‘That we should learn their language. Taurus speaks ours pretty well.’
‘Haven’t you ever asked yourself why?’
‘He listens to the way we talk?’
‘No. He’s part like us. Half, I’d say. Haven’t you noticed his accent? And what about his blue eyes?’
‘On his mother’s or his father’s side?’
‘What difference does it make? Probably his mother’s. He certainly bears his father’s name. Think about it: the way he looks at you with such intensity, the cruelty of his punishments, his own resistance to fatigue . . . he could only have learned that at the hands of a Roman soldier. Maybe his father was an officer.’
‘One day I’ll meet him in battle and I’ll kill him.’
‘Or he’ll kill you.’
‘I don’t know about that. I know a lot of things about him. He doesn’t know so much about me.’
‘I’m not so sure about that either. Let’s sleep, now,’ said Armin.
They slept until they were awakened by a kick to the bottoms of their feet.
It was Primus Pilus Centurion Marcus Caelius Taurus giving the wake-up call at the first light of dawn. He personally handed out each ration of freshly baked wheat flatbread. They then set off marching to the bank of the larger river. There was a rope which stretched from one bank to the other and a ferry big enough to transport nearly all of them at once. At the embarkation they were joined by four archers and two slings-men. They all sailed together downstream, heading east, for two days until they landed at a city called Placentia. There the men and horses were put ashore and Taurus entered the city with two legionaries to consult with the commander of the garrison and inform him about the situation in Germania. The meeting took quite a long time, so long that the sun had time to rise high above the circle of the walls.
When the centurion returned, the whole column set off once again on its journey. They soon found themselves back on the road that never ends but at that point it had a name, and it was called Aemilia.
‘Because a consul named Aemilius built it,’ explained Taurus.
Neither Armin nor Flavus dared to ask what a consul was. Had they done so, Taurus would have been pleased to answer, although he was more interested in demonstrating the work that was being done to double the width of the road, and the bridges as well. When they stopped for lunch, he showed the boys how the road was built and Flavus drew close, eager not to miss a single word. He took everything in: the excavations for the road bed, the foundations in stone and gravel, the layer of coarse river sand and the slabs which covered them. At either side of the road, dirt tracks allowed shepherds to pass with their flocks and herdsmen with their oxen.
‘In a thousand years’ time, or even more, this road will still exist,’ said Taurus.
Even Armin, who did not demonstrate any particular interest, was in reality observing everything. He was beginning to understand what made Rome so great and so powerful: her roads, bridges, changing stations, the bathrooms and latrines with running water that kept disease from taking root. The way that a message could reach the most remote destination, travelling by day and by night, and an answer could be swiftly had in the greatest city of the world. He’d also noticed that each city had a name and that they were built along roads, at a distance of about one day’s march from one another.
Travelling down the Via Aemilia gave Taurus the opportunity to stop now and then and meet the men who were overseeing the work. Sometimes they shouted but many other times they spoke softly, referring to a sheet they had spread on a table, on which their own bit of road was drawn out, mirroring the tabula that the centurion so jealously guarded. The same one Armin had managed to steal from him, a feat that had left its mark on his back and his brother’s.
They continued their march for ten days, with the mountains looming ever closer on their right. They finally came within sight of the sea, the internal sea they had heard so much about. They pushed on until they reached the shore because everyone wanted to see it. The temperature was mild, the wind had dropped to a breeze and the waves came to die on the beach with a whisper. One of the Hermundur threw himself into the water, but his big body hit sand. The shallow water meant you could walk towards the horizon for two hundred steps with it only lapping at your ankles.
Further south they glimpsed a ship lying on its side, full of sand.
‘It looks like it’s still in good shape; why hasn’t anyone come to get it free?’ asked Flavus.
Taurus approached, climbed aboard and took a look around. ‘Because the goods are marked with the brand of their owner: he’s the second most powerful man in the Empire. No one would even dare to touch a clay vase on that ship. If her owner doesn’t find her, she’ll stay here and rot until she’s completely covered with sand.’
