The Last Legion (57 page)

*

They all slept: Batiatus with his head pillowed on his armour, by the still warm forge; Livia in Aurelius’ arms, in the barracks; Demetrius and Orosius in the stables, near the horses; Romulus, wrapped up in his travelling blanket, under the penthouse; Vatrenus on the bastions, inside the guard tower.

Ambrosinus was awake by the gate, deep in thought. Gently, he pushed the gate open and walked out to the great circular stone. Here he began to pile up a quantity of the wood, branches and dry bark, that lay at the feet of the century-old oaks. He approached a colossal oak and entered through a split in its trunk, extracting a wooden mallet and a large round object: a drum. He hung it from a branch and delivered a huge blow with the mallet, producing a hollow rumble that bounced off the mountains like the voice of a tempest. He then dealt another blow and then a third, and then yet another.

Aurelius, back at the camp, rose from his cot. ‘What was that?’ he asked. Livia took his hand and pulled him back down. ‘It’s just thunder, go back to sleep.’

But the sound was becoming louder, deeper and incessant, multiplied by the echo that resounded off the sides of the hills, off the cliffs and through the pastures. Aurelius strained to hear. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s not thunder, it sounds like an alarm signal . . . but for whom?’

Vatrenus’s voice rang out from the tower. ‘Come and see, quickly!’ They all grabbed their weapons and rushed to the bastions. In the distance, the megalithic circle seemed ablaze. An enormous bonfire burned within the great stone pillars, shooting whirling sparks into the night sky. They could make out a shadow moving like a ghost against the glare of the flames.

‘It’s Ambrosinus doing his witchcraft,’ observed Aurelius, ‘and here we were thinking he was standing guard. I’m going back to sleep. Vatrenus, you stay out here until he comes back.’

In the houses scattered throughout the countryside, others saw that fire – shepherds and farmers, blacksmiths and craftsmen – and they lit fires of their own, under the astonished eyes of their wives and children, until the flames rose everywhere, on the mountains and on the hills, from the shores of the Ocean to the Great Wall.

The roar of the drum reached Kustennin’s ear as well. He leapt from his bed and took up his sword. From the window he could see the fires and he realized why no one had shown up at the port that morning. He looked at Egeria and Ygraine’s empty beds and thought of the boat that was sailing on tranquil waters by that time, towards a safe haven. He opened a chest and took out the dragon of silver and purple. He woke up one of his servants and ordered him to prepare his armour and his horse.

‘But where are you going, my lord, at this hour?’ he asked in surprise.

‘To visit some friends.’

‘Then why are you taking your sword?’

The wind carried with it the distant thunder of the drum. It was getting louder.

Kustennin sighed: ‘There are times,’ he said, ‘in which you need to choose between the sword and the plough.’ He hung his sword from his belt and went down the stairs towards the stables.

*

At dawn, Aurelius, Vatrenus and all the companions, armed to the teeth, were on the bastions and silently staring at the horizon. Romulus went from one to another with a pot of steaming soup. Aurelius was last.

‘How is it?’ he asked.

Aurelius tasted a spoonful. ‘Good. The best that’s ever been served in a military camp.’

Romulus smiled. ‘Maybe we’ve done all this for nothing. Maybe they won’t come.’

‘Maybe . . .’

‘Do you know what I was thinking? This is a good place to found our little community. Maybe this camp could become a village one day, and I could even find a girl for myself. I met one down in the city, she has red hair, you know?’

Aurelius smiled. ‘I’m pleased – that you’re starting to think about girls, that is. It means that you’re growing up, but it also means that your wounds are healing. One day the memory of your parents will cease to pain you so much and will become a soothing thought of love that will keep you company your whole life.’

Romulus sighed. ‘Yes, maybe you’re right, but I’m not even fourteen. A boy my age needs a father.’ He poured himself a little soup and began to eat, trying to get his emotions in check. He glanced sideways at Aurelius now and then, to see if he was looking his way as well. ‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘this soup is pretty good. Livia made it.’

‘I thought so,’ replied Aurelius. ‘Tell me something. If your father were here, what would you ask him?’

