Wolves of Rome

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  Although they’d never attempted anything of the sort, they were eager to get started, and their curiosity drove them to explore the area with no regard for any of the dangers that such a mission might have involved.

  Arminius climbed up on his brother’s shoulders and hoisted himself onto the top of the building, trying not to make any noise. The roof was practically flat, smoothed over with a mix of lime and cement, and he couldn’t make out any opening. It was so dark that he couldn’t see anything on the terrace.

  A halo of light rather suddenly appeared on one side of the rooftop. He approached and spied an opening under some wooden boards – perhaps meant to allow the smoke from a fireplace inside to escape. He moved the boards aside and looked down. Inside there were a couple of men working at a revolving platform. On it was a ballista that Arminius was well familiar with, having used them with his brother on the warship in Ravenna. To one side, sitting on a table, were several five-libra darts made of tempered iron.

  Arminius kept going back to check on his brother, who was posted below at the back of the building. Once, just as he was turning back to his observation point, he heard a soft whistle. It was Flavus, trying to get his attention.

  He peered over the edge of the terrace and saw his brother nodding at something on his right: a small group of people walking behind a couple of lamp-carriers who were lighting the way down the dark road.

  Arminius nodded back and, as Flavus flattened his body against the wall, he slowly backed up towards the middle of the terrace as the group was approaching the building. Someone, maybe one of the servants holding the lamps, called out a few words and the door to the warehouse creaked open. The night was so dark that even the dimmest light cast their faces in clear relief, and Arminius recognized one of them, a figure he’d seen sculpted in the frieze of the Altar of Peace: it was Iullus Antonius. Poet and magistrate, Julia’s great love, son of triumvirate Marc Antony.

  Arminius positioned himself back over the opening so he could have a full view of what was going on inside. The men were speaking in low voices, but he could see the two of them who had been standing near the weapon clearly. They removed a cloth which had been covering an object: it was a model of a liburnian galley, with two ballistae on each side, one fore and the other aft.

  Arminius thought that he’d seen enough for one night. He covered the opening with the wooden boards and moved back towards the edge of the terrace. Flavus, staying as close to the wall as he could, raised his arms to help him descend and they moved swiftly away.

  They waited on the side of the road, in an area where the vegetation gave them good cover, until the group who’d entered the building came out again. The two brothers followed surreptitiously as they started to walk towards the Forum Boarium. Just then, a carriage pulled by a couple of horses passed in front of the Theatre of Marcellus and stopped at a point halfway between the Temple of Portunus and that of Hercules, as if that were an assigned meeting point. Just past the Altar of Hercules, the group split up and Iullus Antonius walked away on his own. As he approached the Temple of Portunus, the door of the vehicle opened and a woman wrapped in a white stole appeared in the reflection of the two braziers in front of the temple, which lit her face. Arminius could not believe his eyes: it was the face between two heads and two bodies, at the centre of the Altar of Peace frieze.

  It was Julia.

  Arminius turned to his brother and whispered, ‘Do you see who that is?’

  ‘Barely, I couldn’t make out—’

  ‘Julia,’ replied Arminius, raising the tone of his voice just slightly.

  Flavus put his finger to his lips and hissed, ‘Are you crazy? Don’t even say that name. You’re putting your life in danger, and mine, and numerous others. Let’s get out of here, now . . .’

  Arminius shook his head and moved into a shady area, well out of sight. ‘No, let’s wait just a little longer.’

  ‘If you won’t come with me, I’m leaving on my own.’

  Iullus got into the carriage next to Julia and the door closed, then the servant holding the reins called out to the horses and drove off towards the Tiber Island.

  Arminius and Flavus exchanged glances, but Flavus shook his head hard. ‘Don’t even think about it. We’ve done what we were asked to do and even that was too much. It could have been a trap, with someone luring us into that dark, out-of-the-way spot. We’re going home now.’

  In the brief silence that followed Flavus’s words they could hear the river rushing between the banks and through the archways of the bridges, but they heard another sound as well: the snorting of a couple of horses and the shuffling of their hoofs on the pavement. Arminius cautiously approached, following the sounds, and found himself standing in front of two horses covered with black wool blankets and tied to a wooden bar. He leaned forward to get a better look, and saw two guards who’d stopped on the riverbank to urinate; they were just about to turn back. In a few moments they would reach their horses. But Arminius grabbed a blanket, wrapped it around his body and head, then jumped onto the back of one of the horses and set off at a gallop in the direction that Julia’s carriage had taken.

  He waited at the head of the Fabricius Bridge which connected the Tiber Island to the Judaean quarter that Julius Caesar had established in the capital. He walked his horse across the bridge and then crossed the island and the other bridge as well, keeping his pace slow, until he found himself in a residential area populated by a mix of people, including poor Romans and numerous immigrants from the East.

  The carriage had stopped.

