The Last Legion

  ‘All right,’ agreed Wulfila. ‘But get moving!’ He accompanied her back to the carriage but after she had retrieved her bowl, he pushed her to the edge of the road, not leaving her side for an instant. She had just enough time to exchange a look with the two prisoners, without saying a word. She watched the carriage at length until it disappeared over a little hill, not moving until the sound of the horses’ hooves and carriage wheels had completely faded away. At that point she turned towards the mountain and saw a lone horseman, observing her from the top of a hill: Aurelius. She entered the forest then, following a winding path that led to the base of the hill. Aurelius was there, holding the second horse by its bridle. Livia jumped into the saddle.

  ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘You had me worried.’

  ‘I failed. He was about to say something when Wulfila pulled me back. If I had raised my voice he would have become suspicious and held me there, but at least they’ve realized that we’re following them, I think. The man who is with the emperor is impressive; his gaze is quite penetrating. He’s surely a man of great intelligence.’

  ‘He’s a damned troublemaker,’ replied Aurelius, ‘but he’s the boy’s tutor and we’ll have to include him in whatever plan we decide to act on. What about the boy: did you manage to see him?’

  ‘The emperor? Yes, of course.’

  ‘How is he?’ asked Aurelius, without hiding his anxiety.

  ‘I’d say he’s well, but there’s a great melancholy in his eyes. The loss of his parents must have been a terrible blow for him.’

  Aurelius meditated in silence for a few moments, then said: ‘Let’s see if we can establish some kind of contact with him again. The guards don’t seem so cautious any more; perhaps they’re convinced that no one is interested in their prisoners.’

  ‘The others, perhaps. Not Wulfila. He’s distrustful, suspicious. He has the eyes of a wolf, that one; you’ll never catch him off guard. He has the situation completely under his control and nothing escapes him. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Did you see his face?’

  ‘As clearly as I’m seeing you now. You’ve left him a nice souvenir, no doubt about it. If he’s seen himself in a mirror, even just once, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when he catches up with you.’

  ‘That will never happen,’ replied Aurelius. ‘He’ll never catch up with me . . . alive.’

  They rode the whole afternoon until dusk, when they saw Wulfila’s column changing route near Minturnus. The old via Appia was no longer usable. The swamps which had once been cleared, at least partially, by the drainage canals built by Emperor Claudius, had again flooded vast areas of the roads and fields, due to a complete lack of maintenance. The stagnant water briefly mirrored the flaming sun, but then took on the leaden tone of the reflected sky. Far off, over the sea, storm clouds were gathering, and there was a distant rumble of thunder from the west: perhaps it would rain.

  The atmosphere, charged with humidity and swamp vapours, was suffocating. Both Aurelius and Livia were drenched with sweat but they continued on so as not to lose contact with the imperial caravan which was again proceeding at a fast pace in an attempt to gain ground before nightfall. Aurelius stopped to drink from his flask, and Livia handed him her bowl, having used up all her own water reserves for Wulfila’s men. She brought it to her lips and drank in long gulps. As the bottom of the bowl was left uncovered, Livia’s face lit up.

  ‘Capri!’ she said. ‘They’re going to Capri.’

  ‘What?’ asked Aurelius, bewildered.

  ‘They’re going to Capri. Look, I told you that man was intelligent.’ She showed Aurelius the bottom of the bowl where a word was scratched in, using the tip of a stylus: CAPREAE.

  ‘Capri!’ repeated Aurelius. ‘It’s an island in the gulf of Naples, bare and rocky and completely wild, inhabited only by goats.’

  ‘Have you been there?’

  ‘No, but I’ve heard it described by several of my friends who come from near there.’

  ‘I can’t believe it’s as bad as you say,’ objected Livia. ‘There must be some reason why Emperor Tiberius chose it as his residence. I’m sure that the climate is good, and mild, and I can imagine the scent of the sea mixing with the fragrance of the pines and broom.’

  ‘Even if you are right,’ replied Aurelius. ‘It’s still a prison. Come on, let’s look for some shelter for the night up towards the hills. The mosquitoes will eat us alive down here.’

