The Last Legion (17 page)

‘The admiralty’s bell,’ said Aurelius. ‘Let’s go.’

P
EOPLE STARTED ARRIVING
a few at a time, in silence and complete darkness, mostly men, but women as well and even a few children. They were searched at the entrance, and any weapons found had to be left with the guard. The only light was a small lantern used to check the passes similar to the one which Aurelius had received from Eustatius.

Aurelius and Livia stood in line awaiting their turn. Livia had arranged her hair and was wearing a veil that she had bought at the market which accentuated her feminine grace. The crowd began to buzz as the sound of heavy footsteps and dragging chains was heard, and parted to make way for the combatants who were to fight that night. Among them was a black man a full head taller than the rest: Batiatus! Aurelius pushed closer even as Livia tried to hold him back. When he was near the lamp, he bared his head and said: ‘Hey, sack of coal. I bet a mountain of money on you tonight, try not to disappoint me!’

Batiatus turned towards the voice and found his old comrade in arms standing before him. His eyes glittered in the semi-darkness, and emotion was close to betraying both of them, but Aurelius gave a quick wink and immediately covered his head, turning away. The lanista, the gladiators’ trainer, yanked on the chain and Batiatus stumbled down the stairs that led to the heart of the immense cistern.

Suddenly Aurelius saw Vatrenus pass by as well, and could not hold back his tears. A chunk of his past life suddenly re-emerged in that dark, sinister place; companions he had thought lost were alive and at hand, raising immense hope in him and terrible fear: fear that everything would sink back into the void, fear that he would not be up to the task, that he would fail as he had failed to liberate Romulus at Ravenna. Livia understood what was going through his mind; she held his arm tight and whispered: ‘We can do it. I know we can do it! Bear up now, we’re going in.’

The guard was about to put his hands on Livia, but Aurelius growled: ‘Hey, keep those paws off her! She’s my fiancée, not that whore of your mother.’

The man muttered something in irritation, but he must have been used to such insults. ‘You get over here and let me search you, then – and show me your pass, or I’ll make you sorry you ever opened your mouth,’ he said, putting his hand on a sort of cudgel he had hanging from his belt.

Aurelius showed him the tablet and raised his arms, grumbling, as the guard searched him. ‘You can go,’ he said, finding everything in good order, and he turned away to check some newcomers.

Aurelius and Livia began to descend the long flight of stairs that led to the base of the cistern, and found an incredible spectacle before them: the grandiose
piscina mirabilis
, lit up by dozens of torches, a reservoir capable of holding enough water for an entire city. It was divided into five aisles, each supported by tall arches. The walls and floor were smoothly polished, and the pavement sloped on both sides towards the centre to form a lime pit, a little channel closed by a gate which had to be opened occasionally to expel the limey silt which would deposit on the bottom over time. Looking up, towards the ceiling on the eastern wall, they could see the original water inlet from the aqueduct; once used to fill up the cistern, it was now closed by a gate. A long rusty smear and a slight dripping sound made it clear that there was still water in the aqueduct supply line, but it was probably shunted off towards secondary collectors. Directly across from the inlet, on the west wall, was the old outlet pipe, which had once supplied the fleet tanks with water from the top surface, the cleanest and most pure. Now the entire system, that had quenched the thirst of sailors and soldiers in the world’s most powerful fleet, was nothing but an empty abyss, a reservoir of blind, bloody violence, of man’s most shameful instincts.

Aurelius noticed the buckets of water with butchers’ brooms near some of the pillars that must have been used to sweep away the blood. A wooden shed leaned up against the back wall, probably a changing room for the gladiators.

Livia passed the sword and dagger to Aurelius and kept the other weapons for herself. ‘Where should I take position?’ she asked.

Aurelius looked all around: ‘The best thing for you to do is to go back towards the entrance. You’ll be able to keep an eye on the entire situation from up there and cover our escape. Remember, don’t ever lose sight of me. As soon as you see me attack, shoot down anyone who gets in my way. I’m counting on you.’