Armin and Flavus could barely believe that the mere name of a man could keep looters and thieves at a distance.
They made their way along the shore until late afternoon. Taurus was headed to a city called Ravenna and it was there that they stopped. They could never have imagined such a place. It included a number of smaller and bigger islands connected to one another with wooden bridges. Some of the houses were brick, others were made of wood, and on the main island there was a fish market. Everyone moved by boat, it seemed, either to go out fishing or to transport the fish to and from the market.
However, it wasn’t the city that Taurus was headed for, but the port. The group continued south until they reached a protected lagoon that communicated with the sea by means of an artificial canal. Taurus climbed to the top of a sand dune that overlooked the port of the imperial fleet that had authority over the entire eastern sea. Armin and Flavus were struck speechless at the spectacle of over three hundred ships at anchor: liburnian galleys, triremes, quadriremes and quinqueremes.
The sun had almost set behind them and the sky had begun to darken in the east. As the first stars dotted the sky, lights went on along the piers and on the ships. Right at that moment, the flagship appeared from behind the wharf, her fore and aft railings proudly lit. The immense vessel had her side turned to them and was just veering towards the entrance to the port. The two boys were still, stunned at the sight. Upon seeing their amazement, Taurus said, ‘That is the biggest ship anyone has ever seen on this earth. Her dimensions are incredible. She is called the Aquila Maris. If you read Latin, you’d know that immediately from the wording on the stern sail and by the eagle painted on the mainsail. She’s five hundred and fifty feet long and twenty-three feet wide. There are over four hundred men in her crew, between the galley slaves, rowers, sailors, officers and war machine operators. Look, at the prow and along the sides you can see the artillery pieces lined up: catapults, onagers and ballistas. Some are used to hurl fiery balls of pitch, others shoot off heavy steel darts capable of penetrating oak planks eight inches thick. The ram consists of a single bronze casting and weighs three talents. It is bolted onto a twelve-foot-long oak-wood framework.’
Armin and Flavus could not understand the import of those measurements, but they could perceive them with their eyes. They watched as the heavy pinewood oars were raised dripping from the water and immersed again as if a single mind were operating them. At the stern, the helmsmen were steering the rudders which stood more than ten feet higher than the ship’s side. On the yard fluttered the standard with the name and symbol of the ship and of her commander. The ship passed majestically at a short distance from the shore and the dune where the soldiers and horsemen under Taurus’s command had gathered. By the time the centurion had finished describing the wondrous vessel as she sailed before them, she had been directed to her anchorage, so they could distinctly hear the roll of drums and the voice of the oar-master setting the pace for the men.
A trumpet sounded at the bow and the crew lowered the mainsail, leaving only the foresail up. The helmsman paid out two enormous anchors at the stern that were dropped into the sea with a loud splash. The oar-master gave the signal to sink oars and block them in the rowl
ocks. The Aquila Maris immediately lost speed. Then the anchor lines snapped taut and the gigantic hull came to a complete stop, accompanied by a loud groaning of the planks. Two crewmen threw another couple of lines out to secure the bow to the moorings. A couple of gangways were lowered at the ship’s side and the crew went to shore. Only a naval infantry squad remained on board to guard the Aquila Maris overnight.
More ships – four triremes and six liburnian galleys – queued one after another, heading to the mooring piers. Taurus ordered his men to move to the quarters which had been readied for them in the district of the port.
That night, a thin fog began to rise from the lagoon. It soon became thicker, blotting out shapes and deadening sounds. Only the calls of the guards on duty could be heard sporadically. More lights were lit on the piers; the last to be illuminated was the lamp of the lighthouse. Towards the east, a thin red line was still vaguely visible, delineating the mountain crests. Much closer to the port district rose a round wooden building, not very tall, that was flanked by single-storey houses.
Flavus walked up to one of the Germanic auxiliaries. ‘What is that?’ he asked, pointing to the building.
‘It’s a school for gladiators,’ replied the warrior.
