The Last Legion (36 page)

‘Just a bit of patience, my lord,’ responded the innkeeper. ‘We’re roasting a kid we’ve had butchered just for you, but it will take a little time.’

It took an hour before the dog was roasted, carved and served with bitter greens. The barbarians threw away the greens and flung themselves at the meat, devouring it all the way to the bone under the satisfied gaze of the innkeeper, who had faced only a moment of alarm when the chief ordered: ‘Bring me the head, the eyes are the best part.’

He had been quick to respond. ‘The head, my lord? Oh, I’m terribly sorry but I can’t; you see, we gave the head and the innards . . . to the dog.’

*

Livia, still troubled after her encounter with the barbarians, stayed awake listening to the racket they were making, ready to get on her horse and race away at a moment’s notice, but nothing happened, and she finally heard them leaving the inn and heading south. She breathed a sigh of relief and lay down to rest a little, but her mind was assailed by a riot of emotions. She missed Aurelius, his voice and his presence, and she was tormented by not knowing where Romulus was, how he was feeling, what he was thinking. She even missed old Ambrosinus: his wise, tranquil way of having a ready answer for everything, his protective affection for Romulus and his blind faith that the boy’s future would be brilliant, despite all the evidence to the contrary. She missed the other men as well: Vatrenus, Batiatus, Orosius and Demetrius, inseparable as the
Dioscuri
, their courage, their abnegation, their incredible strength of character. How could she have separated from them merely to look for money?

Even the memory of her city seemed to be fading from her mind. She realized there was nothing left for her. This horrible world and its abject poverty dispirited her and her only goal was meeting up with her companions again. An acute, painful sense of solitude threatened to overwhelm her, and she knew that finding the others would be incredibly difficult. She had to make a decision. She could perhaps have waited there for another couple of days in the hope that they would show up, but if they didn’t, her wait would just have put further time and distance between them, and she’d never find them at that rate. She thought that the only wise plan at this point was the one Ambrosinus had suggested: she would reach the pass before they did and stay there until they arrived. And then may God’s will be done.

She waited for the first glimmer of dawn, saddled her horse and stole away, heading north towards the same road her friends would be travelling, whether they were behind her or ahead of her. She was alone and could cover a great deal of ground, so she’d certainly be able to get to the Moesian pass before them. For a moment she considered the thought that they might have to change their route, forced to do so by conditions on the ground or unforeseen events. If that happened she’d never see them again. She swallowed her panic, remembering that Ambrosinus always made the wisest decision and always maintained it, at any cost.

*

That same evening Stephanus was informed that a person corresponding to Livia’s description had been seen at an inn near the Trebia ferry crossing. He decided to set off with an escort, planning to follow at a certain distance so as not to attract attention. He was certain that if he caught up with her on the road to Rhaetia, he’d succeed in taking her back with him in the end – and succeed as well in taking the sword which one of her comrades surely still held. He’d mentioned the wondrous weapon to the emissaries of Emperor Zeno, and he had no doubt that the Caesar of the East would offer any amount, and no end of privileges, to the person who could procure such a precious object for him. Possessing the capital symbol of the power of the Roman Empire would cost the emperor dearly. Stephanus left as soon as the storm had subsided and the river waters had drained off into the sea, inventing a pretext so that Odoacer would assign a group of mercenaries to escort him.

Wulfila left soon after, certain that only Stephanus had the means and the information to set him back on the tracks of his prey. The barbarian had already tried sending out his scouts in every direction on the search for a company of travellers that included a woman, an old man and a boy, but nothing had turned up. Nothing. When he learned that Stephanus was making preparations for a hurried departure, and that he had obtained an armed escort from Odoacer, ostensibly to conduct a diplomatic mission with the governors of the Alpine regions, he smelled a rat.

He mustered his men – sixty warriors ready to make hell – and took off behind him. He was certain that his objective and Stephanus’s coincided perfectly. But if he turned out to be wrong, if he had bet all his stakes on a losing game, there would be no return for him. He would have to disappear into the vast inner stretches of the continent; vanish without a trace, because Odoacer would never forgive another failure so close after the first. There was no imagining his reaction. Wulfila, however, was convinced that he was on to something here. Stephanus would lead him to the fugitives, and their long flight would soon be over. He would decapitate the boy with that awesome sword, and cut the face of the Roman who had slashed at his. He would discover the man’s identity, once and for all, and then wipe him off the face of the earth.

*

Livia continued in her search for her comrades. Nothing was further from her mind than imagining that she was unsuspectingly leading their fiercest enemies through the damp Insubrian plains to menace them once again and hunt them down like animals on the run.

L
IVIA HAD HOPED AT
first for a second chance at meeting up with the others at the crossing of the Po river. After all, there were very few rope ferries, like the one at the Trebia, still functioning. The pontoon bridges that had once existed at numerous points along the great river, providing stable passage at the main consular roads, such as via Postumia and via Aemilia, had been allowed to fall to pieces over decades of anarchy. After the recent turbulence surrounding the death of Flavius Orestes, any remaining floating pontoons had been stolen piecemeal by the people living along the banks, who used them for transport or fishing.

In much this way, everything that had once contributed to uniting cities, populations, rural and mountain communities – in all the provinces from one end of the empire to the other – had been lost to negligence, plundering and abandon. The public structures like the
mansiones
on the consular roads, the thermal baths, the forums and basilicas, the aqueducts, and even the slabs covering the roads had been dismantled, demolished, sold or reutilized for other purposes. Poverty and degradation had forced people to sack their native land to attempt to survive on a personal level, since collective survival was no longer possible, not to mention any kind of progress. The ancient monuments and the bronze statues that once celebrated the deeds of their ancestors and their common homeland had long been melted down to make coins and other objects of everyday use. Thus the noble metals that had given shape to the effigies of Scipio and Trajan, Augustus and Mark Aurelius, had become pots, used to cook the meals of the new masters, or coins used to pay the mercenaries who bullied their way through this sorry land.

