The Last Legion (45 page)

‘What have you done!’ he cried as soon as he saw the boy. He raised his hand as if to slap him, but Romulus didn’t blink and looked him straight in the eye. Ambrosinus perceived the dignity and the majesty of his sovereign in that gaze, and he dropped his hand. ‘You put everyone’s life in danger. Livia, Vatrenus and Aurelius are still searching for you and running a deadly risk.’

‘It’s true,’ confirmed Demetrius. ‘We nearly ran into Wulfila’s men. They’re roaming the town, out looking for us, evidently.’

Romulus burst into tears and rushed to hide below deck.

‘Don’t be too hard on him,’ said Demetrius. ‘He’s just a boy, forced to face emotions and decisions that are much bigger than he is.’

Ambrosinus sighed and returned to the railing to watch for the others. He heard the boatman’s voice instead. ‘I found a cart for you,’ he said, walking up the gangplank. ‘You’re lucky, but you have to go and fetch it now. The owner wants to close up and go to bed.’

‘We’ve had a problem,’ answered Demetrius. ‘Some of us are still stranded in town.’

‘A problem? What kind of a problem?’

‘I’ll go with him,’ said Ambrosinus. ‘You wait here and no one move, for the love of heaven, until we come back.’

Demetrius nodded and remained on the look-out to await the others, along with Orosius and Batiatus. Vatrenus showed up first, and was soon joined by Livia and then Aurelius. They were frantic.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Demetrius, ‘I found him, what a miracle! I think he was about to enter a tavern. Another step and both of us would have finished in the hands of Wulfila’s cut-throats.’

‘He wanted to enter a tavern?’ asked Aurelius. ‘Where is he now?’

‘Below. Ambrosinus chewed him out.’

‘Let me go,’ said Livia, going below deck.

Romulus was curled into a corner, crying softly, with his head on his knees. Livia approached him and touched him gently. ‘You had us scared to death!’ she said. ‘Don’t ever run away again, please. It’s not you who needs us. It’s us who need you, can’t you understand that?’

Romulus lifted his face and dried his tears with the sleeve of his tunic. Then he stood up and hugged her tight, without saying a word. They could hear the sound of wheels on the cobblestones outside.

‘Come on, now,’ urged Livia, ‘get your things. It’s time to go.’

T
HE CART WAS ALREADY
on the wharf and Ambrosinus was busy paying the driver, subtracting the price of the horse. ‘We’ve already got one,’ he said, ‘as you can see.’ Aurelius was leading Juba by the bridle down the gangplank, to replace the skinny nag in the shafts.

‘By all the saints in heaven!’ said the cart driver. ‘It’s a waste putting him to the cart! I’ll give you two of mine, what do you say?’

Aurelius didn’t even look his way as he began to adjust the towing harness around Juba’s neck.

‘He’s like a brother for him,’ said Demetrius to the driver. ‘Would you exchange your brother for two of these nags?’

The cart driver scratched his head. ‘If you knew my brother, you’d give him away for a donkey,’ he said.

‘Let’s get going,’ urged Ambrosinus. ‘The sooner we leave the better.’ The others climbed on to the cart after having thanked the boatman and taken their farewell. They sat on some boxes pushed up against the sides. An oilcloth was draped over the hoops formed by several curved willow branches, providing a little shelter and hiding them from view. Livia curled up under a blanket with Romulus. Aurelius came around to the back. ‘I’ll walk,’ he said. ‘Juba’s not used to pulling a cart, he might become restive. You try to get some sleep.’

Ambrosinus clasped the boatman’s hand. ‘We are very grateful,’ he told him. ‘We owe our lives to you and we don’t even know your name.’

‘That’s all right, one less thing to remember. It was a good crossing, and I enjoyed your company. I’m usually all alone for the whole voyage. I believe you’re going to try to cross over the ice?’

‘Not much choice, I’d say,’ admitted Ambrosinus.

‘I think you’re right, but be very careful. The ice is thicker where the river current is slower. So on the straight stretches, the danger lies in the centre, while on the river bends, the ice is thinnest at the outer part of the curve. Cross one by one, leaving the horse for last with the empty cart. Once on the other side, head northwest. In a week’s time you should reach the Seine, if the weather’s not too bad. It will all be much easier from there on, at least I hope so. May God assist you.’

