The Last Legion (55 page)

‘No, believe me, it’s exactly as I say. He’s at the head of two hundred fully-armed horsemen who are sowing terror as they advance: sacking, burning, destroying with a fury no one has ever seen. I’ve ridden here without ever stopping. I took a short cut through the forest of Gowan, and rode on day and night, changing the horses at our properties. I heard him myself as he shouted out “To Carvetia!” It won’t take him any longer than two days to get here.’

‘Carvetia . . . but that’s impossible! Why should he be headed here? He’s never touched this city; he needs us, and besides that, nearly all the men of influence have already submitted. It makes no sense, no sense at all . . .’ He meditated in silence for a few moments, then said: ‘Listen, I know you must be very tired, but I have a last favour to ask you. Go down to the old Roman wharf and speak with Oribasius, the fisherman. He’s one of my men. Tell him to get ready to set sail tomorrow at dawn with abundant water and supplies on board, everything he can manage to take with him. Hurry!’

The man remounted his horse and galloped off while Kustennin went upstairs to alert his wife. ‘I’ve got bad news, I’m afraid: Wortigern and his men are headed this way, and I fear that our friend Myrdin is in serious trouble as well. I must warn him. Perhaps it was his speech to the senate that set off this whole expedition, but I can’t let that old madman ruin himself and that poor boy, with all their companions – although they must be as crazy as he is, if they followed him all the way here from Italy.’

‘It will be dark soon!’ complained Egeria. ‘Won’t it be dangerous?’

‘I must go, otherwise I’d never be able to sleep tonight.’

‘Father, may I come with you? Please father!’ begged Ygraine.

‘Don’t even consider it!’ admonished Egeria. ‘You’ll have other chances to see your young Roman friend.’ Ygraine blushed and walked away in a huff.

Egeria sighed and accompanied her husband to the door. She pensively remained at the threshold, listening to the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs and across the courtyard.

Kustennin chose his white stallion from the stables, the fastest he had. He leapt into the saddle as the servants opened the gate and raced across the countryside reddened by the last flame of dusk.

He could see the fort from the top of the hill that dominated the valley and the lake. His gaze was instantly attracted to the banner which hung from the highest tower: the dragon of the ancient Sarmatian auxiliary troops who had once garrisoned the Great Wall, later becoming the standard of his legion. Wisps of smoke attested to life between those old walls, and the gate opened as he arrived. He walked his horse in and was greeted by a warm embrace from Ambrosinus, who introduced him to the others.

‘Romulus, you have seen my old friend once before. The rest of you, this is Kustennin, called Constantine by the Romans, our
dux bellorum
and
magister militum
, the dearest and most valiant of my friends in Britannia. I hope he has come to stay a while with us.’

A roe was roasting over a big wood fire and the men were cutting off bits of meat with their swords as it cooked. The bow and quiver of arrows Livia had shot him with were still slung at her side. They were all cheerful and it broke Kustennin’s heart to think of the news he was bearing for them.

‘Sit down,’ Ambrosinus invited. ‘Eat! We’ve got plenty.’

‘There’s no time,’ replied Kustennin. ‘You must leave this place. I have sure information that Wortigern is headed for Carvetia at the head of two hundred warriors in full battle gear. They may be here by tomorrow night.’

‘Wortigern?’ repeated Ambrosinus, stunned. ‘But he’s too old: he couldn’t sit up in a saddle even if they tied him on.’

‘I know. It’s hard for me to believe the story that I’ve heard from one of my informers. He was ranting, saying that the tyrant has made a pact with the devil. Satan has possessed him, restoring the youth and vigour of his best years, and has apparently forged a special sword for him as well, a wondrous thing the like of which no one has ever seen.’

Aurelius drew closer: ‘How could your man tell that it was Wortigern?’

‘He wore the mask of gold that has covered his face for over ten years, and his long white hair fell over his shoulders – but his voice was his as a young man.’

‘You spoke of a sword . . .’ insisted Aurelius.

‘That’s right. He saw it close up. A blade as bright as crystal, and a golden hilt shaped like an eagle’s head . . .’

