Return to Me

chapter 2


Ravenna, Italy

“Libertas!”

Gigi heard the man’s distant cry and knew the time travel had worked before she opened her eyes. Unsteady, woozy, she leaned against Magnus, who held her fast. The other flutist had played the “Minute Waltz” with her, their music meshing easily this time. The present had given way to the past in a swirl of sparkles and cold fire.

“We’re here, my sweet.”

She nodded and looked around. The baptistery’s interior was dimly lit by shafts of moonlight filtering in through high windows. Bare, shadowy walls. The marble pulpit new, crisply carved. The scent of incense lingering in the air.

Pinpricks of dread needled her spine, and her hands shook. They were back in the fifth century. Why had they done this? Why had they put themselves in such danger?

The children. She took a deep breath.

Magnus released her and sheathed his sword, but kept his Bowie knife at the ready.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said in English, then shook his head and switched to Latin. “Merda — from now on, we must speak my mother tongue.”

“I am terrified,” Gigi admitted in Latin.

He kissed her temple. “Think of the children, think of Placidia.”

“I know. I’ll be fine.” She put her flute away and drew her palla over her hair. She followed Magnus to the door and together they slipped into the night, moving from shadow to shadow beneath the plane trees lining the plaza.

No one was around. A chill breeze sent dried leaves skittering across their path. Autumn. But what year? The air smelled of wood smoke, fish and garlic — the ancient Ravenna she remembered.

As they approached a guardhouse near the southern gate, the Porta Nuova, she knew their most brazen moment lay ahead. Gigi pulled her palla closer about her face.

“Guard,” Magnus shouted, “I have need of horses.”

A slave ran out of the stables, bleary-eyed and confused, followed by a Roman legionnaire coming from the guardhouse.

“What’s this? You have a nerve! These are our — ” Seeing Magnus’s uniform, the legionnaire snapped to attention and saluted, his arm touching his chest, then thrusting forward. “Forgive me, sir. I, I didn’t realize.”

“I have need of two horses,” Magnus reiterated. “Ours are down with stone bruises, and my wife and I must leave Ravenna tonight. I’ve let my stable boy know, and he will be here tomorrow to replace the two I’m taking now.”

The legionnaire saluted again. “See to the needs of the legatus and his wife,” he commanded the stablehand, who ran off to saddle the mounts.

Soon, Gigi and Magnus were passing through the gate. She hazarded a glance at the guards manning the tower and caught one man’s answering stare. She held herself straight in the saddle and stared back, as if she were the aloof, spoiled, high-born Roman wife of a legatus.

His gaze was keen, but then he turned away, and Gigi hoped what she had seen was mere curiosity.

• • •

Smiling coldly, Sextus stood in the guardhouse and mulled what had just happened. His lot had worsened since the death of his general, Sarus, three years earlier. No longer a proud centurion, he and all of Saurus’s men had been demoted after that barbarian cocksucker Athaulf murdered the general. And now, unbelievably, the catalyst for all his woes had just left Ravenna — Senator Magnus and his slave-wife, whom he recalled had the odd name of Gigiperrin.

The bitch had looked at him as if he were vermin. I shall be a centurion again, he thought, and perhaps I will be the one to wipe that look off her face.

He knew protocol demanded he report the appearance of Magnus and his wife to his superior officer, the centurion Caius Galba. But Sextus reminded himself of all he had suffered because of his double dealing superiors. News of this magnitude could not wait, and he decided to deliver the information in person to the one who would most appreciate it.

Feigning illness, Sextus asked to leave the guardhouse. The centurion granted him permission to go back to his bunk, but, instead, he slipped away and headed in another direction.

He found himself grinning in anticipation. His fortunes were about to turn.

• • •

Honorius ran a lazy hand over Baha’s magnificent brown body. She had come to him from the lands beyond the Indus, a gift from his nephew, Theodosius, the emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire. She had arrived on a ship from Constantinople just the week before, and he was already besotted with her exotic beauty.

She opened her pale green eyes and smiled at him.

Glorious! He buried his face in her hair and she wrapped her legs around him.

“You please us, Baha,” he said as he nibbled her ear.

She giggled. “There are not two of you here, sire.”

Perplexed, he stared at her, but then he understood. He was struck by her charming innocence and her lack of fear when it came to conversing with him. He grinned. “We rule as a God-given right, acting conjointly with the Lord, hence our use of the royal we — ”

“Is your god here, too, sire?”

