The Last Legion

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘Two of us have to go up to that ridge, there where the colour of the rock gets lighter,’ he said. ‘I’ll carry the rope that I’ve threaded with pegs; we’ll be able to use it as a ladder. You, Vatrenus will carry the sack with the stakes and the hammer. Livia will be throwing us down the rope that will help us up the second gradient, the steeper of the two. If she’s not there, we’ll free climb. If that fisherman could do it, so can we.’ He turned to Batiatus. ‘You’ll have to hold the bottom end of the rope taut when you see us ready to come down, so that it won’t swing in the wind. We don’t want the boy to become frightened or to be thrown off-balance and fall, especially if it starts to rain and the ropes become slippery. Let’s move while there’s still a bit of light.’

  Vatrenus grabbed his arm: ‘Are you sure your shoulder will hold out? Maybe Demetrius should go first; he’s lighter than you are.’

  ‘No, I’m going first. My shoulder is fine, don’t worry about me.’

  ‘You’re a stubborn bastard and if we were still at camp, I’d show you who’s in command, but here you decide. All right, men, let’s go.’

  Aurelius put the roll of rope over his shoulder and started to climb. Vatrenus made his way up directly behind him, carrying the heavy leather sack that held the hammer and tent stakes that they would use to secure Aurelius’s rope as soon as they reached the ledge.

  *

  In the villa’s lower courtyard, they were hoisting the fifth of the big doliums when a sudden gust of wind made the platform sway. A second gust augmented the swing so that the enormous jar, already halfway between the courtyard pavement and the upper loggia, tore the fragile straps that were holding it and crashed to the ground. It shattered at impact with the pavement, spraying shards of clay over a huge area, and depositing a large pool of oil. Several of the men were injured and others, completely drenched in oil from head to toe, staggered around unsteadily. The head servant swore and kicked them as he yelled: ‘It had to be the oil jar, didn’t it, you damned idiots! I’ll make you pay for this, you can be sure I’ll make you pay!’

  Livia peeked from under the lid of her jar and ducked down quickly as she realized that the platform had been lowered again and they were securing the lid and tilting her dolium to load it up. She held her breath until the water level inside stabilized, then put a reed in her mouth to breathe. As the platform was being raised, the squeaking of the entire structure increased as it swung back and forth in the intensifying wind. From inside the jar, the whistle of the wind sounded like a muffled moaning. Livia could feel her heart beating faster and faster in the dark of that confined liquid prison, that stone womb. She was knocked around with every swing of the jar, confusing her orientation and balance.

  Beyond her powers of endurance, Livia was about to drive her sword through the wall of the jar, despite the terrible risk, when she sensed that the loading platform had settled on to a firm surface. She forced herself to hold her breath as the servants rolled the dolium across the floor and her air supply was cut off entirely. They finally set the big jar upright, presumably next to the others. She lifted her head above the surface of the water and took a deep breath, blowing liquid out of her nose. She waited until she could no longer hear any footsteps, then extracted her dagger and stuck it into the slit between the neck of the jar and the lid, running it along the edge until she found the securing rope and cut through it. She was exhausted and her limbs were stiff and nearly paralysed by the cold.

  *

  A short distance away, Ambrosinus and Romulus were in the imperial apartments, preparing for escape. They wore comfortable clothing and felt shoes to allow them to move rapidly in complete silence. The old man gathered up everything that would fit in his satchel: all his powders, herbs and amulets. Then he added the Aeneid.

  ‘That’s useless weight!’ protested Romulus.

  ‘On the contrary. It is the most precious thing I have in here, my son,’ replied Ambrosinus. ‘When we flee and leave everything behind us, the only treasure that we can take with us is our memory. The memory of our origins, of our roots, the stories of our ancestors. Only memory can allow us to be reborn. It doesn’t matter where, it doesn’t matter when. If we conserve the memory of our past greatness and the reasons we’ve lost it, we will rise again.’

  ‘But you come from Britannia, Ambrosine. You are a Celt.’