Even the common language, Latin, which had once united dozens of peoples, was now only used by officials, rhetors and priests in its more noble forms. At the commoners’ level, the language was breaking up rapidly into new idioms tied closely to the small regional communities, emphasizing the accents of the local peoples who had populated Italy even before the Roman conquest. Although these small communities were becoming increasingly isolated, the cities could still count on some measure of municipal traditions. Many maintained their own magistratures and several of them were still enclosed by walls which allowed for defence, at least against the armed bands who roamed the countryside in search of easy prey.

The temples of the ancient religion had also been abandoned and torn down, accused of harbouring demons. Sometimes their columns and precious marbles had been wisely reused to build the churches of the Christian God and were thus inserted into new and no less majestic architectures and continued to inspire people with their beauty and spirit.

In the end, all these changes contributed to augmenting everything which divided people and forfeiting everything that was meant to unite. The world was shattering to pieces, breaking into splinters which were set adrift on the river of history. Only one force still seemed capable of keeping men united: religion, with its promise of immortality and happiness in another life. Yet even this unity was largely superficial. A number of heresies had taken hold and had begun to unleash bloody conflicts. Curses and reciprocal excommunications were hurled in the name of that single God who should have been the common father of all humanity. Life for most had become so miserable that it would have been impossible to bear, if not for the expectation of happiness without end after death, death which often came at much too early an age.

*

These thoughts drifted through Livia’s mind as she advanced across the great Valley of the North, aware of the risk she was running by travelling alone on a magnificent horse that was worth a fortune, whether butchered for his meat or sent off to war. She consciously adopted all of those tricks learned over a lifetime of flight, assault and ambush over land and sea. She could not have imagined that her safety was never less at stake, or that invisible eyes were keeping her every move under control day and night. Any change of direction was immediately reported to Stephanus, who was trailing at a distance to avoid any chance contact. For the moment.

He had foreseen everything. Except being watched and scrutinized in his turn by pursuers far more dangerous than his own mercenaries.

Livia decided to follow the banks of the Po, which were partially elevated with respect to the surrounding terrain; this gave her a better vantage over the territory and was a much more reliable guide line than any road. As she rode along the banks, she realized that it would have been quite imprudent and very dangerous for her comrades to attempt to cross the river on a ferry; her unwanted encounter with the barbarian soldiers at the
Ad pontem Trebiae
inn had been proof enough. On the other hand, how would they manage to get the horses across without a ferry, and without attracting undue attention? Perhaps they’d sell them, and buy new ones on the opposite side, but would Aurelius ever agree to separate from Juba?

She tried not to think about it, and to worry just about herself for the time being. She finally found a way to cross without creating too many problems; just half a mile ahead, on the gravelly river shore, a large barge appeared to be transporting sand and gravel from one side to the other. She negotiated her passage and was able to embark her horse without any difficulty. She was beginning to hope that the worst was over, and that her speed would give her a certain advantage over the others, allowing her to reach the pass a good two days before her comrades. If nothing unexpected happened.

She made straight for Ticinum, keeping at a respectful distance from the city, because she feared the presence of a large garrison of Odoacer’s army. Then she headed towards Lake Verbanus, where she managed to join up with a caravan of mules going up towards the Moesian pass with a load of wheat and three carts of hay. The provisions were meant for farms up high in the mountains, where cows and sheep were kept in their sheds all winter. The farmers, she was told, could no longer take them to pasture on the plains, for fear of being plundered.

The accents of the people had changed greatly, and the countryside changed continuously as well, as they ascended higher and higher. The large blue-green lake at their backs was sunken into a deep valley and surrounded by woody hills, pastures, vineyards and even olive groves, while their climb took them up steep slopes, through beech and oak forests to woods of fir trees and bare larches.

On the fourth day of their journey, Livia left her occasional travel companions and followed Ambrosinus’s map up a snow-covered trail that led to the pass. The old
cursus publicus
exchange post was still functioning a little further north in a village called Tarussedum. Smoke was spiralling from the chimney and she was tempted to seek shelter there from the pungent cold, but a great number of war horses covered with heavy felt saddle-cloths were outside, tied to the crib under an overhanging shelter. She began to look for a more secluded place, in a position high enough to allow her to keep an eye on the road. On the eastern side of the pass, she noticed a couple of wooden cabins with smoking chimneys. They seemed to belong to woodcutters, because there were stacks of logs all around, some with their bark intact, others already stripped and chopped. She neared one of the doors and knocked repeatedly, until an old woman came to open it. She was wearing heavy coarse wool clothing and felt shoes. Her hair was braided and gathered at her neck with wooden pins.

‘Who are you?’ asked the woman brusquely. ‘What do you want?’

Livia bared her head and smiled. ‘My name is Irene. I was travelling towards Rhaetia with my brothers, but a snow storm separated us yesterday, and we had agreed that any one of us who got lost would meet up with the others here at the pass. The post-house is full of soldiers and I’m a girl on my own. I’m sure you understand.’

‘I can’t offer you lodging or anything to eat,’ replied the woman in a slightly more conciliatory tone.

‘I’d be happy to sleep in the stable on my travel blanket, and I can pay you for any food you can give me. My father and brothers will be generous with you once they arrive.’