After the Fall (11 page)

• • •

Shaking with fatigue and relief, Gigi grasped the children’s hands as they made the last, weary ascent up the Palatine Hill. Their clothing was filthy, stiff with their sweat. By her count it was nearly a month since the Roman soldiers had ambushed the camp, a month since they’d been left behind to find their way alone, unaided, to the only refuge she could think of after they’d lost all trace of the Visigoths: Placidia.

Gigi kept her gaze on the ground. The people of Rome stared openly, even malevolently at them — barbarian beggars. It was mid-spring and the weather was growing pleasant, the days longer. The siege had been lifted only four months earlier, and Rome was still, understandably, seething with hatred for the Visigoths. But they kept their anger in their eyes, letting a bedraggled woman and children pass without persecution.

Arriving at the palace gates, Gigi forced herself to stand tall and speak with determination. “I must see the princess,” she told one of the guards. “Call the steward Leontius. Tell him I am the one who bears the ring of Quintus Pontius Flavus Magnus, Senator of Rome, so that he may vouch for my identity.”

The gatekeeper’s expression passed from condescension, through indignation to uncertainty as she spoke, and he hurried off when she finished. Moments later, Leontius came forward, his eyes lighting up as he drew near.

“Open the gates!” he ordered the guards as he hustled to greet Gigi and the children, escorting them inside. “I will be but a moment,” he said as he rushed off to find Placidia.

Waiting in the audience chamber of the grand palace, the kids clung to her, terrified by their majestic surroundings. Berga buried her face in Gigi’s skirt, hugging her as if she’d never let go.

“Look,” Gigi said, seeking to distract them, “if you look at the pretty floor, you will see your reflection.”

Theodoric hazarded a glance at the highly polished green marble, then gaped. “Berga, look,” he said. “See that? It’s better than any mirror!”

The little girl peeked out and stared. “I look dirty,” she said with a pout.

“Gigi!” Placidia cried, her footsteps echoing as she ran toward them, her arms outstretched, Elpidia following close behind.

The princess enveloped Gigi in her arms. “How — why are you here? Oh, I have worried you were dead — what — who are these little ones? Where is Magnus? Tell me, you must tell me everything.”

“Placidia,” Gigi responded. “Please, can the children have something to eat first? Some soup or porridge? We haven’t had much, and they have been very brave, but they’re suffering.”

“Right away, and baths afterward,” Elpidia said, and rushed off toward the kitchens.

Placidia crouched down, eye to eye with the children, and took their hands. “My name is Placidia. I have met some of your leaders and hold your people in great esteem. What are your names?”

“This is Theodoric and Berga, prince and princess of the Visigoths,” Gigi responded quietly. “They are King Alaric and Queen Verica’s children.”

Placidia gazed up at her, mouth open. “Why are they with you? What has happened?”

“There was a battle at our camp near Ravenna a month ago. I think your bro … er, the emperor set up the ambush, because it happened while Magnus and Alaric were meeting with him about a treaty,” Gigi said. “The camp was burned out, we escaped, and so did many others, although we don’t know who survived, for sure. They left before we could find them. We’ve come to you because we had nowhere else to go.”

“Oh, my dear Gigi, how you and these lovely children have suffered!” The princess took a moment to gather her thoughts, then squeezed the children’s hands reassuringly. “We’ve heard some news of your people within the last week, and I want to reassure you your parents are very much alive and causing the emperor no end of problems.” Theo grinned at this, to which Placidia added, “I shall do whatever I can to find them and reunite you. I’ll take good care of you until then. You may trust me in that.”

The children looked relieved, then gratefully followed Elpidia when she returned with a servant carrying a tray of food.

Placidia rose and stared at Gigi. “Where is Magnus?” she asked, her tone hushed, as if she feared hearing the worst.

“I don’t know. I don’t know where he is.” Gigi’s resolve started to crumble, her shoulders to tremble. A huge lump formed in her throat, threatening to burst. “If he’s alive — oh, God, I don’t even know that much — he surely thinks — they all must think — we died in the fire.”

Placidia held her close, letting her cry at last.

• • •

Standing beside Placidia, Gigi watched Theodoric and Berga idle in the palace’s main atrium. Happily sprinkling food into an ornate, marble fishpond, the children were carefree, with no idea why they’d been summoned.

She, on the other hand, trembled with nerves. They had just received news the Visigoths had ridden on Rome, furious over Honorius’s ongoing deceit. They’d made a point of not harming the city this time, but they had demanded an audience with Placidia without any of the usual back and forth of envoys, so neither party had any idea what or who awaited them.

Glancing toward the entry, Gigi hoped with all her heart Magnus would be among the delegation. Placidia was silent, her gaze fixed on the doorway, and Gigi knew she was nearly faint at the possibility of seeing Athaulf again.

In an effort to steady herself, Gigi took several deep breaths. It was certain the Visigoths would find unexpected joy today. Would Placidia? Would she?

Leontius entered the atrium and bowed. “They have arrived.”

Placidia lifted her chin. “Show them in.”

“Children,” Gigi called. “Come and stand by me — now — hurry!”

They scrambled to obey, taking her hands, and waiting. Footsteps approached, and Gigi’s breathing grew shallow, tears of anticipation pricking at her eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “Please — ”

“Mama! Papa!” the children suddenly screamed in unison, rushing across the hallway as their parents cried out in disbelief.

Beside her, Placidia remained motionless, breathless, as she and Athaulf gazed at one another. Gigi didn’t move, either, not even to brush away her tears.

