After the Fall

chapter 12


After three days of pillaging, the Visigoths left Rome for the countryside, taking their captives with them. Placidia refused to speak with anyone, including Gigi and Magnus, keeping to the traveling wagon provided her during the day and her tent in the evenings. Anguished, Athaulf was convinced he’d destroyed all feelings she had ever held for him, and he tried to console himself with the fact that she was safe, and for now, nearer to him than she had ever been.

Resting after a long day’s march, Athaulf sat by the newly dug fire pit, jabbing a stick at the glowing embers. Verica was close by, preparing several pheasants for the evening meal, and Alaric was meeting with men just returned from taking inventory on the booty.

“Athaulf.”

He looked up at Alaric, who handed him a horn of beer and sat down.

“The reports are in,” he said, “and I must say, I’m surprised and heartened at the plunder of foodstuffs, and at the civility of our people during the attack.”

Athaulf snorted and shook his head. “Surely you jest?”

Alaric frowned. “It was a sack and brutal by its very nature, but as far as it went, more men than I would have guessed followed my orders.” He spread his hands. “Much burned, but nothing that can’t be rebuilt in a year, and true, many died, many were raped, but far fewer than I thought — ”

“You heard, didn’t you,” Athaulf cut in, “that the Mausoleum of Augustus and that of Hadrian were pillaged? Our people stole the royal urns, scattering the imperial ashes, as well as those of royal family members.”

“And for that travesty, I shall personally apologize to Placidia,” Alaric said evenly. “But still, it could have been worse, much worse. Above all, the right of Holy Sanctuary at St. Peter’s and St. Paul’s seems to have been strictly adhered to — ”

“And what of the other Catholic basilicas?” Athaulf asked. “Take a good look at our treasure. It is filled with objects from the Roman churches.”

“I have seen the loot,” Alaric admitted. “Yet many Visigoths did follow my commands. I was not the only one who assisted folks into the basilicas. Lives were saved, many people spared. The bishop of Rome is still alive, as is the princess.”

Athaulf frowned. “She was but a moment from being raped when I found her.”

“True, brother,” Verica broke in, annoyed, “but will your precious princess give us any credit for all the things that went right that day? I think not. Her Magnificence has just insisted dinner be brought to her tent again.”

Athaulf glared at his sister. “She asks for no more than our mother. Why has Randegund suddenly decided to stay in her tent?”

Alaric and Verica remained close-mouthed on the subject, and Athaulf knew why. They all suspected their mother had blatantly lied to Magnus about Gigi, sending him off on a wild goose chase, either to be rid of him, or more disturbingly, simply to hurt him. Now that he was back, Randegund was keeping well away from all of them. Athaulf shook his head and poked at the coals again.

“She’s proving a little bitch, your princess,” Verica muttered to him. “Her haughty, willful, pampered self-indulgence is — uh!” she grumbled. “She is much like her brother, conceited and craving flatterers. I can’t see why we should go out of our way to accommodate her whims. She should be thankful we were as gentle as we — Iésus!” Exasperated, Verica jabbed her knife into the meat, leaving it thus, got up, and marched toward Placidia’s tent.

Scrambling to his feet, Athaulf followed and listened from outside the tent as his sister forcefully pointed out Placidia’s petty behavior, accusing her of tacitly siding with Honorius by her refusal to stand up to his brutal treatment of the Visigoths over the years.

“Our brutal treatment of you?” Placidia spat back. “Since we’ve left Rome, you have ravaged the countryside. What of Campania or Nola or Capua? You targeted the wealthy, despoiling the families, and binding their youth in slavery, forcing them to serve you with their own plate and silver. Is that not brutal? You have no justification to complain!”

Athaulf heard Verica roar in fury. “Realize one thing, you pampered, useless butterfly,” she thundered. “Had your depraved brother ordered the sack, no one would have been spared! No woman, neither young nor old, no child, no male. All would have been tortured, raped, debased, and then slaughtered or driven into slavery for his personal lusts. You can’t deny it, for that’s exactly what he’s been doing to my people for years!”

Athaulf stood by as Verica stormed out, but it wasn’t until after she was gone that he heard weeping, ragged, bitter weeping. He couldn’t help himself, realizing he’d probably be shredded by Placidia’s angry nails, but he slipped inside anyway.