  ‘That’s true, but at a time so terrible when everything is collapsing and dissolving, in which the only civilization of this world has been struck to the quick, we cannot say that we are not Romans. Even those of us who come from the most remote periphery of the empire, those of us who were abandoned, long ago, to our destiny. But you, Caesar, are you bringing nothing with you?’

  Romulus took the sword out from under the bed. He had wrapped and tied it carefully with some string, adding a strap so he could carry it over his shoulder.

  ‘I’m taking this,’ he said.

  *

  Aurelius found himself at about thirty feet from the craggy ridge that cut the rock face in two, when all of a sudden lightning lit up the cliff bright as day, followed by the crack of thunder. A drenching rain began, the footholds became slippery, and they could barely see for the water dripping down their faces. With every passing instant the coil of rope that Aurelius wore over his shoulder became heavier, soaked through and through. Vatrenus could see him struggling under his load and tried to get as close as possible. He found a foothold and nailed a stake into the rock as high up as he could reach. Aurelius managed to draw closer and set his foot down on the stake, hoisting himself up until he could clutch at a rock spike emerging from the mountain on his right. From that point on, the slope was more accentuated and allowed them to advance with greater confidence up to the ledge underlying the sheer rock wall. It was a kind of calcareous embankment covered by debris which had fallen from above over the millennia. Aurelius dropped the rope and leaned back to help his companion up as well.

  Vatrenus took the mallet from his sack and nailed two stakes into the rock. He tied the length of rope to them and let it roll down to their landing spot. Batiatus grabbed it and energetically yanked on it to make sure it was secure.

  ‘It’s holding,’ commented Vatrenus, satisfied.

  Pulled tight, with the thirty or so pegs that Aurelius had threaded through the rope about three feet apart all the way down, the rope nearly looked like a ladder.

  ‘The boy will make it down for sure,’ said Aurelius.

  ‘What about the old man?’ asked Vatrenus.

  ‘Him, too. He’s swifter than you’d think.’ He looked up, trying the shield his eyes from the downpour: ‘I don’t see Livia yet, damn it. What shall we do? I’m not waiting much longer; I’ll go up alone.’

  ‘You’re crazy. You’ll never make it. Not in these conditions.’

  ‘You’re wrong. I’ll use the stakes. Pass me the bag.’

  Vatrenus looked at him unbelievingly, but just then a handful of little stones hit them from above. Aurelius looked up again and saw a small figure standing on the villa walls, waving.

  ‘Livia!’ he exclaimed. ‘Finally.’

  The girl threw the rope but the bottom end swung free about ten feet above Aurelius’s head.

  ‘No! It’s too short!’ cursed Vatrenus.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll climb up on your shoulders and try to grab it. Once I’m up, you nail in the stakes one by one, up to the point where the rope ends, so we can get them down without too much trouble. All right, let’s try it.’

  Vatrenus bent over, fuming. Aurelius stood on his shoulders and his friend pushed him up as high as he could. Then he climbed, skinning his hands, his arms, his knees, leaving bits of flesh on the sharp outcroppings, until he managed to grasp the bottom end of the rope. Pulling himself up required enormous effort. The wind kept getting stronger and stronger, swinging the rope to the left and right, smashing him up against the bare rock, as his cries of pain became lost in the roar of the storm. In the distance, sinister blood
-red reflections flashed from the mouth of Vesuvius. The cord was soaking wet and very slippery, and he was often dragged down by his own weight, so that he lost in an instant ground that had taken him great efforts to gain, but he started back up again each time, stubbornly, gritting his teeth, ignoring the fatigue and pain that tormented every muscle and every joint. The sharp pangs of his old head wound stabbed into his brain.

  Livia followed his every movement with spasmodic tension. When Aurelius was finally close enough, she leaned her whole upper body over the parapet and grabbed his arms, pulling with all her might. With a final shot of energy, Aurelius clambered over the parapet and held her tight in a joyous embrace under the drenching rain. She broke away: ‘Hurry! We have to help Vatrenus and the others.’