‘I’ll be your guardian angel.’

‘What’s a guardian angel?’

‘A kind of winged genius that we Christians believe in. They say that each one of us has one protecting us.’

‘Whatever you can do to cover my back will be fine. There’s my bookmaker. You go and take position.’

Livia walked lightly up the stairs and flattened into the shadows behind the half-closed entry door. She took her bow out from under her cloak and placed the quiver full of sharp arrows on the ground. Aurelius was approaching the swindler.

‘Ah, our mysterious friend with the money. Willing to bet that the black man will lose, then?’

‘I’ve just seen him. He’s frightening! You were right, a real Hercules. How are you going to tame him?’

‘That’s a secret. I can’t say.’

‘You tell me the secret, and I’ll hand over the money,’ he said, shaking the bag he held in his hand.

The man looked at it greedily. ‘If I say it’s a sure thing, you can trust me. Look, this is my share,’ he said, indicating a pile of gold solids.

Other bookmakers near him were shouting: ‘Come forward! On with the bets, folks, the show is about to begin! Who’s betting on the black titan?’ As the buzz and the confusion grew, a group of servants began to set up a kind of iron barrier that marked off the field of combat, while a group of armed men at the end of the room took position. Aurelius looked up towards Livia and nodded towards the security guards, whom she had already spotted.

The first pair of combatants entered the marked off space and the duel began, amidst the increasingly excited goading of the crowd, thronging close. These preliminary fights were just a warm up for the most eagerly awaited event: the ordeal of the black Hercules!

Very little time remained. What had the bookmaker meant about a secret? Aurelius thought he should make him spit it out at any cost, even with a dagger to his ribs; in the confusion, no one would notice. He saw that a huge amount of money was accumulating on the table and was gripped by panic. How could he be so certain that the black man was going to lose? Their eyes met for an instant and the man gestured as if to say: ‘Are you in?’

The guards seemed distracted by the fight, which was getting more furious by the moment as it drew towards its rapid conclusion. Struck in the shoulder, one of the combatants vacillated and his adversary ran him through. The delirious screaming of the crowd exploded into thousands of echoes which shattered against the arches and pillars.

Just then, Aurelius’s ears, which were used to picking up the slightest sound even at the height of a battle, made out some turmoil on his left, coming from the changing room. He slipped along the wall and got close enough to see. Four men had tied up Vatrenus and they were gagging him, while his armour and salleted helmet were being donned by another gladiator of the same build and height.

So that was their strategy! They had realized that Batiatus never dealt a death blow to the man wearing that armour and they were getting ready to punish him for it: Batiatus would be taken by surprise and finished off by an enemy disguised as a friend, and the gamblers would win an enormous sum of money. In his heart, Aurelius thanked the gods who were giving him this magnificent gift, and he crouched into a corner to brood on his fury and channel all of his power into revenge.

They were letting Batiatus out. Wearing only a loin-cloth, his muscular body gleaming with sweat, he carried a small round shield and a short, curved Saracen sword. The crowd roared while the servants dragged away the fallen gladiator by hooking him through the heel. The man disguised as Vatrenus followed close behind. Aurelius saw his moment. He rushed into the changing room, surprising the two guards. He beheaded the first with a swipe of his sword and stuck his dagger hilt-deep into the other’s chest. Both men fell over without uttering a cry.

‘Vatrenus, it’s me!’ he said, untying his friend and removing the gag.

‘By Hercules! How did you get here? Hurry! Batiatus is in danger.’

‘I know. Let’s go.’

As they ran out, Livia, anxious at losing sight of Aurelius, spotted them. She nocked the arrow and pulled the bowstring, ready to strike.

Vatrenus and Aurelius made their way through the noisy crowd, trying to get to the front. Batiatus was faced with three adversaries, but he was clearly striking out much more violently at the two at his sides, and not the man directly in front of him, who he must have thought his friend.