‘What are gladiators?’
‘Slaves or prisoners of war who fight each other in an arena for the amusement of the people who come to watch them. The loser is killed by the winner, unless the public decides otherwise. If they don’t like the way he has fought, they shout out, “Kill him!” If on the other hand they feel he fought well, they can shout out, “Let him go!” and he is spared.’
‘Have you ever been to one of these fights?’ asked Flavus.
‘Once. When Taurus is in a good mood and the opportunity presents itself, he gives us passes to get in.’
‘Did you like it?’
‘No,’ answered the warrior.
Flavus asked no more. He was lingering there, looking at the wooden ring, when he suddenly heard the sound of a gallop and then almost instantly saw the figure of a horseman emerging from the fog. The rider was mounted upon a black stallion and had the regulation armour of a Roman officer, but he wore no helmet and his hair was blond. He raced past the boy and in just a few moments the sound of his galloping had faded into the distance.
6
FLAVUS AND ARMIN were the first up the next morning. They began preparing their baggage, the horses and the pack animals so that everything would be in order when the centurion came to review them before departure. When they spotted Taurus, however, he was going aboard a liburnian galley.
‘What is he going to do on that ship?’ wondered Flavus. ‘Taurus isn’t in the navy. Not any more, anyway. He told me so himself.’
‘That’s a fast ship,’ said Armin. ‘The kind they take out to the open sea. He’ll be giving the commander a message to take to someone very important on the other side of the sea.’
‘Why doesn’t he use the road that never ends?’
‘Because even the road has to stop when it gets to the sea. Only a ship can travel the paths of the water that are marked by the stars.’
‘Well, I’d like to know what message he’s sending to the other side,’ said Flavus.
‘Something to do with us, for sure. And he wouldn’t be doing it if it weren’t important.’
In the meantime, Taurus was already descending from the gangway and walking to the camp to wake those of his men who were still sleeping. After breakfast, they made their way back to the road heading south, until they reached the Via Aemilia, on which they would travel from one city to the next, crossing fields planted with fruit trees. There were many farms, where servants with ladders and baskets were gathering ripe apples and pears, loading them onto oxen-pulled carts and transporting them to storehouses. The servants sang and the animals under their yoke grazed on green grass. The fields without fruit trees were covered by expanses of gold-coloured stubble that the oxen were turning over at the plough. The earth was so damp that it let off a thin fog. It was a magical spectacle that left the boys almost as admiring as when they had seen the majestic Aquila Maris ploughing the waters at the port of Ravenna.
‘Does this help to create the power of Rome?’ said Flavus.
Taurus heard him because he was riding close by and he didn’t give Armin the chance to answer his brother. ‘Not any longer, I’m sorry to say. It used to be that nearly all Romans cultivated the land. They were proud of being self-sufficient and not having to ask anyone for anything. But, as new places were conquered, throngs of slaves have been brought in, and they’ve taken away the jobs of free men, many of whom have been reduced to poverty. Some have joined the army to earn a living. Others still have gone to live in the cities, where they sell their votes to the wealthy and the noblemen who want to be elected as magistrates. And both parties lose their dignity, in a single act.’
Armin and Flavus had begun to forget the smarting pain of Taurus’s vitis and every day they increasingly appreciated his wisdom and even temperament.
Taurus noticed that the two boys were contemplating the golden strips of stubble lit up by the sun. They seemed enchanted.
He turned to Armin: ‘Is it the gold or the dark you like?’
‘The gold,’ replied Armin.
‘That’s what I would have expected. You are a prince, after all. You know, the ploughed earth and the golden stubble remind me of something that happened long ago. I was serving with my legion in Germania, under the orders of General Drusus, who sometimes granted me the extreme honour of exchanging a few words. Three days earlier we had fought a terrible battle on the banks of the Weser and we were exhausted.’
‘What did General Drusus say to you?’ asked Flavus.
