Return to Me

chapter 17


Initially following the trail of blood, Magnus encountered a contingent of Visigoth warriors, along with their chieftain, Wallia. He told Magnus what he knew of the king’s death. He reassured him the body was well guarded, although he had no specific information about Gigi or the king’s family, other than that Gigi and Placidia had left the bedchamber.

Magnus prayed to Victoria and all the gods they were safe.

Word was starting to get out about the king’s murder and the corridors were filling with panicked people.

Several servants hurried toward them.

“Is it true? Oh, Lord have mercy, tell us it isn’t true!”

Magnus shook his head, but before he could speak, someone grabbed his arm.

“Why have you ordered the chapel barred to us? We would pray for our king’s eternal soul.”

Magnus exchanged a look with Wallia and together they took off.

As they approached the chapel’s closed door, no one stood guard. Magnus tried the door, but it was bolted from the inside.

He pounded on it and shouted, “Bishop, it is Quintus Magnus. I am accompanied by Wallia and his loyal troops. May we be admitted?”

He heard footsteps and waited as someone on the other side worked the bolt. The door swung open and Leontius stood there, gripping a short sword.

Before entering, Magnus turned to Wallia. “Stay out here and guard the door.”

Magnus went inside and secured the door, then surveyed the chapel. His guts twisted — the floor was covered with blood! The queen, on the floor, her gown blood-soaked, too, sobbed in Elpidia’s arms. The bishop sat on a bench, his head covered with a bloody bandage. There was no one else in the chapel.

Gigi!

But for the queen’s lamentations, there was a chill silence in the room. “Where is everyone?” Magnus demanded.

“Gone,” Leontius sadly replied.

Placidia began to wail. Stunned, Magnus fought for control. “What do you mean?” he shouted. “Be clear, Leontius. Where have they gone, and where is Gigi?”

“She is alive,” he replied, his voice low and for Magnus’s ears alone. “Vana is alive as well. The queen has assured me that when last she saw them, they were unharmed — all of them, and that you would understand the import of this message.”

Leontius held Magnus’s gaze in a hard stare, and Magnus released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He nodded.

Leontius nodded back. “No one else must ever know.”

“Agreed.”

Magnus unbolted the door and looked at Wallia. “They were murdered,” he said, letting all of his emotions pour into the lie. “All of the children were murdered.”

The soldiers standing behind Wallia bellowed in protest.

“Luifs Guth!” Wallia swore. “Who would do such an evil thing?”

Without waiting for an answer, Wallia, looking grim, motioned his men inside.

Magnus went to Placidia and knelt before her. He bowed his head. Leontius’s news was beyond his greatest hope, but grief still hung heavy. “My queen, dearest Placidia, I … ” Words failed him. He cleared his throat, struggling for control.

Placidia looked at him. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes swollen and red with sorrow. He glanced at Elpidia. The woman glared back. No overt signs of grief. He wondered if she knew, also.

The queen raised her arms and Magnus gently lifted her to her feet. He held her, rocking her, caressing her hair. He had known her since she was a child, had spent a lifetime protecting her, shielding her, and yet, in her greatest moment of need, he had been absent. He had failed. Her husband was dead.

I failed.

Tears filled Magnus’s eyes as he continued rocking her back and forth, speaking softly, trying in vain to staunch the pain that would never heal. “My little princess,” he murmured. “My dear little princess.”

Wallia and his men suddenly moved into a defensive formation, and Magnus was aware of footsteps fast approaching, the sounds coming from the direction of the bishop’s private rooms. Putting Placidia behind him, he drew his sword.

The door swung open and Gigi burst in.

Upon seeing Magnus, she halted and locked her gaze with his. Pale and stricken as she was, ragged with fatigue and grief, Magnus caught the gleam of triumph in her eyes, and he knew, he knew, the children were out of harm’s way.

“Go, Magnus,” Placidia said. “Go to your wife. Elpidia will see to my needs.”

He kissed the queen’s brow and turned, but before he could move a step further, Gigi rushed into his embrace.

• • •

Gigi held Magnus, breathing in his scent, feeling his warmth. He was alive!

His arms tightened around her.

“My sweet,” he whispered into her hair. His voice was filled with relief, and such sadness.

She drew back and kissed his lips, wanting to convey all the love she felt for him. She realized he would not soon forgive himself for Athaulf’s death, even though he had already admitted that altering the major events of history was probably beyond their capabilities.

