The Last Legion Read online

  ‘And what money are we to use in . . . involving others?’

  ‘We will have money available for us in a number of places throughout Italy. Antemius has deposits in many banks and I have a letter of credit from him. Do you know what that means?’

  ‘No. But what’s important is that you can find the money. I haven’t lost hope of finding my comrades.’

  ‘Neither have I. I know how important it is for you.’ Her tone revealed a depth of feeling stronger than the spirit of camaraderie that had united them over the last days.

  They kept up with the convoy, advancing about twenty miles a day, but staying at a considerable distance from it. The surveillance of the barbarians surrounding the carriage had become more lax. The strength of their numbers, the powerful presence of Wulfila and the absolute lack of any threat as far as their eyes could see all contributed to easing the tension, as well as the discipline.

  They crossed the Apennines and descended the Tiber valley.

  ‘If we should find my comrades,’ said Aurelius all at once, ‘would you help me to rescue them?’

  ‘I imagine so. Granted that we find them. It depends on how many of them there are, but please don’t raise your hopes too high. Misenus is a possibility, but just one among many others.’

  ‘It’s strange, I badly want to find them, and yet I’m afraid . . . afraid to find out what happened to the others.’

  ‘You did what you could,’ said Livia. ‘Don’t torment yourself. What happened happened and we can’t change it . . .’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say. The legion was my whole life. Everything I had.’

  ‘You never had a family?’

  Aurelius shook his head.

  ‘A wife? A lover?’

  Aurelius looked away: ‘I’ve had the odd encounter. Nothing lasting. It’s difficult to join your life with someone when you have no roots.’

  They advanced slowly for a while without speaking, then Livia broke the silence again. ‘A legion!’ she said. ‘It seems incredible. The original legions were done away with ages ago when Emperor Gallienus judged them too heavy and slow to stand up against the hordes of invading barbarians on their fast horses. No military unit has been called a legion for at least forty years. Why set one up now?’

  ‘The plan was extraordinary. First of all, the territory in Italy rarely allows for deployment of a vast contingent of cavalry, and the impact of our infantry forces on the march would have been formidable: Orestes wanted his people to see a silver eagle shining in the sun. He wanted the Romans to regain their pride, to see foot soldiers advancing with the ancient suits of armour and the great shields, making the earth tremble beneath their feet. He wanted discipline to triumph over barbarity, order over chaos. We were all so proud to be part of it. Our commander was a man of virtue and incredible valour, austere and just, jealous of his honour and ours.’

  Livia looked at him: his eyes sparkled and his voice vibrated with intense feeling as he spoke. She would have liked to delve into these emotions, but she saw that the convoy seemed to be slowing down in the distance and she signalled to Aurelius to stop.

  ‘No, it’s nothing,’ she reassured him after a moment. ‘Just a herd of sheep crossing the road.’

  They proceeded at the edge of a wood that flanked the road at a distance of three or hour hundred feet.

  ‘Please, continue with what you were saying,’ coaxed Livia.

  ‘The men were chosen one by one from other units: officers and soldiers, auxiliaries and engineers, mostly Romans from Italy and from the provinces. Several barbarians were enlisted as well, but only men of proven loyalty whose families had served the state for generations. They were concentrated at a secret base in Noricum, and trained for nearly a year there. When the legion ventured into battle for the first time in an open field, the effect was devastating: we penetrated the enemy ranks with the power of a war machine, causing enormous casualties. We had maintained the best of ancient techniques and joined them with the most modern.’

  ‘What about you? Where were you recruited?’

  Aurelius rode on for a little while as if absorbed in his thoughts, staring straight ahead. He kept to the hillside between the trees, so they would not be surprised by Wulfila’s scouts who incessantly scoured the sides of the valley to head off any surprise attacks. They were probably more worried about brigands than any unlikely attempt to rescue the boy.

