Wolves of Rome

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  Taurus continued his tale: ‘The river hit the canal like a battering ram. It rushed in at such speed that it was dragging all kinds of detritus and sediment with it. It was thick and foamy, and it plunged through the plain so fast that when it hit the water of the ocean it raised a wave so high that it flowed over the surface of the canal all the way back to the old bank of the Rhine, while the deepest part of the current continued in its race towards the ocean. It was a titanic clash that left us all gasping, but when the flow finally slowed, a yell burst out of the mouths of thousands of workers and legionaries who had witnessed that miracle. Three days later, General Drusus’s flagship sailed triumphantly down the canal and her prow finally ploughed through the waves of the ocean.’

  He stopped, realizing that he’d let himself be carried away by his memories instead of guiding his two young charges in the completion of their task. He returned to the purpose of their meeting: ‘I still don’t know everything I’d like to know. But it’s enough to understand that something big, and terrible, is about to take place. The Battle of Actium is going to be re-enacted, the battle in which Antony was defeated, and you’ve just seen his son, who is an adult now, in the intimate company of the daughter of the victor. There’s certainly something behind all this and I can’t exclude that whatever is being plotted could attempt to tip the balance of history. What I don’t know is how.’

  How what? thought Flavus to himself.

  ‘I don’t think what I’ve mentioned will come to pass so soon. I think it depends on the level of the water inside the lake on the Vatican Hill. A measuring rod has been installed on the part opposite the aqueduct inlet. Check it every three days and write down how fast it’s increasing.’

  ‘Of course, Centurion,’ replied Flavus.

  AS THEY WERE accustomed, on their walk home Arminius and Flavus sized up what had been said during their dinner with Taurus.

  ‘Can’t he just say things more clearly?’ said Flavus.

  ‘Obviously not. This whole affair is too dangerous. Not even he can take certain risks.’

  ‘So what should we expect at this point? And what’s with this measuring rod?’

  Arminius smiled. ‘They couldn’t live in Rome without their clocks, their meridians and their measuring rods. They count the hours and the half-hours. But here, it’s a tool that will let us count how much time we have before a very dangerous event might occur. I saw those men at the warehouse working with a model ship, so it’s reasonable to think that the artificial lake will be involved, and the lake is in the process of being filled. We have to try to figure out what may happen and be ready for it.’

  They had reached the door and, as Flavus was turning the key in the lock, Arminius wheeled suddenly as if he’d sensed a presence. The instinct of the young Germanic wolf had been kindled, and indeed, in the darkness loomed a gigantic warrior. The Hermundur. He was watching them without making a sound. Either the dogs hadn’t heard him or his presence hadn’t alarmed them.

  He walked slowly towards them and the two youths gripped their daggers under their cloaks with sweaty hands.

  ‘I have a message from your father,’ he said in a raspy voice.

  ‘Talk,’ replied Arminius.

  ‘The message is: “The time is now. She who is at the centre of life and death will let death strike. It is your task to establish whether he who is the target will live or die.” ’

  ‘Did our father tell you this or was it someone else?’

  The Hermundur did not answer. He bared his white teeth in a mocking smile, then turned around and left. The key turned in the lock, the door opened with a click. The two boys went in and lay down to sleep, but Flavus was still in the mood for asking questions: ‘If it should happen, what will you do?’

  ‘What would you do?’ replied Arminius.

  ‘I don’t know. It depends who the target is . . .’

  ‘Don’t ask me any more questions. I don’t know how to answer.’

  ‘I know what I’d answer,’ added Flavus. ‘And I hope you do too. I can’t imagine that the two of us would ever be apart.’

  ‘I can’t either.’

  ‘Promise?’ asked Flavus.

  ‘I promise.’

  They then fell asleep.