Elpidia was there, having made her way out of Rome with Leontius, carrying with them some of Placidia’s personal belongings, despite the danger. Hovering protectively near the princess, Elpidia scowled at him, but left the tent, allowing him his moment.

Athaulf knew he had but one final chance, one opportunity to try to make Placidia understand, to bring her back to him. He took her firmly in his arms, partly because he didn’t want her to flail at him, but mostly because he wanted to comfort her, and for a time she didn’t react.

Then she struggled and tried to push him away, but her arms were caught.

“Placidia,” he said, pressing his cheek against the top of her head and rocking her back and forth. “It has nearly killed me to hurt you so badly. Please forgive me. Please. I love you. I want you to love me again, to be my wife. Your anger is destroying me, I swear it.”

He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away, and they stood like that for several moments. Finally, unexpectedly, just as he was about to give up, he felt her shoulders relax, and her hands moved tentatively to his waist. He swallowed hard, relishing the moment, and tightened his grip.

“Verica was right, as much as I hated to hear it,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “My brother would do — has done far worse, many times. It’s just … sweet Persis is dead. And Rome, it was mine, my home, my people, my solace, and you hurt her, it, knowingly, willingly.”

He sighed heavily. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“Athaulf?”

“My love?”

She looked up at him then, and his heart thudded with hope. Her dark eyes were so beautiful, still sparkling with tears and remnants of anger. He clenched his jaw, wanting to devour her, and it took all of his determination to deny himself a physical reaction to her beauty.

“You wish to marry me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Indeed. Since the first moment I saw you. If you would but give me another chance … Placidia, I am yours.”

He watched as her eyes traveled over his face, and he recalled the words she’d said, the things she’d asked for, so long ago. Would she ever ask again?

“Tell Verica I must speak with her,” she said.

Placidia pulled away then, and he let her go, aching, but hopeful.

• • •

It was late when Placidia dismissed Elpidia, despite her nurse’s pleas to stay. After all, it was time. It was time she stopped being a child, an innocent. Rome was gone and she would never return, could never return. Honorius might think her dead, or he might hear of her escape with the Visigoths. Either way, she didn’t care, because that life was over.

Placidia let her gaze roam around the rustic hide tent with its strange adornments: its wooden poles intricately painted with geometric designs, chairs made from interwoven antlers, furs scattered everywhere. She nodded to herself. It was time for her new life to begin.

Verica had helped her dress, brushed out her curls to their full length, and made sure everything was ready, everything but her fear of the precipice from which she was about to leap.

She heard a soft scratching at the tent flap and her heart beat more rapidly.

“Placidia.” Athaulf spoke her name softly and she turned to greet him, her throat too dry to respond.

“Verica said you asked for me?” He came inside, but stayed near the doorway. He was wearing a clean tunic and new sandals, Placidia noticed, and she let her eyes wander over him, then blinked and swallowed, forcing her gaze to his face.

He looked as hesitant as she, and then his expression changed to shock. “You — you’re wearing the — the gown — from our first meeting!”

Determined, her eyes fixed on his. “True. Verica knew where to find it, since it was a part of the original siege ransom.” She held out her hand, her pulse racing, and she wondered if she would faint before … before …

“Come in.”

Athaulf slowly approached, then knelt and kissed her hand, but she withdrew it quickly. “Don’t, Athaulf. I’m not a princess any longer. Get up, please.”

He smiled at her, his gaze ardent. “I don’t kneel for a princess. I kneel to honor the woman I love.”

Moved by his words, she reached out and touched his cheek with trembling fingers, then his lips. She had kissed them once passionately, and her mind was filled with the desire to feel their heat again. “Please get up.”

Rising, he looked at her steadily, his beautiful eyes soft, warm, and anxious. “You wished to see me?”

She opened her mouth to respond, and then suddenly recalled a conversation she’d had with him once before, when he’d returned her necklace the first time. She blushed deeply, her face hot, her body frozen with discomfiture at the remembrance of that evening, her humiliation after she’d begged him to take her, after he’d honorably declined.

He took her hand again and turned it over, kissing her palm. “You’re terrified, like a trapped little bird. Why?”

“Because I love you,” she whispered.

He kissed her hair, then her temple, allowing his lips to linger. “And this frightens you, my love? Why?”

Placidia leaned against him, welcoming his gentle touch.

“Tell me, Placidia,” he asked as he drew strands of her hair over her shoulder, letting the tendrils run through his fingers, “why are you wearing this gown?”

