Ambrosinus, perhaps the most worried among them, tried none the less to inspire the others with confidence and tranquillity, and the peace that reigned in that place did much towards convincing them; the shepherds bringing home their flocks, the red line left by the sun on the clouds as it disappeared over the distant horizon, the gentle bends of the river and the slow rowing of boatmen descending the current to find a shelter for the night. ‘God has assisted us,’ he said, ‘and He will continue to do so, for we are in the right and we are persecuted. I am certain that we will soon be joined with our companions.’
‘It’s been mostly thanks to you,’ said Vatrenus. ‘I don’t know how you managed to steer this wreck through rapids, shallows and whirlpools. I think that you, in reality, are a magician, magister.’
‘Just the principle of Archimedes, my good friend,’ replied Ambrosinus. ‘A vessel deeply immersed in the water becomes faster, and will tow lighter ones along if the current is strong, whereas if the current is slow, the vessel offers greater resistance. All that was needed was to rearrange the weight as soon as we arrived in tranquil waters: it was sufficient to move Batiatus to the end pontoon. Now I would like to go ashore with Livia, who has some money, if I’m not mistaken, and buy a little food for us: milk and cheese should be abundant around these parts, and perhaps bread as well.’
They found a village just a little way off called Magia, where the people spoke a Celtic dialect not too different from Ambrosinus’s native language, but the presbyter officiating over Christian rites in the small church there spoke surprisingly good Latin as well. They learned that the river they had travelled on was the Rhine, the largest river in Europe and one of the biggest of the world, second not even to the Tigris and Euphrates which flowed through the garden of Eden. Had they continued they would have soon encountered a large lake, followed by impassable rapids; the only way to get by them was over land at that point, after which the river ran free once again. Ambrosinus nodded. ‘That will be our way: descending the current we will avoid any number of dangers and perhaps even reach the Ocean, but first we must find a boat worthy of that name. On a bridge of boats tossed this way and that by the current, it’s already a miracle we arrived this far safe and sound!’
He considered the situation further north as well. The Franks had occupied vast territories in what was once Gaul, the richest and most faithful province of the empire. The central part had remained an island of Romanity, governed by a general named Siagrius who had proclaimed himself king of the Romans.
‘I would say that eventually it will be best for us to go ashore on the river’s west bank,’ he concluded, ‘and continue by land until we reach the channel of Britannia: there we will be at less than one day’s navigation from my homeland. Lord God! How much time has passed! Who knows how many things have changed, how many of the people I once knew are now gone . . . how many friends have forgotten me.’
‘You speak as though we were already in view of the coast!’ said Livia. ‘Yet our journey is still long, and no less fraught with danger than the road we have already travelled.’
‘You are right,’ replied Ambrosinus, ‘but our heart is swifter than our feet, swifter than the swiftest of steeds, and is afraid of nothing. Is that not so?’
‘It is,’ admitted Livia.
‘Don’t you ever think of your city on the sea? Don’t you miss it?’
‘Terribly, and yet I would never have left Romulus.’
‘And Aurelius, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘I suppose so, but, in all this time we’ve spent together, only once did he admit that he had anything like feelings for me. It was that night at Fanum, when we knew that the next day we’d be taking our separate ways and that we’d never see each other again. Not even I had the courage then to pronounce the words that perhaps he expected from me.’
Ambrosinus took on a serious expression. ‘Aurelius is tormented by a painful doubt that occupies his mind. Until he resolves his enigma there is no room for anything else in his soul. You can be certain of that.’
They had returned within sight of the river and Ambrosinus suddenly changed the subject. ‘We must find a boat,’ he said. ‘It is absolutely essential. If Aurelius has managed to escape Wulfila, he might be here in a couple of days’ time and we must be ready to set sail. You prepare dinner; I hope to return soon with some good news.’
He left her and headed over to the wharf, where several boats were moored for the night. Some fishermen had laid out the day’s catch on wooden benches, drawing a number of buyers. The lanterns which began to glimmer on board the boats shone their flickering light on the surface of the great river.