  Below, Demetrius and Orosius had reached the ledge by climbing up along the rope ladder. Using the stakes that Vatrenus had driven into the rock as footholds, they arrived at the lower end of the rope that Livia had thrown down. One by one, they tied it to their waists and scrambled up rapidly, pulled by their comrades from above. Vatrenus went up last.

  ‘I told you we’d make it!’ exclaimed Livia triumphantly. ‘Now we’ve got to find the boy before the guards make their rounds.’

  17

  THE RAMPART WALKWAY WAS deserted and the pavement, with its large slabs of schist, shone like a mirror in the sudden flashes of lightning. The doliums that had been hoisted up earlier were against the wall and Livia grimaced, remembering her recent experience in one of their bellies.

  ‘There’s a platform behind those jars with a goods elevator,’ she said. ‘We could have Orosius and Demetrius lower us with a winch to the courtyard and reach the library from there. That’s where they’re waiting for us, right?’

  ‘You’re right, but we would make an easy target if they saw us swaying on the lift,’ objected Aurelius. ‘Better to go from the inside. It can’t be too difficult to get to the courtyard, and there will be a light on in the library to guide us to them.’ He turned to Orosius: ‘You remain here on guard, to keep our escape route open. Count slowly to one hundred ten times after we’ve gone: if we’re not back by then, go to where Batiatus is waiting and put out to sea. If we can we’ll join you on the mainland within two days’ time. Otherwise, it will mean that our mission ended badly, and you and Batiatus will be free to go wherever you like.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll return safe and sound,’ replied Orosius. ‘Good luck.’

  Aurelius gave him a half smile, then waved his companions over. They started down the stone stair that led to the lower level, Aurelius first with his sword in hand, then Livia, Vatrenus and Demetrius last.

  The stairwell was completely dark, although occasional lightning streamed through the narrow loopholes on high. As they made their way down, they began to notice a slight luminescence radiating on to the walls and tufa steps. Aurelius gestured to the others to proceed with caution as they advanced towards the light. The steps ended in a corridor lit by a few oil lamps hanging from the wall at the door to each room.

  Aurelius beckoned them on, whispering: ‘There’s a hall here, lined with doors that I would guess are bedrooms. When I give you the signal, cross the hall as quickly as you can. We should be able to reach the second flight of stairs that will lead us downstairs, to the ground level. Come on now, there’s not a soul to be seen.’

  ‘Go on, we’ll be behind you,’ said Vatrenus, but as soon as Aurelius moved, a door opened on his left and a barbarian warrior came out with a half-naked woman. Aurelius leapt at him with his sword and ran him through from side to side before he realized what was happening. The girl started to scream, but Livia was already behind her, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘Quiet!’ she hissed. ‘We don’t want to hurt you, but if you make a sound I’ll cut your throat. Understand?’ The girl nodded convulsively. Demetrius and Vatrenus swiftly bound her wrists and ankles and gagged her, dragging her into a dark corner.

  *

  Downstairs, in the old triclinium, Wulfila was just finishing his dinner. ‘Did you hear something?’ he asked his lieutenant, one of the Skyrians who had fought under Mledo.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shouting.’

  ‘The men are upstairs having a good time with the latest shipload of whores from Naples. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘No, that was no cry of pleasure,’ he insisted, getting to his feet and taking up his sword.

  ‘So what? You know that some of the men like to get their thrills that way. What I’m worried about is that these trollops are going to wear out our brave young warriors. All they think about is fucking lately.’

  The words were not out of his mouth when they heard another cry, of rage and pain this time, suffocated in a death rattle.

  ‘Damnation!’ swore Wulfila, reaching the window that let on to the courtyard. There was only one light to be seen, inside the library, but he could make out a confused scuffling of shadows, a glittering of blades in the dark and then more screams and cries of agony.

  ‘We’re being attacked. Sound the alarm, fast!’

  The officer called a guard who blew into the war horn, again and again, until another horn answered and yet another, and the entire villa resounded with that tremendous noise. A flash of lightning lit up the great courtyard and Wulfila recognized Aurelius, who was tussling with one of his men who had tried to bar his passage. There seemed to be three more men with him, shielding the old man and the boy.

