Romulus stared at his mother at length, as if her lifeless body might miraculously awaken under the warmth of his gaze. His eyes then filled with tears and he wept his heart out, his forehead pressed against the cold marble. Ambrosinus, who had drawn close without daring to touch the boy, let him give vent to his feelings. Romulus finally dried his eyes and whispered something that Ambrosinus could not quite make out. The boy turned to the guards standing by, barbarian soldiers in Wulfila’s charge, and his tutor was struck by the firmness with which he said: ‘You’ll pay for this. All of you. May God damn you to hell, you pack of rabid dogs.’
Not one of them understood the boy’s words, pronounced in archaic Latin, like the curse he had uttered. His tutor was relieved, but above them, standing on a small gallery near the apse, Odoacer had observed the scene. He turned to one of his servants and asked: ‘What did he say?’
‘He swore revenge,’ replied the servant summarily. Odoacer sneered indulgently, but Wulfila, half hidden in the shadows behind him, seemed the physical manifestation of that curse. The wide slash inflicted by Aurelius’s sword disfigured his face, and the stitches that the palace surgeon had applied made his swollen cheeks look even more repugnant. His lips contracted into a grotesque grimace.
Odoacer turned to the guard standing next to him: ‘Take the boy back to his room and bring me the old man: he must know a thing or two about last night’s raid.’ He cast a final look at Flavia Serena’s body, and in the darkness no one could see the expression of profound regret that passed through his gaze for an instant. He turned away and walked off, followed by Wulfila, headed towards the imperial apartments. One of the guards went down into the crypt and murmured something to the commander. Romulus was immediately separated from his tutor who was taken away by the newcomer. The boy called after him: ‘Magister!’ Ambrosinus turned around. ‘Do not abandon me!’
‘Do not fear. We shall see each other soon. Keep up your courage, and do not let anyone see you cry. Never, for any reason. You have lost both of your parents, and there is no sorrow in life greater than this. Now you can only rise from the depths of your grief. And I will be there to help you.’ He walked away after the guards.
*
Odoacer was waiting for him in the imperial apartments, in the room which had been the study of Julius Nepos and Flavius Orestes himself.
‘Who was the man who attempted to free the prisoners last night?’ Odoacer asked, mincing no words. Ambrosinus was staring at the long shelves, full of scrolls and books; how many of them he had consulted, when he had had occasion to visit this sumptuous residence in the past! Odoacer was greatly irritated by his attitude and shouted: ‘Look at me when I talk to you! And answer my questions!’
‘I don’t know who he was,’ was the old man’s calm reply. ‘I had never seen him before.’
‘Don’t lie to me! No one would have attempted such an undertaking without a prior agreement. You knew about him, and perhaps you know where he is now. You had better tell me: I have ways to make you talk.’
‘I don’t doubt that,’ replied Ambrosinus, ‘but even you can’t force me to say what I don’t know. Just ask the men in the escort: from the moment in which we left the villa, we were in contact with no one but your barbarians. There were no Romans in the group you sent in for the massacre, and none of Orestes’ men survived, as you know well. What’s more, I myself prevented that man from carrying out his plan to take away the boy . . .’
‘Only because you didn’t want to put the child at risk.’
‘Of course. I would never have agreed to such a plan! Hopeless from the start, and the price was horrendous. It may have been the last thing he intended, but his rash gesture resulted in disaster. My lady, the empress, would still be alive if it weren’t for him. I could never have approved of such folly, for a very simple reason.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘I detest failure. He was certainly a very courageous man, and that dog of your guard will remember him for some time: he sliced his face from side to side. I know you want revenge, but I cannot help you. Even if you cut me to pieces, you will learn nothing more than what I have already told you.’
He spoke with such calm and self-assurance that Odoacer was impressed: a man like that could be very useful to him, a man with the wit and wisdom to guide him through the maze of politics and court intrigue that he was about to be drawn into. However, the tone he’d used in saying the words ‘my lady, the empress’ left no doubts concerning his convictions and his loyalty.
‘What will you do with the boy?’ Ambrosinus asked him.
‘It’s no affair of yours,’ replied Odoacer.
‘Spare him. He cannot harm you in any way. I don’t know why that man attempted to liberate him, but he’s no worry for you in any case. He acted alone: if this had been a plot, the choice of the time and place would have been different, wouldn’t you say? A greater number of men, accomplices along the way, an escape route: do you know that I had to suggest a way to escape myself?’
Odoacer was surprised by the old man’s spontaneous admission, and struck by the logic of his words. ‘How did he manage to find your apartments, then?’
‘I don’t know, but I can imagine.’
‘Well?’
‘That man knows your language.’
‘How can you be certain?’
‘Because I heard him speaking with your soldiers,’ replied Ambrosinus.
‘And how did they get out?’ insisted Odoacer. Neither he nor his men had managed to explain how Romulus and Aurelius had been found outside the palace when all the escape routes were closed off.
‘This I do not know because we were separated by your men’s raid, but the child was wet and smelled terrible. One of the sewers, I’d say. But what difference does it make? You can’t be afraid of a boy of not even thirteen. What I’m telling you is that that man acted alone. And he was badly wounded. He may even be dead by now. Spare the boy, I beg of you. He’s little more than a child: what harm could come of it?’
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 sa
ved 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.
5
THE 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 p
ain. 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?’