He laughed. “You little minx, that is blasphemy,” he said, and then thrust into her. He started pumping, enveloped by her wet warmth, needing to come.

There was a sharp knock at the door, but Honorius ignored it and pumped harder. Another knock sounded, and he went still, his anger flaring. Who dared disturb his f*cking?

“Venerabilis,” a muffled voice called out from the other side of the door. “Forgive my impertinence, but there is important news, news I felt you would want to know immediately.”

Honorius grumbled and pulled out of Baha, then threw a silk sheet over her. “Enter.”

He didn’t bother covering himself when his minister came in with a legionnaire, and was amused when the men averted their gazes from his erection.

He rose, tied another sheet around his waist, and then sourly addressed his minister, “What is so important?”

The man indicated the legionnaire. “This is Sextus Betto. He is a guard on the Porta Nuova.”

Sextus removed his helmet and went down on one knee; hand on his breast, his eyes downcast and deferential.

Honorius nodded, anxious to get on with it. “Speak. Tell us your important news.”

The legionnaire lifted his gaze, then remembered himself, and looked down again. “O most illustrious Emperor, I have just seen Quintus Pontius Flavus Magnus and his wife leave out of the Porta Nuova, heading south.”

Rocked to his core, Honorius burst out, “What? That is impossible! Their burned corpses were delivered to us years ago.”

Sextus blanched. “I, uh … but Great One,” he stammered, “it was Magnus. I swear. He and his wife escaped the baptistery back then, and Sarus had to cover — ”

“Are you saying it was a lie?” Livid, Honorius grabbed him by the throat. “You were there? All these years you’ve known of this sham?”

Sextus’s eyes widened with terror. “But,” he croaked, gasping for air as Honorius squeezed, “but I … following orders … the bodies … slaves — ”

“You worthless f*ck!” Honorius screamed as he thrust his minister aside and dragged the legionnaire into the hallway. He shouted to his Germani guards, “Kill him! Kill him!”

Honorius let go and backed away as a guard swung with the flat of his axe, smashing the man’s head open against the marble floor, blood and brains splattering everywhere.

A high-pitched scream rent the air.

Honorius turned and saw Baha at the door, horrorstruck. His vision blurred red at the thought she’d witnessed the slaughter, but he choked back his fury, for it was too late.

Seeking to mollify her, he removed the yellow diamond ring from his pinkie and gave it to her. “Go back inside.”

She looked at him, trembling. Her beautiful green eyes were deep pools of agony, loving and sad. He was touched by the depth of her emotions, laid bare for him. His feelings for her were delicious, new and intense.

He smiled. “Baha, go.”

Nodding, she placed the ring on her finger. “Your will be done.”

He watched as she returned to his bedchamber, her hand held out before her, the ring sparkling like a golden star.

Then he spotted his minister still cowering inside the room.

His anger resurfaced. “Get out!” he yelled, pointing to the man, who bolted through the door and fled.

Honorius spun back around and saw the guards hauling the dead legionnaire out of the hall. The trail of smeared blood marred his beautiful marble floor, and he noticed that some of his priceless statues were flecked with gore.

“Clean this mess!” he shouted.

Slaves scrambled to do his bidding.

As he walked away, Honorius’s heart thudded with hate. So, the yellow diamond’s original owner, the flute-playing, slave-bitch Gigiperrin, was still alive.

God damn her and filthy, traitorous Magnus!

Four years had passed since he’d last seen them. Four years! Honorius remembered how Gigiperrin had kicked him in the balls, how Magnus had fought him with subterfuge and guile. Then, one glorious night, Magnus had been delivered to him for torture and execution. He’d spent the evening leisurely whipping Magnus, almost to the point of death, but the bitch had ruined everything. In a bid to save her husband, she’d connived her way into the palace and attacked Honorius. But, just as he got the upper hand in their struggle, at the very moment he was about to ravage her body, Magnus had roused from his stupor and assaulted him, nearly killing him with a blow to the skull.

Fists bunching, Honorius vowed he would execute them as soon as they were brought back to Ravenna, this time with alacrity, and cruelly, by his own hands.

• • •

Titus Africanus stood at attention in the royal audience hall. Honorius stared at the tall centurion, wondering if he had also been a party to General Sarus’s miserable deception. Honorius’s jaw clenched, but he willed himself to remain calm, for he knew Africanus had not been with Sarus on the night in question. Instead, the man had been ordered to comb Ravenna’s ditches, canals, and sewers for Magnus and Gigiperrin to no avail.