Aurelius paled. ‘Powerful gods!’ he exclaimed. ‘Then it’s not Wortigern, it’s Wulfila! And he’ll be looking for us.’

They all exchanged looks in consternation.

‘Whoever it is,’ replied Kustennin, ‘you have to get out of here. They’ll be here in two days, at the very most. Listen to me, tomorrow morning at dawn, I’m sending my family to safety on a boat directed to Ireland. There’s room for another two or three people: Myrdin and the boy, and the girl, I suppose . . . It’s all I can do for you.’

Aurelius heaved a deep sigh and stared at Ambrosinus with shiny eyes. ‘Perhaps your friend is right,’ he said. ‘It’s the only wise thing to do. We can’t keep running for all eternity. We’re already at the far end of the world. We have no choice. We have to split up. Staying together will accomplish nothing but attracting all our enemies and adversaries straight to us. You must leave, you and the boy, Ambrosinus, and you go with them, Livia, please. Save yourselves. No sword can protect him any longer.’

Romulus looked at him as though he couldn’t believe what he had heard, his eyes welling up with tears, but Ambrosinus rebelled. ‘No!’ he exclaimed. ‘It can’t finish this way. The prophecy tells the truth, I’m absolutely certain of it. We must remain, at all costs!’

Livia exchanged a long look with Aurelius, then turned to Ambrosinus. ‘You must surrender to the facts,’ she said, ‘to the unhappy reality of things. If we stay here, we will all die and he’ll die with us.’

She turned to the others: ‘You, Vatrenus, what do you think?’

‘I think you’re right. There’s no point in persisting; let’s have the boy and his tutor taken to safety. We’ll find another road for ourselves . . .’

‘Orosius? Demetrius?’

Both nodded.

‘Batiatus?’

The giant looked around with a bewildered expression, as if he couldn’t believe that their terrible and marvellous adventure had come to an end, that this big family – the only one he’d ever had – was about to break up. He lowered his head to hide his tears and the others took his gesture as a sign of assent.

‘Well then . . . I’d say it’s been decided,’ concluded Livia. ‘Now let’s try to get some rest. Each one of us will have to face a difficult road tomorrow, no matter what direction we take.’

Kustennin stood up to go. ‘Remember,’ he said. ‘At the old Roman wharf, at dawn. May the night bring you counsel.’ He took his horse by the reins.

‘Wait,’ said Aurelius. He went up to the battlement and took down the standard. He folded it carefully and handed it to Kustennin. ‘You keep it, so that it won’t be destroyed.’

Kustennin accepted it, then mounted his stallion and rode off. Ambrosinus watched that sad ceremony numbly, then put his hand on Romulus’s shoulder and drew him close, as if to protect him from the chill that was gnawing at his heart.

Aurelius walked away, overcome by emotion, and Livia followed him. She found him in the dark under the sentry walk stair, and brushed his lips with a kiss. ‘It’s useless to fight the impossible: it’s destiny that decides for us, and won’t allow us to go beyond certain limits. Let’s go back to Italy; we’ll find a ship that’s setting sail for the Mediterranean. We can return to Venetia . . .’ Aurelius looked over at Romulus and he bit his lip. The boy was sitting next to Ambrosinus as the old man hugged him close, covering him with a cloak.

‘Perhaps we’ll see them again . . . Who knows?’ said Livia, speaking her thoughts out loud. ‘
Sed primum vivere
; life comes first, don’t you agree?’ She held him tight.

Aurelius backed away. ‘You’ve never given up on that old idea of yours, have you? Can’t you understand that I love that boy like the son that I never had? Can’t you understand that going back to your lagoon is like diving into a sea of flames for me? Leave me alone, I beg of you . . . Just leave me alone.’

Livia walked away, weeping, and took shelter in the barracks.

Aurelius returned up on the walkway and leaned against one of the guard towers. The night was calm and clear, a warm springtime night, but cold despair had invaded his heart. He wished he’d never existed, never been born. He remained up on the battlements, withdrawn into his own thoughts, for a long time, as the moon rose over the slopes of Mount Badon, silvering the valley. A touch from out of nowhere startled him, and Ambrosinus was suddenly standing in front of him. No noise had come from that squeaky wooden stair, nor from the disjointed planks on the walkway. He spun around as if he’d seen an apparition, or a ghost. ‘Ambrosinus . . . what do you want?’

