The Last Legion (38 page)

‘Don’t lie to me, or I’ll have this good woman killed immediately.’ He raised his hand.

‘No, stop,’ said Livia. ‘Leave her alone. I’ll tell you everything I know. It’s true, that sword did exist, but I haven’t seen my comrades for quite a long time. They may have sold it in the meantime, or lost it.’

‘We’ll find that out immediately; you can ask them yourself. You’ll be my negotiator. If I get that sword, I’m willing to let them all go, including the boy. Everyone but you, obviously. It’s a generous offer. You must know that Odoacer wants you all dead. Well then, what is your answer?’

Livia nodded her head. ‘All right, but how can I be sure you won’t betray us none the less?’

‘First of all, the fact that I’ve said nothing to Wulfila. He’s looking for you as well, and it’s a good thing I got here first or none of you would have survived. Second, I’m no bloodthirsty monster. I see no need for slaughter when kindness does the trick. And third, you have no alternative.’

‘All right,’ said Livia. ‘Let’s go – but remember, if you’ve lied to me I’ll kill you like a dog, even if it takes me my whole life, and before you die you’ll be sorry you were ever born.’

Stephanus did not react. He said only: ‘Shall we go, then? All of you, come with me,’ he added, turning to the stables where twenty or so guards were waiting. They followed at a few paces.

‘If you try anything, my men have been ordered to kill you, and to sound the alarm with all the others posted in the woods as well as the garrison. Your friends would be cut down instantly.’

‘Then let me get my horse, and tell your mercenaries to hang back, by the woods. There’s a man waiting for me up there, this woman’s husband. If he sees anything suspicious, he’s likely to become alarmed.’

Stephanus ordered his men to hide behind the trees in the wood which extended all the way to the first snowy clearing. Livia took her horse by the reins and began a slow ascent up the hill.

‘You keep back as well,’ said Livia to Stephanus. ‘There’s no telling how he’ll react.’

Stephanus slowed his step while Livia approached Ursinus. At that moment, Aurelius, Vatrenus and the others appeared from behind a large boulder, just paces away.

‘Livia!’ shouted Romulus as soon as he saw her.

‘Romulus!’ exclaimed Livia. She turned immediately towards Aurelius. ‘Aurelius, listen!’ she burst out, but didn’t have time to finish. She saw the expression of joy and surprise in her companion’s eyes turn into an angry grimace. She saw Aurelius draw his sword as he shouted: ‘Damn you! You’ve betrayed us!’

W
ULFILA AND HIS MEN
had just appeared at Livia’s back: fanned out in a wide arc, they were rushing at Aurelius from the top of the hill.

Livia wheeled around, saw them and understood. ‘I did not betray you!’ she shouted. ‘You must believe me! If you can make it up here, you can mount your horses! Fast!’

‘It’s true,’ shouted Ursinus. ‘This girl is trying to help you. Hurry, quickly, come up this way.’

Aurelius and the others could not fathom what had happened, nor how Livia had suddenly shown up surrounded by their most implacable enemies. They climbed up the last rise and found themselves on flat ground some distance below the top of the hill from which Wulfila’s warriors still descended, their horses foundering in the deep snow. There were at least fifty of them. ‘There are more at the pass!’ shouted Ursinus. ‘Don’t attempt to cross at the road!’

‘Stephanus’s mercenaries are posted down there,’ shouted Livia. ‘He had me followed without my knowing!’

Stephanus, given the ominous turn of events, had turned back towards the road to regroup with his men. Livia pulled the bow from her saddle, aimed and hit him full in the back, at just one hundred paces. Then she turned her attention to his men, who were trying to seek shelter behind the trees: they had seen their leader fall and were thrown into utter confusion by the arrows flying around them.

Ursinus pointed to the western side of the hill. ‘That’s the only way out!’ he shouted, ‘but it ends up in a precipice, and the snow may be icy, so you’ll have to be very careful. Quickly, quickly, that way!’

Livia took the lead but Wulfila realized what was happening from his vantage point at the top of the hill and diverted some of his horsemen in that direction. ‘Don’t forget!’ he roared. ‘I want the boy’s head and I want the sword, at any cost! And that soldier down there as well, the one with the red belt.’

