Return to Me

chapter 8


The Royal Palace, Ravenna, Italy

There was no sound in the great hall; even the chickens had fallen silent.

Frightened, Honorius sat on his throne and stared at the hag. His courtiers looked just as afraid. Many made signs against the evil eye, and several ladies looked as if they were near to swooning, for the woman was hideous: humpbacked; her skin painted with whirling streaks of blue woad; her hands gnarled, with long, twisting, yellow fingernails.

She had been found at the city gates, wailing like a demon and demanding an audience with the emperor. Of course, no one would ever have considered granting her such an honor, until it was reported she claimed her name was Dipsas.

Curious, Rutilius Namatianus, poet and Master of the Royal Offices, had offered to question her, explaining that the great poet, Ovid, had once written about an old witch he had known, one who possessed the same unusual name.

Afterward, Namatianus had raced to Honorius’s side, beseeching him to grant her request, for her tale was far too compelling to ignore.

Honorius studied the woman’s eyes, trying to see past the glaze of rheumy-blue. He fell back in shock when he discerned two pupils in her left eye.

Ovid’s words thundered to mind: Et fama est oculis quoque pupula duplex fulminat … in her eyes shines a double pupil …

But … it must be a coincidence. Ovid and Dipsas lived hundreds of years ago!

“O Great One,” she cackled, “I would recite a poem for you.”

Honorius summoned his courage and nodded his assent.

“Est quaedam nomine Dipsas anus … there exists an old hag named Dipsas learned in magic. She hath power to turn the swiftest rivers and make them flow backwards toward their sources. Skilled is she in the virtues of herbs. She need but to wish, and lo, the heavens grow dark with heavy clouds; to wish again, and lo, the heavens shine in purest splendor. I have seen, wouldst thou believe, blood drip from the stars. I have seen blood overspread the face of the moon — ”

Gasps erupted from the crowd. The hag grinned at Honorius, what few teeth she had as ugly and yellow as her nails. “My lord,” she crowed, “Master Ovid’s words speak of truths beyond your ken, a well of knowledge as deep and old as time, and known to but a few.”

Honorius gripped the arms of his throne and strove for calm. “Explain yourself,” he said, “in plain speech.”

She looked at the court magicians, astrologers, and mathematicians standing nearby, who seemed to wither beneath her stare. “I am older than any alive, older even than Rome, for I hearken back to ancient days when men wore skins and cut their meat with sharp stones. I am a conjurer of dreams and nightmares. By my spells, a blood moon arose last October. Did they not tell you?” She pointed to the royal advisors. “It portended great change for you and your realm.”

Honorius recalled the lunar eclipse of the past autumn, when the moon had indeed turned red. His astrologers had assured him it was not an evil omen, but now he remembered it came just a few weeks before the news that Magnus and Gigiperrin had been spotted leaving Ravenna via the southern gate.

“You are late in the telling of this,” Honorius said. “Why?”

“I was far away at the time,” Dipsas answered. “Long has been my journey, but I have reached you at last. There is more, my lord. The blood moon to come, the March moon, shall be my doing as well.” She began to chant, “They are close, yet far, close, yet far.”

Honorius’s heart pounded. It was obvious she referred to Magnus and Gigiperrin.

“Behold!”

Honorius started as the hag raised her arms and again cried out, “Behold, behold! See what has been unleashed on Rome!”

A contingent of soldiers, led by a tall centurion, strode into the throne room.

Honorius gaped. Titus Africanus? He swayed and almost fell from his chair.

Africanus halted before the throne, tapped his chest with his arm, and then thrust it out in the Roman salute.

Honorius saw the centurion’s gaze stray to Dipsas, but the man quickly regained his focus and bowed his head, in deference to his emperor.

“Africanus, what brings you here?” Honorius asked.

“A thousand pardons, Serenissimus — ”

“Come!” Dipsas interrupted, beckoning the other soldiers forward. “All of you, come! Show the emperor what you have found!”

Honorius felt his blood roil. Audacious bitch! They are not hers to command! She would die for this outrage, her powers be damned.

He stood and addressed Africanus, “What has happened? We had explicit instructions for you to pursue our enemies.”

“Your Majesty,” he replied, still keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. “General Constantius gave me direct orders to return here with the discoveries.”

A hot rush of excitement surged through Honorius’s veins. For the first time, he noticed the soldiers held bundles, wrapped in heavy cloth. “What have you found, Africanus?”

The centurion looked up. “Objects that belonged to Quintus Magnus and his wife, Gigiperrin.”

