The Last Legion (50 page)

Only once did they have to face a threat: they were ambushed one evening by a band of brigands, but the overwhelming impact of Batiatus on his Armorican stallion, the deadly force of Aurelius and Vatrenus, Livia’s arrows, Demetrius’s swift reactions and Orosius’s quiet power soon triumphed over their aggressors, who for years had fought only as marauders and no longer as soldiers.

So, in just over two weeks of journeying, the little caravan had crossed almost a third of the country, and were camped not far from a city called Caerleon.

‘What a strange name,’ said Romulus, considering the place from a distance, struck by the strange mix of imposing ancient architecture and wretched huts.

‘It’s just the local deformation of
Castra Legionum
,’ explained Ambrosinus. ‘The legions of the south once pitched their camps here, and that structure down there is what remains of the amphitheatre.’

Aurelius and the others observed the city as well, and it had a strange effect on them to see the vestiges of Rome, still so imposing and yet already in ruin, bound for complete dissolution.

They continued on for two more weeks, reaching the base of the high lands and the edge of the vast forests. One night, as they were sitting around their campfire, Aurelius thought that it was time to establish the ultimate purpose of their long march, the future that awaited them in that far-flung corner of the world.

‘Where are we going,
magister
?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Don’t you think the time has come to let us know?’

‘Yes, Aurelius, you’re right. We’re going to Carvetia, the city I left many years ago. I had promised then to return with an imperial army to liberate this land from the barbarians of the north and from Wortigern. He was an oppressive tyrant at that time, and remains one now, although as we have heard he’s become old and weak. Lust for power is the most potent medicine: it keeps even dying men alive.’

They all looked at each other, stunned.

‘You promised to return with an army and you’re bringing us?’ said Vatrenus, pointing at himself and his companions. ‘We’ll be greeted by hoots of laughter! I thought you’d be taking us to a tranquil place, where we would be able to live a normal existence, in peace. I’d say we deserve it.’

‘In all truth,’ spoke up Demetrius, ‘I expected much the same: somewhere far from the madness of the world, in the country, where we could raise families, and use our swords to cut cheese, or bread.’

‘I’d like somewhere like that myself,’ piped up Orosius. ‘We could set up a little village and get together every now and then to enjoy a meal and reminisce about the trials and tribulations we went through. Wouldn’t that be beautiful?’

Batiatus nodded in swift agreement. ‘No one around here has ever seen a black man, but I think they’d get accustomed to me soon enough. Maybe even I could find a girl who wouldn’t mind living with me, what do you think?’

Ambrosinus raised his arm to cut off their rambling. ‘In the north, there is still an armed legion that awaits its emperor. It is known as the Legion of the Dragon, because its emblem is a silver dragon with a purple tail that swells up and moves as if it were alive, when the wind blows.’

‘You’re mad,’ Aurelius broke in. ‘The only legion, the last legion, was ours, and as you know, we’re the last survivors.’

‘That’s not true!’ objected Ambrosinus. ‘This legion does exist, and it was Germanus himself who founded it. He made my people promise, on his dying day, that they would keep it armed, in defence of the liberty of the country, until I returned. They would never break a promise made to a hero and a saint! I know that my words seem like ravings, but have I ever led you astray, have I ever deluded you, in all this time we’ve been together?’

Vatrenus shook his head, increasingly perplexed. ‘Do you realize what you’re saying? Even if it were true, they’d all be old men now: they’ll have white beards, and have lost all their teeth!’

‘You say so?’ challenged Ambrosinus. ‘They’re as old as you are, Vatrenus, or you, Aurelius. The age of hardened, indomitable veterans. I understand that all this must seem absurd to you, but listen to me, for the love of God! You’ll have what you are longing for. You’ll be able to enjoy a peaceful existence in a place that I’ll show you: a fertile, secluded valley, a little paradise watered by a crystal-clear spring, a place where you can live by hunting or fishing, where you can find women for yourselves among the nomad tribes that pass though every year with their flocks. But first you must complete your task, as you’ve promised me, and as you’ve promised this boy. I won’t ask for anything else. Escort us as far as the fortified camp that is our final destination, and then decide what you must. I will do everything in my power to assist you.’