‘Nothing special. I’d like to spend some time with him, like the two of us now, eating breakfast. Simple things, nothing much, just being together, knowing you’re not alone, you know?’

‘I do,’ answered Aurelius. ‘I miss my parents terribly as well, even though I’m a lot older than you.’

They stood for a while watching the horizon without saying a word. Aurelius broke the silence. ‘Know what? I’ve never had children and I don’t know that I ever will. What I mean is . . . we don’t know how this will turn out, and . . .’

‘I know,’ sighed Romulus.

‘I was wondering if . . .’

‘What?’

Aurelius fingered his bronze ring with its monogram carved into a little cameo. ‘Now I know that this ring is truly mine. That it’s my family ring, and I was wondering . . . I was wondering if you’d accept it.’

Romulus looked at him with bright eyes. ‘You mean you want . . .’

‘Yes. If you accept I would like to adopt you as my son.’

‘Here? Now?’

‘
Hic et nunc
,’ replied Aurelius. ‘If you accept.’

Romulus threw his arms around his neck. ‘With my whole heart,’ he said. ‘Although . . . I don’t think I can manage to call you “father.” I’ve always called you Aurelius.’

‘That’s fine with me, of course.’

Romulus held out his right hand. Aurelius slipped the ring off his third finger and placed it on the boy’s thumb, after discovering that all his other fingers were too slender. ‘Then I adopt you, as my son, Romulus Augustus Caesar Aurelianus Ambrosius Ventidius . . . Britannicus! And so be it as long as you shall live.’

Romulus hugged him again. ‘Thank you! I shall honour you as you deserve to be honoured.’

‘But I’m warning you,’ shot back Aurelius. ‘Now you’ll have to follow my advice, not to say obey my orders . . .’

Romulus was about to answer when Demetrius’s voice sounded from the tallest tower. ‘They’re coming!’

Aurelius shouted: ‘Take your places, everyone! Romulus, you go with Ambrosinus, he already knows what must be done. Come on now, hurry!’

The prolonged wail of horns sounded at that moment; the same sound they had heard at Dertona on the day of Mledo’s attack. A long row of armoured horsemen appeared on the line of hills to the east, advancing at a walk. The formation parted to reveal a gigantic warrior, his face covered with a golden mask and a shining sword in his grip.

Aurelius gestured to Vatrenus and Demetrius, who manned the catapults and ballistae.

‘Look!’ shouted Demetrius. ‘Someone’s approaching.’

‘Maybe it’s a deal they want!’ said Vatrenus, leaning over the parapet.

A man on horseback, flanked by two armoured warriors, advanced holding a white cloth draped over a horizontal rod: the truce sign. The three of them pulled up directly beneath the palisade.

‘What do you want?’ asked Vatrenus.

‘My lord, Wortigern, offers to spare your lives if you hand over the young usurper who claims to call himself Romulus Augustus, and the deserter who protects him, known by the name of Aurelius.’

‘Wait a moment,’ replied Vatrenus. ‘I must consult my companions.’ He drew close to Batiatus and whispered something to him.

‘Well?’ pressed the messenger. ‘What must I answer?’

‘That we accept!’ shouted Vatrenus.

‘Here’s the boy, first of all,’ yelled Batiatus. He leaned over the parapet, holding a bundle in his arms. Before the barbarian could realize what he was up to, he hurled it at him. It was a boulder wrapped in a blanket that hit its mark and crushed him to the ground. The other two spun their horses around and fled, as Batiatus was shouting: ‘Wait, I’ve got the other one for you!’

‘This will raise their hackles,’ said Aurelius.

‘Does it make any difference?’ observed Vatrenus.

‘Not at all. Be ready: they’re advancing.’

The horns sounded again and the vast front of horsemen surged forwards. When they were a quarter of a mile from the camp, the line split again and a battering ram, pulled by eight men on horseback, was launched down the slope.

‘They think they’re back at Dertona!’ shouted Aurelius. ‘Ready with the catapults!’

The enemy horsemen had accumulated considerable impetus when they reached the ground planted with the lilies. The two lead horses crashed to the ground, flinging their horsemen on to the prongs of iron hidden in the grass. The machine was thrown off balance and veered to the left, picking up speed. The wheels could no longer bear up under the weight and flew into pieces, and the ram toppled over and rolled down the hill, bouncing off the rocks until it plummeted into the lake.

