The Last Legion

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  It was Batiatus who continued: ‘Mledo yelled something in his language and the slaughter ceased. A herald ordered us to throw down our arms and our lives would be saved. We threw them down; what else could we do? They chained us together and dragged us, kicking and spitting at us, to their camp. Many of them wanted us tortured to death – we had downed at least four thousand of their comrades, and wounded countless others – but Mledo must have had orders to spare a certain number

  of men to be used as slaves. We were taken to Classis and sent off in different directions. Some of us to Istria, I think, to the stone quarries, others to Noricum to chop trees. We were sent to Misenus where you found us. That’s all there is to say, Aurelius. Now I’m going to sleep if I’m not needed here.’

  Aurelius nodded deeply. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Go to sleep, black man. Sleep, if you can, and you too, Vatrenus, my friend. I never . . . doubted you. All I ever hoped was to find you alive, I swear. There was nothing I would not have given to find you alive. Life is all that remains to us.’ He walked off and went to sit against the trunk of an oak tree, near Juba. Livia was not far off and must have heard the whole thing, but she said nothing and neither did he. Aurelius would have cried, but he couldn’t. Inside him, his heart had turned to stone and the thoughts in his brain writhed like serpents twisting in their nest.

  *

  On the other side of the camp, Romulus was lying on his blanket but could not sleep. He felt that something terrible was happening among his travel companions, but couldn’t understand what it was about and feared that he was the cause of their arguing. He tossed and turned but found no peace.

  ‘You’re not sleeping?’ asked Ambrosinus.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have told you those things about Constantinople and all the rest. I wasn’t thinking. Forgive me.’

  ‘Don’t be troubled on my account. I could have imagined as much; why else would they have organized such a risky endeavour, unless politics were involved? Or money, like you said when you were shouting at Livia.’

  ‘I was beside myself; you mustn’t attach importance to what I said.’

  ‘But you were right. They are nothing but mercenaries: Livia and Aurelius and all the others who’ve joined up with them.’

  ‘You’re unfair. Aurelius tried to free you at Ravenna without the promise of any reward whatsoever. His only reason was that your father had asked him to do so as he was dying. Don’t forget this: Aurelius was the man who heard your father’s last words. There’s something of your father in him, and that’s very important.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Have it your way, but it is true.’

  Romulus tried to calm down and stretch out his cramping limbs. The hoot of a scops owl sounded in the distance like a cry of desolation and he shivered under his blanket.

  ‘Ambrosine . . .’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t want them to take me to Constantinople, right?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘What can we do to prevent it?’

  ‘Very little. Nothing, actually.’

  ‘You’ll come with me, won’t you?’

  ‘How can you doubt that?’

  ‘I don’t doubt it; but if it were up to you, what would you do?’

  ‘I’d take you away with me.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To Britannia. My homeland. It’s lovely, you know? The greenest of islands, with beautiful cities and fertile fields, with majestic forests of gigantic oaks, of beech and maple trees that lift their leafless boughs to the sky in this season like giants beseeching the stars; vast meadows where flocks and herds graze; and here and there are grandiose monuments of circular stone whose meaning is a mystery, known only to the priests of our ancient religion: the Druids.’

  ‘I know who they are. I read about them in Julius Caesar’s De Bello Gallico. Is that why you wear that sprig of mistletoe at your neck, Ambrosine? Because you are a Druid?’

  ‘I have received instruction in their ancient wisdom, yes.’

  ‘And yet you believe in our God?’

  ‘There is but one God, Caesar. Only the roads that men take to find him are different.’

  ‘But in your journal, you described Britannia as a turbulent land. The barbarians are just as ferocious there, aren’t they?’

  ‘It’s true. The Great Wall no longer holds them back.’

  ‘Is there no peace in this world? Is there nowhere we can live in peace?’

  ‘Peace must be conquered, because it’s the most precious thing man can possess. Rest now, my son. God will inspire us when the moment comes. I am certain of it.’

  Romulus didn’t answer. He curled up under his blanket, listening to the monotonous hoot of the owl echoing through the mountains, until he was overcome by such weariness that he closed his eyes.

