The Last Legion (29 page)

‘Turning you over doesn’t seem the right expression.’

‘Maybe, but that’s the essence of it.’

‘Would you have preferred to remain in Capri?’

‘Not as things stand now, no, but then I don’t know what’s in store for me. My choice – if I’d ever had a choice – would be between two different types of imprisonment, if I understand correctly, but since I know nothing about what awaits me, how can I express a preference? A free man can choose, whereas I’m shuffled against my will from one authority to another; the second may well make me regret the first.’

Aurelius admired his reasoning and could find no way to refute it. He said only: ‘I hope not. With all my heart.’

‘I believe you. Well, what will you do . . . afterwards?’

‘I don’t know. We’ve hardly spoken about it during this journey. None of us has precise ideas. Perhaps we’re a little afraid of the future. One day, that same day of the barbarian attack, Vatrenus said that he’d had enough of this life; that he’d decided to go and live on an island where he could put goats to pasture and work the land. By the gods, it seems a century ago and yet only weeks have passed since then! I can’t say I took him seriously at the time, but now, given such an uncertain, bleak future, that seems like a good option to me, a good life . . .’

‘Tending goats on an island. Why not? I’d like that kind of life myself. If I could decide about my future, that is. But I can’t.’

‘That’s nobody’s fault.’

‘Yes it is. Whoever does not prevent an injustice is its accomplice.’

‘Seneca.’

‘Don’t change the subject, soldier.’

‘Six or seven of us cannot fight off the whole world, and I don’t want the lives of my comrades to be endangered again. They’ve done all they could do: they deserve the reward that’s been promised them and the freedom to choose how to live their lives. Maybe we’ll go to Sicily; Vatrenus has some land there. Or perhaps each one of us will go his own way. Who knows, maybe someday we’ll go east as well, and we’ll come to visit you in your sumptuous palace. What do you think? Would you invite us to dinner at least?’

‘Oh, that would be fantastic! I’d be happy, and proud . . .’ he broke off abruptly, realizing that there was no room for feelings here. ‘I think I’d better go to sleep,’ he said, getting up. ‘Thanks for your company.’

‘Thank you, Caesar,’ replied Aurelius, nodding his head. His gaze followed the boy as he made his way through their camp.

They travelled all the next day on rough terrain, covering long stretches on foot so as not to risk laming their horses. They followed the course of a little stream: an arduous road to reach the sea, but one that permitted them to avoid inhabited areas where their passage would be noticed. Every now and then the small valley would open into a clearing and they’d see shepherds tending their flocks or farmers collecting branches in the woods to burn in their hearths that winter. They all had a gruff, unruly look, with long beards and unkempt hair; they wore goatskin shoes and worn, patched clothing, ill-designed to defend them from the cold northern wind. As the column passed they would stop, no matter what they were doing, and mutely watch as the group made its way through the forest. Armed men on horseback were not an everyday sight; prepared to defend themselves, or to strike out for that matter, they were fearsome in these people’s eyes. Once Romulus noticed several boys his age, with some younger girls. They were struggling, bent double under the weight of baskets full of wood. Their bare legs were livid with the cold, their noses dripped and their lips were cracked and dehydrated. One of them plucked up his courage, laid his oversized load by the wayside and drew near, holding out his hand.

Romulus, who was riding with Livia, said: ‘Can we give him something?’

‘No,’ replied Livia. ‘If we did, we’d find a swarm of them downhill and we wouldn’t be able to get rid of them. They would draw attention to us, and we just cannot afford that.’

Romulus looked at the boy, at his empty, stretched-out hand and at the expression of disappointment in his eyes as they rode away. He turned to look back again, trying to let his gaze express his desire to help. It wasn’t up to him; nothing was. When they were about to enter the wood again, he raised his hand to wave goodbye. The emaciated boy replied with a sad smile, moving his hand as well, before taking up his load again and trailing off into the brush.

‘I’m sorry, but that was necessary,’ said Livia, intuiting Rom-ulus’s thoughts. ‘We are often forced to do things in life that revolt us, but we have no choice. The world we live in is harsh and unmerciful, governed by chance.’

