Wolves of Rome

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘No,’ replied Varus resolutely. ‘We’ll stay here until the end of next spring, and then we’ll set sail to Rhodos.’

  ‘To visit Prince Tiberius?’

  ‘Not only,’ replied Varus. He dropped his forehead onto his left hand and Arminius took his leave. He still had to review his auxiliaries as well as the legionaries guarding the towers. Below them, the lit torches and still-burning braziers raised their smoke to the sky and their flames to the mute, invisible god of the Judaeans.

  He went to bed after the first guard shift and thought of Flavus, who at that same hour was also lying down after a hard day of battle. Each of them at opposite sides of the world. With, perhaps, their father Sigmer in the middle.

  He could hear the psalmodizing of the priests in the night, mixed with the guards’ calls coming from the towers, and he thought of his father’s message and of how he’d interpreted it, hurling his spear at the would-be murderer. Is that what Sigmer had wanted him to do? Or something else? Perhaps one day he would know.

  THAT AUTUMN AND winter they visited Galilee, then crossed the Jordan River and the regions of Gaulanitis and Iturea, travelling alongside Lake Tiberias, and reached Damascus in Syria, a splendid city fragrant with roses and jasmine, harbouring blood-red pomegranates in its secret gardens. A gigantic temple to Jupiter Dolichenus stood in the great square, built on the foundations of a previous Canaanite temple to Baal. Those sublime sights taught Arminius how civilizations were born and grew and then decayed and perished, and he understood how the great empire of Alexander first and Rome later had gathered them into a single immense system, drawing on their power and strength to create new marvels. Small systems like a little village on its own could produce only modest structures: huts made of wood and animal dung or humble dwellings built of dried mud mixed with straw.

  What Rome had achieved cost blood. But not even the smallest communities were immune from civil wars, killing, poisoning, massacres, without ever achieving anything great and admirable.

  The place that he dreamed of seeing was Egypt. He had heard it spoken about as the most extraordinary land on earth: wealthy, astonishing, magical. Pyramids built as high as the sky, the purest of geometrical shapes. They were covered with white stone and tipped in gold, and like diamonds they mirrored the sun. The temples of Thebes, rich with forests of hundreds of stone pillars so thick and so tall that they seemed millenary oak trees, decorated with thousands of mysterious symbols that would take a man’s entire lifetime to understand. Colossal statues standing on pedestals or sculpted into the walls of mountains. The Nile, the greatest of all the earth’s rivers, which nourished dragons whose jaws were bristling with sharp teeth and whose bodies were covered by impenetrable shields, as well as other huge snorting monsters that blew water and steam out of their noses; ‘river horses’, they were called. A kingdom that for thirty centuries had never been subjugated in the end had to submit to Rome.

  One thing was true: a Roman army could be defeated, but not Rome. Arminius was absolutely sure of this. In comparison his ancestral land seemed very distant, dark and cold, full of bogs.

  He asked Quinctilius Varus if they would be going to Egypt and he answered, ‘No, that’s not possible. Egypt is the private property of the emperor. No one of senatorial rank can enter without his explicit permission and I have not been tasked with entering Egypt. One day, however, that might happen and when it does you will be at my side. You are a young man of great sagacity and good sense. You are brave and, when necessary, you can be hard, aggressive and implacable.’

  ‘When necessary, Proconsul,’ replied Arminius, and his eyes shone with a cold light, like frozen lakes in winter.

  WHEN HE RETURNED to Antioch, Arminius found Flavus’s reply. His brother had written from Germania:

  Flavus to Armin, dearest brother, hail!

  I received your letter with delight. I’ve calculated that it took only two and a half months to reach me at our winter headquarters where we have settled to allow the winter to pass. I don’t know when you’ll receive this or if the winds will be favourable, but I am nearly certain that we will see each other again in Rome, with the help of the gods.

  The Cherusci have rebelled and Consul Vinicius has had to intervene. He did not ask me to follow him at the head of my unit. I wasn’t told why but I can imagine. But he’s wrong. Wulf no longer exists.

  I am Flavus.