  The stars slowly crossed the sky as the cold north wind turned the air to crystal. The flames of the campfire flared up, giving off an intense, brilliant light, and then were rapidly extinguished. Only the pale glow of the embers remained on the vast dark mountain.

  *

  Halfway through the night, Aurelius relieved Demetrius, and Vatrenus took over for Orosius. Years of army life had made them so used to the routine that they would awaken at just the right time, as if their minds could somehow measure the movement of the stars as they slept. They began their journey again at dawn, after a frugal meal. Eustatius had packed the horses’ bags with provisions: bread, olives, cheese and a couple of wineskins. Ambrosinus gathered the things he had left to dry near the embers and placed them in his satchel. Romulus rolled and tied his blanket with the expertise of a soldier.

  Livia passed by just then, holding her horse’s bridle. ‘You’re very good at that,’ she said. ‘Where did you learn?’

  ‘I had a military instructor for two years, an officer from my father’s guard. He died that night of the assault on our villa in Placentia. They cut off his head.’

  ‘Would you like to ride with me today?’ asked Livia, fitting the horse’s bit.

  ‘No, it doesn’t matter,’ said Romulus. ‘I don’t want to be a bother to anyone.’

  ‘I’d like it if you did,’ insisted Livia.

  Romulus hesitated a moment before answering: ‘All right, as long as we don’t talk about Constantinople and all that stuff.’

  ‘Fine,’ nodded Livia. ‘No Constantinople.’

  ‘But first I have to tell Ambrosinus. I wouldn’t want him to feel offended.’

  ‘I’ll wait.’

  Romulus returned a few moments later. ‘Ambrosinus says all right, but don’t go too fast.’

  Livia smiled. ‘Come on, hop up,’ she said, and then adjusted him in front of her.

  The column began its journey towards the pass that appeared in the distance like a saddle between two snowy peaks.

  ‘It will be cold up there,’ said Romulus, ‘and that’s where we’ll be tonight.’

  ‘You’re right, but then we’ll begin our descent towards the Adriatic, my sea. We’ll find the last flocks of shepherds heading towards the low pastures for the winter. There may be some newborn lambs. Would you like that?’

  ‘I’m also an expert in agriculture and animal breeding. I’ve read Columella, Varro, Cato and Pliny. I’ve practised beekeeping and I know the techniques for pruning and grafting, the right season for mounting and how to make wine from must . . .’

  ‘Just like a Roman of old.’

  ‘I’ve learned all this for nothing. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to practise these arts. My future doesn’t depend on me.’

  Livia didn’t answer his words, which sounded almost like a rebuke. It was Romulus who broke the silence. ‘Are you Aurelius’s girlfriend?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Would you like to be?’

  ‘I don’t think it concerns you. Did you know that I was the one who saved him that night he tried to free you at Ravenna?
He had an awful wound in his shoulder.’

  ‘I know. I was with him when he was hit. But that doesn’t make you his girlfriend.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. We’ve joined together for this mission.’

  ‘What about afterwards?’

  ‘Each of us will go our own way, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Disappointed?’

  ‘I guess it’s none of my concern, is it?’

  ‘I guess not.’

  They travelled another couple of miles in silence. Romulus whiled away the time observing the nearly deserted countryside. It was enchanting. They passed a lake that reflected the limpid blue sky. A pack of boars rooting at the edge of the forest ran off to hide. A huge male deer raised his head for a moment, standing still and majestic against the dawning sun before escaping with a single bound.

  ‘Is it true that you did it for the money?’ Romulus asked abruptly.

  ‘We’ll have a reward, just like any soldier who serves his country, but that doesn’t mean that’s why we did it.’

  ‘Why then?’

  ‘Because we are Romans and you are our emperor.’

  Romulus said nothing. The wind picked up, a cold northeasterly wind that had brushed the snow-covered Apennines. Livia felt the boy shiver and she covered him with her cloak, drawing him softly close and wrapping her arms around him. He stiffened at first, but then abandoned himself to the warmth of her body. He closed his eyes and thought that he could perhaps be happy again.

