The Last Legion (7 page)

Odoacer stared into his eyes and felt suddenly dizzy, pervaded by an inexplicable feeling of uncertainty. He lowered his gaze in the pretence of weighing his words, then said: ‘Go now. You will not wait long for my decision. Do not entertain any hope that last night’s episode will be repeated.’

‘How could it possibly?’ replied Ambrosinus. ‘Our every move is being watched by dozens of warriors . . . an old man and a boy! But if you’ll accept my advice . . .’

Odoacer did not want to humiliate himself by asking, but he was curious to hear what this man, who was capable of unsettling him with a mere glance, would say next. Ambrosinus understood and continued speaking: ‘If . . . if you eliminate the child, it would be seen as a serious abuse of your power – by the Emperor of the East, for instance, who has many supporters here in Italy, many spies, and a great number of soldiers. He would never recognize your authority under such circumstances. You see, a Roman can take the life of another Roman, but . . .’ he hesitated an instant before pronouncing the word: ‘a barbarian cannot. Even the great Ricimerus, your predecessor, in order to govern was forced to hide behind insubstantial imperial figures. If you spare the boy, you will be seen as magnanimous and generous. You will gain the sympathy of the Christian clergy, which is very powerful, and the Emperor of the East will have to act as though nothing has happened. He doesn’t really care who is in command in the West, because it changes nothing for him, but he is very concerned with . . . the way things look. Remember what I’m saying: if you keep up appearances, you will be able to stay in control of this country for as long as you live.’

‘Keep up appearances?’ repeated Odoacer.

‘Listen. Twenty-five years ago Attila imposed a tax on Emperor Valentinian the third, who had no choice but to pay. But do you know how he worked it? He named Attila General of the Empire and paid the tax as if it were his salary. In reality, the emperor of Rome was a tributary of a barbarian chief, but the appearances were saved and with them, his honour. Killing Romulus would be an act of useless cruelty and a terrible error politically. You are a man of power now, and it’s time that you learn how to wield that power.’ He nodded respectfully and turned away before Odoacer could think of making him stay.

As soon as the door closed behind him, a side door opened and Wulfila stepped in: ‘You must kill him, immediately,’ he hissed, ‘or there will be no end to episodes like last night’s.’

Odoacer regarded him coolly; this man, who in the past had carried out every sort of foul deed upon his orders, seemed suddenly distant and completely foreign to him, a barbarian with whom he no longer had anything in common.

‘You know nothing but blood and killing, but I want to govern, understand? I want my subjects to dedicate themselves to their occupations and interests, not to plots and conspiracies. I will make my own decision regarding this matter.’

‘You’ve gone soft with the whimpering of that kid and the chattering of that charlatan. If you don’t feel up to the task, I’ll take care of it.’

Odoacer raised his hand as if to strike him, but stopped at a palm’s breadth from Wulfila’s butchered face. ‘Don’t you dare challenge me!’ he said sharply. ‘You will obey me, without any discussion. Go now, I have to reflect on this. When I’ve decided I’ll see that you’re called.’

Wulfila walked back out, slamming the door behind him. Odoacer remained alone in the study, pacing back and forth, pondering what Ambrosinus had said. He called a servant and ordered him to call Antemius, the master of the palace. The old man appeared promptly and Odoacer had him sit down.

‘I’ve made my decision,’ he began, ‘regarding the destiny of the young man called Romulus Augustus.’

Antemius lifted his watery and apparently inexpressive eyes. He had a tablet on his knee and a quill in his right hand, ready to take notes.

Odoacer continued: ‘I feel pity for that poor child who has no blame for the treason of his father and I have decided to spare his life.’ Antemius could not help but draw a sigh of relief. ‘In any case, last night’s episode clearly demonstrates that his life is in danger and that someone could use him to sow war and disorder in this country which is so badly in need of peace. I will send him to a safe place, where he will be watched over by trustworthy guardians and assigned an allowance consonant to his rank. The imperial emblems will be sent to Emperor Basiliscus in Constantinople, in exchange for his nominating me
magister militum
of the West. One emperor is more than enough for the world.’

