The Last Legion (27 page)

‘One thousand,’ confirmed Aurelius, ‘but don’t forget that we haven’t earned them yet. We still have to cross Italy from one side to the other, and reach the spot we’ve agreed upon.’

‘Just where is this place?’ asked Vatrenus.

‘It’s a port on the Adriatic Sea where we’ll find a ship waiting for us. The boy will be out of harm’s way and we’ll have all our money.’

Livia stopped in front of the shack and cautiously inspected the ruins, holding her bow and arrow at the ready. She heard a low snorting and immediately came upon six horses and a mule tied by their reins to a rope stretched between a pair of iron poles. Juba was among them, and began to paw the ground as soon as he got wind of his master.

‘Juba!’ shouted Aurelius, running to untie him. He embraced the horse like an old friend.

‘See?’ said Livia. ‘Eustatius did a good job, didn’t he? Stephanus has excellent connections around here. Everything’s going just as we planned.’

‘I am glad to see Juba again,’ replied Aurelius. ‘There’s no better horse in the whole world.’

Ambrosinus walked up to Livia, who was loosening her horse’s ties and preparing to climb into the saddle. ‘I’m responsible for the emperor’s safety,’ he said firmly, looking her straight in the eye, ‘and I think I have the right to know where you are taking him.’

‘I’m the one who’s responsible for the boy’s safety now, seeing I’ve freed you both from your prison. I do understand your concern, but I have not been acting on my own initiative, understand? I’m just carrying out the instructions I’ve received. We’ll take the boy to the Adriatic coast, and he’ll leave from there for a place where the barbarians will never catch up with him and where his imperial dignity will have its due . . .’

Ambrosinus darkened: ‘Constantinople! I suspected as much. You want to take him to Constantinople. A nest of vipers! The struggle for power spares no one, neither brothers nor sisters, parents nor children . . .’ He hadn’t noticed that Romulus had sidled towards him and had probably not missed a single word of his passionate outburst, but it was too late now, and the boy had to be made aware of the situation. He laid a hand on his shoulder and pulled him close, as if to defend him from this new threat, no less perilous than the others he’d had to face. ‘The emperor would have no one to protect him there,’ he went on. ‘He would be at the mercy of that capricious, arbitrary bunch. I beg of you, leave him with me.’

Livia lowered her gaze uneasily. ‘He’s not just any ordinary boy and you know that well. You can’t simply take him wherever you like. Besides, you wouldn’t get very far without us. You’ll be allowed to accompany him, if you want, but please, take a mount now, and let’s get moving; we’re in danger here. We’re still much too close to the coast.’ She urged her horse down the trail that led into a thicket.

‘It’s just a question of money, isn’t it? All you care about is the money!’ Ambrosinus shouted after her.

Aurelius pressed the mule’s reins into his hand. ‘Don’t be foolish. Do you have any idea of what they would have done to her if she’d been captured as she was trying to free you? No one risks his life for money alone, and we’ve all put our lives on the line for you, more than once. Now get moving, understand?’

‘Can I ride with you?’ asked Romulus.

Aurelius shook his head. ‘You’d better ride with your tutor. We have to be free to move quickly if there’s an attack.’ And off he flew.

Disappointed, Romulus climbed behind Ambrosinus who rode his mule down the trail without a word. Vatrenus, Orosius, Demetrius and Batiatus brought up the rear in pairs, proceeding at a quick gait. They soon reached the top of a hill, from which they turned to observe the coastline. The sea glittered under the rays of the sun high over the crests of the mountains. The shape of their boat could still be discerned as it went down in the swirling waters. In the opposite direction, the snow-white peaks of the Apennines topped the dark green firs of their wooded slopes.

The climb became steeper and the horsemen were forced to slow their pace. Vatrenus pushed on to flank Livia and Aurelius at the head of the group, which was more at risk.

‘There’s something I’m still wondering about,’ he said all at once, turning to Livia.

‘What’s that?’

‘What happened to the fisherman who climbed up the north wall to take a lobster to Tiberius Caesar?’

