The Last Legion by Valerio Massimo Manfredi Page A

you know how he worked it? He named Attila General of the Empire and paid the tax as if it were his salary. In reality, the emperor of Rome was a tributary of a barbarian chief, but the appearances were saved and with them, his honour. Killing Romulus would be an act of useless cruelty and a terrible error politically. You are a man of power now, and it’s time that you learn how to wield that power.’ He nodded respectfully and turned away before Odoacer could think of making him stay.
    As soon as the door closed behind him, a side door opened and Wulfila stepped in: ‘You must kill him, immediately,’ he hissed, ‘or there will be no end to episodes like last night’s.’
    Odoacer regarded him coolly; this man, who in the past had carried out every sort of foul deed upon his orders, seemed suddenly distant and completely foreign to him, a barbarian with whom he no longer had anything in common.
    ‘You know nothing but blood and killing, but I want to govern, understand? I want my subjects to dedicate themselves to their occupations and interests, not to plots and conspiracies. I will make my own decision regarding this matter.’
    ‘You’ve gone soft with the whimpering of that kid and the chattering of that charlatan. If you don’t feel up to the task, I’ll take care of it.’
    Odoacer raised his hand as if to strike him, but stopped at a palm’s breadth from Wulfila’s butchered face. ‘Don’t you dare challenge me!’ he said sharply. ‘You will obey me, without any discussion. Go now, I have to reflect on this. When I’ve decided I’ll see that you’re called.’
    Wulfila walked back out, slamming the door behind him. Odoacer remained alone in the study, pacing back and forth, pondering what Ambrosinus had said. He called a servant and ordered him to call Antemius, the master of the palace. The old man appeared promptly and Odoacer had him sit down.
    ‘I’ve made my decision,’ he began, ‘regarding the destiny of the young man called Romulus Augustus.’
    Antemius lifted his watery and apparently inexpressive eyes. He had a tablet on his knee and a quill in his right hand, ready to take notes.
    Odoacer continued: ‘I feel pity for that poor child who has no blame for the treason of his father and I have decided to spare his life.’ Antemius could not help but draw a sigh of relief. ‘In any case, last night’s episode clearly demonstrates that his life is in danger and that someone could use him to sow war and disorder in this country which is so badly in need of peace. I will send him to a safe place, where he will be watched over by trustworthy guardians and assigned an allowance consonant to his rank. The imperial emblems will be sent to Emperor Basiliscus in Constantinople, in exchange for his nominating me magister militum of the West. One emperor is more than enough for the world.’
    ‘A wise decision,’ nodded Antemius. ‘The most important thing is—’
    ‘Keeping up appearances,’ concluded Odoacer. Antemius looked up in surprise: that rude soldier was learning the rules of politics quickly.
    ‘Will his tutor accompany him?’ asked the old man.
    ‘I have nothing against that. The boy can dedicate himself to his studies.’
    ‘When will they leave?’
    ‘As soon as possible. I want no more trouble.’
    ‘May I know the destination?’
    ‘No. Only the escort commander will be informed of that.’
    ‘Must I prepare for a long journey or a short one?’
    Odoacer hesitated a moment: ‘A rather long journey.’
    Antemius nodded and withdrew with a respectful bow, returning to his quarters.
    *
    Odoacer immediately convened the officers of his personal council, the men he most trusted. Among them was Wulfila, still irritated after his recent confrontation with his commander. Lunch was served. When they were all sitting down and each had taken his portion of meat, Odoacer raised the question of where the boy should be sent for his internment. One of the men proposed Istria,