The Last Legion (18 page)

T
HEY SET OFF AGAIN
immediately at a gallop towards Cuma, where a little fishermen’s village rose on the sea near the ruins of the once-glorious Greek city. Livia seemed to know the territory quite well and she moved in the semi-darkness with great speed and confidence. The escape of four slaves, the killing of half a dozen guards and the flooding of the
piscina mirabilis
had caused such an uproar that it was in their best interest to find a safe and out-of-the-way haven. Batiatus was so enormous that he would attract people’s attention no matter where he was, so they had to find a way to get by unobserved. They decided to avoid lodging houses, taverns and public places. Livia had them take haven in a part of the dead city which was said to be the ancient lair of the Sybil of Cuma, a dark cave supposedly frequented by demons. She figured that one more black demon would only serve to stoke the popular imagination.

They stopped inside the tumbledown city walls and Livia took her companions inside the cave, actually a kind of artificial trapezium-shaped tunnel dug into the stone. They managed to light a feeble fire, and then Livia stitched up Batiatus’s wound, bandaging it as well as possible. She gave him her blanket to cover himself, as the others tried to settle in that uncomfortable shelter. Aurelius gathered up a quantity of dried leaves; some he threw on the fire, obtaining more smoke than flames, while the others he spread out on the ground so they would have something to stretch out on. Livia took all the food she had out of her satchel, too little for all of them: some cheese and olives and a loaf of bread. She offered it to those exhausted men.

‘It’s not much, just enough to fool our stomachs for tonight. Tomorrow we’ll see what we can find. We all need our rest now; it’s almost dawn.’

‘Rest?’ said Batiatus. ‘You must be joking, girl! There are too many things we have to tell each other. Do you know who we are? How much we’ve gone through together? Gods in heaven, I just can’t believe it. This fellow says: “Hey, sack of coal, don’t disappoint me with all the money I’ve bet on you.” I turn around to spit in the son of a bitch’s face, and who do I see? Aurelianus Ambrosius Ventidius in flesh and blood, right in front of me! By Hercules, I thought I was going to drop dead right then and there, and I said to myself, “What can a no-good like him be up to here? Want to bet that the bastard came all the way here just to free his good old friend?”’ His voice trembled as he spoke and his eyes twinkled like a child’s. ‘“Want to bet that he tracked me down in this disgusting hole?” But then, I think, “How did he ever find me in this shit hole, who told him I was here . . .” Gods in heaven, I still can’t believe it. Punch me, I want to know if I’m dreaming.’

Vatrenus dealt him a heavy blow on the head: ‘See? You’re awake! Everything’s all right now, black man. We made it, we made it out! We fucked them all! Can you imagine, once the public authorities got there, how many respectable people, how many devoted matrons, they found floundering in the water? Caught red handed at a clandestine gladiators’ fight? If only I’d been a frog, to see their faces! Can you imagine how many people will be sneezing and coughing tomorrow in the city?’

Aurelius burst out laughing, and all the others with him, laughter that left them gasping for air, laughter as liberating as the cry of a babe who has been in fear’s grip too long.

Livia watched them silently. Their male camaraderie was fascinating, a concentration of all men’s best virtues: friendship, solidarity, sacrifice, enthusiasm. Not even their rough barracks talk, which she certainly wasn’t used to, bothered her in the midst of their glee.

Then, suddenly, silence fell: the silence of remembrance and regret; the silence of the common memories of men who had faced the same dangers and suffered the same pain and the same toil for years, with only their friendship to comfort them, only the esteem and faith they had in each other; the silence of deep feeling and incredulous delight at finding each other again, against all possible odds, against the most adverse destiny. She could almost see the thoughts that passed through their moist eyes, under their furrowed brows; she could see their past in their callused hands, their scarred limbs, their shoulders that seemed to sag under the weight of their arms. They were thinking of the comrades who were no longer with them, those they had lost forever, of their commander, Claudianus, wounded and then slain by the fury of his enemies, deprived of the patrician honour of sleeping in the mausoleum of his ancestors.

It was Aurelius who broke that emotion-laden silence as he intercepted the curious glances of his comrades towards Livia. They must have been asking themselves who she was and how she had ended up in such a place with them.

