The Last Legion (35 page)

‘I have thought it over,’ replied Livia. ‘Last night, lying snug in that perfumed bed, I thought of them sleeping out in the open, under a makeshift shelter, and I felt terrible. My place is with them, Stephanus. If that money isn’t here this morning, I’ll leave none the less. Please excuse me, now, I have to prepare my horse.’

She walked down the hall she’d entered only the day before and ran in drenching rain across the ground that separated the villa from the stables. Her horse was waiting tranquilly, tied to a post. He had been combed and fed and was ready to face a hard day’s journey. She put on his bridle and fastened his saddle, adding on the blanket. Stephanus, accompanied by two servants holding up a canvas sheet to protect him from the rain, joined her as she finished.

‘What can I do for you,’ he asked, ‘seeing that I can’t convince you to stay?’

‘If you can give me something, whatever you can, I’d be grateful. You know I’d never ask for anything for myself.’

Stephanus handed her a purse. ‘This is all I have,’ he said. ‘No more than twenty or thirty solids, in silver siliques.’

‘It will do,’ answered Livia. ‘I thank you.’ She took the money and made to leave.

‘Aren’t you even going to say goodbye?’ asked Stephanus.

He tried to kiss her, but Livia avoided his lips and held out her hand instead. ‘A handshake is customary between old comrades in arms, Stephanus.’

He tried to hold her hand between his, but she was too quick. ‘I must go,’ she repeated. ‘It’s late.’

Stephanus ordered the servants to give her an oilcloth cloak and a satchel with provisions. Livia thanked him again, mounted her horse and then vanished behind a curtain of rain.

Stephanus returned inside and had his breakfast served in the villa’s library. On the large oaken table at the centre of the room was a scroll with a precious illustrated edition of Strabo’s
Geography
, open to the description of the Roman Forum. One of the drawings represented an external view of the temple of Mars the Avenger with its altar. Another showed a detail of the interior, with a magnificent statue of Caesar in polychrome marble, donning his armour. At his feet lay a sword: tiny, in the picture, but not so small that one could not distinguish the fine craftsmanship and the hilt, shaped like an eagle’s head, with open wings. He contemplated it at length, fascinated, then rolled up the scroll and replaced it on the shelf.

*

Livia was in the meantime riding towards the city, figuring that the bridge on via Aemilia would be the only feasible way to cross the Ariminus river, but she soon found the road completely flooded. In the distance she could barely make out the bridge embankment, nearly submerged under the swirling waters. She felt profoundly discouraged: how would she ever be able to meet up with the others by that evening? Would they still be waiting for her in the same place, or would the fury of the elements have forced them to move elsewhere? The torrential rain had caused the river to overflow its banks and flood a vast territory; further up the situation might be even worse, with cave-ins and landslides.

She mustered up her courage and started travelling along the river to find an upstream passage, but her journey soon turned into a nightmare. The lightning blinded her horse who reared up and neighed, terrified, forcing her to dismount and drag the balking animal by his reins. He would stumble back, slipping on the mud, then start the climb again, step after step. The path she had taken on her way down had turned into a torrent, rife with pointed rocks, and the river below boiled, its silty waters rushing downstream with a roar. At midday, she had covered perhaps three miles, and she realized that nightfall would surprise her on an exposed area of the mountainside, without a shelter to be found. The peaks on high were white with snow and she knew she could be risking her life.

She felt gripped by panic for the first time ever: terror at the thought of dying alone, in a deserted place. Her body would be abandoned to the flooding, muddy waters, dragged away over the sharp river stones. She forced herself to react, to draw upon all her resources and advance as far as possible towards the village that she’d seen emerging from the fog two days before. She finally spotted it when it was nearly dark. As the temperature fell, the rain had turned into sleet that cut into her face like shards of glass. She proceeded none the less, guided by the dim lights of the infrequent cottages near the pastures and the edge of the forest. When she reached the torrent she realized that the only way to cross it was over a makeshift bridge of logs and branches, suspended over the tumultuous water seething with yellow foam. Her horse backed off in fright, and she had to blindfold him to lead him across, step after step, as the bridge swayed precariously.