  ‘I told you,’ replied Aurelius suddenly. ‘I’ve always been part of the legion. I don’t remember anything else.’ The tone of his voice left no room for argument. They continued on in silence; Livia would break off every now and then, wandering up hill or down, unable to take her companion’s mute obstinacy. When their paths crossed they exchanged a few words about the itinerary or the terrain and then moved on. Aurelius was clearly reliving the drama of his comrades’ massacre and his failure to save them. Ghosts certainly rode at his side, the bleeding shadows of youths cut down in their prime, of men cruelly tortured to their last breath. The place echoed with their screams, their appeals from the depths of the underworld.

  They proceeded at that pace for several hours until the sky began to darken and the convoy drew up for the night. Livia noticed a hut on the hillside about a mile from Wulfila’s camp. She pointed it out to her companion: ‘Maybe we can stop there for the night, and find shelter for our horses as well.’ Aurelius nodded and urged his Juba towards the wood on the hill.

  He entered cautiously to make sure no one was inside. It looked like a refuge for herdsmen bringing their cows to pasture. There was straw in the corner, and behind the building were several bales of hay, stored under a makeshift shed. Nearby, a little stream of water poured into a trough carved from a sandstone boulder. It trickled over the top and flowed down between the moss-covered stones to form a natural basin. The little crystalline lake that had collected there reflected the sky and the trees all around. The forest glowed at dusk with the colours of autumn. Wild vines twisted around the oak trunks with their big vermilion leaves and little clusters of purple grapes.

  Aurelius tended to the horses and tied them under the shed, giving them a little hay. Livia ran to the lake, stripped and plunged in. She shivered at the contact with the icy water, but her desire to wash herself was stronger than the chill. Aurelius was coming down the slope when he saw her nude body splashing in the clear water. He watched her for a few moments, awestruck by her beauty. Then he turned away, confused and upset. He wanted to draw her close and tell her how much he wanted her, but the thought that she might reject him was unbearable. He walked over to the trough and washed himself as well, first his chest and arms and then the lower part of his body. When Livia returned she was wrapped in her travelling blanket and was carrying two big trout strung on the harpoon she held in her right hand.

  ‘They were the only ones left,’ she said, ‘and they were probably ready to die. Go down and get my clothes; they’re hanging on a branch near the lake. I’ll get the fire going.’

  ‘You’re crazy. They’ll see the smoke and send someone up here.’

  ‘They can’t check every trace of smoke in the countryside,’ she replied, ‘and besides, we’ll see them coming from up here. If anyone tries it, I’ll string him up like these trout and drag him into the forest. Give him an hour or two, and only his bare bones will be left. Even wild animals are going hungry these days.’

  Livia cooked the fish as best she could, feeding the flames with little pine twigs, which raised a bright crackling fire, but no smoke. When they were ready, Aurelius took the smaller trout for himself, but Livia switched it with the bigger one. ‘You have to eat,’ she insisted, ‘you’re still weak, and when it’s time for a fist fight I want a lion at my side, not a sheep. You go to sleep now. I’ll take the first guard shift.’

  Aurelius didn’t answer, and walked towards the edge of the clearing where he leaned against a huge old oak tree. Livia watched him as he stood motionless, eyes wide and staring, facing the night as
it descended from the mountain with its shadows and its ghosts. She would have gone close, if only he’d asked her.

  *

  Wulfila ordered camp to be set up near a bridge that crossed a tributary of the Tiber and his men began to roast the sheep and rams confiscated from the shepherd who had so incautiously crossed their path a few hours before. Ambrosinus was worried: ‘The emperor detests mutton,’ he said.

  The barbarian burst out laughing: ‘The emperor detests mutton! Oh what a pity, how terrible! Unfortunately, the imperial cook has refused to move from Ravenna and the bill of fare here is limited. Either he eats mutton or he goes to bed on an empty stomach.’

  Ambrosinus drew closer: ‘I’ve seen chestnuts in the forest. If I may, I could gather a few and make a very tasty and nutritious sweet for him.’

  Wulfila shook his head: ‘You’re not moving from here.’

