It was you! You tripped me!’

  ‘It was the only way to stop you. Come, now!’

  Wulf found his place at his brother’s side, running.

  ‘They’re already after us, they’re catching up,’ he shouted, panting. ‘Maybe I should have counted to thir—’

  ‘Just keep running,’ said Armin, interrupting him. ‘Up there, look, the path cuts away from the road. The horses won’t be able to keep up with us if we make it that far.’

  ‘Do you think they’ve spotted us?’

  ‘With this moon? You can be sure of it.’

  The path that was cut into the rock of the Great Horn cliff shone white in the moonlight and the two boys ran uphill with every bit of energy they had. Armin couldn’t stop himself from looking back to see how far their pursuers had got and what they were doing.

  His heart was pounding so furiously in his chest that it felt like it skipped a beat entirely when he saw that a group of sharpshooters had climbed up the side of the cliff and were loading their slings. One was let loose with a dull whistle and a lead shot hit the rocky ground just by his foot.

  ‘Careful!’ yelled Armin to his brother, who wasn’t aware of the danger and was still trying to catch up with him as quickly as he could, not bothering with cover. Just then another shot hit Wulf in the calf and sent him tumbling to the ground.

  The pain was so acute that it skewed his perception of time and place and while he thought he could reach the base of the cliff, in reality he was crawling towards a precipice. A hail of sling shots kept Armin pinned down in a shelter he’d found at the side of the cliff, but he could see Wulf slipping further and further towards the gorge. He waited for the onslaught to lessen and he started crawling towards his brother who’d been hit again in the back and had completely lost all control of his movements. He grabbed him by the hand just an instant before he was about to plunge below.

  A curt order sounded and the hail of stones stopped. Armin turned and saw Centurion Taurus standing wide-legged in front of him.

  ‘Help me . . .’ he managed to croak out.

  ‘You are the one who dragged your brother into this. Now it’s you who’s responsible for his life.’

  Armin realized that Taurus had no intention of lifting a finger. With every bit of his strength he sought to pull his brother to safety without letting the boy’s weight drag both of them down together. He pulled, grinding his teeth and ignoring the cramps that were tormenting his muscles.

  His heart felt like it would burst from his chest with the strain until he finally realized that Wulf’s body was no longer falling. He gripped him tight and then collapsed breathlessly on top of him, as if to shield him. The world dissolved into darkness.

  The bitter cold jerked him back into consciousness and he realized that he was half naked and bound to two iron pickets driven into a rock. Wulf was not in his line of sight.

  Taurus’s jeers echoed nearby. ‘You look like Prometheus, chained to that rock in the Caucasus!’ The centurion was rhythmically flicking a vine-shoot switch at the palm of his left hand, skin rough and callused.

  ‘You pay for your mistakes,’ he said with a voice sharper and colder than the wind. The first lash fell on the boy’s naked back, lacerating his flesh to the muscle. That was followed by a second and a third. Armin had often experienced his father’s riding whip, but the vine shoot was much rougher, knottier and crueller. He gritted his teeth as he was used to doing and Centurion Taurus heard only a dull, stifled mewling.

  ARMIN AWOKE IN his bed, the room barely lit by a smoking lamp, just enough light for him to take stock of his wounds.

  Wulf lay on the other bed, unmoving.

  Armin reached out a hand to his brother’s neck to feel for the pulsing vein that reveals life. He found it, and the pain that seemed not to spare a finger or toe melted away with relief. Wulf’s fingers uncurled and he showed Armin a lead bullet.

  ‘What is this?’ he grumbled from swollen lips.

  ‘It’s the ammunition shot by a sling,’ replied Armin, with no less effort.

  ‘But it says something . . .’

  Armin took it and held it up to the light. ‘It’s Latin.’

  ‘So what does it say?’

  ‘Shove it up your arse.’

  Wulf tried to laugh, but his chuckles were transformed instantly into a whimper of pain.

  4

  AT DAWN TAURUS ASSEMBLED his men and the two boys in the mansio courtyard. Armin and Wulf could barely stand on their feet; maintaining an upright position set off painful contractions and the rubbing of the coarse fabric of their clothing against their wounds was possibly more torturous than the whipping that had caused them.

  Taurus took slow steps while reviewing his troops and stopped in front of the two boys. ‘Now you know what Roman discipline is,’ he said, speaking in the Germanic language. ‘This iron rule, which everyone must obey without questioning, is the reason our armies, made up of small, dark-skinned men, crushed the giant blond Celts, the Cimbri and Teutons who are no less courageous or valorous in battle. Those who tried to resist were crushed. Caesar was responsible for one million deaths in Gaul and now that land is the most loyal and the most prosperous of our provinces; its young men are proud to enlist in our legions. The Teutons were butchered on the banks of the Rhone until its waters flowed red with blood. They had promised to reach Rome and fuck our women. Now their corpses fertilize the vineyards of Aquae Sextiae. The Cimbri suffered the same fate on the Raudine plain in Italy. They wanted fertile land. Now they have it. My tabula,’ he said, stretching his arm out towards Armin, who handed it over without a hint of resistance.