They arrived just as the stand-in for Vatrenus – after a series of spectacular but off-the-mark blows, typical of a sham skirmish – suddenly went directly for the base of the giant’s throat with a well-aimed lunge. At the same instant, the real Vatrenus yelled at the top of his lungs: ‘Batiatus! Beware!’ Batiatus had a flash of recognition and dodged to avoid the death blow, but the blade cut through the skin on his left shoulder.

Aurelius had already knocked over the barrier and run through one of the surviving gladiators, while Vatrenus took care of the other. Batiatus recognized his friend fighting bare-faced alongside him and, having recovered his balance, charged at Vatrenus’s double and felled him with a single slash of his sword. Before the throng could comprehend what was happening, the three of them burst forward with their weapons outstretched, cutting through the crowd and running to the stairs.

‘This way!’ shouted Aurelius. ‘Hurry!’ Pure pandemonium broke loose, with the terrified onlookers scattering in every direction.

The guards gave chase, but Livia was waiting for them. The first two were struck with deadly precision, one in the chest and the other in the middle of his forehead. A third was nailed to the ground just a few steps from the stairs. The others, about twenty in all, managed to reach the base of the stairway and set off in pursuit, shouting out in alarm. The custodian leaned over the gallery to see what was going on, but Livia gave him a push that sent him tumbling over. His scream was only interrupted by a brutal meeting with the floor one hundred feet below.

Aurelius and his comrades had almost reached the exit when the door snapped shut from outside, with the sound of a bolt being drawn. The guards were close behind them on the stairs and the four fugitives had no choice but to turn around and face them. Batiatus grabbed the first within reach and dashed him into the others like a rag doll, sending them all rolling down the stairs. Then he turned and shouted ‘Get back!’ His friends moved aside as he lunged at the door like a battering ram. Shoved off its hinges, it crashed to the ground and the four of them ran outside. One of the guards had been crushed by the falling door, while the other took off at the mere sight of that black demon emerging from a cloud of plaster dust.

‘This way! Follow me!’ shouted Livia, but Aurelius headed towards the flood gate of the water supply circuit.

‘They wanted a swim and they’ll have one, by Hercules!’

‘There’s no time!’ pleaded Livia. ‘We have to go! Now!’

But Aurelius was already at the winch with Batiatus at his side. The gears were rusty and jammed, but the giant’s force released the mechanism. The gate lifted and the water rushed inside with the din of a waterfall. The desperate cries of the crowd issued from the narrow door opening like a choir of damned souls from the depths of hell. The two friends were already running after Livia and Vatrenus down the slope to where Aurelius had tied their horses.

A shout reached them: ‘Wait for us! We’re coming with you!’

‘Who are they?’ demanded Aurelius, looking back.

‘Companions in misfortune!’ replied Batiatus, panting. ‘Move it! There’s not a moment to lose!’

Aurelius and Livia leaped on their horses and guided the others to the mill at the edge of an olive grove where three more steeds were waiting.

‘I didn’t think there’d be so many of you! The lightest pair up,’ ordered Aurelius. ‘Batiatus, that one’s yours!’ he added, pointing at a massive Pannonian steed, black as coal.

‘I’ll bet he is!’ shouted Batiatus, springing into the saddle. At that moment, a trumpet sounded sharp blasts of alarm.

‘Let’s go!’ cried Livia. ‘They’ll be on us any moment!’

They galloped through the olive wood until they reached a cave dug into the tufa, a shelter for the sheep that grazed at night among the stubble. Completely concealed from view, they watched as the fields filled with shadowy figures on horseback, their burning torches slicing through the darkness like plunging meteors. Shouts, angry orders and calls echoed in every crag and cranny, but the old comrades in arms saw nothing and heard nothing. Out of their minds with joy and still unbelieving, they embraced each other with fervour. They recognized each other in the dark without the need for sight, by their smells, by the sounds of their voices broken by emotion, by the rock hardness of their bodies, like old mastiffs returning from a midnight round up: Aurelianus Ambrosius Ventidius, Rufius Aelius Vatrenus and Cornelius Batiatus, soldiers of Rome, Romans by Roman oath.