  I’m sending you this letter from Magontiacum and I’ve been ordered not to leave the fort. You’ll understand why I have not been able to see our father, nor will I be able to do so.

  Stay in good health.

  The Chimaera weighed anchor one morning in March and sailed along the southern coast of Anatolia, heading west, until she reached a vast bay where they stopped to wait for the northern wind to abate. The captain decided that they would stay three days at anchor before continuing their voyage to Rhodos and leaving the coast of Lycia behind them. The crossing took place without too much difficulty, although the crew often had to man the oars and helm to counter the sea currents and stay on route. During the voyage, Arminius read and reread his brother’s letter and tried to understand how he was feeling. Had he cut every tie with their people, and even with their father? He thought back once again to the significance of the message that the Hermunduri warrior had given them on the Aventine. Sigmer had left them the choice of whether to act or not, once they worked out the puzzle that it was Julia at the centre of everything and that the life being threatened was that of her father, Emperor Augustus.

  Arminius had made his choice. But evidently, for his father it was the wrong one, if he had decided to sever his alliance with Rome and lead the Cherusci in rebellion against the Romans.

  When the outline of the island of Rhodos appeared, everyone on board breathed a sigh of relief. Arminius thought of what a ship’s view of the island must have been like when the bronze giant made by the Rhodians to celebrate the sun god’s help in resisting a siege was still standing. The colossus had remained on its feet for only seventy years, and yet the entire world would remember that superb, daring work for centuries.

  Quinctilius Varus found hospitality on the island in a beautiful house overlooking the port, while Arminius, Sergius Vetilius and Rufius Corvus, along with the men of the escort, were quartered in a house used by the port workers.

  The next day, Varus decided to venture out with only Arminius and the other two officers, leaving the men in their quarters. They accompanied him to Tiberius’s villa but remained outside in the garden talking with the servants. Hours passed, and it was time for lunch. Varus was nowhere to be seen; most probably the prince had invited him to join him in a meal.

  Servants brought some food for the three of them, and it wasn’t until afternoon, close to the tenth hour, when Quinctilius Varus exited the villa accompanied by a freedman.

  Rufius Corvus, after having accompanied the proconsul and his comrades the entire way back to the port, went off on his own.

  ‘Where is he going?’ Arminius asked Sergius Vetilius.

  ‘Why are you asking such questions?’ replied Vetilius. ‘You’re used to commanding men, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course. But I have the impression it’s not a woman he’s after.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so either. Even though it was a long voyage and Rufius is a vigorous man.’

  Rufius got back late that night. Arminius recognized the gait of his horse and walked outside to meet him, as if he’d been awakened by pure chance.

  ‘Can’t sleep?’ asked Rufius.

  ‘No, I heard a noise. You know I’m a light sleeper. News?’

  ‘Yes, actually. Young Gaius Caesar, the brother of poor Lucius, will be coming this way. The boy is the only one remaining of Augustus’s direct successors, and he’s being sent to the Eastern army to cut his teeth. He’ll be passing through Samos in a few days’ time, heading to Armenia. Tiberius will have to lower himself in front of this spoiled, presumptuous youngster, to ask permissi
on to return to Rome. Can you believe that? Tiberius is the Empire’s greatest soldier, and I know what I’m talking about. I fought for him. He conquered the Alpine border with Drusus, creating an impenetrable belt for Italy, and he subjugated the Illyrian regions all the way to the Danube. And now he has to prostrate himself in front of an inexperienced child who’s spent more time playing dice with his grandfather than learning how to use a weapon. It’s hard to explain why he has to be humiliated this way. It feels like a punishment.’

  Arminius didn’t say anything else, apart from asking about a practical matter: ‘Will there be anyone with him? Are we needed in some way?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Rufius. ‘I think that Varus is here to observe him and report back to Rome. Tiberius’s position is very difficult. Right now the only person he can count on is his mother, Livia. Well, good night, then.’

  Arminius wished him a good night as well and turned to go back to his room.

  ‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Rufius.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What’s in that letter that you’re always carrying around with you? Why has it put you in such a bad mood?’

