The Last Legion (42 page)

‘You should get some sleep yourself. This place seems safe enough to me. Maybe even an old pedagogue will do to stand guard.’

‘I told you. I’m not tired.’

‘Neither am I. Perhaps I could keep you company for a while . . . if you like.’

‘I’d like that very much. We never finished what we were saying, remember?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘You were speaking to me of some enigma in Aurelius’s life.’

‘Yes, that’s right: words I heard without meaning to, that night at Fanum and the other night at the pass, while I was trying to stop myself from slipping down into the chasm.’

‘What did you hear?’ asked Livia, troubled.

‘Perhaps you should tell me everything you know about him first.’

‘I know so little.’

‘Or what you think you know.’

‘I . . . I think he is the young officer who so heroically defended Aquileia for nine months against Attila’s Huns. I think he was the one who helped me and my mother to escape by letting us take his place on a boat on the night the city fell, at the hand of a traitor.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘I feel it. I know I’m not wrong.’

Ambrosinus sought out Livia’s eyes in the darkness. ‘In truth, you’ve lied to him . . . haven’t you? You needed a man who was capable of carrying out the impossible, and you thought you could inject the memory of a hero, of someone who perhaps no longer exists.’

‘No!’ objected Livia. ‘Well, maybe a little, at first; but then the more I saw him fighting, risking his life again and again to save the life of another, I had no doubts. He is the hero of Aquileia, and even if he wasn’t, this is the truth for me.’

‘A truth that he denies. This is the cause of your discord, the ghost that stands between you and makes you strangers to each other. Listen to me: no memory, no recollection, can take root in his mind if there’s nothing beneath. You can’t build on water.’

‘You say not? I’ve seen it done.’

‘Yes, your city on the lagoon. But this is different; here we’re talking about the soul of a man, his wounded mind, his feelings; and as if that weren’t enough, another truth has emerged from his past and threatens to crush him.’

‘What are you talking about? Tell me, I beg of you.’

‘I can’t. I don’t have the right.’

‘I understand,’ said Livia, resigned, ‘but is there nothing I can do for him?’

Ambrosinus sighed. ‘The truth, the only truth, must be forced to emerge from his mind, where it has lain buried so long. I know a way, perhaps, but it is terrible, terrible . . . he might not survive it.’

‘Where might he be now,
Ambrosine
?’

She noticed him stiffen at her question. His eyes clouded and his entire being seemed centred on some immense effort.

‘Perhaps . . . in danger,’ he said, with a strange, metallic voice.

Livia got closer and looked at him in amazement. All at once, she became aware that he was no longer with her: his mind, and perhaps his soul, were elsewhere, scouring mysterious paths, exploring remote territory, snowy expanses . . . wandering the mountainside, carried by the wind over fir woods and icy peaks, flying over the surface of frozen lakes, silent and invisible as a midnight bird of prey.

Livia said nothing, and sat absorbed in her own thoughts, listening to the soft lapping of the waves against the boat’s planks. A cold north wind tore into the clouds, uncovering the disc of the moon for a moment. Ambrosinus’s face, illuminated by that pale light, seemed a waxen mask. His eyes were white, empty, unblinking, like a statue’s. Only his mouth was open, as if he were screaming, but no sound came out, nor did his breath vaporize in the air like the others’. It was as if he were not breathing at all.

*

The shrill shriek of a bird of prey fractured the deep silence of the forest and Aurelius jerked awake, eyes darting as he strained to perceive the slightest sound. He shook Romulus who was sleeping curled up next to him. ‘We have to go,’ he said. ‘Wulfila’s here.’

Romulus scanned the woods around him in terror, but everything was quiet and calm and the moon was peeking out from behind the clouds, over the tips of the fir trees.

‘Hurry!’ insisted Aurelius. ‘We haven’t a moment to lose!’ He adjusted the horse’s bit and led Juba by the bridle down the path through the forest as quickly as he could, Romulus running alongside.

‘What did you see?’ gasped the boy.