Aurelius turned to the others: ‘You’ve all heard Ambrosinus’s words: our task is to present the emperor to his legion, granting that it still exists, and then we will have fulfilled our pledge. We may continue to serve at his orders, or be discharged with honour.’

‘But what if there is no legion?’ asked Livia, who had been silent up to then. ‘What will we do? Abandon him to his destiny? Will we split apart, each going his own way, or will we live together in this beautiful place that Ambrosinus has described?’

‘If it no longer exists, you will be free to do as you wish. That holds for you as well, my son,’ said Ambrosinus, turning to Romulus. ‘You can live with them if they choose to remain, as I so ardently hope, and grow up in peace. You’ll become a man: a shepherd, perhaps, or a hunter, or a farmer, as you like. However, I am certain that God has set aside quite a different destiny for you, and that these men and this young woman will be the instruments of your destiny, as I have been. This long journey of ours has not been governed by chance, and it was not human valour alone that permitted us to win over so many seemingly impossible challenges. The hand of God, whatever God you believe in, has guided us and will continue to guide us, until we have carried out his will.’

Aurelius examined his companions’ faces, one by one. He gave Livia a deeply moving look, as if to communicate all the long-suffocated passion and fears that tormented him. From all he had the same silent response, unequivocal.

‘We will not abandon you,’ he said then. ‘Not before nor after this mad expedition. We will find a way to stay united. If it’s true that death has so often spared us, the day will surely come in which we can finally enjoy what remains of our lives, long or short as they may be.’ He rose to his feet and walked away, because he felt he could no longer control the tumultuous feelings that crowded his soul.

There was more to it than that. His nightmares had been coming back, the same that had tortured him all these years, and the stabbing pains in his head were getting worse, and more frequent, preventing him from expressing himself and showing his emotions, especially with Livia. He felt as though the circle of his life was drawing to a close. Something was waiting for him there, at the end of the world: a final settling of accounts, with himself and his destiny.

Ambrosinus waited until the fire had gone out and everyone was asleep before he approached him. ‘Don’t lose heart, I beg of you,’ he said. ‘Have faith, and remember that the greatest endeavours are managed by a handful of heroes.’

‘I’m no hero,’ Aurelius replied without even turning, ‘and you know that.’

*

It snowed, that night, and it was the last snowfall of the winter. From that day on, they rode forward in the sunshine, under a sky of clouds as fluffy white as the coats of the lambs who were venturing out for the first time with their flocks to pasture. Violets and daisies sprang up overnight on the meadows facing south. Finally, one day, Ambrosinus stopped at the foot of a hill and got off his mule. He took his pilgrim’s staff and walked to the top, under everyone’s eyes. Then he turned around and shouted: ‘Come on now! What are you waiting for? Come on, hurry!’

Romulus was the first to catch up, sweaty and panting, followed by Livia and Aurelius and Vatrenus and the others. Just a few miles ahead of them lay the Great Wall, extending like a powerful stone belt from one side of the horizon to the other, studded with castles and towers. Beneath them to their right, not too far from where they stood, glittered the waters of a little lake, as clear and transparent as air. At its very centre was a green mossy crag. Far below, to the east, rose a mountain peak still capped with snow, and on its slopes, above a cliff, they could make out a fortified camp. Ambrosinus contemplated this superb spectacle enrapt: his gaze embraced the winding fortification that joined one sea to another, then rested on the lake, the mountain peak, the fortified camp, grey as the rock itself. He said: ‘We have arrived, my son, my friends. Our journey has come to an end. This is the Great Wall which crosses the entire country, and the mountain down there is
Mons Badonicus.
The lake at our feet is
Lacus Virginis
, which was said to be inhabited by a water nymph. And there, carved into the mountain itself, is the camp of the last legion of Britannia: the fort of the dragon!’