Vatrenus was already racing after Livia, as were Aurelius, Batiatus and the others. Their way seemed clear and they all spurred on their mounts to make it across the most dangerous stretch as quickly as they could; further to the west, they would be forced to ride on the brink of a chasm. They kept at mid-slope as far as possible, as Ambrosinus urged on his mule behind them. Aurelius realized how vulnerable they were in that position and he drove Juba upwards, the better to survey the situation. Just at that moment Wulfila and his men burst from behind a ridge in a cloud of powdery snow, brandishing their swords.

The barbarian was upon him in a flash; he rammed his horse into Aurelius’s mount and sent him flying to the ground. Wulfila leapt at him and the two of them began to fall headlong down the slope, clutching at each other in an inextricable jumble of limbs stiffened by hate and the icy snow. In their wild tumble downhill, Aurelius’s sword slipped out of its sheath and began to slide towards the precipice. A rocky outcropping that rose up over the thick blanket of snow finally stopped their fall. Their hands gripped hard at each other’s wrists as they gasped for breath. Wulfila was on top of Aurelius, staring straight into his eyes, and the barbarian was struck by the realization that he had been seeking for so long: ‘I know you now, Roman! Time has passed, but you haven’t changed enough. You’re the one who opened the gates of Aquileia to me!’

Aurelius’s face twisted into a mask of pain. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘No! Noooo!’ and his cry echoed again and again off the icy walls of the Alps. He reacted as if possessed by a fearsome force; he braced his knees against his enemy’s chest and pushed him off hard, sending him rolling.

As he twisted to his side to get to his feet, he saw Ambrosinus slipping by on the snow not far from where he lay; the old man had fallen from his mount and was trying to break his slide towards the precipice. Their eyes met for the briefest instant, but long enough for Aurelius to realize that he had heard. Shaken, he began clambering back up the slope towards his comrades who were engaged in furious combat. He could hear Batiatus roar as he grabbed his enemies, lifted them over his head and hurled them down towards the gorge, and Vatrenus curse as he faced off against two men at once, a sword in each hand, knee-deep in snow.

Aurelius finally managed to get to his feet and put his hand to his sword to join in the brawl, seeking, perhaps, death. He couldn’t believe that the scabbard was empty. Just then, another squad of horsemen, those who had been guarding the pass, hurtled over the top of the hill and crossed the entire clearing, then changed direction and cut across the slope again obliquely instead of taking the steep descent head-on. That sharp transverse movement loosened a great mass of snow, which began to slide swiftly downhill, growing as it descended. The first to be hit were Vatrenus and Batiatus, fighting in the fore, and then all the others, including Romulus, full force.

Demetrius and Orosius had been trying to protect the boy with their shields from the rain of enemy arrows and javelins trying for the kill. The impact of the avalanche knocked them backwards before they could help Romulus in any way. Even the horses, large as they were, were swept away and dragged towards the chasm.

Wulfila was still slipping downhill, trying in every way possible to slow his fall; sinking his hands in the snow, breaking his nails and skinning his hands, until he finally managed to stop by closing his fingers around a rocky protuberance. He found himself dangling half over the void. His hands were stiff with the cold and no longer obeyed his will to survive, refusing to hoist him up over the ridge. As he struggled against the moment in which the frost would force him to loosen his grip he suddenly saw, not ten paces away, the magnificent sword as it, too, slipped towards the abyss. It had lost its impetus, but continued to slide down, further down, ever more slowly but ever closer to the edge of the precipice. The blade shivered at the brink, slipped over for more than half of its length, wobbled and swayed, and then, miraculously, stopped. The weight of the massive gold hilt had anchored it to the ground at the last moment.