  ‘It’s a letter from my brother, Flavus. It’s just the answer to a letter I wrote him. Nothing important. We’ll see each other in Rome, it seems, and he’s really eager. I’m not in a bad mood at all, I don’t know why you got that impression.’

  ‘Maybe,’ replied Rufius, and walked up the stairs towards his own bedroom.

  NEITHER QUINCTILIUS VARUS nor any of the three officers of his guard were asked to accompany Tiberius to Samos where Gaius Caesar had put ashore in the meantime with his escort. But Rufius Corvus and certainly Quinctilius Varus himself had eyes and ears on the island. Tiberius did not even remain overnight – a sign that he had not been invited. It was learned later that Gaius Caesar had behaved horribly with him, as did his comrades from the ship, who turned out to be his companions at home as well. Varus later heard that during a banquet one of the young men, already half drunk, announced loudly that he was ready to set sail on the first ship for Rhodos so he could kill Tiberius.

  When Varus told the story, Arminius imagined the scene in his head: that little braggart would show up with an intent to kill Tiberius, take one look at the man and then run away, terrified at the mere sight of the greatest soldier of the Empire. Being young, he thought, is neither a merit nor a virtue. It’s simply a time of life.

  He could not put the thought of Tiberius out of his head. That man, one of the most important and, in theory, most powerful people in the world, lived in a state of constant humiliation, was forced to put up with non-stop criticism and had to calculate every step he took. Who he should receive and who he should ignore or refuse. What he wore. What he did and what he avoided doing. Every single step he took, every act, was spied upon, interpreted, judged. And yet he was on the list of the possible successors to Augustus.

  ‘It’s not an easy thing,’ said Sergius Vetilius. ‘The first designated heir, Claudius Marcellus, died very young and the second in line, Lucius Caesar, died under suspicious circumstances in Massilia, Gaul. Another son of Julia and Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, Agrippa Postumus, has been confined to an inhospitable island, without having been charged of any crime. The official reason is that it is said that he is mentally disturbed, violent and aggressive, but that’s never been demonstrated, nor has he ever attacked or wounded anyone.’

  ‘So, the only possible successor,’ concluded Arminius, ‘is Gaius Caesar.’

  ‘That’s not said. Gaius Caesar is still very young and he’s being sent off to war in Armenia. Tiberius remains in the line of succession. And there’s another player in this very complex game: Livia, wife of Augustus and mother of Tiberius. Have you ever wondered why Livia has never given Augustus a child in so many years? He fathered a daughter, Julia, with his first wife, and Livia had two sons, Drusus and Tiberius, by her first husband. How is it that since they’ve been together, Livia has never borne a child, neither male nor female, to Augustus?’

  Arminius didn’t know what to answer.

  ‘Because she takes drugs that prevent her from getting pregnant. She wanted the Empire to go to the sons of her first marriage. Drusus is dead. Tiberius is safe in Rhodos. Gaius Caesar is at the Armenian front. So many things can happen at war . . .’

  ‘So they are the only two contending succession?’ asked Arminius. ‘There’s no one else?’

  ‘There is, but it would mean jumping a generation.’

  ‘And who would that be?’

  ‘Germanicus,’ he answered.

  17

  THEY STAYED IN RHODOS for quite a long time, and Arminius even had the opportunity to sail to other nearby islands. Those little territories surrounded by the sea fascinated him and he also began to take great pleasure in swimming, especially underwater. Not only did it develop his muscles, but it allowed him to explore a dreamlike expanse of various colours and shapes, although some of the creatures were nearly invisible because they took on the colour of the rocks or sea bottom. He started to eat seafood as well, roasting fish with his friends on the shore over a little campfire, sprinkling olive oil over molluscs and enjoying shellfish, whose delicious white flesh he had never tasted before. And he had discovered the celebrated Rhodian wine which was exported in entire shiploads from the port for sale in all the cities around the inland sea.

  The evening breeze, the flaming colours of sunset, the singing of the fishermen and the women who waited for them with children clinging to their necks, the fish spilling out of the nets on shore: all this was new and magical for him; he had only ever seen the Adriatic coast and the banks of the dark Rhine in which forests of black fir trees were mirrored.