When she arrived at the outskirts of the village it was already dark. She wove her way through the houses and huts, dragging herself along with the last of her strength, until she fell on to her knees in the mud, utterly exhausted. She heard a dog barking and then voices. She was lifted and carried inside. The warmth of a fire, then nothing.

*

Aurelius and the others waited at length before deciding to abandon the precarious shelter they’d built to defend them from the elements. They considered the obstacles that Livia must have met on her return journey, and lingered all the following day and night before making their decision. ‘If we don’t move, the cold will kill us,’ said Ambrosinus. ‘We have no choice.’ He looked over at Romulus wrapped up in his blanket, pale with fatigue and hunger.

‘I agree,’ approved Vatrenus. ‘We have to move while we’re still capable of it, and we can’t be reduced to killing the horses to nourish ourselves. After all, we can’t rule out that Livia was unsuccessful in reaching us and decided to return to her city.’

‘That would be perfectly understandable,’ admitted Ambrosinus thoughtfully. ‘This is no longer her mission, it’s not her journey. She has a homeland, and perhaps people who are dear to her there.’ He looked at Aurelius as if trying to read his thoughts. ‘I know that all of us will miss her. She was a most extraordinary woman, worthy of a place among the shining examples of the past.’

‘There’s no doubt about that,’ added Vatrenus, ‘and one of us will miss her more than the others. Why don’t you join her, Aurelius, there in her refuge on the lagoon? You’re still in time. It’s what she wants, trust me. Perhaps she realized that this was the only way to get you to make a choice that otherwise you could never have made. There are enough of us to protect the boy, and we’ll meet up again some day. There aren’t all that many cities on the water. Hers is the only one I’ve ever heard of. We’ll celebrate when we meet again – and if we don’t, let this be our leave-taking, among sincere friends who will never forget the years we spent together.’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ replied Aurelius. ‘I’m the one who engaged you in this mission, and I have no intention of leaving now. Let’s move, then, shall we? We have a long march ahead of us and we must get on with it: each passing day will make it more difficult to cross the Alps.’ He said nothing more, because he was sick at heart and he would have given anything at that moment to see the woman he loved again, even just for an instant. Romulus was hoisted upon a horse, bundled up as well as possible, and the others proceeded on foot down an impervious path, through wild and solitary places, under the snow which fell in large flakes.

*

Livia opened her eyes hours and hours later, and found herself in a little cabin, dimly lit by a tallow lantern and by the flames flickering in the hearth. A man and woman of indefinable age watched her curiously. The woman took a ladleful of hot soup from the pot bubbling on the fire and handed it to her along with a chunk of stale bread, hard as a rock. It was just turnip soup, but Livia felt heartened at the sight of the steaming bowl. She dipped in the bread and began eating avidly.

‘Who are you?’ asked the man after a little while. ‘What were you doing out in this weather? No one ever comes this way.’

‘I was travelling with my family and got lost in the storm, but they’ll be waiting for me at the clearing near the pass. Could you guide me there, so I don’t lose my way again? I can pay you.’

‘The pass?’ the man repeated. ‘The path has been destroyed by a landslide, and it’s snowing now, can’t you see?’

‘Are you sure there’s no other way up? I have to reach them! They’ll be frantic, they’ll think I’m dead. I beg of you, help me!’

‘We would do so willingly,’ said the woman. ‘We are Godfearing Christians, but what you ask is truly impossible. Our two sons, who were trying to take our cattle down into the valley, must have been stranded by the flooding, for we’ve had no word from them. We are worried as well, but there’s nothing we can do but wait.’

‘I’ll go on my own then,’ said Livia. ‘I’ll find them further along.’

‘Why don’t you wait until it stops snowing?’ said the man. ‘You can stay here with us for another day, if you like. We are poor, but you are our welcome guest.’

‘I thank you,’ replied Livia, ‘but I must find the people I love. May God reward you for the shelter and food you have given me. You have saved my life. Farewell, pray for me.’ She threw her cape over her shoulders and left.