‘Nothing. A cry woke me; a cry of alarm. It’s my instinct. I can feel a threat, after so many years of war. Run, Romulus, we have to move faster. As fast as we can.’

They left the forest behind them and found themselves on a clearing blanketed with snow. The moon diffused a soft glow that reflected off the white countryside, and Aurelius could make out the tracks of a couple of wheels crossing the clearing and heading down the valley.

‘That way,’ he pointed. ‘If a cart can get through, it means the terrain is solid underneath. We can mount the horse now, finally. Come on, quick now, up you go!’

‘But Aurelius, there’s no one . . .’

Aurelius didn’t even answer. He grabbed the boy’s arm and hoisted him up on to the saddle in front of him. He touched the spurs and Juba broke into a gallop, following the traces of the cart over the snow-covered meadow. Off in the distance the dark shape of a village could be seen, and Aurelius spurred the horse on even faster. They were greeted by a chorus of barks as they neared the first home, so Aurelius veered towards the bottom of the valley, reaching a slightly raised area from which he could see the whole river bed. He breathed a sigh of relief and slowed Juba to a walk so he could catch his breath as well. The untiring animal, steaming with sweat, blew great clouds of vapour from his nostrils and snorted impatiently, champing at the bit as if eager to get on with it. Perhaps he, too, could feel danger looming.

*

Wulfila and his men reached the end of the fir woods and immediately noticed the trail on the candid white blanket of snow: horse tracks, mixing into those of a cart, descending the slope.

One of them jumped to the ground and poked at the marks. ‘The left rear horseshoe has only three nails and the front prints are deeper than the back ones. That means the horse is carrying weight between the saddle and his neck. It’s them.’

‘Finally!’ exclaimed Wulfila. ‘We’ve got them now; they can’t escape.’ He raised his hand and signalled to the others to follow him at a gallop down the mountain side. There were over seventy of them, and their passage raised a white cloud, a halo of silvery powder that glimmered in the moonlight like a magical nocturnal rainbow. Awakened by the furious barking of their dogs, the men of the village beheld that phantasmagoric ride across the wide clearing above their houses, and swiftly made the sign of the cross. Those could be nothing else but the damned souls that escaped from hell by night in search of victims to drag down with them into the fiery pit. They barred their windows, and kept their ears to the doors, trembling with fear, until the sound of that galloping vanished off into the distance and the howling of their guard dogs settled into a soft whimper.

*

The cold light of dawn slowly began to permeate the thin layer of clouds that covered the sky and to awaken the men who were sleeping curled up under their blankets. Livia got up as well, touching her hands to her forehead and temples. She felt as if she’d dreamed it all, as if Ambrosinus had never really spoken to her. There he was, stretched out with the others, sleeping on the sheepskins. Demetrius was standing guard; he appeared to be scanning the snow-covered hills. Ambrosinus proposed that they move on to the boat that would take them north, so that they’d be ready to deport as soon as possible. They had decided to leave the pontoons in a barter agreement with the boatman, who planned to use them as tows.

He was a man of about fifty, heavyset and sturdy, with a thick head of grey hair, dressed in a felt tunic and a leather apron. His manner was brusque and resolute.

‘I can’t wait much longer,’ he told them as soon as they appeared. ‘People are starting to butcher their pigs and they’ll need salt to conserve the meat. But there’s another reason we must set off soon, a much more important one. The colder it gets, the greater our risk of being blocked as we travel north. The river may freeze up and I don’t want my boat getting stuck, and crushed by the ice.’

‘You said we could wait until this evening. A few more hours surely won’t change the situation much!’ objected Ambrosinus. Livia noticed how weak his voice had become, how hoarse. His face was ashen and deep wrinkles furrowed his brow, as if he hadn’t slept all night.

‘Sorry,’ insisted the boatman, ‘but the weather’s changing, as you can see. There’s a thick fog coming up and it’s a risk navigating under these conditions. Not my fault if the weather is turning bad on us.’

Ambrosinus entreated him: ‘We’ve left you the pontoons and you still stand to make a profit on your load. I’ve promised you more money for our passage; consent to our request, if you can. The friends we are waiting for will arrive soon, I assure you.’