‘You too, my friend. One day you’ll hear tell of this boy, who you’ve seen so tattered and tormented, and you’ll be proud that you met him and that you helped him. Good luck for your return.’

A last hand shake and Ambrosinus stepped up into the cart with the help of Orosius. They pulled up the board at the back and fastened it to the sides. Demetrius shouted to Aurelius: ‘We’re all in.’ The cart started off, creaking and clattering over the cobblestone wharf, and disappeared into the darkness.

They drove on all night, covering about fifteen miles and taking turns at leading Juba by the bridle. When the horse had got accustomed to pulling the cart, Aurelius sat on the driver’s bench and guided Juba with the reins and his voice. To their left, the river’s surface was becoming increasingly white and compact, until it was a uniform sheet of ice from one shore to the other. The cold chilled them to the bone and the fog had frozen overnight, cloaking the shrubs and canes, the grass and bushes with lacy hoar frost. The sky was veiled by high, thin clouds which sometimes let through a little of the sun’s first light as a wide white halo just above the horizon.

Not one of them was tranquil. The covered cart hid them well enough from sight, but it was slow and vulnerable, and the most difficult moment was yet to come: crossing the river. Their relief at the visibility brought by the morning light was short-lived; they soon realized that the brightness given off equally by the sky, the snow and the ice made outlines indistinct and blurred volume, flooding the entire landscape in its milky glow. People and animals were the only things to stand out, making their own presence even more conspicuous. In fact, passers-by were few and far between: peasants with pack animals loaded with branches and wood for burning, or some solitary wayfarer, mostly beggars covered with rags. The cock’s cry rose to announce the new day for the farms scattered throughout the countryside. Every so often they would hear the whining of a dog, transformed into a mournful lament in the immensity of that empty, cold space.

They went on for another couple of miles and then stopped at a point where the river was narrow and the bank was low to the bed, providing easy access. They decided that two of them would go on foot to test the solidity of the ice, tied together with a rope so that if one sank into the water, the other could pull him to safety. Batiatus volunteered to accompany Aurelius; his strength and size would guarantee a secure anchor. Under the worried gaze of the others, they advanced over the icy crust, tapping the surface with the tip of a javelin in order to gauge the thickness of the ice from the sound. They grew smaller and smaller to their companions’ eyes as they rapidly neared the middle of the river. That was the critical point, the place where the ice had solidified last, and Aurelius decided to test it with his sword. Manoeuvring it with both hands, he twisted it forcefully into the ice, scattering crystal bright splinters. He succeeding in nudging it one foot down, before his last blow landed the tip in the water beneath.

‘One foot!’ he shouted to Batiatus.

‘Is that enough?’ the other shot back.

‘It has to be. We can’t stay here any longer; it’s too great a risk. We’ve already been noticed, look!’ He pointed at a couple of bystanders along the shore who had stopped to observe the strange operation, then turned back to confer with the others and the crossing began, one after another, at a few steps’ distance.

‘Hurry!’ urged Ambrosinus. ‘We’re too visible. Whoever’s heard of us will recognize us.’

*

The boatman, who had hoped to be sailing south by that time, was unhappily in a completely different situation. Unloading the salt had required much longer than he’d expected, because sitting in the damp for so long had clotted the crystals into huge lumps. He hadn’t finished when Wulfila’s men burst on to the wharf on horseback and began to inspect all the boats still at anchor. It hadn’t taken them very long to identify the one with the load of rock-salt, even though very little remained on the deck, and they rushed on board with their swords drawn.

‘Stop! Who are you?’ shouted the boatman. ‘You have no right to storm on to my boat like that!’

Wulfila himself appeared and ordered his warriors to shut the man up and take him below deck.

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know who we are!’ he started. ‘It was just ten days ago, and I’m sure you’re not a man to forget a face, are you?’ he demanded, twisting his deformed features into a grimace. ‘We’re following a deserter wanted for murder who jumped aboard your boat on his horse. He had a boy with him, didn’t he?’