  ‘What are you afraid of ? You know that I’d never abandon the boy for any reason in the world. Allow me to go: it won’t take me long, and you’ll have your share as well. I can assure you that you will never have eaten anything so delicious.’

  Wulfila grudgingly agreed, so Ambrosinus took a lantern and started off into the wood. The ground under the knotty trunks was covered with spiny chestnut husks; many of them had split, revealing their lovely fruit, red-brown as tanned leather. He gathered up quite a few, thinking that this place must surely be uninhabited if such precious fruits were left to the bears and boars. He walked back to the camp with his lantern put out, furtively approaching the spot where Wulfila seemed to be holding a meeting with his officers.

  ‘When do I leave?’ asked one of them.

  ‘Tomorrow, as soon as we get to the plain. You’ll take a half a dozen men with you and go directly to Naples. There you will contact a man named Andrea da Nola who you’ll find in the quarter of the palatine guards. You’ll have him arrange for our transport to Capri. The entire escort will come along, as well as the boy, his tutor, and servants for them and for us. Tell him that everything should be made ready for us: living quarters, food, wine, clothing and blankets. Everything. We may need slaves: make sure they don’t get them from Misenus. Some of the ones that Mledo captured at Dertona are there and I don’t want them in our way. Understand? If anything goes wrong I’ll hold him personally responsible. Let him know that I’m not forgiving with bunglers.’

  Ambrosinus thought he had heard enough and made his way light-footed to the opposite side of the camp, where the men were turning the spits of mutton over the campfire. He found a corner where he could roast his chestnuts, then crumbled them in a mortar and mixed them with boiled must from the convoy supplies. He formed several flat little cakes and crisped them again on the open flame. He served them proudly to his lord. Romulus was amazed: ‘My favourite sweet! How did you do it?’

  ‘Wulfila is starting to give me a little freedom; he knows that he can’t treat me too badly if he wants his face to heal. I just went into the forest and gathered some chestnuts, that’s all.’

  ‘Thank you!’ exclaimed Romulus. ‘They remind me of feast days at home, when the cooks prepared them on slate slabs in the garden. I can still smell the must bubbling away! No fragrance is sweeter or more intense.’

  ‘Eat!’ said Ambrosinus. ‘Don’t let it get cold.’

  Romulus bit into the cake and his tutor continued: ‘I have news. I know where they are taking us. I heard Wulfila talking to his men as I was leaving the wood. Our destination is Capri.’

  ‘Capri? That’s an island.’

  ‘Yes, it is an island, but it’s not far from the coast. It can actually be quite pleasant, especially in the summer when the climate is good. Emperor Tiberius built luxurious villas there, and he lived in the most beautiful one of all during the last years of his reign: villa Jovis. After his death—’

  ‘It’s still a prison,’ interrupted Romulus. ‘I’ll have to live the rest of my days in the company of my most hateful enemies. I won’t be able to travel, to meet other people, to have a family . . .’

  ‘Let us take what life gives us, my son, one day after another. The future is in the hands and the mind of God. Never give up! Do not lose heart, don’t resign yourself to anything. Remember the great examples of the past; keep in mind the teachings of wise men like Socrates, Cato and Seneca. Knowledge is nothing if it doesn’t gives us the means for dealing with life. You know, the other day, I had a premonition: an old prophecy of my native land came to me, almost miraculously, I would say. It has changed my outlook. I realize that we are not alone, and other signs will soon come. Believe me, I can feel it.’

  Romulus smiled, seemingly more in pity than in relief: ‘You’re raving mad, Ambrosine,’ he said, ‘but you do make good chestnut cakes.’ He began eating again, and Ambrosinus watched him with such satisfaction that he nearly forgot that he hadn’t touched a bit of food himself. He brought what was left to Wulfila, as promised, hoping to gain a little more of his goodwill.

