Return to Me

chapter 14


The Ides of August, A.D. 415, Barcelona, Spain

Sergeric felt the summer heat radiating off the walls of Barcino. Surrounded by an escort party, he and Eberwolf rode toward the main gate.

He’d originally thought he would part company with the little man before entering Hispania, so no one would know they were connected. But his plan had been foiled when they’d encountered Frideger and Queen Verica crossing the pass into Hispania. From that moment on, they’d been escorted, with a courier sent ahead to let Athaulf know of their coming. Regardless, Sergeric was convinced their plan would still work. He just needed time and a bit of luck.

So far, so good, he told himself.

He heard the jangle of jewelry and turned to see what Eberwolf was doing. A shift in his saddle and a glare were the man’s only responses.

Sergeric laughed and turned back to the gate. Eberwolf looked ridiculous in the mimi costume, but making him wear the clothes of a comical and womanish character was a stroke of genius. Constantius’s clowns had taught him the basics, and he’d quickly, if not enthusiastically, settled into his role. Sergeric was convinced no one in Barcino would guess the extent to which Eberwolf, too, lusted for Athaulf’s downfall.

Or suspect his skill as an assassin.

The city gate opened and they passed through, arriving moments later at the castle, where Athaulf, Magnus, and a strong bodyguard awaited his arrival.

The corner of Sergeric’s mouth twitched in amusement. As he’d expected, Athaulf-the-Soft gazed at him as though he’d recovered a lost dog, and Magnus-the-Slave-F*cker looked like he wanted to do murder on the very steps of the castle.

He dismounted, unsheathed his sword, and bowed low, placing the weapon at Athaulf’s feet. “My lord king, your most humble servant has returned. I am, as ever, at your service.”

• • •

Desperate to speak with Athaulf, Magnus paced the king’s private study, relieved to get him alone for a meeting. The attack could happen at any time. All the players were in place. He had to make his friend see the urgency of the moment, had to convince him to do something, anything, to keep Sergeric from acting.

Magnus swiped a nervous hand over his mouth, as Athaulf came in and shut the door.

“I think I can guess as to why you requested this conversation,” Athaulf said, putting a hand on Magnus’s shoulder. “But truly, you need not worry. I do not trust Sergeric any more than you, and my guards have been tripled for months, on your insistence.”

“And despite my months of warnings, despite the fact I told you he would come back, you welcomed him home!”

“I did not ‘welcome him,’ as you say. I allowed his return and took the sword he offered. He has ever been one of the Visigoth captains, first for Alaric, then for me. He is part of our inner circle, and yet now he has neither weapons nor power, and he is watched at all times. Until there is evidence of some crime, I cannot simply lock him up, or banish him.”

“Athaulf, you cannot be serious!” Magnus raged, and resumed pacing. “He is slime, a faithless cur! I assure you Sergeric is doing everything in his power to see you dead. Do you really think he can’t find himself a blade? How can you be so blind to the threat?”

“I am not blind to the threat, Magnus,” Athaulf replied. “Calm down.”

“How can I be calm when I know, I know, Sergeric is plotting your murder at this very moment.”

“You’ve claimed this for months, and yet you give no proof in your assertions. Are you holding back some information that would convince me, or might your hatred of the man be coloring your thoughts?”

Magnus stared at Athaulf. Of course he had information. He had knowledge, because somewhere in the future, it had already happened. “Please hear me,” he spoke quietly. “Think of all you have gained for your people. Think of your family. Think of Placidia, and the unbearable pain it would mean for her if Sergeric succeeds. And then think of the day after. The Visigoths destroyed. Your family, destroyed, and Placidia, in her grief, once again a pawn in Honorius’s evil game.”

He saw the muscles flex along Athaulf’s jawline, and hoped he’d finally gotten through, but when Athaulf responded, his voice was dark with anger, his eyes glinting.

“Don’t, for a moment, think I don’t hold my wife and family first in my considerations, or that I don’t realize that her protection is only as strong as the breath I draw.”

Magnus bowed his head. “I know you are not taking this lightly, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. It’s just that I feel we are standing on the edge of a steep cliff, and even the most insignificant moment of inattention could prove fatal.”

There was a prolonged silence between them, as each sought to control his emotions.

Finally, staring at the floor, Athaulf shook his head. “Do you suspect the mimi he brought with him is implicated? He has been entertaining everyone at court. For my part, I doubt he is a threat.”

“Don’t discount anyone. Everyone is suspect and I am having him watched as well.”

“As you will,” Athaulf said. “I know your heart is troubled, and I respect your instincts. If there is anything further you think needs doing to ensure my safety, please see to it, including keeping Sergeric and his little friend under constant surveillance. You have my blessing.”

• • •

The stars were bright, the air blessedly cool. Titus Africanus rode into Hispania on a little used pass north of Barcino, leading his men by stealth and darkness of night. When they reached the last hillcrest before the town, he raised his hand, halting his men. He walked his horse forward from the rest and looked out at the vista.

Africanus searched the coastline for twinkling lights, lanterns, or torches, but he could see nothing except the faint and meandering line of pearly waves, snaking the ink-black sea. Just inland, a bank of fog obscured his view, and he guessed Barcino lay there, swathed in mist and waiting.

He thought back to that afternoon, when he’d gotten word Sergeric and Eberwolf had already reached Barcino. He mulled Sergeric’s plans, recalling how the man wanted to take his time, renewing the bonds of friendship with his fellow Visigoths before he seized power.

Africanus doubted Sergeric could wait much longer, or pull off so seamless a transition to power, feeling the Visigoth dramatically underestimated not only the panic that would ensue at the death of Athaulf, but also the king’s personal popularity. Sergeric would find himself in the middle of a debacle, and it would be Africanus’s responsibility to step in and take control. He planned to do just that, he would infiltrate Barcino in disguise, his men following afterward, one at a time, until they were all in position, ready to strike.

He turned his thoughts to Magnus. He no longer had any illusions about what it would take to capture him. Either he’d have to seize the wife first, and thus force Magnus’s hand, or he’d have to kill him outright. Could he beat Magnus one on one? Magnus’s prowess was legendary, and he must assume it would come down to that.

He considered the view a moment longer and swore he caught the barest hint of briny air. Africanus took a deep, appreciative breath, vowing to bathe in the sea as soon as he could, or have his men wash his corpse in the waves if he could not.

He steeled himself against the latter. To question or worry about the outcome between himself and Magnus was useless. Africanus knew he’d have to win, or else he would be dead. There was no middle ground.

“Be warned, Magnus,” he spoke aloud, “I do not intend to die.”