The vision was like a whiplash for Wulfila: he arched his back and, with a savage cry, mustered all his strength and pulled up until his elbows were resting on the icy edge, then one knee and then the other. He was safe. And on his feet. He approached the sword slowly, painfully aware that any vibration of the ground, or even the air, could cause it to fall. When he was just a few steps away, he stretched out on the snow, legs wide, and dug his boot nails into the ice. He eased his hand forward until he managed to seize the hilt of the sword and grip it triumphantly in his fist. He rose to his feet and lifted it high towards the stormy sky, his cry of victory piercing the clouds and smiting the ice-encrusted peaks, resounding at length in the wooded valleys. He climbed the slope until he reached the men who had provoked the avalanche, one of whom immediately turned his own horse over to Wulfila. The weather was worsening as the daylight quickly waned.

‘It’s getting dark,’ he said to his men. ‘We’ll come back in the morning. They’ve lost their horses, and if any of them have survived they won’t get far. Tomorrow we’ll close all the roads that lead to the valley, both north and south of the pass: no one will escape us. It will be easier to search for the bodies by the light of day. I want the boy’s head: whichever of you brings it to me will have a sizeable reward.’ His men followed him down to the rest station at the pass.

It was beginning to snow, sharp tiny crystals that pierced their faces and hands. The stinging sleet soon turned into large, dense flakes that swirled around the horses who descended, ghost-like, on the hillside scattered with dead bodies and patches of blood. Wulfila was surprised to see Stephanus among them, run through by an arrow that he’d tried to rip out in his last spasms of agony. ‘Just what you deserved,’ he muttered, and rode on, lowering his head and gripping his cloak tight to defend himself from the blizzard.

They entered the
mansio
which was heated by a big crackling pinewood fire and sprawled out on benches as the innkeeper spit-roasted mutton and served jugs of beer and loaves of bread. Wulfila was euphoric, despite the pain of his injuries. The most wondrous weapon he’d ever laid eyes on hung at his side, and his enemies slept stiff under a deep blanket of snow. Chopping off the boy’s head would be as easy as snapping an icicle.

‘You,’ he said, pointing at the group sitting in front of him, ‘as soon as day breaks, you’ll go down the road until you reach the river at the bottom of the valley. You’ll block the bridge, which is the only passage to Rhaetia. And you,’ he said, turning to another group seated at his right, ‘turn back on this road until you come to a path that leads to the same bridge, approaching from the west. You’ll have a guide with you, so you won’t get lost. This way no one will get by us. And the rest of you,’ he said to those sitting on his left, ‘you’ll come up with me to search for the bodies. As I told you, there’s a purseful of silver for the first man to find the boy’s corpse and sever his head. Now let us eat and drink and make merry, for fortune has been good to us!’ He raised a full tankard and the others all cheered. Exultant over their victory, they gulped down massive quantities of beer, punctuating each draught with thunderous burps.

*

Juba got back on to his feet with tremendous effort, shaking off the snow and blowing a dense cloud of steam from his frosty nostrils. He snorted, shook his mane and neighed loudly, calling to his master, but the slopes were deserted and darkness was descending silently over the vast field of snow covered by the avalanche. Juba began to lope across, still whinnying and whipping his tail back and forth; he stopped at a certain spot and began scraping with his hooves, slowly pushing aside a little snow at a time, until his master’s back appeared and then his neck. The horse nuzzled him, snorting hot steam on to the semi-conscious man’s nape. That warm, gentle touch infused a little life into Aurelius’s frost-stiffened body. He slowly, laboriously pushed up on his hands and then his elbows, getting to his knees as Juba neighed softly to encourage his efforts. He finally got to his feet and embraced his horse. ‘Good boy, good Juba, I know you’re good, I know you are. Now help me to find the others, come on now.’ A little way off Ambrosinus’s mule had appeared as if out of nowhere, and Aurelius thought of the shields hanging from his saddle. He took one and began using it as a shovel to lift the snow, soon hitting the chest of Vatrenus, who let out a moan.

‘Are you all in one piece?’ asked Aurelius.

‘I was until you started digging into my stomach with that thing,’ grumbled Vatrenus.

A whimpering reached their ears, coming from the other side of the slope: it was Ursinus’s dog, accompanying his master who was clambering towards them with considerable difficulty. The man met up with the two soldiers and said: ‘I’m the one who took Livia in and I can help you. My dog is trained to find people buried by avalanches. We don’t have much time; when night falls, there will be nothing more we can do.’