  ‘Hey, Blondie,’ he continued, turning to Wulf, ‘you and your rebel brother will walk. You’ll shoulder your baggage. We’ll use your horses to carry the supplies that we bought at the store.’ His voice was as soft and level as if nothing had ever happened. Wulf realized that the name, ‘Flavus’, ‘Blondie’ in Latin, would now become his nickname.

  ‘We’ll get started on today’s march now.’

  Taurus took lead of the column, flanked by one of his legionaries. Wulf and Armin were at the centre with the Germanic auxiliaries and the other legionaries bringing up the tail. They started down the same road that they’d taken the day before when chasing the two boys, the one that ascended towards the pass. Wulf and Armin’s baggage consisted of a travel sack that contained a blanket for the night, their clothing, some salted meat, bread and a wooden cup for water. Any and every move on their part ground the straps into their raw, aching shoulders and made them bleed.

  As they continued upwards, the horses were at risk of losing their footing on the slabs which had become icy overnight. The weather looked more ominous still. Black storm clouds edged with whitish fringes advanced from the west. Sporadic flashes of lightning lit up the big dark masses from within.

  Taurus ordered them to pick up the pace so they would not be surprised in the open by the storm. The legionaries pulled their cloaks tight over their shoulders but the wind that was gathering made them snap like sails in the tempest. An icy drizzle stiffened the moustaches and beards of the Germanic auxiliaries and weighed down the crest on Centurion Taurus’s helmet.

  To look at him, with his hair greying at the temples, you would say he was a man of about forty-five, but he showed extraordinary energy. His rank allowed him to carry neither baggage nor a shield, but he wore a complete suit of armour with a massive gladius slung over his shoulder and a dagger at his belt. His right hand unfailingly held the vitis, his switch, which reminded his men of his rank but also of the severity of his punishments.

  After a few miles of ascent, the rain turned to snow, f
alling in big flakes into the rocky gorges. The horses and mules were slipping more and more, and they often fell to their knees amidst whinnies of pain. The attendants struggled to get them back up to their feet. By midday the snow was half a leg high and everyone’s limbs were frozen to their bones.

  The Germanic auxiliaries were inured to the climate and they advanced sure-footed, the snow sliding off the fur cloaks they wore so that little body heat was lost. Even though Wulf and Armin were of the same stock, they were struggling with the pain of their wounds and hadn’t slept well the night before.

  After a bend in the road, Taurus knelt to wipe off a milestone that marked the distance to the pass: IV M.P. AD SALTVM.

  ‘Come on, men!’ he shouted. ‘Only four miles and we’ll be at the pass. There’s a fire waiting for us there, and a hot meal.’

  His words gave the men a shot of energy and the whole convoy picked up speed. Just as it was getting dark they made out the dim light of a lamp casting a little yellow halo in the midst of the flurrying snow.

  ‘There it is, the pass!’ shouted Taurus, his arm held out stiffly as he pointed. ‘Let’s get moving!’

  The station soon appeared. A low overhanging slate roof was bolstered on either side by walls made of bales of hay and straw for the animals. The main building was constructed of stone. There was a wood shed full of fir trunks as well as a storehouse and a guard post manned by twenty or so legionaries from the Twenty-first Rapax. Their commander was on loan from the Twelfth Fulminata.

  Taurus went immediately to greet him and the two officers embraced, slapping each other on the shoulders, exchanging compliments and obscenities. They had fought together and survived under both Drusus and Tiberius. Meanwhile, the legionaries and auxiliaries had entered the stone building and were sitting at tables. In the centre of the room was a fireplace where three or four fir trunks full of resin were crackling and burning white hot. The entire room was filled with the fragrance. A spit with pieces of venison was being turned on the embers and big chunks of fresh bread were being toasted as well, the aroma redolent of pine and mountain herbs. The cook brought out a big pot of legumes, with chunks of mountain cheese and fried bread dough.

  Armin and Wulf slowly took off their soaking clothes and lay them out to dry in front of the fire. One of the servants, an old Helvetian woman, noticed that the two boys’ backs were covered with welts and cuts. She shook her head, grumbling, and led the two of them into a secluded corner of the room, where she melted an unguent in a copper pot over the fire and began to spread it over their wounds. They had to grit their teeth to stop from crying out.

  ‘That burns so bad!’ growled Armin.

  ‘But maybe it’s good for us,’ replied Wulf. ‘The old woman seems to know what she’s doing.’

  ‘It’s the same stuff they use to grease the roast!’

  ‘So what? If it’s good for the roast, it’ll be good for us too.’

  After feeling more dead than alive that whole day, the warmth seeping into their limbs and the smell of roasting meat put them in a good mood.

  The old woman, who had left the room, returned with pieces of cloth cut from a hemp sheet and she bandaged them carefully.

  ‘See?’ said Wulf. ‘The ointment keeps the bandages from sticking.’

  The old woman gestured for them to wait. When she came back, it was with a big bowl full of meat, bread, cheese and legumes and she set it on the floor in front of them. She added a jug of freezing cold melted snow.