“Belonged?” Honorius felt crushing disappointment, for he had wanted to kill them himself. “Are you telling us they are already dead?”

“No, my lord. They are alive. When last I heard, they were still on the run. I have brought their things, that which was found on one of their horses. The beast went astray and we found it.”

Honorius stared at the centurion, considering. Why would Constantius bother him by sending Africanus back here with their things? There had to be some new threat …

“You must rid yourself of them once and for all, Great One,” Dipsas interjected. “You will need my help to do this.”

Honorius turned. The hag stood taller, her back straighter than before. At that moment, he swore he saw double flashes of light in her left eye, little gleams of triumph.

He sat on his throne chair. She was interesting, and he guessed her power was great. She might be a boon to his plans.

He would let her live.

• • •

Africanus knelt before his emperor. Weary from his long journey, yet excited to display his discoveries, he ignored the audacious old woman and began, “Venerabilis!” He hesitated, then carefully modulated his voice, “O most noble and praiseworthy Emperor Honorius, I humbly request that you empty this hall of all but your most trusted advisors, keeping only those with expertise in the scientific and magical arts.”

Honorius rubbed his chin, and then dismissed the entire assemblage, with the exception of four older men and the strange woman.

“You may rise,” Honorius said, once the room was cleared.

Africanus got to his feet and commanded his soldiers to place the wrapped objects on the floor directly before the throne. “As you have heard,” he said, “Quintus Magnus left Ravenna some two months past, dressed as a legatus.” With a sweep of his hand, he indicated the object closest to him. “Of course, we know that by your order he lost the rank and great honor of being a legatus of Rome after his defeat and capture by Alaric.” He pulled off the cover, revealing a bronzed leather breastplate, along with a warrior’s skirt. “But Magnus did not wear one of his old uniforms, nor did he acquire it by stealth or deception. In fact, the origin of this uniform is a mystery.”

Honorius rose from his throne and came over, his gaze narrowing as he touched the breastplate with his foot. “It does not look mysterious to us,” he sniffed.

“There are mysteries as to the methods used in its manufacture, Venerabilis. There is also a strange inscription inside.”

“Show us that.”

Africanus pointed to one of his soldiers, who took the breastplate and opened it, revealing the interior. Honorius motioned to one of his advisors. The man wore a blue silk robe covered with elaborate embroidery, stars and crescent moons. The two bent their heads to examine the swatch of cloth affixed to the breastplate’s inner surface.

Africanus waited a moment longer, then said, “As you can see, the writing is strange, but the words can be deciphered, although their meaning is unfathomable, for the tongue is a foreign butchery of Latin and unknown to any who have studied it thus far. It says, ‘Nero. Scion Productions. Legatus. No. 1 Exterior Palace’, followed by the letter D and a series of numbers.”

Honorius turned to his magician. “What has Nero to do with Magnus? Do you understand any of this?”

The man nervously wiped his hands on his robe, before making a show of examining the breastplate again. “It might be an old uniform, from Nero’s era. Perhaps it came to Magnus from an ancestor.”

“Ridiculous. This is not three hundred years old!” Honorius glanced at Dipsas. “Come here, woman. Prove your worth. Let us see if you can discern what others cannot.”

She hobbled forward and examined the breastplate, then the leather skirt. She closed her eyes and brought the skirt to her nose, breathing in and out, until, at long last, she said, “O Great One, I believe this came from a faraway land, where men dress as soldiers, but they are not soldiers.”

With a deep frown, Honorius shook his head. “We told you we don’t want riddles. We want answers.” Turning, he addressed Africanus again. “What else was found?”

Africanus sensed doom in the emperor’s mood. Go straight to the last and best, he told himself. He walked over to the fifth object. “The other items are interesting, but this one is remarkable.” He uncovered it and carefully held it up for Honorius’s inspection. To others, it would appear to be a simple black box, but he knew the power it possessed.

Honorius leaned in. “It is does not look remarkable, but … from what substance is it made?”

“It is unknown, my lord, something wonderfully smooth and somewhat akin to tortoise shell, but not — ”

“What does it do?” Honorius asked and grabbed it.

With a cry, Africanus tried to stop him, but the weapon came to life, unleashing a small bolt of lightning straight into the emperor’s hand.

Screaming, Honorius dropped to the floor like a stone.

Horrified, Africanus stood stock-still, and then slowly removed his sword from its sheath, ready to fall upon it should his emperor die.

• • •

Honorius could not breathe, could not think or feel anything but intense pain. He lay on the floor, his muscles drained, lax and immobile; his thoughts the opposite, a riotous scramble. He had no idea who he was, no idea how to stop the agonizing jolts surging through his body.

