The Last Legion (25 page)

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Downstairs, in the old triclinium, Wulfila was just finishing his dinner. ‘Did you hear something?’ he asked his lieutenant, one of the Skyrians who had fought under Mledo.

‘What?’

‘Shouting.’

‘The men are upstairs having a good time with the latest shipload of whores from Naples. Nothing to worry about.’

‘No, that was no cry of pleasure,’ he insisted, getting to his feet and taking up his sword.

‘So what? You know that some of the men like to get their thrills that way. What I’m worried about is that these trollops are going to wear out our brave young warriors. All they think about is fucking lately.’

The words were not out of his mouth when they heard another cry, of rage and pain this time, suffocated in a death rattle.

‘Damnation!’ swore Wulfila, reaching the window that let on to the courtyard. There was only one light to be seen, inside the library, but he could make out a confused scuffling of shadows, a glittering of blades in the dark and then more screams and cries of agony.

‘We’re being attacked. Sound the alarm, fast!’

The officer called a guard who blew into the war horn, again and again, until another horn answered and yet another, and the entire villa resounded with that tremendous noise. A flash of lightning lit up the great courtyard and Wulfila recognized Aurelius, who was tussling with one of his men who had tried to bar his passage. There seemed to be three more men with him, shielding the old man and the boy.

‘No!’ he howled. ‘Him again!’

He raced into the corridor with his sword in hand shouting like a mad man: ‘I want him alive! Bring him to me alive!’

Aurelius realized they would be upon them in a matter of moments. He led his comrades towards the flight of stairs, as other warriors burst forth, brandishing lit torches. They reached the upstairs corridor but found it blocked by a number of armed guards. Livia attacked from the left and Vatrenus and Demetrius from the right, trying to draw them away from the stairs so that Aurelius could clear a passage to the walkway above.

Ambrosinus was flat against the wall, holding Romulus tight as the boy tried to wriggle away so he could jump into the fray. The old man was consumed by utter distress: their escape was already doomed, before it had even got underway. Aurelius delivered a great downward blow but his adversary eluded him and the Roman’s sword shattered into pieces against the pillar of the stair. Romulus did not hesitate an instant. As Aurelius drew back, defending himself as best he could with his dagger, the boy shouted: ‘Try this one!’ and tossed him his sword.

The fabulous weapon sailed towards Aurelius, flashing like a lightning bolt in the night, and his fist rose to seize it. He wielded it solidly in hand now, with all its inexorable force.

Nothing could resist that blade. Cascades of sparks sprayed out on impact with shields and axes. It cut through helmets and penetrated skulls as if slicing through air. When it hit the pillar again, myriad incandescent splinters shot through the air accompanied by an acute, deafening clangour. The horrified survivors were mowed down one by one as Livia pulled Romulus and Ambrosinus up the stairs, now free from any obstacles. Aurelius stayed behind for a moment to cover their retreat; as he stood in the middle of a mass of lifeless bodies, the splendid, bloodied weapon in his fist, he saw Wulfila. There was no more than a swift exchange of glances between the two warriors and then Aurelius vanished behind his comrades.

Before their pursuers could catch up with them, they closed and bolted the walkway door behind them. Wulfila, an instant too late, lunged at the massive ironclad door, raining punches and howling in impotent rage. He shouted: ‘Quickly, to the east ramp! There’s no way out from there!’ He ran down the stairs, meeting up with another group led by his lieutenant.

‘You go down the outside stairs to the storehouses, quickly. We’ll smoke them out between two fires!’ he ordered. They raced off, disappearing at the end of the corridor.

On the upper walkway, Aurelius and his men were running towards the parapet where Orosius was anxiously awaiting them, guarding the only escape route.