Romulus did not answer and yet the sight of such poverty made him realize that those poor children would have considered his existence in Capri a blessing from heaven, perhaps even a luxury. There was no condition in this world so miserable that a worse one could not be found.

As time passed and their journey continued, the stream became a torrent, rushing between smooth boulders, forming eddies and cascades. At the end it flowed into another watercourse that Ambrosinus identified as the Metaurus. The temperature became milder, a sure sign that they were nearing the sea and the end of their adventure, although none of them could yet predict how it would wind up. The forests thinned out and gave way to pastures and cultivated land as they approached the coast. They found it increasingly difficult to steer clear of the many little villages in their path as they crossed stretches of via Flaminia. On the last day of their journey, they ran across an old abandoned
mansio
, marked by a milestone. The sign that hung outside was rusty, but a fountain still flowed to fill the troughs, large basins carved in sandstone from the Apennines. They had been built for the horses once housed in the exchange post, but were now frequented by transient flocks, as evidenced by myriad cloven hoof marks and by the abundant dung all around.

Livia went in first, on foot, to ensure the place was safe, leaving her horse’s reins to Romulus. She pretended to draw water from the fount, and as soon as she saw that no one was around, whistled to the others to join her. Romulus tied the horse and scampered over, entering and looking about. The plaster walls still bore the graffiti left by thousands of wayfarers over centuries of use, many of which were obscene. High up on one wall was a fresco painting of a map in which he recognized Italy. There were the islands, Sicily and Sardinia, the coast of Africa below and the coast of Illyria above, with all the seas, mountains, rivers and lakes coloured in. A red line traced the
cursus publicus
, the network of roads which had once been the pride and glory of the empire, with all of its rest stations and the distances recorded in miles. Above it he could still make out the map’s title,
TABULA IMPERII ROMANI
, half deleted by water seepage. His attention was caught by the wording
CIVITAS RAVENNA
, illustrated by a miniature of the city with its towers and walls, and he was suddenly gripped by fear. He turned away quickly and met Aurelius’s eye; each of them saw in the other’s gaze the distressing memories that image had brought to mind: the imprisonment, their failed escape, the death of Flavia Serena. Ambrosinus began rummaging around in search of materials; when he’d found a couple of rolls of partially-used parchment at the bottom of a broken cupboard he began busily recopying one of the routes marked out on the wall map.

The others entered as well and began to lay out their blankets. Demetrius had noticed a field of stubble downhill of the
mansio
, with heaps of straw here and there, so he went to collect some to make up their beds for the night. The surface layers were grey and mouldy, but the straw underneath was still blond, and dry for so late in the season; it would certainly keep them warm. A hedge of maple and brambles lined the side of the field, beyond which the low brush extended almost all the way to the sandy coast. To his left he could see the mouth of the Metaurus, the river they’d been following over the last few days. Behind them was the forest, stretching out on the north and west. Vatrenus inspected it on horseback to rule out any hidden danger, and noticed large piles of oak and pine logs, secured with twine to stakes driven into the ground, at a short distance from the boundary with the cultivated field. There must be loggers in the area, who traded timber with the coastal populations. In the distance was the sea, rippled by Boreas’s breath, but not rough, and the weather conditions were mild enough so that the ship would be able to draw ashore without major problems.

Ambrosinus wanted to show his gratitude towards the men who had risked their lives for them, so when the time came, he prepared a special dinner for all, flavouring it with the herbs and roots he’d found along the way. He’d even managed to scrape together some fruit: the last few wild apples hanging from a tree in what must once have been the exchange post’s orchard. He lit a fire in the old fireplace and although huge splits in the ceiling let them see the stars, the crackling of the flames and the light of the hearth spread a sense of cheer and intimacy that allayed their sadness over their imminent separation.

No one mentioned the fact that Romulus would be gone the next day – that they would perhaps never see him again, that the little emperor would fulfil an unknown destiny on the other side of the world, in an immense metropolis, amidst the intrigues of a corrupt, murderous court – but it was clear that they were thinking of nothing else, from the sidelong glances they cast towards the boy, from the half-hearted phrases that every so often escaped them, from the rough, seemingly thoughtless caresses they gave him as they passed.

