The Last Legion (14 page)

Livia went on, implacable: ‘There was a man. Standing at the stern, a young Roman officer. His armour was bloodied. When he saw us, he got out, into the water, helped my mother up and took me into his arms as she settled into the last remaining place. He held me by the waist and pushed me up towards my mother’s outstretched arms, but I saw dark water beneath me and I clutched onto his neck. And that’s when I tore this off,’ she said, touching the medal with the silver eagle hanging at her neck. ‘My mother managed to grab me and she held me tight while the boat slowly pulled away. That’s the last image I have of him: standing there, dark against an inferno of flames, with a troop of barbarian soldiers galloping up behind him, like demons, waving torches. That soldier was you. I’m sure of it.’

She stroked the little silver eagle between her fingers. ‘I’ve always worn this since that night, and I’ve never lost hope of finding the hero who saved our lives, sacrificing his own.’

She fell still and stood in front of her companion, waiting for his response, for a sign that she had reawakened his awareness of the past, but Aurelius said nothing. He closed his eyes tight to press back the tears, to prevail somehow over the emptiness that yawned before him.

‘That’s why you are drawn to this medal. You know it belongs to you. It’s the badge of your division, the Eighth
Vexillatio Pannonica
, the heroic defenders of Aquileia!’

Aurelius shuddered at her words, but regained control. He opened his eyes and looked at the girl tenderly, taking her by the shoulders. ‘That young soldier is dead, Livia. He’s dead, understand?’

Livia shook her head while tears ran down her cheeks.

‘He’s dead. Like all the rest. There were no survivors in that garrison. Everyone knows that. It’s just a dream you had when you were a little girl. Think about it: given the situation you’ve described, is there any chance that that young man might have lived, and that you’d meet up with him again after all these years?’ But as he spoke he saw Wulfila’s face twisted in fury, heard his voice shouting: ‘I know you, Roman! I’ve seen you before!’

‘These things only happen in fables. Give it up.’

‘Really? Well then, tell me something. Where were you the night Aquileia fell?’

‘I don’t know, believe me. It happened too long ago, beyond the confines of my memory.’

‘Maybe I can prove it to you. Listen to me. While you were sleeping just now, I wanted to see if . . .’

‘What?’

‘If you have a scar on your chest. I . . . I think I remember that that soldier was bleeding from a wound on his chest.’

‘Lots of soldiers have scars on their chests. Brave ones, anyway.’

‘And why are you always attracted to this medal?’

‘I’m not looking at the medal. I’m looking at . . . your breasts.’

‘Get away from me!’ screamed Livia in a fit of anger and disappointment. ‘Leave me alone! Leave me alone I said!’

‘Livia, I . . .’

‘Leave me alone,’ she whimpered softly.

Aurelius walked away as she crouched over the last embers, cradling herself and covering her face. She wept in silence.

She couldn’t move, until she realized that she was chilled to the bone. She lifted her head and saw Aurelius leaning against an oak tree, a shadow among the shadows, alone with his ghosts.

A
URELIUS WALKED TO THE
stream, took off his corselet and tunic and began to wash his chest with the clean, cold water, lingering over the scar that creased his skin right at the junction of his collar bone. The freezing water made him shiver at first, but then gave him a sensation of strength and energy after a troubled, mostly sleepless night. A sudden cramp made him shut his eyes and wince, but it wasn’t the scar that caused the pain. It came from a hard bump at the base of his skull, the result of some fall or other, who knows when and who knows where. As the years passed, that acute pain, prolonged and throbbing, was coming more frequently and seemed more intense.

‘They’re moving!’ cried Livia. ‘We have to go!’

Aurelius dried off without turning, slipped on his tunic and corselet, slung his sword over his shoulder and climbed up the short slope to where Juba was calmly grazing on the dewy grass. He jumped into the saddle and galloped off, followed by Livia. When they slowed to a walk, Aurelius observed: ‘The weather is changing. My pains always let me know.’

Livia smiled: ‘My grandfather used to say the same thing. He was quite a character: thin, bony and practically toothless! I remember him as if it were yesterday. He was a veteran, you see, and had fought with Emperor Valentinian the Third at Adrianopolis against the Goths. He would get these stabs of pain when the weather was about to change, although he couldn’t even tell you where they came from, he was so full of scars and mended breaks! He was never wrong; six or seven hours might go by, but it would always start to rain. Or worse.’

Below them the long procession of Heruli and Skyrian warriors escorting the carriage of the young emperor and his tutor wound through the last stretches of the swamp. Wet, glossy-coated buffalo would emerge from the bog as they passed, moving a few steps away. Others sprawled on the road to dry themselves in the morning sun; they would get up lazily, the huge, muddy beasts, and move away from the horses towards the meadow strewn with purple thistles and golden dandelions. Italy’s most fertile plain began to open before them, fields yellow with stubble or brown with overturned earth where ploughs had passed. A little ruined sanctuary marked the territory of some ancient Oscan tribe. A shrine placed at the meeting of three crossroads, once dedicated to Hecate, had been replaced by a Christian image: Mary with the holy child in her arms.

*

They continued until evening, when the convoy stopped not far from the banks of a stream. The men started to set up tents for the officers and prepare their own spots for the night. Farmers coming home from the fields, tools in hand, and children cavorting in the day’s last light paused to watch them with curiosity but soon headed off for their villages and homes, from which spirals of smoke were starting to rise. After darkness fell, Livia pointed to some distant lights in the plain: ‘That’s Minturnus,’ she said, ‘once famous for its wine.’

Aurelius nodded and absent-mindedly quoted a couple of hexameters: ‘
Vina bibes interum Tauro diffusa palustres inter Minturnas . . .
’ Livia was shocked: she’d never heard a soldier quote Horace in verse and with a classic pronunciation! His past continued to escape her.

