The Last Legion (24 page)

The servants began to pull the winch handles and the platform pulled free, squeaking and groaning. It swung back and forth precariously, slowly making its way up towards the upper loggia.

*

On the other side of the island, Batiatus jumped to the ground at the base of the cliff and pulled the boat into the shelter of a little beach circled by sharp rocks. The weather was changing: gusts of cold wind rippled the waves on the sea, raising puffs of foam. A front of black clouds advanced from the west, pierced by the intermittent flash of lightning. The rumble of thunder mixed with the deep roar of Mount Vesuvius off in the distance.

‘All we needed was a storm,’ complained Vatrenus, unloading two coils of rope from the boat.

‘All the better for us,’ observed Aurelius. ‘The guards will stay holed up inside and we’ll be freer to move. Let’s get started, men.’

Batiatus secured the stern line to a boulder and signalled to Demetrius to pay out the anchor from the bow. Then they all leapt ashore. They wore corselets of reinforced leather or metallic mail over their tunics, close-fitting trousers, a sword and dagger at their belts and iron helmets. Aurelius walked to the base of the cliff and took a deep breath as he always did when he was about to face the enemy. From below, the first part of the rock face seemed to have a bit of an incline that might not make it too arduous to climb.

‘Two of us have to go up to that ridge, there where the colour of the rock gets lighter,’ he said. ‘I’ll carry the rope that I’ve threaded with pegs; we’ll be able to use it as a ladder. You, Vatrenus will carry the sack with the stakes and the hammer. Livia will be throwing us down the rope that will help us up the second gradient, the steeper of the two. If she’s not there, we’ll free climb. If that fisherman could do it, so can we.’ He turned to Batiatus. ‘You’ll have to hold the bottom end of the rope taut when you see us ready to come down, so that it won’t swing in the wind. We don’t want the boy to become frightened or to be thrown off-balance and fall, especially if it starts to rain and the ropes become slippery. Let’s move while there’s still a bit of light.’

Vatrenus grabbed his arm: ‘Are you sure your shoulder will hold out? Maybe Demetrius should go first; he’s lighter than you are.’

‘No, I’m going first. My shoulder is fine, don’t worry about me.’

‘You’re a stubborn bastard and if we were still at camp, I’d show you who’s in command, but here you decide. All right, men, let’s go.’

Aurelius put the roll of rope over his shoulder and started to climb. Vatrenus made his way up directly behind him, carrying the heavy leather sack that held the hammer and tent stakes that they would use to secure Aurelius’s rope as soon as they reached the ledge.

*

In the villa’s lower courtyard, they were hoisting the fifth of the big doliums when a sudden gust of wind made the platform sway. A second gust augmented the swing so that the enormous jar, already halfway between the courtyard pavement and the upper loggia, tore the fragile straps that were holding it and crashed to the ground. It shattered at impact with the pavement, spraying shards of clay over a huge area, and depositing a large pool of oil. Several of the men were injured and others, completely drenched in oil from head to toe, staggered around unsteadily. The head servant swore and kicked them as he yelled: ‘It had to be the oil jar, didn’t it, you damned idiots! I’ll make you pay for this, you can be sure I’ll make you pay!’

Livia peeked from under the lid of her jar and ducked down quickly as she realized that the platform had been lowered again and they were securing the lid and tilting her dolium to load it up. She held her breath until the water level inside stabilized, then put a reed in her mouth to breathe. As the platform was being raised, the squeaking of the entire structure increased as it swung back and forth in the intensifying wind. From inside the jar, the whistle of the wind sounded like a muffled moaning. Livia could feel her heart beating faster and faster in the dark of that confined liquid prison, that stone womb. She was knocked around with every swing of the jar, confusing her orientation and balance.