  Swathed in black in the dead of night, Arminius was nearly invisible to see. He tied the horse to a post and stole behind the corner of an old house to watch what was going on. The woman and her companion were getting out of the carriage and knocking at a door. Someone opened it and let them in. The woman had covered her head and her face.

  Arminius slid along the wall, trying to find an opening that would let him in, so he could see and hear what was going on inside. He found no door, nor a passage of any sort. A light breeze was picking up, smelling like seawater and rustling tree branches . . . rustling the leaves of a plane tree, a giant that rose up in front of him right behind the northern corner of the house. It was enormous, its roots certainly soaking up water from the river nearby. A branch as thick as a tree on its own stretched towards the house’s roof and Arminius scrambled up its trunk, using the stumps of cut branches as footholds until he reached the limb he needed. He crossed it on foot, holding his hands out for balance, until he could lightly press his bare feet on the roof tiles. He reached the top and went down the other side until he found the gutter, going onto the atrium and the impluvium. He knotted the black blanket to a drain pipe and lowered himself to the ground.

  He was inside.

  Sounds were coming from the study and the reception hall, animated voices, people arguing. A woman’s voice, but only one.

  Could it be her?

  The centre of life and death.

  Maybe he could finally understand. Maybe somewhere in that dark house was the key.

  The house gave him the impression of being usually uninhabited. There were no servants to be seen, nor was there any smell of food. There was very little furniture and just a couple of lamps that let off a dim light. Just enough so that he could avoid falling into the impluvium pool and not bang into its sharp edges. He followed the voices, although he was sometimes led astray by sharp echoes that ended blindly.

  He found himself in front of the hall. It was separated from the rest of the house by a curtain of embroidered wool that absorbed most of the sound within. Arminius thought it must have been very hot in there, but that keeping this evidently secret meeting quiet was worth their discomfort.

  As they spoke they kept the tone of their voices low. Everything about their discussion was muted. The lighting was very low and Arminius could barely tell their shadows apart. He was hearing words more than phrases but they were enough to give away what
was being discussed. The circle was closing, as the beautiful woman carved in marble found herself at the centre of that gathering of ghosts.

  It was time for Arminius to leave and find Flavus; he felt the need to speak with his brother, to consult with him so they could decide together what to do. And he felt fear as well; it wasn’t in his nature to sneak around in the shadows of an abandoned house. The wide wool curtain was full of dust and all at once a sharp, dry cough burst from his chest.

  All talking stopped as those on the other side of the curtain looked at each other in shock. Their movements became panicked; they turned to the curtain that isolated them from the rest of the house and rushed forward with their daggers drawn. Arminius had already fled, raced to the impluvium, grabbed the cloth that hung from the drainpipe and was climbing up the roof quickly.

  He reached the top, scrambled down the other side and jumped onto the huge tree bough, even as he could hear the tumult of his pursuers behind and beneath him. He rapidly made his way along the branch, risking a plunge below at every reckless step. He reached the fork and began to slide down the tree. The foliage was so thick he was effectively hidden from the ground but then he saw flashes of white appear, and he knew that they had realized that this was his only escape route. They were posted all around the tree, trying to hide from him as best they could. As he slid down the tree trunk he saw that the white patches that he’d spotted were the cloaks of some of the men who’d been inside the house. They’d been left on the ground, behind some bushes, but were easily visible from above. They’d taken them off to move more swiftly and handle their weapons with greater ease. Like a hunted animal, his senses were keen and his mouth dry, but his heart kept beating at a slow, steady rate. Could he strike first? But he would be turned over to the authorities. A barbarian who had wounded or killed a Roman citizen would get no mercy. From the tree he couldn’t even see where he’d left the horse. He finally let go of the trunk and leapt to the ground but the circle of his stalkers was tight and daggers were coming at him from every direction, trying to slash through the black blanket that he’d wound around his arm and that loosely protected his body.

  Arminius pitched forward, but four men blocked his way and pushed him back. They were aiming to kill, trying to stab at a vital organ. Arminius fought back furiously, a dagger in each hand, but his attackers were closing in.

  A hoarse voice said, ‘Let them kill you, boy, it’ll be best for you. A clean blow and it’s over. If you’re taken alive, your death will be excruciating . . .’

  He was still talking when the earth shook with wild galloping. A black figure on horseback broke into the circle and knocked the men to the ground, trampling them. A yell in Germanic: ‘Jump!’ Arminius leapt onto the steed. By the time the men on the ground could react the brothers were far away. On the opposite side of the road, a carriage sped away with the woman aboard.

  Arminius gripped Flavus’s belt as he continued to spur on the horse in the direction of the Aventine.

  They rode swiftly past the half-asleep guardsman who didn’t even have time to guess at who the two horsemen draped in black might be.

  As soon as they were safe, they slipped to the ground. Arminius stripped off the black wool blanket and hid it in the attic, in an old chest. The horse was dried off and left with the others in the stable.

  ‘Was it the other guard’s?’ asked Arminius.

  ‘The one you left for me. But it wasn’t so easy for me. I had to throw his owner into the Tiber.’