The next morning, Africanus and his men had been recalled to attend the unveiling of the remains. Sarus had made a great show of displaying the charred corpses. Honorius remembered how the stench of burnt flesh mingled with the odors emanating from Africanus’s shit-encrusted boots. At the time, he had not given it much mind, for he was overjoyed with Sarus’s work.

Honorius smiled grimly. The corpses were crucified the next day in Ravenna’s main square, to rot in public until the carrion crows had borne away the last, fetid scraps.

But now, he knew the truth. It wasn’t them! Would that Sarus was here to answer for this travesty!

Honorius’s fists balled and he spat, “Africanus, Quintus Magnus and Gigiperrin are still alive. Find them!”

The man’s eyes widened. “Your will be done, Serenissimus.”

“If you succeed where Sarus failed, you will rise to fill his boots,” Honorius promised. “If you lie to me, or fail as Sarus did, then you will die. You are dismissed.”

He watched Africanus bow and scrape and then slowly back out of the hall. He turned to his ministers, who waited nearby, huddled together and, as always, anxious to do his bidding.

Honorius frowned mightily at the men, enjoying their show of nerves, and loudly said, “Summon General Constantius.”

• • •

Sitting on his throne, Honorius thoughtfully gazed at the balding spot on the top of his general’s head. It had taken three days for Constantius to arrive in Ravenna and take a knee before him. The general had been in the region of Picenum, putting down skirmishes erupting among ungrateful and hungry citizens.

He felt excited at the prospect of telling his magister militum, General Constantius, that Magnus and Gigiperrin were alive. Too delicious. And then a new thought occurred to him: he was going to see his sister again.

Aelia Galla Placidia.

He would settle things with her once and for all.

“Rise,” Honorius commanded.

Constantius slowly got to his feet, silent, ready to listen. His bulging eyes were ugly, yet his gaze was filled with intelligence and steely determination. Honorius knew he could count on Constantius to succeed where others had failed.

“We have had some very interesting news since you were last at court,” Honorius began. “It seems Magnus and his bitch of a wife, Gigiperrin, are still alive.”

Constantius’s brows drew down, as did the corners of his mouth. “How can that be, Venerabilis?”

“Sarus lied to us,” Honorius said, pleased to see even more shock register on his general’s face. “He failed in his pursuit of them the night they ran from here, and instead of admitting failure, we have learned he murdered two perfectly good slaves, burned their bodies, and presented them to us as the escaped traitors. To think we once mourned Sarus’s death at Athaulf’s hand. Now we applaud the act!”

Constantius looked angry as he nodded in agreement. “What would you have me do? Hunt down Magnus and his wife? It would be my great pleasure.”

“No, we have a centurion doing that,” Honorius replied. “We now regret the hand of peace we offered that Visigoth bastard, Athaulf, in giving our blessing for the proper marriage between him and our sister in Narbonne. And to think Athaulf named Senator Attalus ‘Augustus’ again, without our consent. Another slight, and stupid, for how well did it work out the first time they named him such? Badly! And we will not be a co-ruler ever again!”

The memory of past wrongs enraged Honorius, and he got up and began pacing. “Our spies said Placidia was well and truly distraught at hearing of Magnus and Gigiperrin’s deaths. But Constantius, we now know they survived, so why did they not flee to her after their escape? And why were they spotted back here in Ravenna, just days ago? They can’t possibly have hidden out in Ravenna all this time, but whatever they were up to before, we are certain Magnus and Gigiperrin are trying to rejoin the Visigoths.”

He spun and faced Constantius. “As our supreme general, you must establish and enforce a naval blockade from Rome to Hispania. They are being hunted down by land, and they must not be able to reach our sister by sea. Take your legions into Gaul. Athaulf has been a pain in our royal ass long enough. We promised our sister to you years ago, and so it shall be! We have had our fill of these Visigoths!”

On a whim, Honorius approached Constantius, and stood so close he could feel the general’s breath. “When you happen upon our sister, capture her,” he said quietly. “Put her in chains and force her to march all the way back with bare feet. She deserves as much. And shear her hair. As for Athaulf, do with him what you will, but bring us his head — and his cock! Don’t put the head on pole, like you did with that usurper Jovinus. We want Athaulf preserved — pickle him with his eyes open, and his cock in his mouth! We will keep him thus as a reminder for our sister, should she ever feel the urge to misbehave again.”