Beyond her powers of endurance, Livia was about to drive her sword through the wall of the jar, despite the terrible risk, when she sensed that the loading platform had settled on to a firm surface. She forced herself to hold her breath as the servants rolled the dolium across the floor and her air supply was cut off entirely. They finally set the big jar upright, presumably next to the others. She lifted her head above the surface of the water and took a deep breath, blowing liquid out of her nose. She waited until she could no longer hear any footsteps, then extracted her dagger and stuck it into the slit between the neck of the jar and the lid, running it along the edge until she found the securing rope and cut through it. She was exhausted and her limbs were stiff and nearly paralysed by the cold.

*

A short distance away, Ambrosinus and Romulus were in the imperial apartments, preparing for escape. They wore comfortable clothing and felt shoes to allow them to move rapidly in complete silence. The old man gathered up everything that would fit in his satchel: all his powders, herbs and amulets. Then he added the
Aeneid
.

‘That’s useless weight!’ protested Romulus.

‘On the contrary. It is the most precious thing I have in here, my son,’ replied Ambrosinus. ‘When we flee and leave everything behind us, the only treasure that we can take with us is our memory. The memory of our origins, of our roots, the stories of our ancestors. Only memory can allow us to be reborn. It doesn’t matter where, it doesn’t matter when. If we conserve the memory of our past greatness and the reasons we’ve lost it, we will rise again.’

‘But you come from Britannia,
Ambrosine
. You are a Celt.’

‘That’s true, but at a time so terrible when everything is collapsing and dissolving, in which the only civilization of this world has been struck to the quick, we cannot say that we are not Romans. Even those of us who come from the most remote periphery of the empire, those of us who were abandoned, long ago, to our destiny. But you, Caesar, are you bringing nothing with you?’

Romulus took the sword out from under the bed. He had wrapped and tied it carefully with some string, adding a strap so he could carry it over his shoulder.

‘I’m taking this,’ he said.

*

Aurelius found himself at about thirty feet from the craggy ridge that cut the rock face in two, when all of a sudden lightning lit up the cliff bright as day, followed by the crack of thunder. A drenching rain began, the footholds became slippery, and they could barely see for the water dripping down their faces. With every passing instant the coil of rope that Aurelius wore over his shoulder became heavier, soaked through and through. Vatrenus could see him struggling under his load and tried to get as close as possible. He found a foothold and nailed a stake into the rock as high up as he could reach. Aurelius managed to draw closer and set his foot down on the stake, hoisting himself up until he could clutch at a rock spike emerging from the mountain on his right. From that point on, the slope was more accentuated and allowed them to advance with greater confidence up to the ledge underlying the sheer rock wall. It was a kind of calcareous embankment covered by debris which had fallen from above over the millennia. Aurelius dropped the rope and leaned back to help his companion up as well.

Vatrenus took the mallet from his sack and nailed two stakes into the rock. He tied the length of rope to them and let it roll down to their landing spot. Batiatus grabbed it and energetically yanked on it to make sure it was secure.

‘It’s holding,’ commented Vatrenus, satisfied.

Pulled tight, with the thirty or so pegs that Aurelius had threaded through the rope about three feet apart all the way down, the rope nearly looked like a ladder.

‘The boy will make it down for sure,’ said Aurelius.

‘What about the old man?’ asked Vatrenus.

‘Him, too. He’s swifter than you’d think.’ He looked up, trying the shield his eyes from the downpour: ‘I don’t see Livia yet, damn it. What shall we do? I’m not waiting much longer; I’ll go up alone.’

‘You’re crazy. You’ll never make it. Not in these conditions.’

‘You’re wrong. I’ll use the stakes. Pass me the bag.’

Vatrenus looked at him unbelievingly, but just then a handful of little stones hit them from above. Aurelius looked up again and saw a small figure standing on the villa walls, waving.

‘Livia!’ he exclaimed. ‘Finally.’

The girl threw the rope but the bottom end swung free about ten feet above Aurelius’s head.

‘No! It’s too short!’ cursed Vatrenus.

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll climb up on your shoulders and try to grab it. Once I’m up, you nail in the stakes one by one, up to the point where the rope ends, so we can get them down without too much trouble. All right, let’s try it.’

