Love, Eternally

chapter 14




Magnus opened his eyes to the dark. He listened to Gigi quietly sleeping beside him and thought about some of the wonders she had described. One, a magical box called a refrigerator, offered cool drinks and amazingly, ice, ready at a whim, even for the poorest citizens. Rich as he’d been, in his entire life he’d only had one iced drink in summer, at Theodosius’s court in Mediolanum. The old emperor had sent his fastest men with lead-lined boxes into the Alps, to retrieve snow for a special toast in celebration of his great victory and the bestowing of Magnus’s ring.

The sound of running brought Magnus out of his reveries, and he rose from his bed, careful not to disturb Gigi. He tossed a tunic over his breeches and followed the commotion through the misty night to Alaric’s tent. Standing in the shadows, he could hear words exchanged, but didn’t grow wary until a name was uttered, then repeated: Honorius. A chill swept through him. What could this mean?

He moved to the opening just as the messenger left, and Alaric emerged, rubbing his eyes.

“Magnus!” he said, surprised. “Your emperor has sent word he wants to parlay with us. Not only that, he has sent gold as a partial payment toward what is owed. It is a goodwill gesture, and he is promising the rest. I believe he has seen the error of his ways.”

“He is no longer my emperor, and I wouldn’t trust him, no matter how much treasure he offers.”

Alaric thoughtfully nodded. “I’ve sent for Athaulf and the other elders, both men and women. We need to discuss the matter and make some decisions.”

“Dawn is close upon us,” Magnus hesitated, then forged ahead, “I will be glad to offer any advice, any insight I may have, though I know nothing of this particular gambit.”

Alaric clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Your words are always welcome. Let’s call for some beer.”

• • •

Magnus stared at the flames in silence. It was long past dawn. A heavy fog shrouded the camp, and the crackling fire did nothing to dispel the sense of icy foreboding that hung over the gathering of leaders.

Honorius wanted to discuss terms of yet another settlement with the Visigoths. He would consider their right to the Empire’s protection and to land within her borders, on condition they stop laying waste to his countryside and fighting his soldiers. Magnus had spoken pointedly against trusting Honorius, and his warning had been heard. Now, he could do nothing but wait and hope their decision was the right one.

Sergeric straightened on his stool and looked around. “If there was deceit in Honorius’s promise of gold and land, my brother would have sent word. He, at least,” Sergeric sneered at Magnus, “is no traitor to his people.”

Magnus let the insult slide. He knew Sergeric’s brother, General Sarus, only too well. A formidable warrior, Sarus was nonetheless shifty-eyed and untrustworthy — and a member of Honorius’s inner circle. Magnus recalled how much Sarus hated Alaric, blaming him for the loss of his wife and children as war casualties while under Alaric’s protection.

“I question Sergeric’s reasoning,” Queen Verica said. “Why has Sarus remained in Ravenna, when so many Visigoths have deserted the legions? What does Honorius have on him?”

Randegund nodded, then spat, while Sergeric’s face grew red. Several men beat their swords on their shields in affirmation of the queen’s suspicions.

Verica raised her hands, pleading for silence. “Daily our ranks swell with Visigoth and Vandal warriors and their families, who can no longer stand by and accept that Honorius murdered Stilicho. The general treated us with respect, and especially me, when the Romans held me captive. He protected me from Honorius’s evil, and I honor his memory because of it. The amount of gold Honorius sent is a mockery, nothing more. He is trying to buy us off with a pittance.”

“I agree,” Alaric said. “Honorius owes us more than money and land. Now we must demand respect. I will insist Honorius give me Stilicho’s title, magister utriusque militiae. Only then will we have equal measures of honor and safety. Since ravaging his countryside these past months has done nothing to persuade him, I can think of only one way we may get his full attention.” Alaric raised his fist in the air. “We will march on Rome!”

Utter silence filled Magnus’s ears. Rome, surrounded? He had feared this in his darkest nightmares, but never truly imagined he would live to see the day, or that he would be among the besiegers.

Alaric looked slowly from face to face, but no one said a word, so he finished on a quieter note. “Because I hear no disagreement, I say we have talked long enough. We have weeks of travel before us, and we must not give any indication of our plans, so stealth is essential. We leave in three days, which will give everyone time to prepare. Then, God willing, we may yet have fields of our own to plow, in time for the next season of growing.”

Soberly, Magnus rose with everyone else, but few around him said anything or made eye contact. That was fine with him, for he wished to depart quickly to ponder all he had heard.

Grinning, Alaric must not have discerned Magnus’s dour state of mind, for he cheerfully called out, “My friend, I suggest you let your beard grow once more, or you will be spotted by your brethren and singled out for a spear thrust, for the hairless, Visigoth-loving Roman you are.”

Several men chuckled, but Magnus was in no mood for joking. Rome was the Source of All, the Mother City of the World. Despite the inevitability of Alaric’s plans, he found himself silently imploring the gods, begging for their protection of Rome.

He turned and saw Randegund waiting nearby, gloating. He pushed past her and thought how much he loathed the old bitch, how he wished she would die before they trekked south, so she would not bear witness to this, her greatest desire.

He breathed in the cold, clean air, seeking to quell his dread. Still, he felt shaken to his core, his burden great. He alone in this camp loved the city that would soon be vanquished, as he had no doubt it would.

The terrible words of Virgilius echoed in his thoughts, a line from The Aeneid eerily prophetic: I see wars, horrid wars, the Tiber foaming with much blood.

