Return to Me

chapter 6


The Castle, Barcelona, Spain

Sorrow hung heavy, like a shroud. The castellum was quiet and dark with foreboding, the joy of Christmas forgotten. People tiptoed and spoke in whispers, if they spoke at all.

Placidia placed her hand on her infant son’s chest, feeling his heart, its beat erratic and much too fast. He was very ill, his skin hot, his eyes unseeing and clouded with pain.

Just yesterday, Theo had been cooing and smiling, a healthy babe, but at dawn he had awakened fussy. By mid-day, he was listless, fevered, and sweating. The physician tried ice water baths and an array of medicines to cool him, but nothing worked. By evening, the seizures began — terrible, wracking fits, which no potion or prayer had been able to stop.

Now, deepest night enveloped them, and her little Theo had grown quiet, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he struggled for breath. It was starting to dawn on Placidia no one knew what they were doing, or how to help her babe.

“Oh, Jesus, no!” she heard someone cry out, and then realized it was her own strangled voice.

Athaulf bade Placidia sit by his side. Together, they held their child. Their tears dripped down and bathed his tiny face. Could nothing more be done? She looked at the physician, who shook his head, and then saw Bishop Sigesar standing by the door. Why had he been called … ?

Instantly, she knew they had only moments left. Placidia put her hand on her son’s chest once again, praying for a miracle, but his heart fluttered and stopped, and he went still.

Oh, God, no! Please do not take him from us! Lord, please!

She felt Athaulf sag against her, heard him clear his throat as he struggled with his own grief. She gazed at Theo in disbelief. This could not be happening. It was a nightmare.

Awaken! she ordered herself.

As if from a distance, she was aware of the bishop’s approach, then of Athaulf saying, “Leave us. I will call for your return when we are ready.”

The physician bent and whispered something to Athaulf, who nodded.

Placidia studied Theo’s face, so peaceful now. She fought her grief and cradled him, guarding the desperate hope he would yet stir, but knowing he would soon be taken from her arms, as he’d been taken from her life, never to return.

Awaken, her mind implored, as she fought against the hollow blackness in her chest, a deep chasm where her heart had been.

With a gasp, the babe suddenly moved, and Placidia’s heart thudded back to life. “Athaulf! He lives!” she cried out.

“No, Placidia, he has died. The physician told me this might happen, the last movements as the soul leaves the body.”

“No, he is mistaken!” Placidia wailed. She had felt Theo come back to life. She had heard him try to breathe. “Athaulf, no, Theo is still alive!”

Her husband put his arms around her, rocking her until her wild sobs died away, until her son grew cool to the touch and she knew, she knew.

Gently coaxing the child from Placidia’s grasp, Athaulf took their babe to the bishop, who proceeded to shout the infant’s name into his tiny ear, “Theodosius Germanicus! Theodosius Germanicus! Theodosius Germanicus!”

Numb, Placidia watched as the bishop turned to Athaulf and pronounced, “The soul of Theodosius Germanicus has gone to God.”

Athaulf’s shoulders drooped, tears streaming down his cheeks as he started to remove his son’s bulla.

Placidia felt faint. No, no! This cannot be happening. It is a nightmare!

“Give him back to me!” Overcome, Placidia leapt up, intent on taking Theo and leaving this foul place, but her legs gave way and she dropped to the floor. Screaming, flailing about, she rolled in grief, until Athaulf took her in his arms and the world went black.

That night, Placidia dreamt she was in the depths of hell, being chased by demons. She woke the next day, only to find her hell on earth.

• • •

Standing at the mast, Gigi scanned the horizon in all directions. Not a ship in sight. They’d been the only vessel at sea since leaving Vada Sabatia four days earlier. They hadn’t been chased, so, in a perverse way, the imperial blockade must have worked to their advantage.

Gigi laughed at dolphins swimming alongside their boat. With each leap, they looked at her and seemed to smile as they frolicked at the prow. She hadn’t sailed in quite some time, only on her honeymoon in the Greek Isles, and then on a romantic trip with Magnus along the Turkish coast. Ah, the smells, the wind, the sounds of sails snapping full, the creak of the lines. Everything about it felt right and good.