“We could not change the path of history,” she quietly said. “But we succeeded, too. Don’t forget why we came here in the first place.”

“Where are they?” he asked her in English.

Gigi shook her head. “I can’t tell you,” she answered in English. “In the off chance Sergeric captures us, torture cannot bring out what you don’t know. It’s little enough, but I’ll protect the kids any way I can.”

His eyes softened slightly, and he nodded approval. “They deserve no less a warrior fighting on their behalf. I’m proud of you.” He looked away for a moment, then grimly added, “You must know something. I was delayed reaching Athaulf. I was ambushed by a Roman soldier named Titus Africanus, the one from Vada Sabatia. We fought and I prevailed. He’s surely dead by now, but his mission was to capture both of us, I’m sure, and take us back to Honorius.”

Gigi was stunned. Honorius! Even now, even here! Would they never be rid of that bastard? Enraged, she swallowed her fear. She couldn’t worry about that now.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “I need to talk to the bishop before we go.”

She turned to Bishop Sigesar and switched back to Latin. “Sergeric is behind this. You need to make it very clear to the people of Barcino, and all the Visigoths, that he has not only the king’s blood on his hands, but that of seven innocent children as well. He is despicable. You must get the people to stand with you, in case he tries to seize power. In the meantime, we must protect the queen.”

Wallia stepped forward. “We plan to take King Athaulf’s body into the mountains, to keep him safe from his enemies.” He turned to the queen. “My lady, it is my wish that you accompany us. We can keep you safe.”

Gigi grasped Magnus’s arm. “Maybe we should go with them. We can explain everything to Placidia … ”

Magnus nodded and Wallia said, “As you wish.”

The darkness of this night still weighed on Gigi, and she deeply mourned Athaulf, but now she saw glimmers of hope. The children were alive and safe with Lucius and Vana. She and Magnus had survived, and, with Wallia’s help, they would protect Placidia for as long as possible.

Dawn’s pale light touched the chapel windows. Events seemed to be turning in their favor.

She could feel it in her bones.

• • •

“Shit!” Sergeric muttered as he strode the corridors of the castle, sword drawn, looking for signs of the assassin. What in hell happened? There were rumors of Roman legionnaires having infiltrated Barcino, but he hadn’t seen anyone matching that description, let alone captured one. No one claimed to know anything, and most were accusing him of murdering Athaulf! Would that it were so! But Christ Almighty, someone had beaten him to the punch. Who was it? Had Constantius double-crossed him? If not him, who?

And where was Eberwolf?

It was just past dawn, and chaos reigned. He’d managed to gather some of the castle guard to his side, and together they did what they could to bring calm. Despite the turmoil, Sergeric was cautiously hopeful. Had there been a coup? Was this the moment he’d most sought?

Finding no sign of resistance, Sergeric and those who followed him went to the king’s chambers to see for themselves what had happened.

He halted in the doorway to the bedchamber and stared. Several serving women knelt, weeping and scrubbing the floor. There was a vast amount of blood.

“Where is the king?” Sergeric demanded.

The women looked up, startled. “We do not know,” one answered, her voice thick with grief. “We were ordered to clean up, but, God rest his soul, the king was already gone.”

Speechless, Sergeric turned to his men.

“He’ll be laid out in the chapel,” one of the men offered.

Sergeric nodded and headed for the chapel. When he got there, he found the door hanging open, blood everywhere, and the bishop lying prostrate at the foot of the altar.

“Christ! They’ve killed him, too?” Sergeric exclaimed.

Suddenly, the bishop was on his feet. “May God strike you dead!” he shouted, shaking a finger at Sergeric. “Strike off his head for the evil he has done this day! The murder of innocents can have no other outcome. Send him to hell — now!”

“Quiet, old man!” Sergeric shouted back. “What the hell are you talking about? The king is dead, but not by my hand, as you seem to think. And he was no innocent, either.”

Enraged, Bishop Sigesar launched himself at Sergeric, but the soldiers stopped him, although he continued to claw and rail. “The children! Your man butchered the king’s children! Right here, before the very eyes of God, you had them butchered! How can the world breed such evil, and yet survive?”

Sergeric’s mouth dropped open, and he looked again at the blood covering the floor. Could it be true? He dragged his gaze back to the bishop and considered his injury. Certainly head wounds tended to bleed profusely, but there was more here than a single wound would produce.