Aurelius chose to take the first guard shift, and went to sit near the troughs, staring out at the sea which had become leaden. Livia approached him from behind.

‘Poor boy,’ she said. ‘All this time he’s been trying to form a bond with us, especially with you and me, and we’ve never let him.’

‘It would just have been worse,’ said Aurelius without turning.

A flock of cranes migrating in the night shrieking like banished souls.

‘They’ll reach the Bosporus before he will,’ said Livia.

‘You’re right.’

‘The ship should be here before dawn. They’ll take the boy and give us our reward. It’s a lot of money: you and your men will be able to start a new life, buy land, servants, livestock . . . you deserve it.’

Aurelius didn’t answer.

‘What are you thinking of ?’ asked Livia.

‘The ship might not arrive on time. It might even be a few days late.’

‘Is that worry or hope in your voice?’

Aurelius seemed to be listening to the syncopated call of the cranes which was fading into the distance. He sighed. ‘It’s the first time in my life that I’ve had something like a family, and tomorrow it will be all over. Romulus will go towards his destiny and you . . .’

‘And so will I,’ Livia said resolutely. ‘These are hard times. We’re forced to watch this world of ours die, and we’re powerless to do anything to stop it. Each one of us needs a purpose, a goal, a reason good enough to want to survive all this ruin.’

‘Do you really want to return to that lagoon? Wouldn’t you like . . .’

‘What?’

‘To come with us . . . with me.’

‘But where? I told you, a new hope is being born in that lagoon. Venetia is my homeland, strange as that may seem to you. It may look like just a group of shacks built by refugees fleeing the destruction of their cities, but it’s much, much more than that.’

Aurelius flinched imperceptibly at those words and Livia continued: ‘I’m certain that it will soon become a true city. That’s why I need the money I’ll be given tomorrow: to reinforce our defences, to fit out our first ships, to build new houses for new immigrants. You should unite with us, you and your comrades. We need men like you. Our cities have been razed to the ground, but their spirit lives on in Venetia; cities like Altinum, Concordia, Aquileia! Your city, Aurelius! Aquileia.’

‘Why do you continue to torment me so?’ snapped Aurelius. ‘Can’t you just leave me in peace?’

Livia knelt before him, her eyes glistening. ‘Because maybe I can give you back that past that has been wiped from your mind. I knew it the first time I saw you. I knew it from the way you looked at this, even if you continue to deny it.’ She raised the medal that hung at her neck and placed it squarely in front of him, like some sacred relic that would heal him from a mysterious disease. Her eyes were bright with passion and with tears. Aurelius felt suddenly engulfed by powerful emotion, by the desire he had futilely suffocated for so long. He felt her lips drawing closer, her breath mixing with his in an ardent, unexpected kiss, long dreamed of yet never hoped for. He embraced her and kissed her as he never had any woman in his whole life, with infinite sweetness, with all the energy that welled up from his heart. She wrapped her arms around his neck without moving her lips from his, every part of her trembling body pressing against him, her full breasts, her smooth stomach, her long nervous legs. He lay her on the ground on his cape, and took her, like that, on the dry grass, the odour of the earth mixing with the scent of her hair. And he remained inside her afterwards, to prolong the intimacy that filled his heart and that he wished would never end. He wrapped her up in his cloak and held her tight, delighting in the warmth of her body and the fragrance of her skin.

Then Livia left him with a kiss. ‘Aurelius,’ she said, ‘I wish there could be a future between us, but I’m sure that the ship will be here soon. When the sun rises everything will seem different: difficult, problematical, the way it’s always been. You’ll follow your comrades, fleeing from the ghosts of your lost memories, and I’ll return to my lagoon. We’ll always have the memory of these days, of the love we’ve stolen on our last night together, the memory of this incredible adventure, of this kind and unfortunate boy that we’ve loved without ever having the courage to tell him. Perhaps one day you’ll decide to come looking for me, and I’ll welcome you, if it’s not too late. Or perhaps I’ll never see you again because the vicissitudes of life will have kept us apart. Farewell, Aurelius, may your gods protect you.’