‘This is Livia Prisca,’ he said. ‘She comes from a village of huts on the lagoon between Ravenna and Altinum, and she’s the chief here, whether you like it or not.’

‘You’re kidding. You’re the chief here, although I could pull rank on you,’ shot back Vatrenus.

‘No. She saved my life and she gave me something worth fighting for. She’s a woman who’s a lot like a man . . . but better, in many ways. And she’s the one . . . that is, she’ll pay you to join us in a mission, a mission that I’ll be leading. Is that clear?’

Batiatus shook his head, perplexed, but Livia interrupted, nodding towards the two men who had joined them in their escape: ‘What about them? Who are they? Can we trust them?’

‘We’re grateful that you’ve let us come with you,’ said one of them. ‘You’ve saved our lives. My name is Demetrius, I’m a Greek from Heracleia and I’m a prisoner of war. I was captured by the Goths at Sirmium while I was patrolling the Danube in my boat, and then sold to Odoacer’s Heruli. I was sent here to serve in the fleet because I was a sailor. I’m an excellent swordsman, that I can assure you, and no one can best me in the art of knife-throwing. This is my friend and comrade in arms Orosius. He’s taken part in military campaigns all over the world, and his skin is as tough as leather.’

‘They are worthy men,’ added Vatrenus. ‘They’ve always acted fairly, in all the time we’ve been together. They detest the barbarians as we do, and their only dream is to become free men again.’

‘Do you have families?’ asked Aurelius.

‘I had a family,’ answered Demetrius. ‘A wife and two boys of fourteen and sixteen, but I’ve heard nothing of them for five long years. They lived in the village near our winter camp. While I was away on a reconnaissance mission down the river, the Alans set up a bridge of boats during the night. They took our people by surprise and massacred them. When I returned, I found only ash and coal and black mud, under torrential rain. And corpses. Everywhere. Were I to live a hundred years, I will never forget that scene. I turned them over one by one, so much anguish in my heart, expecting at any moment to see a beloved face . . .’ His voice broke and he fell still.

‘I had a wife and a daughter,’ began his companion. ‘My wife’s name was Asteria and she was as lovely as the sun. One day, when I returned on leave from a long campaign in Mesia, I found that my city had been sacked by the Rugians. Both my wife and my daughter had been carried off. I’d heard that the tribe was still in the area, and my commander sent out native guides with a ransom request, but those savages demanded an exorbitant sum. I knew I would never be able pay them off. Then they vanished back into their immense grasslands, just as they had appeared. Since then, I’ve dreamt of nothing but setting out after them. But where? How? At night, before I fall asleep, I try to imagine where my wife and daughter have ended up, under what sky, and I wonder what my little girl looks like now.’ He bowed his head without saying another word.

They were stories like many others he had heard, but Aurelius was moved none the less. He had never truly resigned himself to this catastrophe. He had never shared the dream of the city of God as proclaimed by Augustine of Hippona. He had never imagined cities in the sky amidst the clouds. The only city for him was Rome of the seven hills, protected by Aurelian’s wall, founded on the divine Tiber. Rome, violated yet immortal, the mother of all lands and of all lands daughter, repository of the most sacred memories. He asked them: ‘And now that you are free, where would you like to go?’

‘We have no place to go,’ replied Orosius.

‘We have nothing. No one,’ echoed Demetrius. ‘Take us with you on this mission of yours.’

Aurelius looked at Livia, unsure. She nodded: ‘They seem the right sort, and we certainly need men.’

‘They may not want to stay on when they’ve heard what we plan to do.’

The men looked each other grimly in the face at these words.

‘If you don’t tell us, how will we ever know?’ prompted Batiatus.

‘What’s all this mystery about? Out with it!’ said Vatrenus.

‘You can trust us. Our friends know this. We’ve always tried to protect each other in the fights,’ insisted Demetrius and Orosius.

Aurelius exchanged a rapid glance with Livia, who nodded again.

‘We want to liberate Emperor Romulus Augustus from Capri, where he is being held prisoner.’

‘What did you say?’ asked Vatrenus incredulously.

‘What you heard.’

‘By Hercules,’ swore Batiatus. ‘That’s a big job.’