‘The boy first!’ ordered Aurelius. Orosius leaned over, shouting at the top of his lungs to make himself heard over the din of the storm. Batiatus heard him and prepared to receive the fugitives. Demetrius, Vatrenus and the others formed a semicircle around Romulus as he readied himself for the climb. The boy’s heart sank as he looked down: the cliff face glittered like steel and the sea below was boiling with foam amidst razor-sharp rocks. The boat, tossed here and there on the waves, looked as fragile as a nutshell at that distance. He took a deep breath as Orosius tried to secure him to the rope with a makeshift harness, but at that moment Livia, who had climbed up to the top of the parapet, saw Wulfila’s men in the distance, closing in on them from both left and right, and she sounded the alarm.

‘The jars!’ she shouted, leaping to the ground. ‘We can use the jars against them! The first and the third are full of oil!’ Her comrades ran over and even Orosius abandoned the rope to give them a hand. They tipped over the two huge jars and rolled them in opposite directions. The containers slid uncontrollably to the right and left, crashing first against the parapet and then against the inner wall, picking up speed until they smashed violently against the wall. They broke to pieces and liberated a shiny wave that reached the two groups as they ran at full speed. The first warriors slipped and fell, and the torches they held in their hands set fire to the oil, raising whirling flames at both ends of the walkway. Some of the men, transformed into living torches, dived into the sea and disappeared beneath the waves. Others crashed down the cliffs, bouncing from one rock to another like disjointed puppets.

As more ran up to take their places, Aurelius knew that they had no choice but to fight to the last. He gritted his teeth and gripped the sword that his emperor had given him. He would throw it into the sea with his last spark of energy before he died, so that it would never fall into the hands of the enemy. As the five warriors squared off for their last fight, however, Romulus suddenly called out: ‘Follow me! I know a way out!’ And he ran towards a little ironclad gate, drawing the bolt.

Aurelius grasped the boy’s intent and leaned over the parapet, shouting and waving at Batiatus to cast off the moorings and set out to sea. He threw the rope down, since he no longer had any hopes that they would be able to escape that way. He ran to the gate and followed his comrades down the stairs. The storm was abating, although the reverberations of the volcano, nursing its rage in the darkness, were becoming louder and louder in the distance. They negotiated the courtyard by creeping along the shadows of the north wall, until Romulus reached the tree-lined lane that would keep the fugitives out of sight until they could get to the drainage grate that would give them access to the cryptoporticus. Romulus yanked it open and the others followed him in.

‘What luck that Batiatus is not with us,’ said Vatrenus. ‘He’d never fit through here.’

They dropped down one after another, but in the meantime one of the servants, awakened by all that uproar, saw them and started yelling. The furious barking of dogs echoed his cries and a group of guards ran over with torches and lanterns, searching the grounds.

‘Where are the intruders?’ demanded a guard.

The servant didn’t know what to say: ‘I swear, it was right here that I saw them. I’m sure of it!’

They were immobile under the drainage grate; their pursuers were standing right above them, and they could see their faces lit by the lanterns they held in their hands.

The guard insisted, but the man could only shrug, as the dogs roamed back and forth, whimpering. The barbarian gave him a hard push backwards, swearing, and led his men to another spot to continue their search. Romulus lifted the grate a bit to make sure that they had really all gone, and then started to let himself down to the floor of the cryptoporticus, and the others followed suit. The underground chamber was pitch black. Ambrosinus took out his flint and after a few tries managed to light a wick that he kept coiled up in a jar full of a black substance that seemed like tallow. The tiny smoking flame soon grew into a little globe of white light that guided them through the impressive display of imperial monuments. They finally reached the great green marble slab. Aurelius and the others could not hide their amazement, both at Ambrosinus’s miraculous flame and at that incredible parade of Caesars represented in the splendour of their draped robes and armour.

‘Great gods,’ murmured Vatrenus. ‘I’ve never seen a place like this in all my life.’

‘Jesus!’ echoed Orosius, widening his eyes at all those marvels.

‘Romulus discovered them,’ Ambrosinus said proudly, pointing at his disciple, who was approaching the marble slab. Romulus turned to Aurelius and said: ‘You haven’t seen anything yet. This is where the sword you’re holding comes from. Look!’

