Nobilissima (6 page)

Picking up the letter and dusting it off, I made my way to the assembly chamber, hoping to find Gardius or Marcus. They were both there with some of the other senators, looking at a plan of the city.

“Honorius has sent an envoy to Alaric to declare that there’ll be no settlement,” I burst out as soon as I entered the room.

Marcus paled. “I was sure the Emperor would eventually come round,” he said. “This is unconscionable.”

“It’s the fault of Olympius,” I said, handing him the document.

“We must invite Alaric to talk with us at once,” said Gardius, after he and Marcus had read the letter. “We’ll explain to him that we need more time to bring Honorius to the table.”

“Agreed,” said Marcus. “In all my dealings with him, Alaric has been a reasonable man. I’ll send an envoy to him, and we’ll set a time and place to meet. This plan must remain private amongst us. Placidia, thank you for bringing us the news as quickly as you did. Every minute now will count. I’ll come to you later to let you know how Alaric responds.”

I nodded and took my leave, wandering slowly back to my apartments, where I told Sylvia that I needed to be by myself for a while. I sat on a wooden bench, leaning against a wall, feeling the old plaster pressing coldly against the silk of my dress. Alone, I nursed my anger at Olympius, as one would tend a fire. Olympius was responsible for creating in Honorius an extreme paranoia that led him to trust no one else. Devoid of emotion himself, the Provost had crushed in my brother the normal human sentiments of pity, charity and love.

The only way of changing the situation was to reach out to Honorius and persuade him to see Olympius for what he really was -- and the only person with any chance of achieving that was me. At once, I decided. I would go to Ravenna, and convince my brother to listen to me, not to his advisor. Somewhere, there had to be a vestigial shred of the decency and compassion that our father had instilled in us as children. I could appeal to Honorius, as the son of his great father, to rescue the city of Rome from the siege.

Jumping to my feet, I ran back to the meeting room, relieved to find both Marcus and Gardius still there. I quickly explained my plan but, before Marcus could respond, Gardius spoke.

“No, Placidia, you can’t go. Early this morning, Alaric closed every road out of the city. It’s too late, my dear.”

Marcus nodded in agreement. “I’m sorry, but Gardius is right. Right now, Rome is in the eye of a storm that whirls around outside our walls, intent on destroying us. All we can do now is beg Alaric for more time and maybe try to buy him off with whatever gold and other riches the Senate can come up with. It’s our only way forward.”

Chapter 7

Alaric, however, took the initiative, sending a messenger that same afternoon to request a meeting. It was decided that Marcus, Gardius and I would attend, going in secret to the king’s tent at midnight. Sylvia was appalled when I told her of the plan.

“What is Marcus thinking of?” she complained while she sorted through a pile of cloaks gathered from the maids’ quarters. I was to travel dressed as a servant, until we reached the relative safety of Alaric’s tent.

“It is far too dangerous for you to leave the city. A woman amongst all those Goths. It’s madness.”

“It’s my duty, Sylvia,” I said. “I’m the only one who can claim to have my brother’s ear and I must convince Alaric that we need more time to come up with a settlement that Honorius will approve. I’ll have Marcus at my side, and he won’t let any harm come to me.”

“Here, try on this,” said Sylvia, patting a brown wool cloak into place around my shoulders. She stood back and looked at me. “No good. You still look like royalty, not like a servant, and that auburn hair makes it too obvious who you are.” Muttering to herself, she looked through a wooden chest, pulling out some rough leather boots. “Sit down please and let me try these on your feet.”

I ground my teeth as Sylvia knotted the laces of around my ankles: the boots were too tight. She found a wool scarf, which she wrapped around my head, tucking away every strand of my hair.

“I’ll come with you,” she said suddenly.

“I don’t think Marcus would allow it.”

“You can persuade him. Please, let me come. Otherwise I’ll just sit here all night worrying about you.”

We followed Gardius and Marcus through the gate in the wall, out of the city and into the surrounding fields. There was no moon and the way was only faintly lit by the glow of the dying cooking fires, now extinguished for the night. Two Goth soldiers had met us at the gate and accompanied us across a pasture to a well-lit tent in the distance.