  ‘No!’ he howled. ‘Him again!’

  He raced into the corridor with his sword in hand shouting like a mad man: ‘I want him alive! Bring him to me alive!’

  Aurelius realized they would be upon them in a matter of moments. He led his comrades towards the flight of stairs, as other warriors burst forth, brandishing lit torches. They reached the upstairs corridor but found it blocked by a number of armed guards. Livia attacked from the left and Vatrenus and Demetrius from the right, trying to draw them away from the stairs so that Aurelius could clear a passage to the walkway above.

  Ambrosinus was flat against the wall, holding Romulus tight as the boy tried to wriggle away so he could jump into the fray. The old man was consumed by utter distress: their escape was already doomed, before it had even got underway. Aurelius delivered a great downward blow but his adversary eluded him and the Roman’s sword shattered into pieces against the pillar of the stair. Romulus did not hesitate an instant. As Aurelius drew back, defending himself as best he could with his dagger, the boy shouted: ‘Try this one!’ and tossed him his sword.

  The fabulous weapon sailed towards Aurelius, flashing like a lightning bolt in the night, and his fist rose to seize it. He wielded it solidly in hand now, with all its inexorable force.

  Nothing could resist that blade. Cascades of sparks sprayed out on impact with shields and axes. It cut through helmets and penetrated skulls as if slicing through air. When it hit the pillar again, myriad incandescent splinters shot through the air accompanied by an acute, deafening clangour. The horrified survivors were mowed down one by one as Livia pulled Romulus and Ambrosinus up the stairs, now free from any obstacles. Aurelius stayed behind for a moment to cover their retreat; as he stood in the middle of a mass of lifeless bodies, the splendid, bloodied weapon in his fist, he saw Wulfila. There was no more than a swift exchange of glances between the two warriors and then Aurelius vanished behind his comrades.

  Before their pursuers could catch up with them, they closed and bolted the walkway door behind them. Wulfila, an instant too late, lunged at the massive ironclad door, raining punches and howling in impotent rage. He shouted: ‘Quickly, to the east ramp! There’s no way out from there!’ He ran down the stairs, meeting up with another group led by his lieutenant.

  ‘You go down the outside stairs to the storehouses, quickly. We’ll smoke them out between two fires!’ he ordered. They raced off, disappearing at the end of the corridor.

  On the upper walkway, Aurelius and his men were running towards the parapet where Oros
ius was anxiously awaiting them, guarding the only escape route.

  ‘The boy first!’ ordered Aurelius. Orosius leaned over, shouting at the top of his lungs to make himself heard over the din of the storm. Batiatus heard him and prepared to receive the fugitives. Demetrius, Vatrenus and the others formed a semicircle around Romulus as he readied himself for the climb. The boy’s heart sank as he looked down: the cliff face glittered like steel and the sea below was boiling with foam amidst razor-sharp rocks. The boat, tossed here and there on the waves, looked as fragile as a nutshell at that distance. He took a deep breath as Orosius tried to secure him to the rope with a makeshift harness, but at that moment Livia, who had climbed up to the top of the parapet, saw Wulfila’s men in the distance, closing in on them from both left and right, and she sounded the alarm.

  ‘The jars!’ she shouted, leaping to the ground. ‘We can use the jars against them! The first and the third are full of oil!’ Her comrades ran over and even Orosius abandoned the rope to give them a hand. They tipped over the two huge jars and rolled them in opposite directions. The containers slid uncontrollably to the right and left, crashing first against the parapet and then against the inner wall, picking up speed until they smashed violently against the wall. They broke to pieces and liberated a shiny wave that reached the two groups as they ran at full speed. The first warriors slipped and fell, and the torches they held in their hands set fire to the oil, raising whirling flames at both ends of the walkway. Some of the men, transformed into living torches, dived into the sea and disappeared beneath the waves. Others crashed down the cliffs, bouncing from one rock to another like disjointed puppets.