  20

  THEIR JOURNEY LASTED THREE more days across mostly uninhabited lands, through forests and up steep, secluded paths where they would be unlikely to make unwanted encounters. When they stopped to set up camp, Aurelius would reconnoitre the area with one of his men or with Livia to ensure there were no hidden risks, but they never found anything that alarmed them; their enemies had probably never managed to discover which way they were directed. This was not so far-fetched; there was no reason to believe that their traces had ever been evident. The darkness of the night and the volcanic ash had masked their route, their boat had been sunk and the horses had been waiting for them inland.

  Everything seemed to be proceeding well. Their march had been planned so that the day of their arrival on the coast would coincide with their appointment with the Byzantine ship. The atmosphere among them had become more relaxed. Their easy banter and joking pleased Romulus, who continued to ride with Livia. Aurelius smiled at him, and often rode at their side. He would sometimes even chat as they set up camp in the evenings, but he was still keeping his distance. Romulus imagined that their imminent separation was on his mind.

  ‘You can talk to me,’ he said to Aurelius one evening, as he sat off to the side eating his dinner. ‘It won’t oblige you in any way.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure to talk with you, Caesar, and an honour,’ replied Aurelius with a smile, taking in his provocation without reacting, ‘and I’d be inclined to talk with you often, but soon we’ll be separated, unfortunately, and friendship would just make our parting more difficult.’

  ‘I didn’t say I wanted to be your friend,’ shot back Romulus, swallowing his disappointment. ‘I just said we could exchange a few words sometimes, that’s all.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ said Aurelius. ‘What shall we talk about?’

  ‘About you, for example. What will the rest of you do when you’ve turned me over to my new keepers?’

  ‘Turning you over doesn’t seem the right expression.’

  ‘Maybe, but that’s the essence of it.’

  ‘Would you have preferred to remain in Capri?’

  ‘Not as things stand now, no, but then I don’t know what’s in store for me. My choice – if I’d ever had a choice – would be between two different types of imprisonment, if I understand correctly, but since I know nothing about what awaits me, how can I express a preference? A free man can choose, whereas I’m shuffled against my will from one authority to another; the second may well make me regret the first.’

  Aurelius admired his reasoning and could find no way to refute it. He said only: ‘I hope not. With all my heart.’

  ‘I believe you. Well, what will you do . . . afterwards?’

  ‘I don’t know. We’ve hardly spoken about it during this journey. None of us has precise ideas. Perhaps we’re a little afraid of the future. One day, that same day of the barbarian attack, Vatrenus said that he’d had enough of this life; that he’d decided to go and live on an island where he could put goats to pasture and work the land. By the gods, it seems a century ago and yet only weeks have passed since then! I can’t say I took him seriously at the time, but now, given such an uncertain, bleak future, that seems like a good option to me, a good life . . .’

  ‘Tending goats on an island. Why not? I’d like that kind of life myself. If I could decide about my future, that is. But I can’t.’

  ‘That’s nobody’s fault.’

  ‘Yes it is. Whoever does not prevent an injustice is its accomplice.’

  ‘Seneca.’

  ‘Don’t change the subject, soldier.’

  ‘Six or seven of us cannot fight off the whole world, and I don’t want the lives of my comrades to be endangered again. They’ve done all they could do: they deserve the reward that’s been promised them and the freedom to choose how to live their lives. Maybe we’ll go to Sicily; Vatrenus has some land there. Or perhaps each one of us will go his own way. Who knows, maybe someday we’ll go east as well, and we’ll come to visit you in your sumptuous palace. What do you think? Would you invite us to dinner at least?’

  ‘Oh, that would be fantastic! I’d be happy, and proud . . .’ he broke off abruptly, realizing that there was no room for feelings here. ‘I think I’d better go to sleep,’ he said, getting up. ‘Thanks for your company.’

  ‘Thank you, Caesar,’ replied Aurelius, nodding his head. His gaze followed the boy as he made his way through their camp.