“Because,” she looked up at him, breathing rapidly, “because it is time you returned the necklace to me properly.”

She looked to a silk bag on the table, and heard Athaulf stop breathing for the slightest moment, knowing he remembered.

He stepped to the table, opened the bag, and drew forth the emerald necklace. Hands trembling, Athaulf placed it at her throat, and she pulled back her hair so he could work the clasp. When he finished, he hesitated, then bent and kissed her, just above where the necklace lay. “I love you, Placidia.”

Sensations, tingling poured over her. “I don’t want you to refuse me this time, Athaulf. I want you to … stay … all night … please.”

Athaulf took her face in his hands and covered her mouth with his, kissing her with a fervor she had not expected. His tongue sought hers, gently probing, and she let him in. Weak with pleasure, she felt a melting warmth between her legs and moaned with desire.

He suddenly pulled back, concern etched across his face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You are so young, so … I will gladly stay, but if — if you’re fearful, after what happened in the palace — ”

“No! I mean, I’m not,” she insisted, flustered. Clutching him, she said, “There is nothing I want more than to be with you … joined with you … at last.”

Athaulf drew her to him, cradling her in his arms. His lips touched her brow.

She looked up, desperately wanting his kisses, but he was so very tall. Instead, unsure and tentative, she placed her hands against his chest and kissed him there. Hearing his sharp intake of breath, she grew bolder and brushed her lips against him again. The fabric of his tunic was thin, and she could sense his body heat, his rapid breathing. Moving her hands to the small of his back, kissing him still, she reveled in his taut skin and muscular physique. He moaned openly and she closed her eyes, her heart racing as she sensed the roundness of his backside at the edge of her fingertips.

“Athaulf, please.”

“What, my love?” His arms tightened and he pressed against her, kissing her hair, and she could feel him, all of him, ready, hard.

“Help me … Athaulf … my gown.”

He fumbled with the straps of her dress, then kissed her hungrily, his desire unleashed as her clothes fell to the floor.

She pulled at his tunic, running her hand over his bare hip, then looked at him and gasped when she saw him fully exposed. She touched him and he groaned her name.

“Athaulf,” she said, desperate with longing.

He picked her up, his hands grasping her backside, and she felt the heat of him against her as he laid her on the bed.

“Athaulf!”

This was bliss, perfection, and she cried out as he thrust himself against her. There was a stab of pain and her eyes flew open in shock.

He hesitated. “Have I — ”

“No, please … don’t stop, don’t ever stop,” she murmured as he started to move gently inside her.

Wanting more, grabbing him, she instinctively forced her hips against his, over and over, and his fever matched her own. She had never imagined so much, never realized … and arched as her body exploded with a mysterious, thunderous pleasure, even as Athaulf tightened, and then convulsed, shuddering in his own powerful release.

Her breathing slowed until it matched her heart’s deep rhythm, her soul’s fulfillment. As Athaulf gradually relaxed against her, she touched her lips to his shoulder. Eyes wide with amazement, she wondered how long it might be before they would do it again, or how anyone could willingly leave the bed, after experiencing such wonders.

Propping himself up on an elbow, Athaulf considered her for a long moment, tracing her cheek, his fingers feather-light as he touched the gems at her throat. “We should take this off,” he said, seeking to unclasp her necklace. “I do not want to break it.”

She stayed his hands, kissing him over and over, whispering, “No, I am bound by my faith … must keep one thing on … one thing at least … when I am naked before you … when we make love.”

He smiled and then stroked her breast, and she trembled, yearning for more.

“How long I have dreamt of seeing you like this, of having you so close.” His gaze roamed over her body, his desire rekindled. “You are a wonder, a vision.” His eyes returned to hers. “I love you, Placidia.”

She drank in the nearness of his beautiful eyes, the musky scent of his warm skin. “And I love you,” she whispered, touching him. “Please, let’s never get dressed.”

Athaulf threw back his head and laughed, then kissed her again, and made love to her again and again.

• • •

The Visigoths moved ever southward into gathering storms. A cold wind howled, the miserable trek made worse when a virulent flu swept through camp.

The rain pattered down as Gigi jumped into bed and pulled the furs up under her chin. She snuggled close to Magnus. “Finally, now it’s my time. I thought your meeting with Alaric would never end. Besides, I’m freezing, so do something, but I warn you, I’m keeping every last stitch of clothing on, so you’ll have to get creative.”