The Visigoths holding the bishop started to glare at Sergeric, and he realized they would not tolerate a child-killer. His hold over them was slim and temporary, at best, and now they looked as though they were about to turn. He had to regain the moment.

“Calm down and speak plain,” he ordered the bishop. “I am responsible for none of this night’s events, but you say the children — Athaulf’s? — were all murdered? Here? Where are their bodies?”

Bishop Sigesar stopped struggling and dropped his arms, so the men loosened their hold. “The queen herself was witness to the slaughter on this very spot, forced to watch as each of the children was struck down. They were under my protection, all of them, and they were ripped from our very arms and butchered. You had them butchered!”

Sergeric pondered this news. He did not care that the children were dead, but he had planned to make them quietly “disappear” only after the crown was securely on his head, perhaps by an accident of fate.

He could feel his world spinning out of control and fought to save his future. “Who would butcher the children? Can you identify him, at least? Can you give any pertinent information we can act on, instead of flinging lies and accusations?”

Tears suddenly sprang from the old bishop’s eyes, and his shoulders slumped as he covered his face with his hands. “It was my fault! He had the voice of a woman, begging to be let in for safety’s sake.”

Eberwolf! Sergeric thought, reeling. That little shit did all of this!

“He was dressed as a female servant, and barged in as soon as I opened the door,” the bishop continued. “He slashed at me and knocked me down. I do not recall what happened after that, but when I finally came ’round, the queen was with me, lamenting the loss of her children. She said your mimi had murdered them all, and she did not know where he was, or what he had done with the bodies of her precious babes.”

“Eberwolf,” Sergeric confirmed, facing the obvious head-on. “I met him in Gaul, where he danced and cavorted and told jokes. That f*cking mimi. Who would have imagined such evil lurked within such a body?” He looked at the soldiers, one by one. “Honorius,” he exclaimed. “Eberwolf must be Honorius’s man. You all heard the rumors of Romans in the castellum when the king was murdered. How would they have known when to enter if not for a signal from within, from Eberwolf?”

Sergeric could discern a change in the men’s faces; even the bishop’s expression had softened. He took a deep breath and put a gentle hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Do not blame yourself. Great harm has been done to the Visigoths and the people of Barcino this day, but the fault, as ever, belongs to Honorius and his minion, Eberwolf. We must assume he has somehow spirited away the king’s body, as well, but we will track him down and see he pays for his evil.”

There was silence for a moment, and Sergeric was about to move out when the bishop straightened and glared at him once more.

“The murderer does not have the king’s body. The king’s personal guard came after I awoke, and soon after that, Magnus and his wife arrived to comfort the queen. I learned it was she who asked the guards to take the body and hide it, for they feared you would desecrate the remains.”

An angry heat tore through Sergeric at this insult, for he would never stoop so low. Even the corpse of King Alaric — a man whom Sergeric had cursed and hated — had been safe with him. Only the bastard Romans, or the loathsome Huns, were known to do such depraved things to the remains of their enemies.

“Listen well, bishop,” Sergeric spoke through clenched teeth, “I had no hand in any of this. So, what about Magnus and his whore of a wife? They have feigned loyalty to the Visigoths for years, yet, curiously, when they are in our midst, all our plans are continually thwarted. Think on this: I believe they have been feeding Honorius information. How else could the emperor have been so successful? How else could he have found a way to insert an assassin here, in the castle, if not for Magnus? We all know Honorius is not smart enough to achieve such a master-stroke on his own.”

Everyone stood silent, digesting the information, and Sergeric could tell by their nods he had won them over. A smile flitted through his mind, but he did not let it show. How he had managed to sway Athaulf’s men to his side and condemn Magnus with the same breath was beyond his understanding, but he was delighted. God was indeed good.

“Come, we have much to do,” Sergeric said. “We must find the murderer and the bodies, if we can, then take control of the castellum, and see that the people fully understand what has happened. And we must make sure we are in readiness, should the Roman filth try to do more harm.” He started to walk out, the soldiers following dutifully, but he turned at the door. “Bishop, please arrange for a Holy Mass to be held for the king and his children. And do you know where we might find the queen? I fear she may yet be harmed.”

Wringing his hands, his brow furrowed, the bishop said, “She is gone. She and her servants left with Magnus and his wife. They spoke of a secret hiding place, where they would all be safe.”

Sergeric stared at him for a moment, then turned, slammed his fist into the wall, and left the chapel.