28
AMBROSINUS RETURNED LATE THAT night with a couple of porters carrying a heap of sheepskins, covers and blankets, and announced that he had come to an agreement with a boatman whose job it was to transport loads of rock-salt towards the north by descending the current of the Rhine. He was willing to take them along, all the way to Argentoratum, for a slight fee; if all went well, they’d be there within the week. What’s more, the boatman had sold him this wealth of bedstuffs for a pittance, ensuring them a warm night’s sleep under these cold, damp skies.
However, the old man’s hearty good cheer contrasted acutely with the sense of uncertainty and anxiety about the fate of Aurelius and Romulus that none of them could shake off. They’d had no contact with them, and realized that all the hardship and danger they’d faced together had no sense at all without the boy. They’d bound their own destinies to his, and his fate depended on them and them alone. The very meaning of their existence seemed to have slipped away without him.
Ambrosinus sat on the deck with his legs crossed, took a little bread and cheese from one of the shields which served as their table, and started to eat listlessly.
‘I’ve checked and re-checked my calculations,’ said Vatrenus. ‘Considering the type of terrain the river crosses, we should have at least two days’ march on them.’
‘You mean to say that we’ll have to wait all night, all tomorrow and all the next day?’ asked Orosius.
‘It might take that long, but I wouldn’t be so sure. Aurelius will try to put as much space as possible between him and his pursuers, and Juba’s a strong, fast horse. They’ll be resting as little as possible and trying to make good time,’ offered Demetrius.
‘Trying,’ objected Batiatus, ‘but the days are awfully short now, and it’s impossible, or damned dangerous, to travel at night in the mountains. I know Aurelius doesn’t want to risk falling into a precipice, or laming his horse. I’d recalculate, keeping in mind that they’ll only be able to take on short distances at a time.’
Each expressed his own point of view, and it soon became clear that none of their estimates matched up.
‘They might be way up there, on those high peaks, right now,’ said Livia, gazing at the mountains. ‘They’ll be cold and hungry and completely worn out. We’ve been much luckier, even though our journey was so eventful.’
Vatrenus tried to inject a note of optimism. ‘Perhaps we’re worrying over nothing. Wulfila may not have succeeded in crossing the torrent, or he may have lost a great deal of time travelling up and down its length looking for a ford. Perhaps Aurelius can afford to take his time and get here when he gets here. He knows that we’ll be waiting for him in a visible position, and that we won’t leave this floating convoy of ours until he meets up with us.’
‘Couldn’t we try to set up a light signal of some sort?’ suggested Demetrius. ‘If they were up there, they’d see it, and it would give them heart. They’d know we’re here waiting for them. My shield is made of metal; if we polished it . . .’
‘No, better not,’ objected Ambrosinus. ‘They know we’re here anyway, and they’ll find us because they’ll keep to the river. A light signal would attract Wulfila as well; you can be sure that he hasn’t given up the chase. He’ll have no peace until he’s got rid of every last one of us, mark my words. Try to rest now, all o
f you. It’s been a most tiring day, and we have no idea of what awaits us tomorrow.’
‘I’ll take the first shift,’ said Livia. ‘I’m not tired.’ She sat at the bow, on the edge of the boat, with her legs dangling over the side. The others laid out Ambrosinus’s sheepskins on the deck, stretching out close together to stay warm and covering up with the blankets. Ambrosinus sat off to one side, his eyes piercing through the darkness, then he stood and joined Livia.
‘You should get some sleep yourself. This place seems safe enough to me. Maybe even an old pedagogue will do to stand guard.’
‘I told you. I’m not tired.’
‘Neither am I. Perhaps I could keep you company for a while . . . if you like.’
‘I’d like that very much. We never finished what we were saying, remember?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘You were speaking to me of some enigma in Aurelius’s life.’
‘Yes, that’s right: words I heard without meaning to, that night at Fanum and the other night at the pass, while I was trying to stop myself from slipping down into the chasm.’