• • •

Alaric’s plan to lay siege on Rome worried Gigi, and she silently cursed the emperor for not following through on his earlier promises to the Visigoths. The fog was lifting as they made their way up the hill. She tried to smile at Magnus, but he was preoccupied with his own thoughts, torn between his love for Rome and the brutal necessity of Alaric’s plan. Gigi knew he would stand with the Visigoths, because their cause was just — and because they were also Honorius’s enemies.

But why had Magnus insisted on coming here? She gazed up the slope toward her favorite vantage point. Was something going on? Something wrong?

She swallowed hard, trying to remember her history lessons. What happened to the Visigoths? Did Alaric win them a homeland? Her grandfather would have known, but she didn’t have a clue.

Magnus took her hand as they continued up the slope. They passed several sentries, who waved them on.

“Magnus,” Gigi finally said, “I don’t like the thought of riding on Rome and using a siege to negotiate with Honorius. But … has something happened with Alaric’s plans, something I don’t know about?”

Smiling, he looked into her eyes. “No, Alaric’s plans are as they were.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Indeed, I’m okay, as you put it. All’s well, Gigi.”

They labored on in silence as they climbed the steepest part of the hill. Breathing hard with the effort, they finally reached the top of the rise and stopped to enjoy the sunny vista. A cool breeze lifted her loose hair.

“Gigi.”

“Hmmm?” she responded, resting against Magnus.

“Do you still have my ring?”

Nodding, Gigi reached for her mesh bag. “I’m so glad you finally want it back. Here, put it on.”

“No, it’s not for me.” He looked into her eyes. “I love you. You are so much a part of me that I don’t want to spend another moment without you, ever. I want to seal our union with a ceremony that will honor both your beliefs and mine, to make it permanent. Marry me, Gigiperrin.”

She looked down at the familiar gold-and-garnet ring she had known all her life. Magnus took the ring and held it near her left hand. The image went blurry for a moment, and she blinked hard to clear her vision. With a smile, he slid the band over her third finger.

Gigi suddenly recalled what Vana had said about senators and slaves, how they could never marry. Nervously, she told Magnus.

“Ah,” he grinned, “but I am no longer a senator! And you, my sweet … you are no longer bound to the royal kitchens.”

Nothing stood between them now. Gigi touched the ring. “It’ll need to be resized,” she murmured absently, moving her finger around inside.

“Do you consent, then?”

Startled by her omission, she raised her gaze to meet his and laughed, then threw her arms around his neck. “Absolutely! Of course I’ll marry you, Magnus. Yes, yes, yes.”

• • •

Still holding her hand, Magnus led Gigi back down the hill. Before she got to the bottom, she was all too aware everyone had known about this engagement ahead of time. They stood about, hooting and laughing, and when Magnus raised their joined hands, a cheer went up.

“She consents!” he declared.

The men gathered around Magnus, clapping him on the back; the women surrounded Gigi, hugging her and offering congratulations. Then, almost immediately, and without letting her say goodbye to Magnus, Verica grabbed Gigi’s hand and led her into the tent she shared with Alaric.

“There is much to do, Jolie, and no time to waste,” Verica said earnestly. “You will sleep here tonight, while the men feast. Flowers must be gathered for your wreaths. Berga will show you which ones,” she hesitated and looked questioningly at Gigi, “and I suppose she’ll need to show you how to weave the wreaths as well?” When Gigi shrugged her shoulders, she added, “Indeed, I thought as much. Come.

“I will be your pronuba, the matron who oversees the ceremony, as there are no priests of the old ways here. You may wear my tunica recta and the rest of my ceremonial garments. My niece has a newer tunic, but her betrothed died of a fever days before the wedding, may God rest his soul, so her things are unlucky and must never be worn.”

“As you shall be unlucky, for you have consented to marry the Roman filth!” Randegund exclaimed.

Gigi nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t seen Randegund lurking in the shadows, and she remembered the dagger tucked under her belt, hidden by her clothes.

Verica shot the old woman a sharp glance, and then rolled her eyes at Gigi. “I’m glad to see you, Mother. Alaric has been asking for you all morning. You’d best go see what he wants.”

Randegund nodded to her daughter, then turned to leave. With a strange smile, she glanced back at Gigi with her terrifying eyes, and then gave a mirthless laugh that sounded more like a witch’s cackle.

Gigi shivered, watching her go.

“Please, do not let my mother interfere with your happiness.” Verica patted Gigi’s hand reassuringly. “She is old and, well, as I was saying, we have very little time to prepare for the wedding. Magnus wants a traditional one in the old pagan style, but he has indicated your beliefs should be a part of the ceremony as well.”

Gigi nodded. “I would be honored if your husband, King Alaric, would bless us by his authority and in God’s name.”

Verica smiled. “It will be done.” She squeezed Gigi’s hand. “Worry not, my dear, the pagan ceremony is not as foreign and bizarre as you’ve probably heard. I will instruct you on everything you need to know.”

Gigi nodded again, feeling overwhelmed, trying to take it all in.

“Good! We have tonight to prepare for tomorrow’s ceremony, then the procession of the bride and the wedding feast tomorrow evening and, finally, you will have a night of consecration before we leave for Rome.”

“We’re getting married tomorrow?”

Verica rolled her eyes again and sighed. “As I’ve said many times, tomorrow.”