  Arminius had little official business to take care of because Varus already had informers on the island. Direct contact wasn’t lacking either, since Tiberius, who was aware of Varus’s presence in Rhodos, could not avoid inviting him with a certain frequency. After all, they had been colleagues in the consulate only a few years earlier. This left Arminius mostly free to enjoy the company of a pretty Greek freedwoman whom he’d met at a reception to which he had accompanied Varus.

  Nearly two years had passed since they had left Syria and the pleasures of Antioch, when a fast ship arrived at full sail, flying a black drape at the stern and from the top of the mast. Something very serious must have happened. Arminius, accompanied by Rufius Corvus, Sergius Vetilius and his men, rushed to the harbour. Varus arrived shortly thereafter, followed after a brief time by Tiberius himself, escorted by twenty legionaries and two lictors. He wore his laticlave toga instead of his usual Greek pallium, and his military boots instead of his soft leather Rhodian slippers.

  A gangway was lowered from the ship to allow the captain to come ashore with a military tribune and a naval infantry squad who rendered honours to Augustus’s stepson.

  Tiberius stepped forward and the tribune spoke to him directly: ‘Hail, Tiberius Claudius, I bring you lamentable news. Proconsul Gaius Caesar fell victim to an ambush in Armenia, in which he was gravely wounded. It was a miracle that his men managed to save him from the jaws of death and get him to a doctor who attempted to treat his wounds. Heedless of the pain and the fever that was devouring him, he continued to carry out the tasks he’d been entrusted with, but in the end death came to him at Limyra, in Lycia, not far from here. His ashes were taken to Rome where they will be buried alongside those of his brother in the emperor’s family mausoleum.’

  Tiberius showed no emotion at those words. He remained impassive; not a muscle in his face twitched. Two young men in the prime of their lives, Augustus’s favourites and idolized by the youth of the capital, were gone. In truth, they had always detested Tiberius for his silence, his discretion, his reserved ways, but mainly for achieving military glory that no one else could possibly hope to match.

  Arminius thought of beautiful Julia, prisoner on that barren island, and of when she would hear of the death of her secon
d son, torn from her by a ruthless fate. He may have been her last hope of liberation from exile.

  Tiberius thanked the ship’s captain and the military tribune in a few dry words. Not a single detail of that scene escaped Varus, not a gesture or a breath, and many thoughts flooded through his mind. In two years’ time, Augustus had been divested of the two grandsons that he adored and had adopted, in the hope of a direct succession of his own bloodline. What would he do now? What would be the next move from the most expert of players?

  When Tiberius and his retinue had left, Varus turned to his officers: ‘Be ready to set sail tomorrow. We are returning to Rome.’

  THE VOYAGE LASTED eight days, with a crosswind at first. After their passage through the Strait of Messina, the south-west wind was more favourable but also difficult to harness. They set ashore without incident at Ostia and then travelled up the Tiber until they reached their landing dock in the City. Arminius took his leave from Sergius Vetilius and Rufius Corvus. ‘I hope to see you again soon. I’ve enjoyed your company these past years.’

  ‘See you soon then, friend.’

  ‘Yes, soon,’ replied Arminius and he headed off towards the house he had lived in on the Aventine. The dogs seemed not to recognize him at first and started to growl, but as soon as they heard his voice they calmed down, wagging their tails and coming close to be petted by him.

  ‘Well, look who’s here!’ echoed a voice behind him.

  Arminius turned and found himself face to face with his brother. They hugged each other hard and long then just stood looking at each other, both hands on the other’s shoulders. In their eyes danced images of their childhood and youth.

  ‘It feels like a century since we’ve seen each other,’ exclaimed Arminius. His brother looked worn and quite thin, but his arms were as strong as ever.

  ‘You look good!’ said Flavus. ‘You’ve been living the good life in the East, haven’t you?’

  ‘You’re right, I’ve had my fun. The women are magical, divine; they’re enchantresses, like nothing you’ve ever had or could even imagine. I saw incredible places, extraordinary things. It’s a pity we didn’t make it to Egypt. Varus tells me it’s an unforgettable place.’