  They found a little hut of reeds and straw, perhaps once used by farmers to safeguard their harvest, now obviously abandoned. Livia toasted some spelt flour in the bottom of a metal bowl, and mixed it with a little water and crumbled cheese for their dinner. Sitting near a small fire made with dry branches, they ate without speaking, listening to the continuous croaking of frogs which rose from the swamp.

  ‘I’ll stand guard first,’ said Livia, hanging her bow over her shoulder.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. I’m not tired, and I prefer to sleep when night has set in completely. Try to get some rest.’

  Aurelius nodded, tied Juba to the trunk of a sorb, and entered the hut where he stretched out on his cloak. He watched for a while as his horse ate the ripe red fruit, then lay down on his side and tried to fall asleep, but thoughts of his companion-in-arms intruded, making him feel restless and aroused. He would have liked to let instinct take over, but the fear of inevitable separation once the mission was over held him back.

  *

  Livia had screened off the fire and sat in the dark, watching the lights in the enemy camp down on the plain. Some time had passed, she couldn’t say how long, when she suddenly noticed the shadows of several barbarians on horseback riding alongside the swamp with their torches lit. A simple reconnaissance, no doubt, but that scene sparked off a memory that had long lain buried: a troop of barbarian horsemen galloping towards the shore of the lagoon, against a background of the sea in flames, rushing towards a lone man, who stood waiting for them. She shivered as if struck by a cold wind, and turned towards the hut. Aurelius slept deeply, worn out by their long journey and debilitated from lack of food. Livia was suddenly prompted to take a firebrand and creep closer. She crouched down next to him and reached out her hand to uncover his chest. Aurelius sprang up with his sword in fist and pointed it at her throat.

  ‘Stop! It’s me,’ said Livia, pulling back.

  ‘What in the name of the gods were you doing? I might have killed you!’

  ‘I didn’t think you would wake up, I just wanted to . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wanted to cover you up. Your blanket had slipped off.’

  ‘You know full well that that’s not true. Tell me the truth or I’ll leave straight away.’

  Livia got to her feet and went to stand next to the fire. ‘I . . . I think I know who you are.’

  Aurelius came close to the fire and seemed to be observing the little blue flames that licked at the embers. He looked straight into Livia’s eyes. There was a cold shadow in his gaze, as if his soul had sunken into a muddy tide of memories, as if an old wound had started to bleed again. He turned his back to her abruptly: ‘I don’t want to hear it,’ he said with a flat voice.

  ‘The night is still young,’ responded Livia. ‘We have plenty of time for a long story. You just said that you wanted the truth from me. Remember?’

  Aurelius turned back towards her slowly, lowering his head in silence, and Livia continued: ‘One night, long ago, many years ago, my city – the city where I lived and grew up, where my house and my parents were – was suddenly attacked after a long, long siege. The barbarians gave themselves over to the sack and massacre. Our men were all run through on their swords, our women raped and taken into captivity, our houses plundered and set ablaze. My father died trying to defend us. He was chopped to pieces before our eyes, on the very threshold of our home. My mother escaped, holding me by the hand. We ran through the dark, on an old sentry road behind the aqueduct. We were completely
overcome by panic. The streets were lit up by the fires. Shouting and moaning and cries of madness echoed from all around, raining from the sky like flaming hail. The city was full of dead bodies, and blood flowed everywhere. I was exhausted and frantic, and my mother had to pull me along. We reached the shore of the lagoon where a boat was about to put out to sea. It was filled to the brim with people trying to escape, and it was the last: other boats were already far out, and they were disappearing, swallowed up by the darkness, beyond the furthest reflection of the fires.’ She stopped for an instant, looking deep into Aurelius’s soul, her eyes brimming with tears. Nothing. Compassion, yes, pity, but no sign of recognition. Of remembrance.

  ‘Go on,’ he said.

  Livia covered her eyes with her hands as if trying to protect them from those nightmarish images branded into her heart, memories that had remained confined for so long in the abyss of her mind. She forced herself to continue: ‘The boat was already pulling away and my mother started to cry, screaming for them to wait, the water was at her knees . . .’