He placed his fingers on the three Vs and pushed. They could hear the noise of the counterweights and mechanisms going into action. Under their increasingly astonished gazes, the huge slab began to revolve until they saw before them, erect on his pedestal, the statue of Julius Caesar, his silver armour gleaming, polychrome marble simulating the purple of his tunic and robes, his face pale and frowning, carved by a great artist in the most precious Luni marble.

The silent stupor of the little group was suddenly interrupted by Demetrius’s alarm: ‘They’ve found us!’ he shouted. ‘They’ve seen the light!’

Glimmering torches could in fact be seen at the end of the cryptoporticus, accompanied by shouting: Wulfila himself was leading his guards down the landslide and along the hall of statues.

‘Inside, fast!’ urged Romulus. ‘There’s a way out, through this cell!’ The great slab closed behind them. The din of the weapons beating against the marble and the enraged voice of Wulfila echoed through the underground chamber, and although the thickness of the monolithic slab formed an indomitable defence, their striking weapons and wild fury poured into that tiny space and filled the group with anguish. The still air was thick with impending threat. They looked at each other in dismay, but Romulus showed them the well-head from which the mysterious flashing blue light came, as if it were in contact with the world beyond.

‘This well leads into the sea,’ piped up Romulus, ‘and it’s our only way out. Let’s go. We can’t do anything here.’ Beneath the eyes of all his companions, before they had time to say a word, he dived into the well-head. Aurelius didn’t hesitate an instant and dived in after him. Livia went next, and then Demetrius, Orosius and Vatrenus. Ambrosinus was last, and his fall through that narrow opening seemed never ending. Contact with the water gave him a sense of panic and suffocation but then, immediately after, of peace. He felt as if he were floating in a gurgling liquid, surrounded by a pulsating celestial light. The lamp he’d been holding in his hand fell and slowly sank until it hit the bottom, and that luminous globe lit the waters up with a brilliant, intense sapphire blue. He pushed upwards with all his might and reached the surface, emerging among his companions who were already swimming to the shore. They were inside a grotto that communicated with the outside world through a small opening, so low on the surface that it was practically invisible. Aurelius and the others were astounded at the flame that continued to burn beneath the water, but Ambrosinus was looking around himself with no less wonder. Vatrenus drew closer, indicating that light that seemed to spring from the very bottom of the sea: ‘What is this miracle? Are you a sorcerer?’

‘Greek fire,’ replied Ambrosinus with studied nonchalance. ‘An old recipe of Hermogenes of Lampsacus. It even burns under water.’ His gaze continued to wander around him, contemplating the magnificent images of the gods of Olympus that emerged from the waters of that sea cave: Neptune, on a carriage drawn by horses with fishes’ tails; Amphitrite, his wife, with her retinue of ocean nymphs; scaly-chested tritons puffing up their cheeks as they blew into sea shells. The unreal light, reflected and diffused by the lapping of the waves, seemed to breathe life into them, animating their faces and staring marble eyes. An ancient nymphaeum! Secret and abandoned.

Romulus was raptly observing the figures himself. ‘Who are they?’ he asked.

‘Images of forgotten gods,’ replied Ambrosinus.

‘But . . . did they ever exist?’

‘Of course not!’ gasped Orosius. ‘Only one true God exists.’

Ambrosinus’s gaze was enigmatic. ‘Perhaps,’ he replied, ‘as long as someone believed in them.’

A long silence followed. The magic of the place had overwhelmed them all. The blue light shimmering over that great rocky vault, those images, the distant rumble of thunder and the powerful ebb and flow of the sea after the storm inspired a sense of almost supernatural wonder in all of them. Chilled to the bone, exhausted from their efforts, they felt their souls invaded none the less by an inexpressible happiness, intense and profound.

Romulus was the first to break the silence: ‘Are we free?’ he asked.

‘For now,’ answered Aurelius, ‘although we’re still on the island. But if it weren’t for you, we’d all be dead. You acted as a true leader.’

‘What do we do now?’ asked Vatrenus.

‘Batiatus must have realized that we couldn’t follow our original plan, and he will have cast off. He may still be cruising somewhere nearby. We have to try to reach him or have him reach us.’