‘A big job! It’s pure foolishness! He’ll be watched over day and night by a multitude of guards,’ exclaimed Vatrenus.

‘Freckle-faced pigs,’ Batiatus commented again. ‘I hate them.’

‘Seventy in all. We’ve counted them,’ said Livia.

‘And there are five of us,’ said Vatrenus, looking hard at the others.

‘Six,’ said Livia.

Vatrenus shrugged.

‘Don’t underestimate her,’ warned Aurelius. ‘She nearly tore the balls off a fellow bigger than you down at the port. If I hadn’t stopped her, she’d have slit his throat like a goat’s.’

‘Not bad,’ observed Orosius, giving Livia the once-over.

‘Well?’ asked Aurelius. ‘Remember you’re free men now. You can walk off and we’ll still be friends. You’ll buy a drink for me one day, when we meet in some brothel.’

‘You’d never manage it on your own,’ said Batiatus.

Vatrenus sighed: ‘I get it. We’ve fallen from the frying pan into the fire, but at least it seems like we might have some fun getting the job done. There’s not any money in it, is there? I’m stony broke and . . .’

‘One thousand gold solids a head,’ said Livia, ‘when the mission is completed.’

‘By the gods!’ exclaimed Vatrenus. ‘For a thousand solids I’ll bring you Cerberus up from the underworld.’

‘What are we waiting for?’ asked Batiatus. ‘Looks like we all agree, right?’

Aurelius raised his hand to ask for a bit of silence: ‘My friends, the task that awaits us may prove more difficult than anything any of us has ever done. We have to find a way on to the island, free the emperor and then take him across Italy to a point on the Adriatic coast where a ship will be waiting to take him to safety. This is where we’ll be paid by Livia and by those who have assigned her this mission.’

‘What then?’ asked Vatrenus.

‘That’s asking too much!’ replied Aurelius. ‘It was quite a feat just getting you out of that inferno! Who knows? Maybe each of us will go his own way, or the emperor will want to take us with him, or perhaps . . . Who can say? I’m dead tired and we all need to get some sleep. With the light of day we’ll be able to think straight. The first thing we’ll have to do is find a boat so we can get close enough to the island to study the situation, and then we’ll see. We’ll have to come up with a foolproof plan before we act. Who’ll stand the first guard tonight?’

‘The first and only, since it’s almost dawn. I will,’ offered Batiatus. ‘I’m not tired, and besides, I’m practically invisible in the dark.’

They were weary and weak, conscious that their punishment would be atrocious were they ever tracked down, but they had taken fate back into their own hands and would never let it go again, for any reason in the world. They would rather face death.

*

The first days of their stay in Capri were almost pleasant. The colours of the island were extraordinary: the deep green of the pine forests and of the myrtle and lentiscus bushes, the bright yellow broom and the silvery grey wild olives under a turquoise sky made Romulus feel as if he had fallen into some sort of Elysium. The moon’s tremulous light danced on the waves of the sea at night as they foamed white over the pebbles on the shore and around the great rocky pinnacles that towered hugely over the water. The wind brought the salty odour of the sea all the way up to the steps of the great villa, along with all the myriad fragrances of that enchanted land. This is how Romulus as a boy had imagined the island of Calypso, where Ulysses had forgotten his native Ithaca, bare and stony, for seven long years.

The breeze carried the smell of figs, of rosemary and mint, along with far-off island sounds: bleating, shepherds’ calls, shrieking birds wheeling in the crimson sky at dusk. The sailboats returned to port like lambs to the fold, smoke rose in lazy spirals from the houses set low on the tranquil bay.

Ambrosinus began immediately to gather herbs and minerals, sometimes in Romulus’s company, although their jailers never lost sight of them. He taught the boy the virtues of certain berries and roots, and explained the movements of the constellations in the sky. He pointed out the big and the little dippers, and the north star: ‘That is the star of my land,’ he recounted, ‘Britannia, an island as big as all of Italy, green with forests and fields, inhabited by immense flocks of sheep and by herds of red bulls with great black horns. At its outermost reaches,’ he said, ‘the nights of winter last six months and the sun in summer never sets. Its light continues to illuminate the sky until midnight.’