‘We have to make contact,’ said Aurelius. ‘Tomorrow they’ll have to head south towards Naples or southeast towards Capua, but in either case, without the cover of these hills we won’t be able to continue following them. We’ll be seen if we go down to the plain, with all these villages and farmhouses. Strangers never pass unobserved.’

‘What’s that?’ Livia interrupted him, pointing to a winking light near a grove of willow trees close to the stream. Aurelius watched attentively and after a while that intermittent flashing brought something to mind: it seemed to be the communication system used by the reserved imperial postal service!

He watched more carefully, and the signals soon began to take on meaning. Disconcerting. ‘
Huc descende, miles gloriose
.’ Come down here, swaggering soldier. He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, then turned to Livia and said: ‘Cover me and keep the horses ready in case we need to get out fast. I’m going down.’

‘Wait . . .’ protested Livia, but she didn’t have time to finish; Aurelius had already disappeared into the thick vegetation. She could hear the leaves rustling for a while as he passed, then nothing.

Aurelius was trying not to lose sight of the light sending out those curious signals. He soon realized that it was a lantern, held high by an old man to illuminate his path. The light gleamed on his bald head: Romulus’s tutor! Followed by a barbarian warrior. A few steps further and he could hear their voices. ‘Stay back, give me a little room! I’m used to doing certain things in private; where do you think I’ll run to, you animal? It’s dark, and you know I’d never abandon the emperor!’

The barbarian muttered something, then leaned back against the trunk of a willow. The tutor walked a little forward, hung the lantern on a branch and arranged his cloak on a bush so that it looked like a person crouching. He walked a few steps further and vanished, swallowed up by the forest. Aurelius, who had come very close, was perplexed. What to do now? He couldn’t call out or signal his position; the barbarian would hear him immediately. He moved towards the point where he’d seen the old man disappear and found himself near the bank of the river, where the foliage was even thicker and darker. A quiet voice abruptly sounded behind him, less than a step away.

‘Crowded here, isn’t it?’

Aurelius spun around and Ambrosinus found his sword at his throat, but he did not flinch.

‘Good boy now,’ he said, ‘Everything’s all right.’

‘How—’

‘Quiet. We only have the time for a crap.’

‘By Hercules—’

‘I’m Ambrosinus, the tutor of the emperor.’

‘That much I know.’

‘Don’t interrupt me, just listen. Surveillance is heightened because we’re approaching our destination. They won’t even leave me alone to take a shit any more! You must also know, I imagine, that they’re taking us to Capri. How many of you are there?’

‘Two. Me and . . . a woman, but—’

‘Yes, the water vendor. Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t try it again on your own, it would be suicide. If they catch you, they’ll flay you alive. You need someone who can give you a hand.’

‘We have money. We plan on recruiting—’

‘Be careful! A mercenary is always ready to change his master; be sure to find someone you can trust. The other night I heard a couple of Wulfila’s officers talking about Roman prisoners sent to Misenus to serve on the fleet. It might be worth your while to try there.’

‘I certainly will,’ replied Aurelius. ‘Can you find out more?’

‘I’ll try. In any case, stay close behind us. I’ll leave traces whenever I can. I see that you can read the light code. Can you use it as well?’

‘Of course, but how did you know that I would see you?’

‘The cup: I realized it was a signal, so I answered by scratching our destination into the bottom of the bowl. Then I thought that if you weren’t stupid you’d be following us from the hills and your vantage point would allow you to see my light – just as I’ve seen your fires. Now I must go. Even if I were constipated, I’ve taken too long!’

Ambrosinus moved off, recovering his lantern, his cloak and his companion, who was still waiting to escort him back to camp.

*

He found Romulus leaning against a tree, looking off into nothingness.

‘You must react, my boy!’ admonished Ambrosinus. ‘You can’t go on like this! You’re just at the start of your existence and you must begin living again.’

Romulus didn’t even turn. ‘Living? What for?’ and he slipped back into his silence.

Ambrosinus sighed, ‘And yet, there is hope for us . . .’

‘Hope scribbled on the bottom of a cup, right? Once hope was kept in a box, if I remember correctly. Pandora’s box.’

‘Your sarcasm is out of place. That soldier has already tried to save you and he is more determined than ever to free you.’

Romulus nodded without enthusiasm.

‘That man has risked his life for you, and he’s willing to do it again. He considers you his emperor, and this is so important for him that he won’t give up such a desperate endeavour. He deserves much more than just a nod from you.’

Romulus didn’t answer at first, but from his look Ambrosinus realized that he’d struck a chord.

‘I don’t want him to risk his life again, that’s all. What’s his name?’

‘Aurelius, if I remember well.’

‘That’s a common name.’

‘You’re right, but he is not a common man. He behaves as though he is commanding an entire army at your orders, and yet he’s all alone. Your life and your liberty are the most precious things in the world for him. His faith in you is so blind that he’s ready to face any danger, although the wound he suffered in his last attempt to save you hasn’t even healed yet. Think about this when you no longer have the courage to take your life into your own hands, when you behave as if your life were not worth living. Think about it, little Caesar.’

He turned and walked towards the tent to prepare some dinner for his pupil, but before entering he turned his gaze to the shadowy forested hills and muttered between his teeth: ‘Hold fast,
miles gloriose
! By all the devils and all the gods, hold fast.’

*

‘He called me
miles gloriosus
, can you believe it?’ panted Aurelius at the top of the hill. ‘Like I was some character from a play. I was about to cut his throat.’

‘The old man’s, I suppose. Was it him?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘He’s read Plautus, that’s all. And so have you, I see. You’re quite an educated man. Rare for a soldier, especially these days. Haven’t you ever asked yourself why?’

‘I have other things to think about,’ Aurelius cut her short.