‘Come now, it’s time to go.’

‘Where?’

‘To seek out the truth.’

Aurelius shook his head. ‘No, leave me alone. We have a long journey tomorrow.’

Ambrosinus clutched at his cloak. ‘You’ll come with me, now!’

Aurelius straightened up resignedly. ‘Whatever. As long as you leave me in peace.’

Ambrosinus made his way down the stairs and went outside, heading at a quick pace towards the great circular stone surrounded by those four monoliths that stood out against the moonlight like silent giants. He reached the stone and gestured to Aurelius to sit upon it; he obeyed as if subjugated by an invincible force. Ambrosinus poured some liquid into a cup and handed it to him. ‘Drink,’ he said.

‘What is this?’ asked Aurelius in surprise.

‘A passage to hell . . . if you’re up to it.’

Aurelius looked into his eyes, into his dilated pupils, and felt sucked into a dark vortex. He held out his hand with a mechanical gesture, took the cup and drank it down all in one go.

Ambrosinus placed his hands on Aurelius’s head. His fingers felt like sharp talons, penetrating into his skin and into his skull itself. He cried out at the piercing, intolerable pain, but it was like screaming in a dream: he opened his mouth but no sound came out, the pain remained inside like a lion in a cage clawing at him cruelly. Then the fingers dug deep into his brain, as the Druid’s voice rang out shrilly: ‘Let me in!’ it screeched, thundered, hissed. ‘Let me in!’

And his voice found a way, exploding all at once in Aurelius’s mind like a scream of agony, then the legionary collapsed gasping on to the stone and lay there unmoving.

*

He reawakened in an unknown place, enveloped in the deepest darkness, and he looked around in dismay, trying to find anything that might call him back to reality. He saw the dark shadow of a city under siege . . . campfires all around the walls. Flaming meteors streaked across the sky with shrill whistles, but the sounds and the distant, muffled voices had the fluctuating, distorted vibration of a nightmare.

‘Where am I?’ he asked.

The voice of the Druid resounded behind him: ‘In your past . . . at Aquileia!’

‘That’s not possible . . .’ he responded. ‘It’s not possible.’

Now he could see in the distance the dark shape of an aqueduct in ruins; a light appeared and disappeared between the pillars and arches. The voice of Myrdin Ambrosinus rang out again: ‘Look. There’s someone up there.’

On hearing those words, his vision keened like that of a nocturnal bird of prey: yes, there was a figure, moving on the aqueduct. A man holding a lantern, walking on the second row of arches: he suddenly turned, and the lantern illuminated his face.

‘It’s you!’ said the voice behind him.

Aurelius felt taken up in a sudden whirl, like a leaf on the wind. It was him, now, on that crumbling aqueduct, it was him holding the lantern as a voice came from the shadows, a voice he knew well, startling him. ‘Did you bring the gold?’ A face emerged from the darkness: Wulfila!

‘All that I have,’ he answered, and handed over a purse.

The barbarian weighed it in his hand. ‘It’s not what we agreed upon but . . . I’ll take it anyway.’

‘My parents! Where are they? Our agreement was that . . .’

Wulfila stared impassively at him, his stone face betraying no emotion. ‘You’ll find them at the entrance to the western necropolis. They’re very weak. They never would have made it all the way up here.’ He turned his back and disappeared into the night.

‘Wait!’ Aurelius shouted, but received no answer. He was alone, tormented by doubt. The lantern light trembled.

The voice of his guide sounded again in the dark: ‘You had no choice . . .’

Now he was elsewhere, at the base of the walls, in front of a postern gate that opened on to the countryside. He opened it with great effort, overcoming the rust and the tangle of branches and vines that had concealed this gate and kept it a secret for who knows how long. He found himself outside, with his lantern in hand. Before him was the necropolis with its ancient, time-worn tombs, overgrown with brambles and weeds. He checked behind him, warily, then at his sides and finally in front of him: the ground was bare and open, apparently deserted. He called softly: ‘Father . . . Mother!’