‘What did you hear?’ asked Livia, troubled.
‘Perhaps you should tell me everything you know about him first.’
‘I know so little.’
‘Or what you think you know.’
‘I . . . I think he is the young officer who so heroically defended Aquileia for nine months against Attila’s Huns. I think he was the one who helped me and my mother to escape by letting us take his place on a boat on the night the city fell, at the hand of a traitor.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I feel it. I know I’m not wrong.’
Ambrosinus sought out Livia’s eyes in the darkness. ‘In truth, you’ve lied to him . . . haven’t you? You needed a man who was capable of carrying out the impossible, and you thought you could inject the memory of a hero, of someone who perhaps no longer exists.’
‘No!’ objected Livia. ‘Well, maybe a little, at first; but then the more I saw him fighting, risking his life again and again to save the life of another, I had no doubts. He is the hero of Aquileia, and even if he wasn’t, this is the truth for me.’
‘A truth that he denies. This is the cause of your discord, the ghost that stands between you and makes you strangers to each other. Listen to me: no memory, no recollection, can take root in his mind if there’s nothing beneath. You can’t build on water.’
‘You say not? I’ve seen it done.’
‘Yes, your city on the lagoon. But this is different; here we’re talking about the soul of a man, his wounded mind, his feelings; and as if that weren’t enough, another truth has emerged from his past and threatens to crush him.’
‘What are you talking about? Tell me, I beg of you.’
‘I can’t. I don’t have the right.’
‘I understand,’ said Livia, resigned, ‘but is there nothing I can do for him?’
Ambrosinus sighed. ‘The truth, the only truth, must be forced to emerge from his mind, where it has lain buried so long. I know a way, perhaps, but it is terrible, terrible . . . he might not survive it.’
‘Where might he be now, Ambrosine?’
She noticed him stiffen at her question. His eyes clouded and his entire being seemed centred on some immense effort.
‘Perhaps . . . in danger,’ he said, with a strange, metallic voice.
Livia got closer and looked at him in amazement. All at once, she became aware that he was no longer with her: his mind, and perhaps his soul, were elsewhere, scouring mysterious paths, exploring remote territory, snowy expanses . . . wandering the mountainside, carried by the wind over fir woods and icy peaks, flying over the surface of frozen lakes, silent and invisible as a midnight bird of prey.
Livia said nothing, and sat absorbed in her own thoughts, listening to the soft lapping of the waves against the boat’s planks. A cold north wind tore into the clouds, uncovering the disc of the moon for a moment. Ambrosinus’s face, illuminated by that pale light, seemed a waxen mask. His eyes were white, empty, unblinking, like a statue’s. Only his mouth was open, as if he were screaming, but no sound came out, nor did his breath vaporize in the air like the others’. It was as if he were not breathing at all.
*
The shrill shriek of a bird of prey fractured the deep silence of the forest and Aurelius jerked awake, eyes darting as he strained to perceive the slightest sound. He shook Romulus who was sleeping curled up next to him. ‘We have to go,’ he said. ‘Wulfila’s here.’
Romulus scanned the woods around him in terror, but everything was quiet and calm and the moon was peeking out from behind the clouds, over the tips of the fir trees.
‘Hurry!’ insisted Aurelius. ‘We haven’t a moment to lose!’ He adjusted the horse’s bit and led Juba by the bridle down the path through the forest as quickly as he could, Romulus running alongside.
‘What did you see?’ gasped the boy.
‘Nothing. A cry woke me; a cry of alarm. It’s my instinct. I can feel a threat, after so many years of war. Run, Romulus, we have to move faster. As fast as we can.’
They left the forest behind them and found themselves on a clearing blanketed with snow. The moon diffused a soft glow that reflected off the white countryside, and Aurelius could make out the tracks of a couple of wheels crossing the clearing and heading down the valley.
‘That way,’ he pointed. ‘If a cart can get through, it means the terrain is solid underneath. We can mount the horse now, finally. Come on, quick now, up you go!’