The boatman felt faint: he couldn’t deny any of those allegations. ‘His friends had been waiting for him,’ he stammered. ‘They’d already paid their passage and I had no complaint with them. I couldn’t have known . . .’

‘Shut up! Those men are wanted for crimes of blood that they committed in the territory of the empire. They kidnapped that boy and we must free him and return him to his parents. Understand?’

The boatman had the momentary sensation that scarface was telling the truth: hadn’t the boy tried to run away last night, and hadn’t they chased after him like mad? Then he remembered the continuous gestures of affection that all his travel companions had showered on the boy, and how affectionate he had been with them as well. He bit his tongue, and said: ‘How am I supposed to know the life and hard times of everyone who gets on my boat? I don’t care, as long as they pay; they don’t bother me, and I don’t bother them, and that’s what happened. Now I have to get home, so if you don’t mind . . .’

‘You’ll go when I say so,’ roared Wulfila, slapping him with the back of his hand, ‘and now you’ll tell me where they went, if you don’t want me to make you sorry you were ever born!’

Terrified and smarting, the boatman tried to convince his persecutor that he knew nothing, but he was certainly not ready to face any kind of torture. He tried to hold out through the kicks and punches, gritting his teeth when they twisted his arm behind his back so hard he thought they would break it and stifling his cries even as the blood poured from his split lip and crushed nose, but when he saw Wulfila pull out his dagger he gave up all at once, overwhelmed by panic. He gasped: ‘They left last night, on a cart, headed north . . .’

Wulfila tumbled him on to the floor with a last kick and sheathed his dagger. ‘Pray to your God that we find them, otherwise I’ll come back and I’ll burn you alive inside this boat of yours.’

He left two of his men to keep an eye on the sorry wretch, then went down to the wharf and mounted his horse. He galloped off northwards, followed by his men.

‘Look, traces of a cart and a horse,’ noticed one of his warriors as soon as they had left the city. ‘We’ll be able to tell straight away if it’s them.’ He dropped to the ground and examined Juba’s tracks in the snow, recognizing them immediately. He turned to his leader with a satisfied sneer: ‘It is them! That pig was telling the truth.’

‘Finally!’ exclaimed Wulfila. He drew his sword and raised it high. It glittered in his fist, amidst the cheers of his men. He spurred on his horse and set off at a gallop down the snow-covered road.

*

Meanwhile Aurelius, after having helped all the others cross to the opposite side, had gone back for Juba and the cart. He led the horse by his bridle, advancing on foot in front of him. He kept up a continuous patter to soothe and reassure him about the strange, new experience, the passage across a glassy surface that didn’t give way under the pressure of his hooves. ‘Slow now, attaboy, Juba. Slowly . . . see? Nothing’s wrong. We just want to reach Romulus, he’s waiting for us. See him down there? He’s waving at us.’

They had nearly reached the middle of the river and Aurelius was worried about Juba’s considerable size and the weight of the cart, which rested entirely on the narrow iron bands encircling the wheel rims. He strained his ears to pick up the slightest sound, dreading that crack that would swallow him and his horse up into the icy water, a death that struck terror and panic into his heart. Every now and then he would turn towards the others, and he could feel the tension that gripped them as they waited for him to cross.

‘Now! Come on, now!’ shouted Batiatus all at once. ‘You’re past the thinnest part: get moving!’

Aurelius accelerated his pace immediately, but he couldn’t understand why his friends’ shouts seemed to be increasingly excited and urgent. A blood-chilling thought crossed his mind, and he looked back to find, at less than a mile’s distance, a pack of horsemen galloping along the river’s bank. Wulfila! Again! How was it possible? How could those beasts emerge again and again out of nowhere like spirits from hell? He ran across to the opposite shore, practically dragging the horse behind him, and drew his sword, ready for the death match.

His companions were lined up as well, weapons in hand, ready to cover Romulus’ flight.

‘Aurelius!’ shouted Vatrenus. ‘Untie the horse from the cart and escape with the boy! We’ll resist here as long as we can. Go, go now while you still can. Get the devil out of here!’