The catapults shot off and four more horsemen were hit as they tried to retreat. A roar of enthusiasm burst forth on the fort’s bastions, but then the horns echoed once again. The horsemen had stopped and were letting through a wave of light infantry.

‘Watch out!’ shouted Demetrius. ‘They have incendiary arrows!’

‘To the bows!’ ordered Aurelius. ‘Stop as many as you can!’

The foot soldiers advanced at a run towards the camp. It soon became obvious that they were inadequately armed servants, sent forward to be massacred and to open the way for the heavy cavalry. Behind them, the barbarian warriors held their bows ready to transfix any of them who tried to run off. The foot soldiers became aware of the lilies as soon as they saw the first men fall, screaming in pain, their feet pierced through. They split into two groups, circling the mined area, and began to shoot off their incendiary arrows in a long arch. Some were struck by the arrows of Livia and the others and fell, but many others sought shelter behind rocks and trees and continued to send their bolts flying with unfailing aim. The wooden stakes of the palisade, old and dry as they were, took flame immediately. More foot soldiers rushed forward with ladders in hand, but they were nailed to the ground by the ballista fire and by volleys of arrows from the battlements.

The horsemen, at this point, had resumed their deliberate advance. They were evidently waiting for the burning section of the palisade to crumble so they could launch their attack.

Aurelius gathered his men. ‘We have neither the water nor the men to extinguish the flames, and Wulfila will soon loose his warriors through the breach. Vatrenus, you and Demetrius continue firing; down as many of them as you can with the artillery, but when they come in, we’ll have no choice but to move out ourselves. We’ve left a passage, free of lilies, down there by that little ash tree. Batiatus, you’ll be our battering ram. Break through at the centre, and we’ll be close behind. We’ll attract them on to more uneven ground, where they’ll be forced to split up and proceed on foot. We still have hope.’

Part of the palisade came crashing down all at once in a flurry of smoke and sparks, and the enemy cavalry charged forward at a gallop towards the breach. The catapults and ballistae were rotated on their platforms and discharged a volley of bolts, bringing down half a dozen horsemen who pulled others down in their fall. A second volley raised havoc in the crowd, slaughtering many, then the bows let fly and, as the enemy got closer, the javelins, first the light, long-range weapons and then the heavier, short-range type. The ground was sown with corpses, but the enemy continued to advance, confident of dealing the decisive blow.

‘Out!’ shouted Aurelius then. ‘Out of the southern gate! We’ll outflank them.
Ambrosine
, take the boy to safety!’

Batiatus had donned his cuirass, and the salleted helmet which covered his head and face, and was ready below, in the saddle of his gigantic Armorican stallion. The horse wore metallic plate armour as well, and his rider brandished the war axe. No mere horseman, Batiatus was a true war machine. The others were all soon behind him on their steeds, in a wedge formation. ‘Now!’ shouted Aurelius. ‘We’re out!’ and the gate sprang open as the first enemy horsemen were nearing the breach. Batiatus spurred his horse into a gallop over the open terrain, followed by his friends, aiming at the gap left free of the lilies.

Romulus meanwhile had broken away from his tutor and had jumped into the saddle of his pony, waving a knife in place of a sword. He urged his pony towards his comrades, so he could do battle at their sides. Ambrosinus ran after him, yelling: ‘Stop! Come back!’ but he soon found himself stranded on open ground.

Batiatus was charging the lines of enemy cavalry, knocking down everyone he found in his way. His companions followed, engaging the enemy in a furious brawl, wielding sword and shield against all they met. Wulfila, who was still on the high part of the slope, spotted Aurelius and charged, sword drawn. Out of the corner of his eye, Vatrenus noticed Romulus who was racing forward to his right, and he yelled out: ‘To the hill, go Romulus, fast! Get away from here!’

Ambrosinus was terrified, surrounded by horsemen riding at a full gallop in every direction. He dragged himself towards a rocky spike that emerged from the ground to his right, to see if he could spot the boy, and spot him he did, in the sway of his restive pony, racing towards the megalithic circle.