‘But Aurelius, there’s no one . . .’
Aurelius didn’t even answer. He grabbed the boy’s arm and hoisted him up on to the saddle in front of him. He touched the spurs and Juba broke into a gallop, following the traces of the cart over the snow-covered meadow. Off in the distance the dark shape of a village could be seen, and Aurelius spurred the horse on even faster. They were greeted by a chorus of barks as they neared the first home, so Aurelius veered towards the bottom of the valley, reaching a slightly raised area from which he could see the whole river bed. He breathed a sigh of relief and slowed Juba to a walk so he could catch his breath as well. The untiring animal, steaming with sweat, blew great clouds of vapour from his nostrils and snorted impatiently, champing at the bit as if eager to get on with it. Perhaps he, too, could feel danger looming.
*
Wulfila and his men reached the end of the fir woods and immediately noticed the trail on the candid white blanket of snow: horse tracks, mixing into those of a cart, descending the slope.
One of them jumped to the ground and poked at the marks. ‘The left rear horseshoe has only three nails and the front prints are deeper than the back ones. That means the horse is carrying weight between the saddle and his neck. It’s them.’
‘Finally!’ exclaimed Wulfila. ‘We’ve got them now; they can’t escape.’ He raised his hand and signalled to the others to follow him at a gallop down the mountain side. There were over seventy of them, and their passage raised a white cloud, a halo of silvery powder that glimmered in the moonlight like a magical nocturnal rainbow. Awakened by the furious barking of their dogs, the men of the village beheld that phantasmagoric ride across the wide clearing above their houses, and swiftly made the sign of the cross. Those could be nothing else but the damned souls that escaped from hell by night in search of victims to drag down with them into the fiery pit. They barred their windows, and kept their ears to the doors, trembling with fear, until the sound of that galloping vanished off into the distance and the howling of their guard dogs settled into a soft whimper.
*
The cold light of dawn slowly began to permeate the thin layer of clouds that covered the sky and to awaken the men who were sleeping curled up under their blankets. Livia got up as well, touching her hands to her forehead and temples. She felt as if she’d dreamed it all, as if Ambrosinus had never really spoken to her. There he was, stretched out with the others, sleeping on the sheepski
ns. Demetrius was standing guard; he appeared to be scanning the snow-covered hills. Ambrosinus proposed that they move on to the boat that would take them north, so that they’d be ready to deport as soon as possible. They had decided to leave the pontoons in a barter agreement with the boatman, who planned to use them as tows.
He was a man of about fifty, heavyset and sturdy, with a thick head of grey hair, dressed in a felt tunic and a leather apron. His manner was brusque and resolute.
‘I can’t wait much longer,’ he told them as soon as they appeared. ‘People are starting to butcher their pigs and they’ll need salt to conserve the meat. But there’s another reason we must set off soon, a much more important one. The colder it gets, the greater our risk of being blocked as we travel north. The river may freeze up and I don’t want my boat getting stuck, and crushed by the ice.’
‘You said we could wait until this evening. A few more hours surely won’t change the situation much!’ objected Ambrosinus. Livia noticed how weak his voice had become, how hoarse. His face was ashen and deep wrinkles furrowed his brow, as if he hadn’t slept all night.
‘Sorry,’ insisted the boatman, ‘but the weather’s changing, as you can see. There’s a thick fog coming up and it’s a risk navigating under these conditions. Not my fault if the weather is turning bad on us.’
Ambrosinus entreated him: ‘We’ve left you the pontoons and you still stand to make a profit on your load. I’ve promised you more money for our passage; consent to our request, if you can. The friends we are waiting for will arrive soon, I assure you.’
The boatman wouldn’t budge. ‘I have to weigh anchor,’ he answered. ‘There’s no more to be said.’
Vatrenus approached. ‘I’m afraid there is, old man. Listen: either you do as we ask nicely, or we have ways to persuade you. We’re all armed and you’ll weigh anchor when we tell you to.’
The Last Legion Page 31