  A flash of anguish crossed Aurelius’s gaze and Livia moved even closer, until he could smell the salty fragrance which emanated siren-like from her body. A rush of heat enveloped him like a whirlwind of flames and he felt panic crushing his heart like a boulder.

  Livia went on, implacable: ‘There was a man. Standing at the stern, a young Roman officer. His armour was bloodied. When he saw us, he got out, into the water, helped my mother up and took me into his arms as she settled into the last remaining place. He held me by the waist and pushed me up towards my mother’s outstretched arms, but I saw dark water beneath me and I clutched onto his neck. And that’s when I tore this off,’ she said, touching the medal with the silver eagle hanging at her neck. ‘My mother managed to grab me and she held me tight while the boat slowly pulled away. That’s the last image I have of him: standing there, dark against an inferno of flames, with a troop of barbarian soldiers galloping up behind him, like demons, waving torches. That soldier was you. I’m sure of it.’

  She stroked the little silver eagle between her fingers. ‘I’ve always worn this since that night, and I’ve never lost hope of finding the hero who saved our lives, sacrificing his own.’

  She fell still and stood in front of her companion, waiting for his response, for a sign that she had reawakened his awareness of the past, but Aurelius said nothing. He closed his eyes tight to press back the tears, to prevail somehow over the emptiness that yawned before him.

  ‘That’s why you are drawn to this medal. You know it belongs to you. It’s the badge of your division, the Eighth Vexillatio Pannonica, the heroic defenders of Aquileia!’

  Aurelius shuddered at her words, but regained control. He opened his eyes and looked at the girl tenderly, taking her by the shoulders. ‘That young soldier is dead, Livia. He’s dead, understand?’

  Livia shook her head while tears ran down her cheeks.

  ‘He’s dead. Like all the rest. There were no survivors in that garrison. Everyone knows that. It’s just a dream you had when you were a little girl. Think about it: given the situation you’ve described, is there any chance that that young man might have lived, and that you’d meet up with him again after all these years?’ But as he spoke he saw Wulfila’s face twisted in fury, heard his voice shouting: ‘I know you, Roman! I’ve seen you before!’

  ‘These things only happen in fables. Give it up.’

  ‘Really? Well then, tell me something. Where were you the night Aquileia fell?’

  ‘I don’t know, believe me. It happened too long ago, beyond the confines of my memory.’

  ‘Maybe I can prove it to you. Listen to me. While you were sleeping just now, I wanted to see if . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If you have a scar on your chest. I . . . I think I remember that that soldier was bleeding from a wound on his chest.’

  ‘Lots of soldiers have scars on their chests. Brave ones, anyway.’

  ‘And why are you always attracted to this medal?’

  ‘I’m not looking at the medal. I’m looking at . . . your breasts.’

  ‘Get away from me!’ screamed Livia in a fit of anger and disappointment. ‘Leave me alone! Leave me alone I said!’

  ‘Livia, I . . .’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she whimpered softly.

  Aurelius walked away as she crouched over the last embers, cradling herself and covering her face. She wept in silence.

  She couldn’t move, until she realized that she was chilled to the bone. She lifted her head and saw Aurelius leaning against an oak tree, a shadow among the shadows, alone with his ghosts.

  10

  AURELIUS WALKED TO THE stream, took off his corselet and tunic and began to wash his chest with the clean, cold water, lingering over the scar that creased his skin right at the junction of his collar bone. The freezing water made him shiver at first, but then gave him a sensation of strength and energy after a troubled, mostly sleepless night. A sudden cramp made him shut his eyes and wince, but it wasn’t the scar that caused the pain. It came from a hard bump at the base of his skull, the result of some fall or other, who knows when and who knows where. As the years passed, that acute pain, prolonged and throbbing, was coming more frequently and seemed more intense.

  ‘They’re moving!’ cried Livia. ‘We have to go!’