Pain, endless pain, eternal pain — !

Suddenly, a thought crystallized, one he seized upon and repeated in his mind, a desperate chant, until he could breathe again, until the agony diminished and he remembered his name.

Live and seek vengeance.

He rolled onto his side, getting his bearings, and then realized he had pissed himself. Fury replaced his pain and his mind came into sharp focus.

Live and seek vengeance. Live and seek vengeance. Live and seek vengeance.

• • •

Honorius surveyed the great hall, filled to bursting with his entire court. The gathering was by royal command, but he knew everyone had come willingly, to witness the punishment of those who had harmed their emperor.

Bound and gagged, Africanus and his men knelt before the throne. Rumors were flying, hideous gossip about the method of execution. Crucifixion. Burning at the stake. Flaying them alive.

Shifting, restless, Honorius still felt pain and weakness in his hand, which had suffered a burn from the weapon. His physicians had warned him not to remove the honey-soaked bandage, but he had ignored them, taking a peek that morning. He was relieved to find his skin healing well and swiftly.

The bandage had been replaced; no harm done. He stole another glance at Africanus and smiled. The chant stole into his thoughts once more, as it had many times since he’d been wounded: Live and seek vengeance.

“Ah, what to do?” With his good hand, Honorius stroked his favorite chicken, his dearest Rome. “Would you have me kill these soldiers now, my precious one? Or shall we spare you the fuss and bother, and set them free?”

He saw several of the men’s eyes widen at his remark. Ah, how he relished their surprise, mingled as it was with a desperate hope, the desire to live. It was almost poetic, a beautiful moment! Africanus, however, held himself still and straight of spine, as would any worthy warrior. Clearly, he was resolved to his fate, a noble man. Honorius had learned Africanus was ready to fall on his sword for the pain he’d wrought, a willing sacrifice to his emperor.

Honorius felt a sudden misty-eyed longing to hug him, but instead, he gently handed off Rome to a slave.

“We have considered this at length, with much thought as to the true intentions of these men,” Honorius proclaimed. “We are exceedingly grateful for the gifts brought to us by Titus Africanus and his legionnaires, and we hereby grant full pardons to them all.”

Gasps erupted from the crowd, followed by utter silence. Confident, Honorius waited but a heartbeat before he heard a smattering of applause, which grew louder with each passing moment. He watched with interest as several of the soldiers grew tearful. Ah, look at Africanus! He smiles! he thought, overjoyed.

Honorius knew this act of clemency would be hailed throughout his realm. It would give his army yet another reason to feel loyalty toward him, for he was not only God’s Chosen One and their Great Emperor, but he had shown mercy to their own.

He raised his hand and the crowd grew quiet. “To further show our gratitude, we have decided to grant these brave men rewards of coin and land: a gold aureus for each, along with rich farmland of his choosing, in thanks for noble service. And their commander, the centurion Titus Africanus, is hereby given a great honor; he is now a legatus of Rome, and, as such, he is to resume his work with General Constantius to seek out and vanquish our foes, the criminals Quintus Magnus and Gigiperrin, and our greatest enemy, Athaulf the Uncouth.”

Africanus looked stunned as Honorius motioned toward several of his Germani guards. “Raise them up and unbind them. They are free.”

“Honorius the Merciful,” he whispered to himself. He liked the sound of that, but he also knew this show of compassion would only go so far.

Seek vengeance. The chant in his mind had changed slightly, and he grinned at the truth in this, for he felt alive and whole, quite well, in fact.

He visualized his enemies. Athaulf. Magnus. Gigiperrin. Even his own sister, Placidia.

Vengeance would be his. But first he must find them. Where were they at this very moment? The answer might be revealed if he could determine what they had been doing in Ravenna two months ago. Were they meeting with fellow usurpers, a previously unknown group of enemies hidden here, perhaps under his very nose?

Honorius turned to the Master of Offices, Rutilius Namatianus. “Go to the jailer of our royal dungeon. See if there is anyone left from our kitchens who served with Gigiperrin. If so, bring them to our private study, but only after we have eaten our evening meal.”

“Your will be done, Serenissimus.”

Honorius felt his stomach growl. He left the throne room without a backward glance, seeking sustenance, for he would need much energy and stamina for the evening ahead.

• • •

To his dismay, Honorius learned only one kitchen slave remained alive from the time of Gigiperrin’s captivity, only one. Would the slave remember anything of value? He sighed and wondered if she would still have her wits about her after four years in his dungeon.