  When the patrol made their rounds of the gates and the enclosure wall, everything was quiet and in order. Arminius and Flavus were in bed and appeared to be sleeping. They didn’t move or breathe as long as the sounds of the inspection were going on: doors slamming, dogs barking.

  ‘Why did you follow me?’ asked Arminius in a whisper.

  ‘Because I realized you really were stupid enough to get yourself into such a nasty mess. Who knows what our father would have said to me in front of your stupid ashes: that I didn’t keep you out of trouble.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Arminius.

  ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘She’s part of the plot.’

  ‘Julia?’

  ‘There in person.’

  ‘What kind of plot are you talking about? She can’t be plotting against her father.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because that’s monstrous.’

  ‘Julia is the only daughter of the emperor. She doesn’t need anything: not freedom, not elegance or luxury. She already has all of that. It’s boredom that she has to vanquish. She was never allowed to be young; her youth was robbed from her, her only true love sacrificed to reasons of state. She’s found him again now, and she’s found that treachery is the most exciting game there is. Maybe she doesn’t even realize the seriousness of what she’s doing.’

  ‘What now?’ asked Flavus.

  ‘I don’t know. Some things we know, but others we don’t.’

  ‘Maybe Taurus would know how to interpret the pieces and put them together. He knows a lot of things and we know very little.’

  ‘I don’t think we have another choice.’

  ‘We don’t. He’ll be summoning us. All we have to do is wait.’

  THE INVITATION CAME SOON, through Privatus.

  ‘He’s expecting you for dinner tomorrow,’ he told them. ‘You will be his only guests.’

  Arminius and Flavus understood well what that meant. Taurus didn’t want to be distracted or bothered by social niceties. He’d waited two days to extend this invitation, days which he needed to mull through the situation and the boys needed as well.

  ‘Please let Centurion Taurus know we thank him for his invitation,’ replied Flavus.

  The two brothers decided quickly on what their moves would be, what information they would give him and what they wouldn’t.

  They showed up the next evening at the time of the first guard shift, dressed as befitted an important encounter. Taurus seemed calm and confident, and spoke to them as though he were completely in the dark about everything. As though it hadn’t been him who had penned the message on that slip of paper.

  They spoke of many things. The calendar of the coming amphitheatre games and the circus races, the new management of the public baths and the situation in the East, including the problem of the Judaeans continuously disturbing the public peace. Nothing of what was on their minds. When it seemed that the evening was drawing to a close, Taurus considered them with an ironic expression and said, ‘Speaking of disturbances, I heard that the two of you went out the other night. I was told that there was a rather wild chase on the other side of the Tiber, and that someone even risked getting killed. And that guards were searching for a couple of individuals dressed in black who had disappeared . . . Know anything about any of that?’

  Arminius spoke, in the most discreet terms possible: he talked about a warehouse and a couple of craftsmen at work, about a big, dark house on the other side of the Tiber, about things half said, gestures cut short. About a plane tree, a chase and . . .

  A beautiful woman.

  13

  THE SILENCES THAT FELL as they spoke that evening gave them time to pause and reflect. Arminius and Flavus often exchanged looks and gestures, to remind each other of what they had decided. They were ready to put all the pieces together and to hazard a hypothesis. Taurus on the other hand was more cautious, unwilling as yet to admit out loud the conclusions he’d come to.

  Dinner went on until late, and when Privatus had finished clearing the table, Taurus spoke up again. ‘The work going on up on the Vatican Hill is nearly completed and the day of the great commemoration is drawing near. The convoy carrying the parts of the ships to be assembled for the naval battle will arrive soon, sailing up the Tiber. They will dock and unload at the artificial lake, where a branch of the aqueduct that’s just been built is already active and filling it with water. It’s been calculated that getting it to level will take about two mont
hs.’

  ‘Two months?’ repeated Flavus.

  ‘At least that long. The quantity of water needed is as much as all the aqueducts of Rome carry to the City over ten days’ time. It reminds me of when General Drusus dug the canal that would let our ships enter the ocean without having to sail all the way west and then all the way north on the Rhine. Ten thousand men worked on it for two years. I can still see that moment when we opened the canal onto the Rhine. We’d left a stretch of solid ground extending five hundred feet to the north. We built a series of retaining dams and sunk them deep into the virgin land across the entire width of the canal, going down fifty feet; all this at one hundred feet from the southern bank of the river.’ He was getting more animated as he described the amazing feat achieved by his commander. ‘So, when the canal was ready, we were able to dig the last section, all the way to the Rhine, without letting the river’s water flood through, because each of those retainers was designed to resist the water pressure for five or six hours. When the time came, they all collapsed at once and the Rhine burst into the canal. It was such a spectacle; I’ll never be able to forget it . . .’

  ‘I think that our father was there too, if I remember well,’ commented Flavus. Arminius didn’t think this was strictly true, but Flavus took pride in saying that his father had witnessed the final phase of General Drusus’s extraordinary enterprise.