  They ate and drank and they were so tired that in the end they curled up right there in front of the fire on their cloaks. They fell deeply asleep in a matter of moments.

  Halfway through the night, Wulf felt someone shaking him hard. ‘Wake up!’

  He opened his eyes and recognized his brother’s face reddened by the glow of the flames.

  ‘What do you want? Let me sleep.’

  ‘They’re all drunk, Wulf, and they’re sleeping like stones. Let’s go. We know the way down. We’ll be home in a couple of days.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re leaving.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Then I’ll go alone.’

  ‘There are dogs outside, can’t you hear them? Two steps and they’ll catch you. Do you think Taurus would have let us fall asleep without tying us up if it were so easy to get away?’

  The innkeeper showed up in his nightgown to add a couple of logs to the fire which soon started crackling again. The big Hermundur who had almost split Armin’s head in two with his sword turned onto his side and burped.

  ‘See? People coming and going all night. Give it up. We’ll try again in better times. I don’t want to freeze to death.’

  Armin seemed convinced. ‘Maybe you’re right, but we’re not finished with this.’

  ‘We can talk again when we’re awake and it’s not so cold.’

  ‘If we cross these mountains, you know we’ll never get back,’ said Armin. ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘No. I’m sure we will return once we’ve learned Latin and they’ve trained us in their fighting ways . . .’

  ‘We don’t need to learn their fighting ways.’

  ‘Yes we do. That’s exactly what we have to learn.’

  Armin smiled. ‘I’m beginning to understand your strategy.’

  ‘Then go to sleep. We’ll talk another time.’

  The big hall was filled with sounds of the fire sizzling and the resin popping inside the fir logs and with the deep snoring of the Germanic auxiliaries. The floor and the walls were warm. From outside came the shriek of a nocturnal bird and the howling of distant wolves.

  THE NEXT MORNING light rained into the room from the same hole in the ceiling that let out the fireplace smoke.

  The boys checked each other’s bandages. Sure enough, the old lady’s ointment had done its work.

  ‘The important thing is that we’re starting to feel better,’ said Armin. ‘But we can’t let ourselves fall in love with this foreign country they’re taking us to. We must never forget our land and our people. If we do that, the gods won’t recognize us when we die, and they won’t let us into their world of light.’

  Wulf nodded his head as if to say that he understood or that he would think about it.

  The old servant woman brought them two cups of warm goat’s milk and a piece of toasted bread. She was so ugly that surely no one had ever wanted to marry her or do anything else with her, but she had the instincts of a mother.

  Taurus went to say goodbye to his fellow commander at the guard station and gave orders that everyone prepare for departure. Resuming their march, they descended the mountainside on a route that had been cut into the stone.

  The clouds of the night-time blizzard began to clear and a ray of sunlight beamed from a scrap of blue sky, rendering the snow blinding. They soon arrived at a point where a landslide had damaged the road, and the passage was very narrow. The cavalrymen and the baggage handlers had to blindfold the horses and mules and lead them by the reins. Taurus went first himself, on foot, pulling his horse behind him. Before crossing the bottleneck he tested it with his foot to make sure it was solid enough to allow their passage. He held one hand on the rock wall to steady himself and with the other, his right, he held the horse’s reins without wrapping them around his wrist. It was no more than four steps forward, but the others watched with great apprehension. A single stone came free of the slide and bounced off the rock wall below, setting off further slides of gravel each time it hit and picking up mass as it fell until it crashed and clattered down to the valley. The soldiers were terrified.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ exclaimed Taurus. ‘Just a few stones. Stay close to the wall.’ He took several more steps and was safely on the other side.

  ‘See? It’s nothing. One at a time!’ he shouted again. ‘The legionaries first, because they’re lighter.’

  The legionaries went first without incident, and then it was the turn of the auxiliaries. The first was a Hermundur, le
ading his horse. The warrior made his way forward slowly. When he had nearly reached solid ground, he tested a crumbly patch in the road with the haft of his spear. Just at that moment, a rock ptarmigan suddenly left its perch and took flight, squawking and squalling. The horse startled and reared up with a loud whinny, lost its balance and plunged down into the scarp, dragging his horseman with him. The others watched as he was smashed against the rocks, leaving a long trail of blood behind him.

  At that point no one was willing to cross the treacherous passage, despite the centurion’s imprecations.

  Wulf volunteered himself and his brother. ‘We’ll go, leading one horse apiece. We’re lighter. The others will follow on foot. But there’s one condition.’

  ‘Condition?’ repeated the centurion.

  ‘That we’ll be able to use the horses afterwards to hang our baggage. It’s cutting into our shoulders.’

  Taurus hesitated and then said, ‘All right.’

  ‘Are there any more birds?’ asked Wulf.

  ‘How should I know?’ replied Taurus. ‘Move. It’ll be dark before long.’

  Wulf crossed first, with a horse, and then Armin followed his lead.

  ‘There you go,’ said Wulf. ‘We can keep them now, can’t we?’

  Taurus considered him with a scoff. ‘While you’re at it, take the mules across as well.’

  ‘Can we keep them too?’ asked Wulf.

  ‘No.’