  Aurelius dried off without turning, slipped on his tunic and corselet, slung his sword over his shoulder and climbed up the short slope to where Juba was calmly grazing on the dewy grass. He jumped into the saddle and galloped off, followed by Livia. When they slowed to a walk, Aurelius observed: ‘The weather is changing. My pains always let me know.’

  Livia smiled: ‘My grandfather used to say the same thing. He was quite a character: thin, bony and practically toothless! I remember him as if it were yesterday. He was a veteran, you see, and had fought with Emperor Valentinian the Third at Adrianopolis against the Goths. He would get these stabs of pain when the weather was about to change, although he couldn’t even tell you where they came from, he was so full of scars and mended breaks! He was never wrong; six or seven hours might go by, but it would always start to rain. Or worse.’

  Below them the long procession of Heruli and Skyrian warriors escorting the carriage of the young emperor and his tutor wound through the last stretches of the swamp. Wet, glossy-coated buffalo would emerge from the bog as they passed, moving a few steps away. Others sprawled on the road to dry themselves in the morning sun; they would get up lazily, the huge, muddy beasts, and move away from the horses towards the meadow strewn with purple thistles and golden dandelions. Italy’s most fertile plain began to open before them, fields yellow with stubble or brown with overturned earth where ploughs had passed. A little ruined sanctuary marked the territory of some ancient Oscan tribe. A shrine placed at the meeting of three crossroads, once dedicated to Hecate, had been replaced by a Christian image: Mary with the holy child in her arms.

  *

  They continued until evening, when the convoy stopped not far from the banks of a stream. The men started to set up tents for the officers and prepare their own spots for the night. Farmers coming home from the fields, tools in hand, and children cavorting in the day’s last light paused to watch them with curiosity but soon headed off for their villages and homes, from which spirals of smoke were starting to rise. After darkness fell, Livia pointed to some distant lights in the plain: ‘That’s Minturnus,’ she said, ‘once famous for its wine.’

  Aurelius nodded and absent-mindedly quoted a couple of hexameters: ‘Vina bibes interum Tauro diffusa palustres inter Minturnas . . .’ Livia was shocked: she’d never heard a soldier quote Horace in verse and with a classic pronunciation! His past continued to escape her.

  ‘We have to make contact,’ said Aurelius. ‘Tomorrow they’ll have to head south towards Naples or southeast towards Capua, but in either case, without the cover of these hills we won’t be able to continue following them. We’ll be seen if
we go down to the plain, with all these villages and farmhouses. Strangers never pass unobserved.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Livia interrupted him, pointing to a winking light near a grove of willow trees close to the stream. Aurelius watched attentively and after a while that intermittent flashing brought something to mind: it seemed to be the communication system used by the reserved imperial postal service!

  He watched more carefully, and the signals soon began to take on meaning. Disconcerting. ‘Huc descende, miles gloriose.’ Come down here, swaggering soldier. He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, then turned to Livia and said: ‘Cover me and keep the horses ready in case we need to get out fast. I’m going down.’

  ‘Wait . . .’ protested Livia, but she didn’t have time to finish; Aurelius had already disappeared into the thick vegetation. She could hear the leaves rustling for a while as he passed, then nothing.

  Aurelius was trying not to lose sight of the light sending out those curious signals. He soon realized that it was a lantern, held high by an old man to illuminate his path. The light gleamed on his bald head: Romulus’s tutor! Followed by a barbarian warrior. A few steps further and he could hear their voices. ‘Stay back, give me a little room! I’m used to doing certain things in private; where do you think I’ll run to, you animal? It’s dark, and you know I’d never abandon the emperor!’

  The barbarian muttered something, then leaned back against the trunk of a willow. The tutor walked a little forward, hung the lantern on a branch and arranged his cloak on a bush so that it looked like a person crouching. He walked a few steps further and vanished, swallowed up by the forest. Aurelius, who had come very close, was perplexed. What to do now? He couldn’t call out or signal his position; the barbarian would hear him immediately. He moved towards the point where he’d seen the old man disappear and found himself near the bank of the river, where the foliage was even thicker and darker. A quiet voice abruptly sounded behind him, less than a step away.