“The ground is moving,” Sylvia murmured, grasping my arm. I could see what she meant. The entire plain was covered with sleeping bodies, which tossed and turned in the darkness. I shivered, hardly sure if my nervousness was caused by the eerie sight of the undulating terrain or by the thought of the encounter to come.

A few yards from the tent, the Goth soldiers stopped and signaled to Marcus to wait. Minutes passed and I began to wonder if Alaric had changed his mind. But the flap of the tent was, finally, pushed open and our small group was allowed to enter. The tent was brightly illuminated with dozens of candles and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. The air was hot and fetid, rank with the stench of sweat, and I breathed shallow breaths, discreetly pulling my cloak up over my mouth and nose to block out the smell.

Alaric, tall, with broad shoulders and blonde hair cut short in the Roman style, stood in the center of the tent. Behind him stood a groups of soldiers, dressed in the tunics and trousers typical of the Goths. Most of them wore their hair long and braided and they all had long swords on their belts.

“Nobilissima.” Alaric bowed. “It has been some months since I had the pleasure of seeing you.”

“Your cruel siege tactics have made communications rather difficult,” I answered curtly, and the Goth king smiled, holding his hand to his heart at though wounded.

“Your face so beautiful and your words so sharp,” he said. “But please, make yourself comfortable.” He gestured towards a leather campstool and waited until I was seated, Sylvia standing behind me. Marcus and Gardius remained standing.

“Allow me to introduce my brother-in-law, Ataulf,” said the Goth king.

Though as tall as his kinsman, Ataulf could not have been more different in appearance. His suntanned face was surrounded by dark brown curls, which hung almost to his shoulders. His tunic and trousers were cut more carefully than those of his soldiers, and embroidered with fine colored threads. The sword that hung at his side gleamed in the candlelight and his hand rested gently on the hilt, which was cast in bronze in the shape of an eagle’s head. It was one of the finest swords I had ever seen. Ataulf acknowledged me with a traditional Roman salute, punching his chest once with his fist.

“Nobilissima,” said Alaric after a short pause. “It is an honor to welcome you here. Do you bring news from your brother, perhaps?”

He spoke perfect Latin, with a slight accent that I recognized as German. I was taken aback by his manners and his speech, although I knew I should not be surprised. He had spent many years at the court and in the company of Stilicho.

“Regrettably, I’ve had no word from my brother,” I said.

“That is most rude of him,” he commented. He gestured to Gardius and Marcus to sit while servants brought out wooden goblets of wine. I wondered at the roles we were all playing. Alaric was most clearly in charge. Suddenly, he pointed to a man sitting on a bench in the shadows. “You recognize him?” he asked.

Gardius leaned forward and peered into the gloom. “Good heavens,” he said. “Senator Attalus, what are you doing here?”

The man stood and moved into the light. He was wearing a white toga edged with purple, and appeared to have a thin gold coronet on his balding head. I was confused but before I could ask a question, Attalus spoke.

“You may call me Imperator,” he said.

“What in the heavens are you talking about?” Marcus jumped to his feet, his hand on his sword. At once, the Goth soldiers took a step towards him and Sylvia cried out in alarm.

I stood. “I’ve no idea what is happening here, but I refuse to remain any longer. Attalus, you are committing a treasonous act.”

“Wait, wait,” said King Alaric. “Everyone, take your seats and calm down.”

He paused for a few moments. “It’s obvious to all of us that Honorius has abandoned any pretense of acting as an Emperor to his subjects. He leaves them to suffer and die in Rome and refuses to discuss terms with me. He hides like a worm in his fortress in Ravenna, listening only to that pernicious Provost of his. In the annals of history, what happens to a man like that? He is overthrown, replaced by someone better. Or maybe if not better, then stronger. And so, we have staged a coup. We have replaced Honorius with Attalus. We will deal with Attalus and he will sign a treaty that will end the siege.”

I’d heard enough. I pointed at Attalus, feeling my cheeks burning. “How dare you?”