When he didn’t respond, she glanced at him in the dim light and saw the look of pain in his eyes; something she’d hoped never to see again.

“What’s wrong? You’re not getting sick, too, are you?” she asked anxiously.

“No,” he replied.

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing.”

She stared at him, realizing she’d seen this same expression many times since his return. So far, she hadn’t been able to get a word out of him, and she’d always let it pass. Pursing her lips, Gigi decided it had gone on long enough. It was time to force the issue, or at least try.

“What is bothering you, Magnus? Please let me in.”

He turned his head away without a word, so she reached up and gently coaxed him back. “You’re breaking my heart with this, I swear. Please, what can possibly be causing you so much pain? It’s not doing you any good keeping it inside.”

Magnus shook his head, his gaze on the ceiling of their tent. “I live with a terrible shame — many, in fact.”

“Stop it,” Gigi demanded. “You can’t talk like that. What can be so bad, so shameful? You spent months looking for me. I don’t see the shame in that. It sounds courageous and noble.”

“Perhaps it was … I was … at first. I did search, endlessly, but to no avail. Never to any avail.”

“That’s because Randegund lied to you,” she said, her anger flaring over the witch’s deceit. It was a good thing Alaric and Verica were keeping her well out of sight these days.

“True, it wasn’t my fault, but at the time I blamed myself, and because of that, I did things, I allowed things to happen, I even pursued … ” Magnus paused. “I used it as an excuse for all manner of excess, because I didn’t want to know any more. I didn’t want to think, or remember, or feel anything. It hurt too much.”

Gigi shook her head, uneasy. I finally have him talking, she thought ironically, and now I don’t want to hear another word. Apprehensive about what was coming next, she held her breath for a moment and then asked, “Such as?”

“Drinking, at first. Nearly constant drinking,” he muttered. “I visited with my uncle and his family for a time, and he was very gracious and encouraging, but he was whole, and I was not. I didn’t want to see his contentment again, so I left without saying a word.

“Once I was on the streets, my money held out for a time, but after weeks of debauchery, I did what I had to, to keep the drink coming. I sold my armor — I remember that — but then my memories fade.”

Gigi had wondered about his missing armor, but there was an even greater question, and she feared the answer. “What happened to Agrippa?”

Magnus swung his legs out of the bed and sat up, his back to Gigi. He shook his head as if loathe to speak. “One morning, right toward the end, I woke up sick from too much drink and realized Agrippa was gone. I couldn’t remember if I’d sold him, or if he’d been stolen. I still don’t have any idea, but I had money in my pocket for the first time in weeks, so I must assume I sold my old friend. I keep imagining him strapped to a plow somewhere, whipped and abused, where once he’d been so proud and strong.” His voice caught and he cleared his throat, struggling to finish. “He saved my life more than once, and now, frequently, I wake up fearing I might have sold him to a … to a meat vendor.”

“Oh, no,” Gigi whispered in sorrow. She placed her arm around Magnus, hugging him, wanting to reassure. His skin felt cold, and he was trembling. “What can we do? Is there some way to find him?”

“No, he’s gone.”

It was what she expected to hear, but she went on anyway, “But what about your uncle? Couldn’t he — ”

“No, Gigi, no. Agrippa’s gone.”

“I’m sorry.” Gigi shuddered, as much from his bitter tone as from the chilly air. Reaching for the blankets, she said, “Get back under the covers, Magnus. Come back to bed.”

“No.” He stopped her hand. “There’s more, much more. For a time, I thought perhaps you’d gone back into the sparkling mist that brought you here, and I was desperate with the pain of losing you forever. So, I did things, things I’m not proud of.”

Magnus’s voice was so devoid of emotion, she realized she did not want him to go on, feared he was just getting to the crux of his heartache.

She looked into his eyes. “No more, please. It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. Please, Magnus, I don’t — ”

“You must know everything, Gigi. I won’t live under a falsehood. Afterward, the decision will be yours, whether to stay or go.”

“What? No! Stop it, Magnus,” Gigi said, sudden tears filling her eyes. “Don’t you dare! I made my choice when we married. How can I — you thought I was dead, and I get it, but I don’t want to hear it. Not another word.”

“Gigi, I will not lie — ”

“Stop!” She took his face in her hands. “I love you, and I’m no idiot, and I love you. That’s all either of us needs to know. If you say another word, I swear I’ll start screaming.”