‘He said, “We’ve won, Centurion, and yet I can’t wait for all of this to be over. The Germanics are the only ones who can bear comparison to us, and that’s why our fighting can only get bloodier. But the Empire of Rome has to be both blond and dark.” Blond and dark,’ concluded Taurus, ‘like the field you see before you.’
They all resumed their march, the boys still stealing glances at the countryside as the sun slowly set behind the mountains.
They stopped for the night in the village of Caesena, where Taurus had arranged for the dinner and quartering of his men and where he hoped to meet up with his brother, Publius Caelius. His brother owned a couple of inns in Bononia, the city they came from, and in a number of towns between Placentia and Ariminum.
Marcus Caelius had a massive build and on special occasions he was wont to wear a complete suit of armour with all of his decorations, but this was only the informal meeting of two brothers and he showed up wearing Germanic-style trousers with a tunic and cloak and armed only with his regulation gladius.
Publius rushed towards him as soon as he stepped over the threshold of his inn and the two brothers embraced each other with exclamations of joy, obscenities and pounding on one another’s shoulders. Then they sat together, waiting to be served.
‘What are you doing here anyway?’ asked Publius. ‘It was a huge surprise for me when I heard you’d be stopping for dinner. I cancelled all of my appointments!’
‘I’m glad you did. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other.’
Publius Caelius’s expression abruptly changed. ‘How are things going in Germania?’
Taurus furrowed his brow. ‘Like usual. You can never trust them, not even the ones fighting for us. See those two wolf cubs down there?’ he asked, nodding at Armin and Flavus.
‘Of course I do. Why?’
‘They are the sons of Sigmer, prince of the Cherusci.’
‘I remember him well. I saw him on board General Drusus’s ship as we were sailing down the Rhine towards the ocean; I hadn’t been discharged yet and I was serving in the naval infantry. Back then people were saying that they’d become friends and that they kept seeing each other in secret.’
‘Well,’ added Taurus, ‘those boys have become our hostages and
I’ve been tasked with a very sensitive mission: I’m to transfer a Roman mind into the bodies of those young Germanics.’
‘I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes,’ replied Publius Caelius.
‘It is political strategy,’ said Taurus. ‘And you know well who the master of this art was.’ He lowered his voice and spoke close to Publius’s ear. ‘Augustus. Gaius Julius Caesar Octavian Augustus himself. His house was like an orphanage, full of young boys and girls. They were the orphans of his enemies, and those of Julius Caesar. He instructed them personally, fed them, clothed them and prepared brilliant careers for them. The children were certainly grateful, and yet they couldn’t help but be aware that the benevolent man dressed in white was actually the murderer of their parents.
‘You tell me: how could they ever grow up whole in spirit? Yet in many cases it seems to have worked. Think of young Juba, who now reigns serenely on behalf of Rome over Mauretania, along with the queen, his wife, daughter of Marc Antony and Cleopatra.’
‘So all’s well that ends well, no?’ smiled Publius.
Taurus sighed. ‘That’s true, but I don’t feel up to such a challenge myself. I think they should have turned the boys over to a politician – a senator, for example, or a magistrate. A philosopher, even. Why a centurion, whose very nature makes him the most unyielding of soldiers? My place, dear brother, is on the battlefield, not in a classroom.’
Publius Caelius nodded.
‘Pretend I’ve said nothing,’ Taurus continued. ‘My mission is a state secret, and it is surely part of Augustus’s plan for the future of Germania. You know something? This feigning makes me feel like a hypocrite; I’m just not convinced it’s the right way. The fact is that General Drusus should not have died. He was quite a soldier, and even his enemies respected him! You know that yourself. You fought for him when you were in the navy.’
‘I did.’ Publius nodded. He shot a look at the boys every now and then.
‘But I’ve received an order from our legate and I must obey it,’ Taurus went on. ‘I can’t wait to get to Rome. Maybe I’ll be able to turn the boys over to someone more suitable and get back to Germania, where I know what I’m doing. Anyway, brother, what about you? Business is going well, isn’t it? You don’t miss the military life, do you?’
Wolves of Rome Page 6
