Return to Me Page 9

  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.”

  Chapter 9

  Barcelona, Spain

  The end of winter felt more like spring, and Gigi reveled in the wonderful weather. Outside, the air had a warm, velvety quality, the birds sang endlessly, and the skies were a brilliant blue, day after day. And thankfully, each pleasant moment seemed to lift Placidia’s spirits a
little bit more. Recently, she’d exchanged some of her heaviest mourning gowns for lighter, happier colors, and her gorgeous pearl necklace was free of its dark, gauzy shroud. But she was still very quiet and withdrawn, so Gigi was pleased when she agreed to spend the afternoon with her.

  The castle’s solarium was bright and sunny, indoors and yet not. Attached to the main building, an open-air colonnade surrounded them, but they were protected from the sun’s rays by an expansive roof. Gigi would have liked to sunbathe in such wonderful weather, but ivory complexions were prized here, and catching a few rays in the buff certainly was not.

  Whether queen or commoner, there was always sewing to be done, and the two friends worked side by side, enjoying each other’s company. Placidia sat quietly beside Gigi, the queen’s little three-year-old, Marga, between them, happily swinging her feet. Gigi found herself studying Marga. She couldn’t get over how much the little towheaded girl looked like Athaulf’s mother, Randegund.

  The eyes especially. Gigi wanted to mention this to Placidia, but she bit her tongue, reluctant to bring up Placidia’s evil mother-in-law. Besides, Marga’s gaze shone with innocence, her blue eyes pretty and bright, not the least bit scary, like Randegund’s had been.

  As to the whereabouts of Randegund, Gigi guessed the truth, but she knew enough not to ask Placidia about that, either.

  “I wrote to Theo, Mama,” Marga piped.

  “You are a good big sister,” Placidia replied. “What did you tell him?”

  “About Gigi.”

  “About me?” Gigi asked.

  Marga leaned against her and smiled, her eyes twinkling. “I like your music.”

  “Thank you,” Gigi replied as the child got up and started dancing around the room, her little, dimpled arms upraised. She glanced at Placidia, worried how she felt about Theo’s mention. The queen seemed to be taking it in stride.

  “We write letters to him,” Placidia explained, her head still bent over her work. “Actually, for now, Marga draws pictures.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Gigi said, not knowing what else to say.

  “Magnus taught me that.”

  Startled, Gigi turned and looked at the queen. “He taught you how to write letters?”

  “No, no,” Placidia replied with a hint of amusement. “I have not thought to ask you before, but family weighs heavily on my heart, lately. Tell me, if you don’t mind, about your family?”

  Gigi felt a stab of pain in her chest. “My parents are gone,” she murmured, wondering how permanent that statement might become. She glanced at her gold wedding band, once her mother’s, now hers, a memento to cherish and protect.

  “Gigi, forgive me,” Placidia said, “but I have noticed that … and wondered about your new ring, and the fact Magnus now wears the garnet ring.”

  “This ring was my mother’s,” Gigi said, holding it out for Placidia’s inspection. “I wear it now in memory of her.”

  “Ah,” the queen said. “I understand. It is a wonderful gesture.” She smiled. “Forgive me again, but I have another question. How can it be you and Magnus do not have children of your own?”

  Gigi looked up and shrugged. “I don’t know. It just never happened. Maybe I’ve been too busy.”

  “When has ‘too busy’ ever stopped a babe?” Placidia chuckled, then took Gigi’s hand in hers and watched her daughter prance about. “I am sure you will be blessed, one day. I pray Athaulf and I are not yet done, and that we will have more beautiful sons. Not to replace our Theo, of course, but others.”

  Gigi tried to mask her knowledge and smiled at her friend. “I hope so, I truly hope so.”

  Placidia sighed. “Death is a harsh, implacable master, but I take some comfort in knowing my son is with God, and with my parents. My mother was an angel on Earth, and now she is one truly, looking over my dear boy. She died when I was very young.”

  Gigi listened to Placidia’s recollections, glad that she was opening up, and realized no matter how hard she and Magnus had tried to save Theo, it wasn’t meant to be. There was no way to completely shelter anyone from the vagaries of life.

  “I am glad you have such sweet memories of your mother, Placidia. You were so little when she passed on,” Gigi said. “It wasn’t until recently I realized how much I’d taken for granted having my mother as close as a phone, er … a call … er … a letter.”

  “When I was a child I used to pen letters to my mother all the time,” Placidia said, nodding. “I just knew she was looking over my shoulder, reading every word.”

  “Children find ways to heal, don’t they?”

  “They do. But then, one day Serena found my letters and burned them all,” Placidia added bitterly.