They stared at each other for several seconds, then, still holding him, Gigi took a long, calming breath. “It isn’t lying and it’s obviously no longer your dark secret, but I don’t want specifics. I don’t want details. If you unburden yourself, if you insist on this, then I am the one who will carry the burden forever. I have a vivid imagination, Magnus, and it will be inside my head for the rest of my life. Did she do it like this? Did you get turned on when she — ”

“Gigi!”

“So, now you don’t want to hear it,” she persisted.

“No,” he admitted.

“Good,” she dropped her hands and forced a smile, “and please understand, given the circumstances there is nothing to forgive, but I do understand. I really do.”

Magnus shook his head, then kissed her brow. “I need some fresh air.” Getting up, he slung one of the furs over his shoulders for warmth and headed out of the tent.

Gigi watched him leave, and when the flap fell back into place, she started to shake, but not because of the cold. Silent tears fell, and she dropped onto the bed, his words and their significance running through her mind.

With sudden insight, she knew that for now he needed her to be strong for both of them. And he needed her forgiveness, wanted to hear the words, even if she couldn’t listen to what he’d done, who he’d been with …

Another thought jolted her back to the moment. What is he doing? Could he … ?

Gigi got up and shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her cloak and went out into the cold, wet night. Constantly wiping her face clear of pelting rain, she searched the common gathering places, then the alleyways between nearby tents. Running wildly, she splashed through puddles, looking everywhere, growing more frantic with each empty turn. Where was he?

Gigi halted at the edge of the camp, gasping for air. She saw his silhouette, black against the mist of rain, looking north over the Bay of Naples toward Capri, a place he loved. He must have heard her approach, for he glanced at her, but made no move in her direction.

“Magnus, why are you out here?” she asked. “Why are you punishing yourself like this? You can’t just say stuff like that and then leave when I get upset. Give me a few moments, at least, before you run off to fall on your sword.”

He looked at her curiously, then crossed his arms and turned back to the sea. “I did not kill myself when I feared you were lost to me forever, Gigi. I hadn’t planned on killing myself now.”

“Damn you, Magnus! Are you feeling sorry for yourself? Don’t tell me — you’re mad because I’m not letting you tell me every crude detail?” She got in his face and forced him to look at her. “Go confess your sins to Victoria if you want absolution on specifics, but don’t expect it from me!”

“I’m not expecting absolution, Gigi. I have hated that you looked at me with such love, love I didn’t deserve.”

“But … ” She took a deep breath, trying to focus her thoughts, because her next words were critical to their future. “You’re not the one who gets to decide whether you deserve my love or not — that’s my prerogative.” Gigi drew the sodden cloak around her and then reached up to touch his face. “I’m sorry your grief drove you so far. But that doesn’t change how I feel about you. Please, Magnus, I forgive you. I love you.”

She fell quiet and he gazed at her, then nodded slightly, his expression relaxing into the barest of smiles.

“As you will,” he said, “but the next time you run after me, all worked up and in a fright, first look to my weapons. Both my blades are still in the tent and plain to see. Besides, I made you a promise never to fall on my sword, and you may rest assured my oath binds me forever.” He took her hand and kissed her ring. “I believe Victoria has guided me from the day you arrived in the baptistery, Gigi. It was my goddess who caused you to have the ring and brought you back in time. It was also Victoria who extricated me from a vile and unworthy emperor, whom I served because of a deathbed promise to his father, a good man who never guessed his young son would grow into a murderer without conscience.”

“Magnus, I can’t pretend to know why I’m here, but if it freed you from Honorius, then I’m glad.”

He took her into his arms. “It was more than that, so much more.” He kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that warmed her to her core. “I know now that my mission in life is to protect you. You are my wife, the only woman I have ever loved, and I will always stay by your side, no matter what happens. Shall we escape to the ends of the Earth, to that unknown continent of yours? Victoria will surely help. I shall make sacrifices to her at dawn. I will seek her guidance for a new start, asking the Fates to smile down upon us now and forever.”

“Whatever happens, I love you, Magnus. I always will.”

She nestled against him, willing herself to happiness, hoping it would turn out like they wanted, and that fate would be kind.

• • •

Honorius held his bird in his lap, cooing into her ear, “Ah, Rome, dearest pet, the city for which you were named has been destroyed. We must ask our astrologers what it portends, for you are precious to us.” Hollow-eyed, he looked up at Sarus. “General, we would ask that you fetch our conjurers on your way out of our chambers.”