“Do you have a better idea, Nobilissima?” replied Alaric, still seated, relaxed in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. “As far as I can see, you have no influence over your brother and nothing will change while he is in power. Time has run out. Something has to change. So let’s change the Emperor.”

Marcus pointed his sword at Alaric and six of the Goth soldiers immediately surrounded him, swords raised.

“Stop, at once,” I commanded. “There will be no bloodshed here tonight. Put your swords down and stand back.”

Alaric nodded at his men and they reluctantly took a step back.

“You too, Magister,” I said to Marcus. He shook his head but lowered his sword.

Silence settled in the hot, airless space. I looked at Alaric.

“You have no right to appoint an Emperor and, as you are probably already aware, Attalus can achieve nothing for you. He can’t sign the deed for the land in Aquitaine and he has no money. I believe that this charade is nothing more than a sop for your own generals.”

Alaric narrowed his eyes and glanced at the men standing next to him. They shifted on their feet and looked back at him, their faces questioning.

“I’m not sure I understand, Nobilissima,” he said finally.

“We all know that your generals and soldiers are running out of patience and will rebel against your command if you do not either succeed in winning the settlement or mounting an attack. You can’t risk a mutiny among your own troops. This pretense of appointing Attalus gives you a little more time, but that’s all.”

I turned to look at Attalus. “Isn’t that right? You know that there’s nothing you can do to resolve this. You’re a cat without claws, senator.”

The pretender to the throne trembled. “How dare you speak to me like that?” he demanded, but there was a quiver in his voice. “I am the Emperor.”

“I dare, because I am the daughter of Theodosius and sister of the true Emperor.” I turned back to face Alaric. “You would have done better to appoint me as Empress, Alaric. That would have given me the power to negotiate with my brother. I would have been of more help to you than your weak-kneed accomplice there.”

Several of the men began to laugh and Alaric smiled. “I respect your audacity and your ambition,” he said. “Your brother needs to be careful.”

Gardius coughed, and his eyes began to water. “Oh my goodness,” he exclaimed. “My, my. A glass of wine if you would?” As one of the servants handed him a goblet, he took a huge gulp and sat down on his stool, shaking his head.

I sat too, and leaned forward to speak quietly to Alaric. “I understand your predicament. I wish we had the power to give you what you were promised. But give us more time because I truly believe that we can persuade Honorius to come to a settlement. Allow me to return to Ravenna to speak in person with him.”

Alaric’s brother-in-law had moved to his side and he crouched down to whisper in his ear. Alaric shook his head but the man spoke again and the soldiers took an almost imperceptible step forward, as though straining to listen to what Ataulf was saying.

After a few minutes, Alaric stood, towering over me and almost everyone else in the tent. His lips were set firm and his blue eyes were the color of the sky over Rome before the siege had begun.

“I am afraid it is impossible to grant you more time, Nobilissima,” he said. “My soldiers will accompany you back to the city. Attalus, you’ll remain here with us.”

I looked at Marcus, who shrugged his shoulders slightly. There was nothing more to be done.

Alaric lifted his hand in a farewell salute and watched as I led the other visitors out of the tent and into the blackness. I dreaded the walk back through the restless, shifting camp, but I took several gulps of smoke-filled air and walked as fast as I could in the uncertain light, away from the Goth king and the wretched usurper. Somewhere in the darkness a child sobbed and I felt its misery echoing in my heart.

Chapter 8

The following afternoon, after another meeting with Marcus and Gardius to discuss their thoughts on Alaric’s next move, I went to the old bathhouse, built long ago by the Emperor Tiberius. Anxious to wash the smell of smoke and sweat from my skin and hair, I stepped out of a white linen sheet that Sylvia had wrapped around me, and slid into the tiled pool. Sylvia gathered up the fabric and folded it, humming quietly to herself. At the far end of the bath was a white marble fountain shaped like a giant shell, and the gentle splash of falling water filled the vaulted chamber. I floated, shivering in the unheated water. There was no longer enough fuel to keep the stoves working under the baths. The wood that was left was being used in the kitchens and no one knew how long it would last.