Waiting for her arrival, he sat at his desk, carefully cradling the strange weapon in his hand. He now called it the “lightning bolt.” Earlier in the day, he had commanded that criminals be brought in. With studied purpose, he applied it to their flesh, testing its power on their body parts. Africanus had warned him he should be careful to touch the victims with the weapon — and nothing else. If he were holding them as the crazed heat poured into their bodies, he would be jolted, too.

Honorius was delighted with the knowledge gained by his experiments and soon felt confident in his ability to use the weapon effectively. He glanced at the three people who stood before him: the brilliant inventor, mathematician, and astrologer, Theophanes, a man who had studied with Hypatia of Alexandria at the Great Library; the chief court magician Anthemius; and the old witch Dipsas.

Theophanes had wisely, though unnecessarily, warned Honorius of the need for secrecy regarding all of the strange objects brought to Ravenna by Africanus, for it was clear they had come from a land far advanced in the arts of science and weaponry. Such power could greatly benefit the Western Roman Empire; however, it could also prove its bane should spies uncover the true nature of what they had found. Both he and Anthemius were convinced they could learn more, if given the time for a complete study.

Honorius had already decided to grant their requests. Unlocking the secrets of the objects could allow him to build weapons of great power. Such glory! And if he succeeded, he would be remembered for all time, alongside Alexander of Greece, Gaius Julius Caesar, and Hannibal Barca.

Honorius the Great, Military Genius! The emperor who used lightning bolts to vanquish the barbarian hordes and reconquer the world!

But first, there were so many unanswered questions.

“Dipsas,” Honorius asked, “what did you mean when you said Magnus’s uniform comes from a place where soldiers are not soldiers?”

“I have pondered my vision, O Great One, and I believe I understand more of this strange land. The soldiers are not real. They are players in a great theater, actors — ”

“Actors?” Honorius scoffed. “They are no better than whores! Even we cannot believe that wretch Quintus Magnus would stoop so low as to consort with such scum!”

“My lord, they are not considered scum in that place. Truth be told, they are worshipped like gods.”

Honorius laughed and decided she had to be telling the truth; to make up such a ridiculous tale would be the height of stupidity, given the seriousness of his quest. He was about to question her further, when he heard, “A thousand pardons, O Serene Highness … ”

He turned and saw in a small mob of people standing by the doorway: Rutilius Namatianus, accompanied by the royal dungeon master, several guards, and a bedraggled woman in chains.

“Send in the slave, but the rest of you … you are dismissed,” Honorius ordered.

When the woman hesitated, Honorius crooked his finger at her. “Come in. Do not be afraid,” he said affably. “We would ask you but a few questions, and, if you tell us the truth, we will be charitable and free you from your confinement.”

Her gaze still fearful, the woman shuffled forward.

“Come now,” Honorius said, “dear lady. Tell us, what is your name?”

She glanced at his advisors, then at Dipsas. The witch smiled at her.

“I am Silvia,” the slave said.

“Good, good.” Honorius smiled. “Now, Silvia, we know it has been a long while, but think well on this. What can you tell us of Gigiperrin and Quintus Magnus? Where did they go four years ago? Do you know where they hid? We recall another kitchen slave disappeared that night as well. Did she accompany them? Where did they go?”

Silvia looked confused. “I don’t know, I don’t know. Please, my lord! I’ve told the jailers over and over, I told them I never knew what happened to Gigi or Magnus or Vana. Please, you must believe me!”

She started sobbing. “Please, Venerabilis, it was late at night. My shift was over and I slept through it all. I know nothing, or I would gladly tell you!”

Honorius watched her agony. She was telling the truth. Torturing her would reveal nothing. And, besides, he had grown tired. He thought of beautiful Baha waiting for him in bed, and decided he was done here.

“We believe you,” he said. “We shall set you free.”

Silvia’s blubbering continued. She hadn’t heard him, hadn’t understood. He was growing bored with this.

His anger flared. “Silvia!”

She gulped and stared at him.

Honorius moderated his tone. “We shall set you free,” he repeated.

Chains rattling, she slowly got down on her knees and kissed his hem. “Dominus, thank you.”

Honorius raised her up, then let go and touched the lightning bolt to her chest. The slave’s puzzled expression dissolved into abject shock as he unleashed the jolt, which went straight to her heart.

His advisors fell back, stunned, as Silvia dropped to the floor, dead.

Honorius looked at the old witch, Dipsas, who had not moved a muscle.

She gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Indeed,” she said as she clapped her hands in delight. “Honorius the Merciful.”