Sarus stood there, feeling the crushing weight of contempt for Honorius, for much still needed to be discussed, including what should be done about King Alaric.

“Rome sacked!” Honorius started sniffling. “We would blame Olympius for this, but he is dead … dead. Oh, who is to blame? Who failed us?”

The emperor started blubbering and Sarus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He feared his life teetered on a knife’s edge. Olympius had been cruelly executed on a whim by Honorius, his ears cut off before he was clubbed to death in front of the entire court. Stilicho had been killed, too, as had so many others, too many.

Am I next? Sarus wondered, knowing full well once Honorius was done with his weeping, he’d lash out, placing blame on …

He let his breath out slowly, and then lowered himself to one knee, his hand over his chest. It was time to play his hand.

“O, Great Honorius, I have heard through my brother, Sergeric, that much more has happened in Rome. Prepare yourself, my lord, for the news is dire.”

Honorius gaped, his fears unmasked. Sarus clung to his hope the little worm would finally give him leave to wreak vengeance against the man he blamed for the death of his wife and children, the one who had stolen the kingship from him, that bastard, Alaric. But would Honorius act against the news, or lash out against the messenger?

“What more?” the emperor’s voice was a raspy whisper as he placed his bird on the floor and shooed her away. “Tell us, Sarus.”

“Quintus Magnus returned to Rome just before the sack.”

“Magnus?” Honorius’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

Sarus nodded. “You know I had spies tailing him in Constantinople.”

“Indeed, and we were quite vexed when your men could not find the right moment to slip him poison.”

“Venerabilis, for that I apologize, but they lost track of Magnus after he sold his stallion to the horse master of the royal court. Magnus disappeared for months after that, only to show up in Rome. He and Gigiperrin were with your sister when she was taken hostage by Alaric’s brother-in-law, Athaulf. It is said Magnus and the bitch flute player engineered your sister’s capture, and Sergeric told me Athaulf and Placidia now share a tent — ”

With a howl, Honorius grabbed Sarus by the throat. “What did you say? Is she f*cking him?” he roared.

Sarus couldn’t speak, tried to get hold of Honorius’s hands, to push away and free himself. Suddenly, several of the imperial guards rushed into the room, and Sarus was knocked flat to the floor. Axes flashed, swam before his eyes, and he felt icy-cold metal pressing against his neck, the sting of the first cut. He was dead.

But Honorius blared, “Idiots, stand down! Let him go!”

Sarus was freed, then pulled to his feet by one of the guards.

Fingers trembling, he rubbed his neck, wiping away a trickle of blood.

Honorius was smiling as if nothing untoward had happened. “Come, General,” he said, “we must put our heads together and hatch a plan. We were thwarted once before, but now it is time. We must kill our enemies — all of them — without delay. As for our sister, well, once she’s brought home … in chains, perhaps, indeed, chains would be appropriate, we shall mete out her punishment. And then we’ll hand her over to Constantius for marriage.”

Honorius nodded, an exultant look in his eyes. “For too long our sister has acted willfully, not keeping to her place, and now she is no longer chaste. We intend to bring her low,” he grinned, “by finding a way to cleanse her of the barbarian seed, perhaps supplanting it with the purity of Rome.”

The emperor’s gaze grew unfocused, and he touched himself.

The blame had been passed on to others. Sarus swallowed heavily in relief, but then shame swept over him as he recalled young Placidia’s sweet gaze.

He closed his eyes, trying to force visions from his mind, depraved visions.

Heaven help the princess!

• • •

Athaulf stood outside his brother-in-law’s tent, listening to him cough. As with so many in camp, it had gone on for weeks, although his fever had abated some time ago. “Alaric, it is Athaulf. I would have a word.”

“Come — ”

Another fit of coughing interrupted the king’s words, but Athaulf didn’t wait. Asking leave to enter was only a formality. He found Magnus inside with Alaric, looking contented and thoughtful, but Verica and his mother were elsewhere. Perfect.

“Take your ease before me, brother.” Clearing his throat, Alaric smiled and raised his golden goblet. “Get something to drink, and then pull up a chair.”

Athaulf grabbed some beer and sat next to Magnus, then toasted the health of both men.

They all drank in silence, until Alaric wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “So, how goes the, er, peace negotiations between the noble Visigoth prince and Rome’s fairest, er, maid?”