She’d spent her time at their skipper Lucius’s elbow, learning everything she could, including navigation — something she’d formerly left to modern charts and GPS. Despite her misgivings about ancient vessels, this one had proven very sturdy and easy to handle. The ingenuity of its design impressed her. The planking overlapped, much like a wooden rowboat, but without nails or rivets; instead, the boards were sewn together with hemp rope and then caulked with tree pitch. The boat didn’t leak at all, and the only water in the bottom came from the occasional high wave. Lucius had chosen the perfect vessel to steal.

About twenty, Lucius was funny, lighthearted, and very bright. He was also extremely handsome, with blond hair and blue eyes, not quite as blue as Magnus’s, but gorgeous, nonetheless. He looked like he should be surfing in Malibu, or giving Ryan Gosling a run for his money on stage and screen.

They were all delighted about Magnus’s renewed relationship with Vespera and her son, Lucius. In the months ahead, Magnus would be able to keep in touch with his cousins via the carrier pigeons that flew continually between Barcelona and Vada Sabatia.

And Barcelona wasn’t more than a day’s sail away, now, if their steady wind kept blowing. She was excited to see Placidia, anxious to get there in time to save her little boy.

“Gigi?” Magnus called from the tiller. “I think you should hear this.”

She went aft and sat near her husband, wondering what he and Lucius were discussing. A big talker, Lucius told stories so exaggerated, she’d spent most of her time doubting if even a kernel of what he said was true.

Keeping this in mind, she smiled at him. “What do I need to hear?”

Magnus answered first. “He tells me there has been a peace of sorts between Honorius and Athaulf — and that Honorius consented to Placidia marrying Athaulf in a great ceremony in Narbonne.”

Gigi nodded. “I remember reading about that, but didn’t know Honorius had anything to do with it.” She turned to Lucius. “The Visigoths are in Barcino by now, though, right?”

“Indeed, indeed,” Lucius said. “You will find them there. They had to flee to Hispania because of the blockade, and because General Constantius threatens them. As for the marriage, I believe our great emperor only pretends to be happy about it, but in truth his hand was forced and most believe he did it to save face.”

“That definitely sounds like Honorius,” Gigi commented. “But why the peace?”

“Ah, that is because of Jovinus!” Lucius said, knowingly. “Jovinus was General Sarus’s man, and he was enraged when King Athaulf had Sarus murdered a few years back. So Jovinus made a pact with Honorius, vowing to help the emperor by usurping the Visigoth throne and allying with Rome.”

Worried, Gigi glanced at Magnus, who frowned. She’d never heard of Jovinus, and was shocked at the news of Sarus’s death. Why had Athaulf ordered him killed? She had no idea, but she could imagine how incensed, and therefore dangerous, Sarus’s brother, Sergeric, must be over this. She knew he was already on a path to murdering Athaulf and his children, and seizing power.

“There’s more,” Lucius said. “This is the best part. You can’t imagine how everyone waited for news during all of this. It was so exciting, and for once, we little people were not having to pay the price for the Western Roman Empire’s deeds.”

“Tell us,” Magnus urged.

“There have been many who have threatened Emperor Honorius over the years: King Alaric, of course, but also others like the northern barbarian, Constantine III, who tried to claim the purple for himself, and then Constantine’s son, whose name escapes me. But Honorius is not the only one to have enemies and rivals. That brings me back to Jovinus, who attacked King Athaulf in revenge for General Sarus’s death, but also in a bid for power. However, Athaulf soundly defeated him. He sent his head on a pike to Honorius, and that is why the emperor, quaking in his boots, made peace with King Athaulf!

“But now,” he continued with relish, “General Constantius is the supreme commander of the western army, and, as such, many think he is the one who calls the shots, not Honorius. Last year, Constantius had Heraclian, the military commander of Africa and his rival, assassinated! And now, he has turned his attention to the Visigoths, and this is the reason Honorius no longer quakes in his boots, for General Constantius has vowed to give him Athaulf’s head before the year is done.”

Gigi stared at Magnus and said in English, “I can’t wrap my head around all of this, but it can’t be good.”

“We’ll find out more when we get to Spain,” Magnus promised, then turned to Lucius and said in Latin, “Thank you, cousin. You have been most helpful.”

The young man smiled, but gave no reply. The well of his information had apparently run dry.

Gigi gazed at the sea, watching the whitecaps, a glimmer of hope glowing in her heart. Tomorrow they would be with Placidia and Athaulf. She couldn’t waste her time thinking about politics. Only one thing was paramount, only one; their remaining knapsack held the medicine that would save the baby. And then, she would play her flute in celebration.

Tomorrow. Gigi let herself smile.