The boatman wouldn’t budge. ‘I have to weigh anchor,’ he answered. ‘There’s no more to be said.’

Vatrenus approached. ‘I’m afraid there is, old man. Listen: either you do as we ask nicely, or we have ways to persuade you. We’re all armed and you’ll weigh anchor when we tell you to.’

The boatman huffed off in a fury and went aft to consult with his crew.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ said Ambrosinus. ‘It’s always wiser to negotiate; always prefer reasoning over force.’

‘That may be,’ replied Vatrenus, ‘but for the time being we’re still at anchor, so my reasoning must have been more convincing than yours.’

He hadn’t finished speaking when Livia shouted: ‘There they are!’

Aurelius and Romulus were racing headlong down the hillside, with the barbarian squad in close pursuit. Wulfila was at their head, brandishing his sword and screaming out savagely. The boatman took one look and immediately pictured his precious vessel turned into a battlefield or, worse yet, burned to a crisp in retaliation by those screaming demons. Perhaps this bunch here were fugitives; they must have committed some crime. He yelled out with everything he had: ‘Cast off! Now!’ A couple of the crewmen freed the moorings in a flash while another pushed off with an oar.

Vatrenus shouted: ‘Nooo! You damned bastards!’

It was too late: the boat had already detached from the wooden pier and was slowly moving away. Livia saw a moment of indecision in Aurelius’s eyes: he had been heading towards the pontoons, but must have seen that they were empty. She shouted as loudly as she could: ‘This way! We’re here! Hurry, Aurelius, hurry!’ and started waving her cape in the air, as the others jumped up and down, yelling: ‘Over here! Quickly!’

Aurelius spotted them, clenched his knees into Juba’s flanks and yanked on the bit, making the horse veer sharply. He then urged him into a fast gallop, shouting: ‘Go, Juba, go, jump!’ pulling up on the reins at his bit and neck. The boat was parallel to the shore now and was moving past the end of the pier. Aurelius swiftly covered the entire length of the pier, then launched Juba into an incredible leap that landed them on the pile of rock-salt. The horse sank in up to his knees as Aurelius and Romulus jumped free, tumbling sideways into the white mound that broke their fall.

Batiatus, seeing the sudden change in the situation, yanked free the two stern rudders, stuck them in the oarlocks and started rowing to help the boat pick up speed. Wulfila galloped down the pier after them, wild with the fury of the chase, but he had to draw up his stallion at the last minute to stop him from plunging into the water. His comrades crowding behind him, he was left behind once again in a frenzy, powerless to stop his prey.

Vatrenus raised his arm in an obscene gesture, shouting out an insult that Romulus couldn’t understand. The boy brushed off the salt he was completely covered with and drew closer. ‘What does
temetfutue
mean?’ he asked him innocently.

‘Caesar!’ scolded Ambrosinus. ‘You mustn’t repeat such words!’

‘It means “Fuck you!”’ replied Vatrenus calmly, and he lifted the boy and raised him high, over everyone’s heads as they all shouted: ‘Welcome back, Caesar!’ in an explosion of irrepressible joy that their tension had suffocated until that very instant. They were all embracing each other and even Juba got a few well-deserved hugs. The heroic steed had brought Romulus and Aurelius to safety with incredible valour. Batiatus handed the rudders back to the crew and joined his rejoicing companions.

Wulfila continued to follow the boat, galloping along the shore with the sword of Caesar held high like an implacable threat. Aurelius hung over the starboard railing, exposing himself to the waves of his enemy’s hate, like an icy wind that burned into his skin. He couldn’t help but stare at the shining sword the barbarian grasped in his fist. The horsemen sent swarms of arrows at them, which fell into the water with soft splashes. One had been shot in such a high arc that it landed on the deck, but Demetrius promptly raised his shield to stop it from striking Livia. The distance between them was increasing with each passing instant until the boat was completely out of reach.

Romulus went to Aurelius and touched his arm: ‘Don’t think about that sword any more,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter that you’ve lost it. Other things are more important.’