Livia descended the steep sides of the valley with great difficulty, often investigating the most dangerous passages herself first for fear of laming her horse. When she had finally reached the plain, she got back into the saddle and set off, keeping parallel to via Aemilia on elevated terrain to avoid the vast areas submerged under the flooding river waters. As she advanced, she tried to imagine what her comrades must be thinking; what had Aurelius thought when he didn’t see her return? Had they imagined all the obstacles she’d found on her way or had they assumed she’d abandoned them? How would they manage to continue on their route with no money and so few provisions?

She travelled on for three days without stopping, sleeping in hay lofts or in the huts the farmers used on summer nights to guard their harvest. She thought that the only way she could catch up with the others was to arrive at an obligatory point of transit before they did. She’d located a spot on Ambrosinus’s map: there was a bridge or ferry crossing on the Trebia river which was marked as if to indicate that they meant to cross there. She had calculated their itinerary time and time again, and became convinced that she would find them at that river passage; she would reach it that very evening, after nightfall. She was so anxious to be there that she had pushed her horse into a gallop without even noticing, but when she heard how short and laboured his breathing was, she slowed him to a lope.

She advanced at that slow pace in the shadows of the long winter night, through a countryside shrouded in fog, amidst skeletal trees and the long laments of stray dogs. She didn’t stop, although she was afraid she would collapse with exhaustion, until, like a moth, she was attracted by a light, the only light to be seen in the total darkness of land and sky. As she approached, a dog began to bark furiously, but Livia took no heed. She was bone weary and starving. The cold and damp had numbed her limbs to the point that every movement was excruciating. The light that she had seen was a lantern hanging in front of a rundown building which displayed the sign of an inn:
Ad pontem Trebiae.

There was no bridge, as claimed by the rusty sign, but perhaps there would be a ferry that crossed the Trebia from shore to shore. The voice of the river rushing between its banks made it clear that there was no other choice for anyone seeking a passage north. Livia entered, and was struck by the dank, oppressive atmosphere. A fire of damp poplar branches in the centre of the room spread more smoke than warmth. A small group of travellers sat around a table of warped planks. They were eating millet soup, with broad beans and turnips from a common platter, dipped in a little salt. The innkeeper was sitting near the oven, peeling live frogs which he tossed writhing into a basket. A thin, rag-clad girl picked them up one by one, chopped off their heads and removed their innards, then threw them into a frying pan full of lard. Livia took a place off to the side, and when the innkeeper approached to see what she wanted to eat, she asked for bread.

‘Rye’s all we have,’ replied the man.

Livia nodded. ‘And some hay and a shelter for my horse.’

‘Nothing but straw. The horse can sleep with you in the stable.’

‘All right. Please cover him in the meantime with the blanket that’s on the saddle.’

The innkeeper muttered something to the little girl, who went to fetch some bread. He walked out grumbling to take care of the horse. The newcomer didn’t look all that hardy, but he must have money to pay him with, if he owned a horse and wore leather boots. Barely out the door, he was startled to see a group of horsemen who had just reached the bank using the rope ferry. They got off one after another, holding their horses by the reins with one hand and lit torches in the other. They turned the animals over to the tavern-keeper and demanded that he bring them food immediately. ‘Meat!’ they continued to shout, as they sat down inside. The innkeeper called the stable hand. ‘Kill the dog,’ he said, ‘and cook it up. There’s nothing else, and they’ll never notice. They’re just like beasts themselves. If we don’t give them what they want, they’ll rip this place apart.’

Livia took a sidelong glance: barbarian mercenaries, probably in the service of the Imperial Army. She felt extremely uncomfortable, but didn’t want to make them suspicious by leaving abruptly. She chewed on the hard bread and took a few gulps of a liquid that was more like vinegar than wine, but when she was about to get up, she realized that one of the barbarians was standing right in front of her, looking her over. She instinctively brought her hand to the dagger under her corselet while she poured herself some more wine with the other to appear nonchalant. She drank it slowly, then drew a long breath and pushed away from the table. The barbarian walked away without a word and went over to the kitchen to ask for more wine. Livia paid for her dinner and went to find a nook to sleep in next to her horse in the stable. She didn’t notice that the barbarian had turned around to look at her again as she was leaving and had exchanged a look with his chief as if to say: ‘Is that her?’ The other nodded, then shouted out: ‘Man, bring us some wine and the meat we’ve ordered or I’ll have you beaten!’