  The next day they awoke at dawn and watched the departure of the advance squad as it headed south. Then the convoy started up again, stopping only for a light meal at midday. The climate was becoming milder as they proceeded. Big white clouds sailed across the sky, pushed by the western wind; at times they would condense into towering black masses and flood the earth with sudden, violent downpours. Then the sun would return to illuminate the humid, glossy fields. The oaks and ashes gave way to pines and myrtles; the apple trees were replaced by olive trees and grape vines.

  ‘Rome is behind us now,’ said Ambrosinus. ‘We’re approaching our destination.’

  ‘Rome!’ murmured Romulus, thinking of when he had entered the senate-house in his imperial robes, accompanied by his parents. It seemed like a century had passed, rather than just a few weeks. His youth and his adolescence, the most beautiful age of man, were opening up for him while his heart was oppressed by grief and by dark imaginings.

  9

  WHEN WULFILA NOTICED THE water vendor, she was still some distance away. She stood on the right side of the road, a wineskin strapped over her shoulder and a wooden bowl in her hand. She looked much like a number of other beggars and wretches they had met along the way, but the sun had become hotter, and the noonday hour and absence of springs alongside the road had whetted the thirst of both the men and their horses.

  ‘Hey, over here,’ he said in his own language when they were close enough. ‘I’m thirsty.’

  The girl understood from his gestures and attitude that he wanted a drink, and she passed him a full bowl. Although she was awkwardly bundled up in a worn cape, her beauty shone through, inciting the salacious comments of the barbarians.

  ‘Hey, let’s get a better look at you!’ one of the warriors yelled, yanking the cape from her shoulders, but she dodged him with a swift twist of her torso. She gave a little smile anyway and held out her hand to have a few coins in exchange for the cool water she poured into the bowl.

  ‘Since when do we have to pay for water?’ shouted another man. ‘If I pay a woman I want a lot more!’ He managed to grab her around the middle and pull her close. He could feel her slender waist and shapely hips, muscles taut under her skin. ‘What firm flesh! You’re not as starving as you look,’ he exclaimed in surprise, but at that moment another voice piped up: ‘I’m thirsty.’

  The girl realized it was coming from the carriage, just a few steps away. She wriggled free and went closer, moving aside the curtain covering the window. What she saw was a boy of twelve or thirteen with light brown hair and big dark eyes, dressed in a white tunic, sleeves embroidered with silver thread. With him was a grey-bearded man of about sixty, balding at the top of his head. He was wearing a simple grey wool gown, with a little silver pendant hanging at his neck.

  ‘Get out of here!’ Wulfila immediately pulled the curtain closed and dragged the girl away forcefully, but the man sitting inside moved aside the curtain again and said loudly: ‘The boy is thirsty.’ At that moment, his eyes met the girl’s and he realized
that she was not what she seemed. She was trying to tell him something or prepare him for something, and he gripped Romulus’s arm as if to alert him for an unexpected event. The water vendor leaned in and, momentarily hidden from Wulfila, passed a metal cup to the man, and the wooden bowl full of water to the boy. As he drank, she whispered in Greek: ‘Chaire, Kaisar.’ Hail Caesar! The boy managed to control his surprise while his companion responded in the same language: ‘Tis, eis?’ Who are you?

  ‘A friend,’ she replied. ‘My name is Livia. Where are they taking you?’

  Right at that instant, Wulfila intervened, pulling her back again and putting an end to their conversation.

  Inside the carriage, Romulus turned to his tutor wide-eyed, unable to interpret the strange encounter: ‘Who could she have been, Ambrosine? How did she know who I was?’ But the man’s attention was drawn to the cup he was still holding in his hand. He turned it over and discovered a seal in the shape of an eagle impressed on the bottom with the letters: LEG NOVA INV.

  ‘Legio Nova Invicta,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Do you know what this means, Caesar? That the soldier is about to try again, and he’s not alone this time. I don’t know whether to be pleased or worried, but my heart tells me that this is a favourable sign of an auspicious event. We have not been abandoned to our destiny. I know that the premonition I had several days ago is true . . .’

  Wulfila had pushed Livia to the side of the road, but she looked at him with a pleading expression: ‘My bowl, good lord! I need it.’