  IN THE FOLLOWING weeks Arminius and Flavus checked the measuring rod every three or four days to see how fast the water level was growing and to calculate when the lake would be full. In the meanwhile long carts drawn by oxen lumbered up from the Tiber one by one, carrying the planks and beams for building the ships. When one pontoon had been unloaded, it was turned in the direction of the current and left to drift towards Ostia while others, still laden with goods, continued upriver until they reached the building yard.

  One day at mid-morning Arminius saw Germanicus arriving at the yard on horseback. He stopped to watch the phases of ship assembly. You could see that he was particularly interested in what the shipwrights were working on. He was asking the naval architects so many questions that it made Arminius curious and he started paying more attention. Germanicus suddenly sensed his presence, as he raised his head to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and the two boys locked eyes for a moment. Germanicus seemed to be trying to recall where he’d seen Arminius before. Arminius looked away and started walking towards the opposite end of the artificial lake.

  After that first time, he would see Germanicus returning to the worksite almost every day. This went on for the whole period that the first ship was being prepared for its launch, which would take place using a slide because the water level was not high enough yet.

  Time passed and the water rose to the level necessary for re-enacting the events of the Battle of Actium in a spectacular naumachia. From those who had actually been the protagonists of this battle, only Augustus would be attending. Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, who held the supreme command at that time and who had been the engineer of that victory, was ten years dead. And so were the defeated Marc Antony and his Egyptian wife, Cleopatra. The emperor had always been careful never to refer to his enemies by name, and many Romans were wondering whether re-evoking the battle might not be an opportunity for remembering them and even rekindling their popularity, which seemed extinct but still flared up occasionally. Even Virgil, the poet who had written the Aeneid, was dead. His national poem celebrated the battle that had opened a new golden era for Rome, putting an end to the civil wars.

  But certainly one person would not miss the show: the lovely lady who had been immortalized by a great artist on the frieze of the Altar of Peace. Along with many of the others represented in that procession. A thought occurred to Arminius, something that he’d thought of more than once in recent times: would he ever be immortalized in marble or bronze? This thought led to another. If he should one day deserve that honour, it would surely be in Rome. His ancestral people didn’t practise any form of art or literature, nor did they know how to work metal or raise crops. He was reminded of the flaxseed meal that he had eaten practically every day as a child. And then there was no comparison between the wine the Romans drank and the dense beer of his homeland, nor between the liquid gold olive oil and the melted fat of urus or boar. And yet, those distant roots that he seemed to have severed still emerged now and then in his mind and heart, while Flavus, who was his own flesh and blood, appeared completely immune to any feelings of that kind.

  Flavus . . . they were united by a promise, an oath. And there he was, in flesh and blood, standing in front of him.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ he asked him.

  ‘I’ve been standing here in front of you for a while,’ said Flavus. ‘You’ve just noticed me? You must be thinking some deep thoughts . . . Is it that girl with the crown of flowers who’s on your mind?’

  ‘No, I just got distracted thinking about old stuff. What’s happening?’

  ‘Come with me.’

  Arminius followed him along the bank of the basin until he stopped about one hundred steps away from a separate work yard where the fin
al parts of a second ship were being mounted.

  ‘Take a careful look,’ said Flavus. ‘I remember that you talked about seeing a machine being assembled in that warehouse at the river port. Did you hear any words being spoken?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t understand anything. Their voices were too low.’

  ‘Do you see anything that catches your attention on that ship?’

  ‘If a life-size version of the model ballistae I saw were on that ship, it would be covered by that taut sail three-quarters of the way towards the stern.’

  ‘You’re right. But I don’t think they’ll let us have a closer look.’

  ‘I think you may be right about that. In any case, make sure that I’m put on that ship the day it’s launched, posted on the right side if possible.’

  ‘I’ll go look for him right now,’ Flavus replied, and it was understood that ‘him’ was Primus Pilus Centurion Marcus Caelius Taurus.

  Taurus scowled as Flavus told him of the suspicions that he and his brother had, as they had pieced together all of the fragments and feared that danger was at hand.

  ‘Danger for whom? And who is behind it?’ The centurion’s voice was peremptory as he asked the first question, but quavered with the second.