  They travelled all the next day on rough terrain, covering long stretches on foot so as not to risk laming their horses. They followed the course of a little stream: an arduous road to reach the sea, but one that permitted them to avoid inhabited areas where their passage would be noticed. Every now and then the small valley would open into a clearing and they’d see shepherds tending their flocks or farmers collecting branches in the woods to burn in their hearths that winter. They all had a gruff, unruly look, with long beards and unkempt hair; they wore goatskin shoes and worn, patched clothing, ill-designed to defend them from the cold northern wind. As the column passed they would stop, no matter what they were doing, and mutely watch as the group made its way through the forest. Armed men on horseback were not an everyday sight; prepared to defend themselves, or to strike out for that matter, they were fearsome in these people’s eyes. Once Romulus noticed several boys his age, with some younger girls. They were struggling, bent double under the weight of baskets full of wood. Their bare legs were livid with the cold, their noses dripped and their lips were cracked and dehydrated. One of them plucked up his courage, laid his oversized load by the wayside and drew near, holding out his hand.

  Romulus, who was riding with Livia, said: ‘Can we give him something?’

  ‘No,’ replied Livia. ‘If we did, we’d find a swarm of them downhill and we wouldn’t be able to get rid of them. They would draw attention to us, and we just cannot afford that.’

  Romulus looked at the boy, at his empty, stretched-out hand and at the expression of disappointment in his eyes as they rode away. He turned to look back again, trying to let his gaze express his desire to help. It wasn’t up to him; nothing was. When they were about to enter the wood again, he raised his hand to wave goodbye. The emaciated boy replied with a sad smile, moving his hand as well, before taking up his load again and trailing off into the brush.

  ‘I’m sorry, but that was necessary,’ said Livia, intuiting Rom-ulus’s thoughts. ‘We are often forced to do things in life that revolt us, but we have no choice.
The world we live in is harsh and unmerciful, governed by chance.’

  Romulus did not answer and yet the sight of such poverty made him realize that those poor children would have considered his existence in Capri a blessing from heaven, perhaps even a luxury. There was no condition in this world so miserable that a worse one could not be found.

  As time passed and their journey continued, the stream became a torrent, rushing between smooth boulders, forming eddies and cascades. At the end it flowed into another watercourse that Ambrosinus identified as the Metaurus. The temperature became milder, a sure sign that they were nearing the sea and the end of their adventure, although none of them could yet predict how it would wind up. The forests thinned out and gave way to pastures and cultivated land as they approached the coast. They found it increasingly difficult to steer clear of the many little villages in their path as they crossed stretches of via Flaminia. On the last day of their journey, they ran across an old abandoned mansio, marked by a milestone. The sign that hung outside was rusty, but a fountain still flowed to fill the troughs, large basins carved in sandstone from the Apennines. They had been built for the horses once housed in the exchange post, but were now frequented by transient flocks, as evidenced by myriad cloven hoof marks and by the abundant dung all around.

  Livia went in first, on foot, to ensure the place was safe, leaving her horse’s reins to Romulus. She pretended to draw water from the fount, and as soon as she saw that no one was around, whistled to the others to join her. Romulus tied the horse and scampered over, entering and looking about. The plaster walls still bore the graffiti left by thousands of wayfarers over centuries of use, many of which were obscene. High up on one wall was a fresco painting of a map in which he recognized Italy. There were the islands, Sicily and Sardinia, the coast of Africa below and the coast of Illyria above, with all the seas, mountains, rivers and lakes coloured in. A red line traced the cursus publicus, the network of roads which had once been the pride and glory of the empire, with all of its rest stations and the distances recorded in miles. Above it he could still make out the map’s title, TABULA IMPERII ROMANI, half deleted by water seepage. His attention was caught by the wording CIVITAS RAVENNA, illustrated by a miniature of the city with its towers and walls, and he was suddenly gripped by fear. He turned away quickly and met Aurelius’s eye; each of them saw in the other’s gaze the distressing memories that image had brought to mind: the imprisonment, their failed escape, the death of Flavia Serena. Ambrosinus began rummaging around in search of materials; when he’d found a couple of rolls of partially-used parchment at the bottom of a broken cupboard he began busily recopying one of the routes marked out on the wall map.