‘The emperor wasn’t too happy about it. He was so annoyed that an intruder had managed to enter his villa – which he had imagined inaccessible – that he had his guards take the lobster and rub it against the poor man’s face before kicking him out.’

Vatrenus scratched his head. ‘The devil! It went much better for us, all things considered.’

‘So far,’ said Aurelius.

‘Yes, right. So far,’ admitted Vatrenus.

*

About one hundred feet behind them were Ambrosinus and the boy on muleback.

‘Do you really think they’ll take me to Constantinople?’ asked Romulus.

‘I’m afraid so,’ replied Ambrosinus. ‘Actually, I’m certain of it. Livia didn’t deny it when I asked her; I suppose we can take that as a confirmation.’

‘Is that really so awful?’

Ambrosinus didn’t know how to answer.

‘Tell me,’ insisted Romulus. ‘I have a right to know what’s awaiting me.’

‘The fact is that I don’t know myself; all I can do is make assumptions. One thing is clear: someone sent Livia to free you from Capri. Aurelius’s presence led me astray at first, since I knew he had already tried to liberate you in Ravenna. It seemed reasonable that he might try again. The fact that he had a woman with him didn’t strike me as odd. She could have been his girlfriend; many soldiers have a lover who they marry when they’re finished with the military. But I was wrong: evidently, she’s the one in command and she has the money to pay the others off when the job is done.’

‘Then it’s true what you said . . . they only did it for the money.’

‘Even if that were true, we must still be grateful towards them. Aurelius is right: no one risks his life for money alone, but money certainly helps. There’s nothing wrong with a man trying to improve his conditions, and these are men cut adrift, without an army to serve or even a homeland.’

‘Then why did you say those things? What can happen to me if I’m taken to Constantinople?’

‘Nothing, most likely. You’ll live in the very lap of luxury. However, you are still the Emperor of the West, and this in itself puts you at risk. Someone may want to use you against someone else, like a pawn in a table game, and pawns are readily sacrificed if the player has a better move in mind. You’d be the one to suffer, in any case. Constantinople is a corrupt capital.’

‘So they’re no better than the barbarians.’

‘Everything has its price in this world, my son. If a people attain a high level of civilization, a certain level of corruption is bound to develop as well. I’m not saying that it’s in a barbarian’s nature to be corrupt, but before long they develop a taste for fine clothing, refined foods, perfumes, beautiful women, luxurious dwellings. All of this costs money, lots of money, the kind of money that only corruption can produce. Remember that just as there is no civilization without a certain share of barbarity, there is no barbarity without the germ of civilization. Can you understand that?’

‘Yes, I think so. What world is this that we live in,
Ambrosine
?’

‘The best possible world. Or the worst possible, depending on how you look at it. In any case, I greatly prefer civilization over barbarity.’

‘Well what is civilization then?’

‘Civilization means laws, political institutions, guaranteed rights. It means professions and trades, streets and communications, rites and solemnities; science, but art as well. Great art; literature and poetry like that of Virgil, whom we’ve read so many times together. Art is the exercise of the spirit that makes men similar to God. An uncivilized person, on the other hand, is much more similar to an animal. Does that make sense to you? Being part of a civilization gives you a particular pride, the pride of participating in a single collective endeavour, the greatest that man has ever attempted to achieve.’

‘But ours – I mean, our civilization – is dying, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ replied Ambrosinus, and he fell into a long silence.

‘B
EAUTIFUL, ISN’T IT
?’

Aurelius jumped. Romulus had surprised him by coming out of the dark behind him as he was whirling the sword in the light of the fire, hypnotized by the bluish reflections of the blade, as iridescent as the eyes on a peacock’s tail.

‘I’m sorry,’ he replied, handing Romulus the sword. ‘I forgot to give it back to you. This is yours.’

‘You keep it for now. You’ll certainly get better use out of it.’

Aurelius gazed at the weapon: ‘It’s absolutely incredible. With all the blows it suffered – and dealt! – there’s not a single nick, not a scratch. It’s like the sword of a god!’