Vatrenus bent over, fuming. Aurelius stood on his shoulders and his friend pushed him up as high as he could. Then he climbed, skinning his hands, his arms, his knees, leaving bits of flesh on the sharp outcroppings, until he managed to grasp the bottom end of the rope. Pulling himself up required enormous effort. The wind kept getting stronger and stronger, swinging the rope to the left and right, smashing him up against the bare rock, as his cries of pain became lost in the roar of the storm. In the distance, sinister blood-red reflections flashed from the mouth of Vesuvius. The cord was soaking wet and very slippery, and he was often dragged down by his own weight, so that he lost in an instant ground that had taken him great efforts to gain, but he started back up again each time, stubbornly, gritting his teeth, ignoring the fatigue and pain that tormented every muscle and every joint. The sharp pangs of his old head wound stabbed into his brain.

Livia followed his every movement with spasmodic tension. When Aurelius was finally close enough, she leaned her whole upper body over the parapet and grabbed his arms, pulling with all her might. With a final shot of energy, Aurelius clambered over the parapet and held her tight in a joyous embrace under the drenching rain. She broke away: ‘Hurry! We have to help Vatrenus and the others.’

Below, Demetrius and Orosius had reached the ledge by climbing up along the rope ladder. Using the stakes that Vatrenus had driven into the rock as footholds, they arrived at the lower end of the rope that Livia had thrown down. One by one, they tied it to their waists and scrambled up rapidly, pulled by their comrades from above. Vatrenus went up last.

‘I told you we’d make it!’ exclaimed Livia triumphantly. ‘Now we’ve got to find the boy before the guards make their rounds.’

T
HE RAMPART WALKWAY WAS
deserted and the pavement, with its large slabs of schist, shone like a mirror in the sudden flashes of lightning. The doliums that had been hoisted up earlier were against the wall and Livia grimaced, remembering her recent experience in one of their bellies.

‘There’s a platform behind those jars with a goods elevator,’ she said. ‘We could have Orosius and Demetrius lower us with a winch to the courtyard and reach the library from there. That’s where they’re waiting for us, right?’

‘You’re right, but we would make an easy target if they saw us swaying on the lift,’ objected Aurelius. ‘Better to go from the inside. It can’t be too difficult to get to the courtyard, and there will be a light on in the library to guide us to them.’ He turned to Orosius: ‘You remain here on guard, to keep our escape route open. Count slowly to one hundred ten times after we’ve gone: if we’re not back by then, go to where Batiatus is waiting and put out to sea. If we can we’ll join you on the mainland within two days’ time. Otherwise, it will mean that our mission ended badly, and you and Batiatus will be free to go wherever you like.’

‘I’m sure you’ll return safe and sound,’ replied Orosius. ‘Good luck.’

Aurelius gave him a half smile, then waved his companions over. They started down the stone stair that led to the lower level, Aurelius first with his sword in hand, then Livia, Vatrenus and Demetrius last.

The stairwell was completely dark, although occasional lightning streamed through the narrow loopholes on high. As they made their way down, they began to notice a slight luminescence radiating on to the walls and tufa steps. Aurelius gestured to the others to proceed with caution as they advanced towards the light. The steps ended in a corridor lit by a few oil lamps hanging from the wall at the door to each room.

Aurelius beckoned them on, whispering: ‘There’s a hall here, lined with doors that I would guess are bedrooms. When I give you the signal, cross the hall as quickly as you can. We should be able to reach the second flight of stairs that will lead us downstairs, to the ground level. Come on now, there’s not a soul to be seen.’

‘Go on, we’ll be behind you,’ said Vatrenus, but as soon as Aurelius moved, a door opened on his left and a barbarian warrior came out with a half-naked woman. Aurelius leapt at him with his sword and ran him through from side to side before he realized what was happening. The girl started to scream, but Livia was already behind her, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘Quiet!’ she hissed. ‘We don’t want to hurt you, but if you make a sound I’ll cut your throat. Understand?’ The girl nodded convulsively. Demetrius and Vatrenus swiftly bound her wrists and ankles and gagged her, dragging her into a dark corner.