T
HEY DESCENDED INTO THE
completely deserted valley and advanced towards the fort, which now seemed more distant than it had from the top of the hill. They skirted the enchantingly beautiful lake, a small rocky basin surrounded by black, white and brown pebbles which glistened under the transparent water. They then started the ascent towards the low hill where the fort stood, resting on a rocky platform.

‘The interior part of the camp,’ explained Ambrosinus, ‘was excavated to create a flat surface on which the troops’ accommodations and the stables and sheds could be built. All around, a dry wall was raised for protection, topped by a palisade and guard towers.’

‘You know the place very well,’ observed Aurelius.

‘Certainly,’ said Ambrosinus. ‘I lived here a long time as a doctor and adviser to Commander Paullinus.’

‘What’s that over there?’ asked Romulus, pointing to a megalithic monument that was beginning to emerge from behind the sides of the hill, on a raised area that had been invisible to them. It looked like an enormous stone slab encircled by four gigantic rock pillars, standing at the four cardinal points.

Ambrosinus stopped. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is the funeral monument of a great warrior of this land, a Celtic leader known as Kalgak, who the Latin authors call Calgacus. He was the last hero of native resistance against the Roman invasion of Britannia three hundred years ago.’

‘I know all about that,’ said Romulus. ‘I’ve read the pages of Tacitus that relate his speech before the last battle, and the harsh words he uses to define the
Pax romana
.’

‘ “With false words they call Empire the subjugation of the world, and where they have made a desert, they call it peace,” ’ recited Aurelius. ‘But remember,’ he continued, not without a certain pride, ‘these are not actually the words of Calgacus, but of Tacitus himself: a Roman criticizing Roman imperialism. This is where the greatness of our civilization lies.’

‘They say that his council met gathered around that stone,’ said Ambrosinus, ‘and since then it has symbolized the liberty of all the inhabitants of this land, whatever their race.’

They continued their ascent towards the outer wall of the camp, but even at that distance it was evident that the place was deserted: the palisade was in ruins, the gates hanging from their hinges, the towers crumbling. Aurelius was the first to enter and witness, wherever his gaze fell, the signs of negligence and abandon.

‘A legion of ghosts,’ he murmured.

‘This place has been abandoned for years, it’s all falling to pieces,’ echoed Vatrenus. Batiatus tested the stability of a stairway that led up to the sentry walk, and the entire structure crashed noisily to the ground.

Ambrosinus seemed bewildered, overwhelmed by that desolation.

‘You really thought you’d still find something here?’ demanded Aurelius. ‘I can’t believe it. Look at the Great Wall down there: there hasn’t been a Roman standard flying over that wall for more than seventy years. How could you have hoped that a small bastion like this would survive? Look for yourself. There are no signs of destruction or of armed resistance. They just got up and left. Who knows how long ago.’

Ambrosinus walked towards the centre of the camp. ‘It may seem impossible to you, but you must believe me: the fire has not died yet. We need only stoke it up and the flame of liberty will once again blaze brightly!’

No one was listening. They shook their heads, daunted, in that unreal silence broken only by the whistle of the wind, by the creaking doors of the sheds eroded by time and the elements. Heedless of their dejection, Ambrosinus approached what must have been the praetorium, the commander’s residence, and disappeared inside.

‘Where’s he going?’ asked Livia.

Aurelius shrugged.

‘So now what do we do?’ wondered Batiatus. ‘It looks like we’ve travelled two thousand miles for nothing.’

Romulus was crouched in a corner, closed up in his own thoughts, and Livia didn’t dare go near him. She could guess how he felt and was suffering for him.

‘Seeing the state of things here, we’d better look at this situation realistically,’ began Vatrenus.

‘Realistically? There’s nothing real here! Just look around you, by all the gods!’ burst out Demetrius, but the words were not out of his mouth when the door of the praetorium opened and out came Ambrosinus. Their muttering ceased and they all stared at the solemn figure emerging from the darkness with an amazing object in his hand: a silver-headed, open-jawed dragon with a purple tail, hoisted on a pole from which a banner hung. The words on the banner read:
LEGIO XII DRACO.