‘It is, in a way. This sword belonged to Julius Caesar. Have you looked at the inscription?’

Aurelius nodded and ran his finger over the sequence of letters engraved in a barely perceptible groove at the centre of the blade. ‘I have, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. Yet there’s some mysterious force that emanates from this weapon – it penetrates under your skin, into your fingers, your arm, all the way to your heart . . .’

‘Ambrosinus says it was forged by the Calibians in Anatolia from a block of iron fallen from the sky. It was tempered in the blood of a lion.’

‘And this hilt! No combat sword has ever had such a precious hilt, only ceremonial swords. The neck of the eagle meets your grip like none other that I’ve ever held in the palm of my hand; it turns the sword into an extension of your arm . . .’

‘It’s a fearsome instrument of death,’ said Romulus, ‘crafted for a great conqueror. You are a warrior; it’s only natural that you’re fascinated by it.’ He looked over to where Ambrosinus was busily arranging his things near the fire. ‘See Ambrosinus? He’s a man of science, and he’s worried about saving the instruments of his art. They got soaked when we dived into the grotto. His powders, his herbs . . . and my copy of the
Aeneid
. It was given me on the day of my acclamation.’

‘What about that booklet?’

‘It’s his personal journal. With his story . . . and ours.’

‘Do you think he’s written about me as well?’

‘You can be sure of that!’

‘What a pity that no one will ever read it.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘It was immersed in water. Not much could have been saved.’

‘No, not a word was lost. Indelible ink. Another one of his formulae. He knows how to make invisible ink as well.’

‘You’re making that up.’

‘No I’m not! As he’s writing you see nothing, as if he’d dipped his quill into plain water, but then all at once, when he . . .’

Aurelius interrupted him: ‘You care very much for him, don’t you?’

‘I have no one else in the world,’ replied Romulus shyly, as if seeking a denial, but Aurelius said nothing, and Romulus watched him sheath the sword with smooth, harmonious grace, like the gesture of a priest. They stood staring at the campfire until Romulus broke the silence: ‘Why wouldn’t you let me ride with you today?’

‘I told you. If I’m to protect you, I have to be free to do so.’

‘That’s not why. You just want to be free of everyone, don’t you?’ Before Aurelius could respond, the boy walked over to where Ambrosinus was laying a blanket over his dried leaves.

*

Demetrius stood guard at the edge of the camp and Orosius was off at a distance, at the top of a little hill, posted to spot anyone arriving from the west. The others – Batiatus, Livia, Aurelius and Vatrenus – were preparing for the night.

‘It’s strange,’ said Vatrenus. ‘I should be dead tired and yet I don’t feel like sleeping.’

‘We’ve done too much over the last day,’ said Aurelius. ‘Our bodies don’t want to believe it’s time to take a rest.’

‘Makes sense,’ agreed Batiatus. ‘I’ve done practically nothing, and I’m ready to drop.’

‘I don’t know . . . I’d like to sing,’ said Vatrenus. ‘Like we used to do, around the campfire. Do you remember? By the gods, do you remember what a voice Antoninus had?’

‘How could I forget,’ nodded Aurelius. ‘And Canidius then? And Paullinus?’

‘Even Commander Claudianus had a good voice,’ added Batiatus. ‘Remember? Some times he’d show up, after doing his inspection rounds, and he’d sit by the fire with us. If we were singing he’d start to sing to himself, softly, and then he’d have them bring some wine and we’d all have a glass. He’d say: “Drink up, boys, it’ll warm you up a little.” Poor commander . . . I can still see his last look as the enemy swarmed around him . . .’ The black giant’s eyes shone in the dark as he recalled the cruel scene.

Aurelius raised his head and the two of them exchanged a long look in silence. For an instant an enquiring expression passed through Aurelius’s eyes, a hint of suspicion that Batiatus didn’t miss. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘You’re wondering how we managed to get out of Dertona alive, aren’t you? You want to know how we saved our skins . . .’