  Flavus did not dare make the final conclusion plain. He was sure that Taurus would do so himself, but there was something stopping him; something that almost seemed to be blinding him. But what on earth could be clouding the mind of the stony centurion? Was it a memory, perhaps? A mistake? A mistake that he himself had made?

  ‘Don’t say a word to anyone. I have to leave this instant . . .’

  Before it’s too late, Flavus thought to himself, completing Taurus’s speech. He then added out loud, ‘The ship I’ve told you about is practically finished. They’re just taking care of the final touches. Arminius wants to be on that ship the day it touches the water.’

  Taurus nodded and had Thiaminus bring his horse. He rode off at a gallop.

  The next day, Flavus noticed that planks were being unloaded to serve as seating, along with frames to support them; the workers were using them to build a small stand to accommodate about twenty spectators. He imagined that a number of important people would be invited to witness the launch of the ship that was surely ready by now. They would be previewing how the ship could be manoeuvred around the lake that was being prepared for the naumachia. Since most of the battleships had not yet been built, there would still be time to make changes, especially as far as size was concerned.

  ON THE DAY of the launch, only the workmen were present on the Vatican Hill, in small groups of ten or so, scattered around the perimeter of the lake. There were boats at each work station that would allow them, if needed, to cross the lake much more rapidly than if they had to cover the distance on foot.

  Arminius went aboard the ship when the oarsmen were already sitting on the benches and the two helmsmen had taken their place at the tiller. He carried a big bag, like the ones the assembly foremen used for their tools, and had a tablet in hand on which to take notes. The captain stopped him. ‘Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.’

  ‘I’m in charge of analyzing the manoeuvrability of this type of ship in a closed space.’ He showed him the badge he wore around his neck impressed with the code of the Ravenna war fleet. The captain let him stay aboard without protest and Arminius went to sit on a coiled-up rope on the right side, close to the stern. The captain ordered the men to lower their oars and the foreman began beating out the rhythm for rowing.

  Arminius turned to look at the opposite shore, and saw that the guests were taking their places on the small stand. The ship was gliding east, over the lake’s still waters, heading towards the stand. As they approached he could begin to see its occupants more clearly. Four of the men were wearing togas, and the others were praetorian guards, at least thirty of them. Evidently the personages in their togas had wanted to see how the ship would handle itself on the water, in view of the historical commemoration soon to take place. Who were they? They must have been of very high status to warrant the presence of so many guards.

  Now he was getting close enough to make out the features of each individual. He recognized one of them by the cut of his hair, another by the way he let his left hand dangle and tucked the thumb of that left hand into the belt of his tunic. He’d seen this man much closer up and had been able to study him at length.

  Augustus. The emperor.

  Arminius started, and suddenly realized what might be about to happen in the time of a couple of oar strokes. He opened his tool case, extracted the interlocking segments of a spear shaft and he gripped the iron tip tightly. The Hermundur’s message was ringing in his ears. The destiny of the world, of Rome and of his ancestral people, was in the palm of his hand. But where was the threat coming from?

  It had to be behind the furled sail; it was the only area hidden from view. He crawled over the planks of the aft deck to get a closer look.

  There was a man bent over, behind the sail, who was uncovering an object hidden under a piece of canvas. A ballista. He was turning an iron bar to make it taut. He was loading a three-libra bolt.

  They were just in front of the stand.

  The man moved the sail aside and reached out his hand to remove the safety catch.

  He aimed. The commander of the guards saw him and yelled something.

  Arminius had already mounted the tip. He hurled his spear and it nailed the man’s hand onto the ballista’s wooden frame.

  What on earth had he done? He felt confused. Screams all around him. He dived into the lake, sank deep into the murky water and swam as far away as he could, then lifted his head just enough to see what was going on: the emperor was completely surrounded by praetorians, cargo boats had encircled the ship and armed men were climbing aboard to seize control. He heard the shrieks of the man as they tore out of his nailed hand the spear Arminius had thrown with such precision. He watched as they dragged him onto a boat and transported him to land.