“Don’t make light of this,” Athaulf said seriously. “I want to marry her before our next move, and since officially she is our enemy, I feel I need your blessing upon the union, for the good of all. Otherwise, some might take it as an insult, and she might not be welcomed as she should.”

“Do you refer to our mother?”

“Among others.”

Alaric grimaced. “My blessing on your marriage will do nothing to placate Randegund. In truth, I fear nothing will placate her now that her mind is tortured by … demons,” he sighed, “but I — ”

“King Alaric,” a sentry interrupted from outside, “there is a Roman soldier here with a package, one which must be delivered in person to your brother. May he enter?”

“If he is unarmed, of course,” Alaric called out, “let him in.”

Wary, Athaulf stood, wondering who among the Romans might send him something, and Magnus and Alaric rose to stand beside him.

A common soldier entered, looking haughty and unabashed at being at the very center of his enemy’s encampment. He glanced at the three men, his air of disdain obvious when he recognized Magnus. Then, assessing height differences between Athaulf and Alaric, he turned to Athaulf and held out a small crate, bound with leather straps and sealed with wax.

“You are the shorter of the two, so I take it you are Athaulf?” he asked.

Athaulf acknowledged the fact with a slight nod. “Who sends this, and what is it?”

“As to what it is, I wasn’t informed,” the man said coolly. “The sender is none other than Flavius Honorius Augustus, Emperor of Rome.”

Troubled, Athaulf glanced at Alaric and Magnus, then took the proffered box. He pulled out his knife and cut the straps, then pried off the lid. The interior held a glass jar, tightly packed in straw.

Magnus stepped forward. “Leave it, Athaulf. This is some twisted jest.”

“There is a note,” Athaulf said.

Magnus reached in, snatched the small piece of parchment, and read it in silence.

“What does it say?” Alaric asked, stepping toward him.

Magnus’s lips tightened. “When you f*ck Rome, Rome will f*ck you.”

Furious, Athaulf spun around to demand an explanation, but the Roman soldier had already slipped out of the tent.

Athaulf pulled forth the jar and peered at its contents, then recoiled and cursed in anger. A shriveled, blackened head floated inside, a young boy’s head, and a tag read, “Eucherius, son of Stilicho.”

Magnus grabbed the jar and quickly put it back in the box.

Alaric’s gaze was filled with disgust. “Truly, Honorius is deranged.”

“Eucherius must be buried,” Magnus said emotionally. “It is little enough we can do to honor the poor child.”

“I shall marry her, Alaric,” Athaulf insisted. “Placidia must never fall into the hands of that monster. Never! I will not allow that beast to have sway over her again. I will protect her with my love, and with my sword.”

“Say nothing to her about this,” Magnus warned. “Nothing — ever. She must never know.”

“Tomorrow, brother,” Alaric said quietly. “I will tell Verica to make everything ready. You may wed the girl tomorrow.”

• • •

Placidia felt breathless with joy. Athaulf had come in late in the night and held her so closely, so tenderly, as though she might slip away without warning. Then, as dawn lightened the sky, he’d asked her to marry him — without delay — and now, here she was, looking at her bridegroom through an orange veil.

The Arian bishop had just made the pronouncement, declared them wed. Never again would she be beholden to Honori — no! she scolded herself. She mustn’t even think the name, not on this perfect, perfect day. It was a time for new beginnings.

Athaulf lifted the veil and smiled at her.

My husband! To think we found love amid the ashes, after the fall of Rome. Together, we will make a future, together always …

She smiled back. “I love you, Athaulf. I am so proud to be your wife.”

He leaned down and kissed her, gently at first, then scooped her into his arms, lifting her off her feet, and kissed her more deeply.

When he set her back down, everyone was cheering and applauding, Gigi and Magnus most of all. Placidia reached out and took Gigi’s hand.

“I’m not jealous of your love any longer, Gigi,” she cried out, smiling through tears of joy, trying to make herself heard over the noise. “My heart is so full!”

Gigi laughed and started to say something, but Athaulf took hold of Placidia’s hand, pulling her toward their tent and the blessing the bishop would pronounce over it.

She hurried beside her new husband, his big, reassuring hand grasping hers, as though he would never let go. She had always known she would marry a prince of a foreign nation, a non-Roman, and that much was true.

She had never once thought love would have anything to do with it.