‘A wise decision,’ nodded Antemius. ‘The most important thing is—’

‘Keeping up appearances,’ concluded Odoacer. Antemius looked up in surprise: that rude soldier was learning the rules of politics quickly.

‘Will his tutor accompany him?’ asked the old man.

‘I have nothing against that. The boy can dedicate himself to his studies.’

‘When will they leave?’

‘As soon as possible. I want no more trouble.’

‘May I know the destination?’

‘No. Only the escort commander will be informed of that.’

‘Must I prepare for a long journey or a short one?’

Odoacer hesitated a moment: ‘A rather long journey.’

Antemius nodded and withdrew with a respectful bow, returning to his quarters.

*

Odoacer immediately convened the officers of his personal council, the men he most trusted. Among them was Wulfila, still irritated after his recent confrontation with his commander. Lunch was served. When they were all sitting down and each had taken his portion of meat, Odoacer raised the question of where the boy should be sent for his internment. One of the men proposed Istria, another Sardinia. Someone spoke up: ‘These destinations are too distant and difficult to control. There is an island in the Tyrrhenian sea, bare and inhospitable, poor in every sense, close enough to the coast, yet sufficiently far away. There’s an old imperial villa still standing there, set on a completely inaccessible cliff. It is partially in ruins but still habitable.’ He got up and went to the wall on which a map of the empire was painted, pointing at a spot in the Gulf of Naples: ‘Capri.’

Odoacer did not reply immediately, evidently considering the various proposals. After a short while, he said: ‘This does seem the best destination. Isolated enough, but easy to reach if neccessary. The boy will be escorted by a hundred warriors, the best we have. I don’t want surprises. Make all the necessary preparations; I will let you know when the moment to leave has arrived.’

The destination decided upon, conversation roamed to other matters. Everyone was in a fine mood. There they were, in the bosom of supreme power, with reasonable expectations for a grand life ahead of them: property, servants, women, herds, villas and palaces. They were euphoric and inclined to drink beyond measure. When Odoacer turned them out, most were drunk and needed their servants’ assistance to find their quarters and take a little afternoon rest – a Latin custom which they had eagerly adopted.

Wulfila was still quite sober, thanks to his endless capacity to guzzle wine. Odoacer held him back.

‘Listen,’ Odoacer began. ‘I’ve decided to put you in charge of the boy because you’re the only man I can trust for this mission. You’ve already told me how you feel about the situation; now let me tell you how I feel. If anything happens to him, anything at all, you will be held responsible and your head would be worth less than the scraps I just fed to the dogs. Is that clear?’

‘Completely,’ responded Wulfila. ‘I think you’ll come to regret your decision about the boy. But you are in command here,’ he added, with a tone that clearly meant ‘for now’. Odoacer took in his words, but preferred to remain silent.

*

On the morning of their departure, Romulus’s door was opened and two maidservants entered to wake him and prepare him for the journey.

‘Where are they taking us?’ asked the boy.

The two girls exchanged a look, then said in a low voice to Ambrosinus, who had got up as well: ‘We don’t know for sure, but Antemius is certain that you’ll be headed south. From the quantity of provisions he’s been asked to prepare, he thinks about a week’s journey, maybe more. Gaeta, or Naples, perhaps, or maybe even Brindisi, but he thinks that’s less likely.’

‘And then?’ asked Ambrosinus.

‘That’s all,’ replied the maid. ‘Whatever your destination is, it will be forever.’

Ambrosinus lowered his head in an attempt to hide his emotions. The girls kissed Romulus’s hands, murmuring: ‘Farewell, Caesar, may God protect you.’