  Arminius reached a pontoon at anchor, climbed onto it and hid behind some bales of rags and construction materials until nightfall. When the site was completely deserted and silent he heard the hoot of an owl, repeated three times.

  ‘I’m here,’ he said. ‘On the pontoon.’

  ‘Come ashore,’ rang out a voice. It was Flavus. He’d brought him clothing, food and a little wine. A carriage drawn by two horses was waiting nearby, with a man at the reins. They drove off.

  Back at their house on the Aventine, they talked as they had so many times before, until very late.

  ‘I realized that he was about to kill the emperor. I had to decide in an instant whether I would stop it from happening or let events take their course,’ said Arminius. ‘That’s when I understood what the Hermundur’s message meant, but I reacted out of pure instinct. I mounted the pieces of the shaft that I had in my bag and I hurled my spear at the killer just as he was about to let that bolt fly. I nailed his hand to the ballista frame and threw myself straight into the water. I didn’t want to be seized and interrogated. I’d done enough.’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ said Flavus. ‘They captured the perpetrator alive. They’ll torture him until he spits out the names of everyone who’s involved in this plot. I wonder what will happen to the lady.’

  ‘She’s the one who stands to lose the most. She got into something that was much bigger than she was, maybe even without realizing it, but this is going to crush her.’

  ‘Taurus will inform us tomorrow. We’re not going to get much sleep, wondering about that, but there will be a lot of people in Rome who won’t close an eye tonight. They’re already wandering the streets looking for a place to hide, but they’re finding out that such a place doesn’t exist.’

  DAWN.

  The sun rose on a city immersed in silence. But the two brothers, who rose at the first cock’s crow, could imagine the screams of a man being tortured to death so he would say what he knew. Above all, the na
mes of those who had armed his hand. Arminius knew some of those names himself and, given the chance, could recognize the others who he had seen inside a workshop at the river port and in a house on the other side of the Tiber.

  By the time the sun was high above the horizon, terror had taken over the City. Many people had been arrested and the word was that Julia herself had been summoned by her father to his private study. She had remained there at length and was seen sobbing as she left. Her house was being guarded by two praetorians.

  Taurus, who had gone out very early on his horse, came back at the fifth hour and sent for Flavus and Arminius. He was waiting for them, a scowl on his face, at the threshold to his house.

  ‘You were right,’ he started out, as soon as they had entered. ‘There was a conspiracy, like the one that forty-two years ago took the life of the divine Caesar on the Ides of March. The commemoration of the Battle of Actium has been cancelled. The Battle of Salamina will be re-enacted instead; it won’t make any difference to the populace. A great number of people were arrested last night. The would-be killer was tortured and he revealed the names of a couple of people, who in turn named others.

  ‘Even Julia’s freedwoman, Phoebe, was questioned under torture, but she did not say a single word. This morning they found her hanging from her breast band. She knew she couldn’t stand another day of torture, so she killed herself to protect her mistress. The emperor visited the dungeons at dawn; it seems that, when he saw Phoebe’s body hanging from a ceiling beam, he said, “I would have preferred her as my daughter.”

  ‘Augustus is preparing a document to be delivered to the Senate. Its contents are a secret for now. But what seems certain is that for Julia, being the emperor’s daughter will do her no good this time around.’

  Taurus turned out to be right. That document sent to the Senate was an act of public accusation of his daughter. But strangely, Augustus did not charge her with conspiracy but with crimes of sexual misconduct, adultery and participation in orgies. The trial proceedings were not, however, those used for sexual crimes but rather for high treason. Many of the accused were sentenced to death, including Iullus Antonius. Others were exiled and their assets confiscated. Julia’s life was spared but she was banished to the isle of Pandataria. Her mother, Scribonia, from whom she had been taken shortly after she was born, refused to abandon her and chose to share her fate on that black, lonely rock.