  Startled, Gigi recalled Serena, the wife of the late General Stilicho. “I remember her from the palace. She was very pretty.”

  “Yes, her painted face was beautiful, yet hard, a mask of icy intent. She was my cousin, did you know? I had to be present at her execution by order of the Roman Senate. It was a day I shall never forget. Serena was cruel, yet I wish I had been able to commute her sentence. Alas, I could not. In the end, she was a victim of her own evil machinations.”

  “I had no idea she was like that. Why did she burn your letters?”

  “To be cruel,” Placidia said flatly. “But … I’ve forgotten myself. This is a story you will enjoy, because it involves Magnus. The first time I remember meeting him was right after Serena put my little packet of letters into the fire. We lived in Constantinople at the time, and I was very young. Magnus was called simply Quintus Pontius Flavus then, and was just a young, fresh face in my father’s court, but he seemed quite grown up to me.” Smiling, Placidia turned toward Gigi, tears glistening in her eyes. “I actually ran right into him, but after some grumbling he listened as I poured out my broken heart, and I shall never forget what he said.”

  Gigi waited, but Placidia had grown quiet, reflective. She patiently sat a moment longer, then her curiosity got the best of her. “Tell me, please! What did he say?”

  For the first time since she and Magnus had arrived, Gigi heard Placidia laugh.

  “I’m sorry, I was just remembering,” the queen said. “Magnus pretended to scold me, saying, ‘Stop crying, little one! Serena loves to make you cry. You shouldn’t give her such pleasure. Of course your mother sees your letters! Don’t you know when you burn a letter the smoke takes it straight to the afterlife? Your mother can hold them for herself now, and read them as often as she likes.’” Placidia smiled. “Since then I have always cared for Magnus, and I have always burned my letters to my mother, and now to Theo, and so I have taught Marga. And we never fail to place a kiss on them first.”

  A mist of tears clouded Gigi’s vision as she thought about Placidia’s story, amazed to realize she could love Magnus even more than she already did.

  • • •

  Magnus spent a long afternoon with King Athaulf and his advisors, going over security in general, and Athaulf’s in particular. The king had been amused by Magnus’s insistence that he have bodyguards accompany him at all times, even in his private chambers.

  “I am not a coward like Honorius, pissing my bed while hiding behind my axe bearers,” Athaulf said with a laugh. “Besides, my people are loyal unto death. No king or ruler is ever completely safe, but I am safe enough.”

  And that overconfidence, Magnus reminded himself, is the first step on the road to destruction.

  Frustrated, Magnus then decided to turn the argument on its head. “Might I remind you of what you did to General Sarus? You acted because you knew Sarus shrugged off bodyguards in his own residence — ”

  Athaulf waved his hand in dismissal. “That was four years ago, and my enemies have made peace with me, or called a truce. Even Sarus’s kin have relented in their calls for retribution, Sergeric included.”
>
  Magnus knew this was true to a point, but trusting Sergeric was akin to trusting Honorius. Despite what Athaulf believed, Sergeric still nursed a great hatred over the killing of his brother. If events were allowed to play out, Magnus knew Sergeric would seize the Visigoth kingship after Athaulf’s death and kill the royal children. The news that Sergeric had recently left court for Gaul on personal business made Magnus no less wary, and he was determined to make the necessary changes to Athaulf’s security.

  The meeting finally came to an end, the question of security still at a standoff. Heading through town to the small but luxurious villa Placidia had given them, Magnus felt more than ready for “lunch and some down time,” as Gigi would put it, an opportunity to spend some quiet moments with his wife. The afternoon was beautiful, and he was determined to put his worries aside. It seemed as though neither of them had known a carefree moment since Gigi had been given the ring at the wrap party.

  Nodding to passersby, he thought about what his life had been like in the future, in Gigi’s time. It was an amazing place, a place of peace for most people, but it was also an alarmingly soft place, which led to an astonishing level of naiveté. When, exactly, had almost everyone in her culture decided to jettison the most basic skills needed to survive?

  Nevertheless, he thought, I wouldn’t mind making that other world, Gigi’s world, my own once again. He glanced at his garnet ring and smiled. Victoria, grant it! The twenty-first century would be so much safer for them, and for the children.

  He reached their villa, unlocked the front door, and went inside, but no one was about, not even their steward. Gigi seemed to be gone, too. Perhaps she was shopping. He went to their bedroom and splashed some water on his face to freshen up, then thought about the open-air pool in their atrium at the back of the house. He decided to take a dip.

  Magnus pulled off his tunic and sandals and tossed them on the floor, then headed for the atrium. Parting the curtains, Magnus stopped short, mouth ajar.