Shortly after, Romulus and Ambrosinus were escorted outside by Wulfila’s men, from the door facing the basilica. The basilica’s door was open and they could see a coffin covered with a pall at the end of the nave, surrounded by lit lamps. The solemn funeral rites of Flavia Serena were about to begin. Antemius, watched closely by one of Odoacer’s men, approached Romulus and greeted him with great deference, kissing his hand. He said: ‘Unfortunately, you will not be allowed to participate in your mother’s funeral, but perhaps it’s better this way. Have a safe journey, my lord, and may God assist you.’

‘Thank you, Antemius,’ said Ambrosinus with a nod of his head. He got into the carriage and held the door open for Romulus, but the boy took a few steps towards the basilica threshold.

‘Farewell, mother,’ he whispered.

T
HE IMAGE BEGAN SLOWLY
to take shape. At first a confused glimmer, a greenish reflection. Then the edges became more defined in the pale morning sun: a huge pool full of green water, with a mask in the form of an open-mouthed satyr which spilled in a trickle of water. Wide cracks in the damp, curving vault overhead let in a little light, which danced over the surface of the water and the walls. Clusters of maidenhair ferns hung from the ceiling and the mutilated remains of statues stood on pedestals all around. An old nymphaeum, abandoned.

Aurelius tried to sit up, but his sudden gesture made him moan in pain. Several frightened frogs dived into the stagnant water.

‘Stay calm, now,’ sounded a voice behind him. ‘You have a nice big hole in that shoulder and it could open up again.’

Scenes of his flight through the lagoon flooded Aurelius’s memory: that terrified child, that beautiful woman, so pale in death; the sharp stab of grief was much worse than the aching of his body. He turned; the person who had spoken was a man of about sixty, leathery skin parched by the salty sea air. He was wearing a knee-length tunic of coarse wool and his bald head was covered by a wool cap.

‘Who are you?’ Aurelius asked.

‘I’m the one who put you back on your feet. My name is Justinus and I was once a respected medical doctor. I stitched you up as best I could with fishing line, and I washed out the wound with vinegar, but you were in sorry shape. Your clothes were soaked with blood, and you lost even more on the boat as I took you across the lagoon.’

‘How can I thank you—’ began Aurelius, but he stopped as he heard the sound of footsteps at the other end of the vast building. He turned and saw a woman, dressed like a man: goatskin trousers and cloak, hair so short he could see the nape of her neck. She wore a bow over her shoulder and was carrying a quiver by its sling. Her hands were rough and strong looking, while her lips were well shaped and her nose fine and straight, aristocratic even.

‘She’s the one you have to thank,’ said the man, pointing. ‘She saved your skin.’ He gathered his satchel and the tin bucket he had used to wash out the wound, and left, nodding goodbye.

Aurelius looked at his shoulder: it was red and swollen, as was his arm, all the way down to his elbow. He had a terrible headache and his temples were pounding. He fell back on the straw pallet he had been lying on, as the girl came close and sat down on the ground next to him.

‘Who are you?’ asked Aurelius. ‘How much time has passed?’

‘A couple of days.’

‘I slept for two days and two nights?’

‘Let’s say you were unconscious for two days and two nights. Justinus said that your fever was high and that you were delirious. You said the strangest things . . .’

‘You saved my life. Thank you.’

‘It was five against one. I thought I should balance up the odds.’

‘Incredible aim you have, at night, with the fog . . .’

‘A bow is the ideal weapon in such unstable surroundings.’

‘My horse?’

‘They’ll have caught him for sure. Eaten him, maybe. Tough times, my friend.’

Aurelius sought out her gaze but she escaped him.

‘Do you have any water? I’m dying of thirst.’

The girl poured him some from an earthenware jug.

‘Do you live in this place?’ he asked.

‘It’s one of my . . . shelters, shall we say. It’s lovely, isn’t it? Big, spacious, hidden from curious eyes. But I have others.’

‘What I mean is, do you live in the lagoon?’

‘I have since I was a child.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Livia. Livia Prisca. And you?’

‘Aurelianus Ambrosius Ventidius, but my friends call me Aurelius.’

‘Do you have a family?’

‘No, no one. I don’t remember ever having had a family.’