Magnus wasn’t with them.

• • •

Darkness was falling. Placidia paced the study, clasping and unclasping her hands as Persis and Elpidia hovered nearby, lighting candles.

Frowning, Placidia knew what she was about to do could seal her fate forever, cutting her off from everything she’d ever known. But she didn’t care, at least not enough to change her mind.

After the delays brought on by the joyous reunion, King Alaric had pronounced his terms. He declared his control over the Western Empire. He appointed Senator Attalus “Augustus” over Rome. As for Honorius, his status was undecided, and Placidia didn’t know whether he would be allowed to rule as a co-emperor, or be deposed. His future, everyone’s future, and the fate of the Empire, were now in the king’s hands.

Attalus would run everything, with Alaric’s direction. Meanwhile, Alaric had taken the title of
magister militum
, something he’d sought ever since Stilicho’s death, and there was also talk of land grants. But, for now, Rome’s grain supply in Africa had to be secured for the new government. The Visigoths would still have to wait for their land.

And Magnus — such horror! After the briefest moment of relief at the news of his survival, Gigi was devastated by the tales that had sent him abroad on a fruitless quest. Placidia knew she was heartsick, knew she should go to her friend, but she was compelled, for the moment, to follow another path.

Standing near the door, one eyebrow cocked in disapproval, Elpidia cleared her throat and opened the door to Athaulf when he arrived. She bowed and left the room, dragging a staring Persis with her.

He was here at last! Placidia swallowed, then gazed at Athaulf for several moments. Standing in his presence, she was amazed anew, for he was the embodiment of male beauty, his features sheer perfection, his stance noble, his shoulders broad. And his eyes! They were mesmerizing, flickering golden brown, then green, dazzling in the candlelight.

Athaulf dipped his head, very formal. “Princess, you requested my presence?”

Placidia’s heart pounded, and she found it hard to speak. “You … Athaulf, you brought us food. I knew it was you from the first, because of the, the … your scent was on the satchel.”

He looked taken aback, unmasked as he was.

“Tell me,” she asked, breathless, trying to focus and remain calm, “why did you endanger yourself for … for us?”

“I did it for you alone, Placidia.”

She stood without responding, his beautiful eyes boring into hers, and she longed to rush into his arms.

“I couldn’t bear to think you were suffering,” he added. His hand moved slightly, and for the first time, Placidia noticed he held a silk bag. “I return this to you with the gratitude of a people and with my heartfelt thanks.”

Placidia approached him, her knees wobbly, her steps slow and uncertain. She felt small and vulnerable when she finally reached his side, for he was almost a head taller than she.

He pressed the bag into her hand, then stood back. “We shall never forget your generosity, but this is yours, must always be yours. You wore it when first we met.”

She smiled, feeling the weight of emeralds and gold, her necklace returned, the gesture so touching. “Thank you,” she said, then impulsively added, “I owe you my life, and I would bestow a kiss of gratitude upon you, but you must kneel, for I cannot reach so high.”

Athaulf went down on one knee, still keeping to protocol, and Placidia breathed in his scent. Leather. Lavender. She leaned in and touched her lips to his right cheek. Closing her eyes, she lingered against the warmth of his skin, then moved back slightly to kiss his other cheek, but her will gave way to desire and she brushed her lips against his instead.

“Athaulf,” she whispered.

He returned her gentle kisses, his fingers touching her arms in a light caress. The heat of him sent a pulse of desire straight to her core.

“Take me in your arms, Athaulf.”

She felt his hands at her waist, drawing her down, and she moaned as he grasped her to him, as his mouth covered hers. She wrapped her arms around him. The sensations were overwhelming, and she pressed her body against his, feeling his desire, willing him to keep going, to demand more.

“Placidia,” he held her face and stared at her, his breathing heavy.

“Take me with you,” she pleaded, looking into his wonderful eyes. “Take me away from here, take me … take me — ”

“Don’t speak like that! You don’t know what you’re asking,” Athaulf said, his voice ragged and low. “You are a princess of Rome.”

“Then you don’t feel as I do?” Placidia asked, desperate, searching his expression for an answer. “I was so certain you loved me.”

“Of course you have my heart, but it is impossible what you ask. Impossible,” he said wretchedly, holding her close. “You would be hunted mercilessly for having abandoned the Empire in such a manner. And I could never impose exile on you. It is too harsh, too bitter to live without a homeland, condemned to wandering.”

“You are all the homeland I will ever need, Athaulf. I know it. I can’t breathe without thinking of you, day and night, every night … all night.” Placidia reached up and touched his cheek, then kissed him again. “If you can’t take me with you, then stay tonight at least, make love to me … Athaulf, please … we will make a bond, seal our love forever.”

“Stop, Placidia! Say no more. I love you too much to inflict such a fate upon you.”

“But it is a fate of my own choosing,” she insisted, trying to kiss him again, but he tilted his head away. “Athaulf, don’t fight this. Make love to me.”

“No, you do not understand. You are a maid — ”

“I am fully aware — ”

“No! I swear if I so much as kiss you again, I will take you here, now, on the floor, and it would be no fitting thing for a princess, I assure you!”

The brutality of his words stunned, but also stirred her, and she imagined feeling the weight of him upon her and yearned for the act.

“Athaulf … ”

“Placidia, do not ask more of me than I can bear. You would hate me for it afterward.”

Crushed and ashamed, Placidia turned her face away. She’d made her bid, uttered words, begged him. She had admitted to feelings she thought could never be possible for her, yet he’d refused, placing honor above all else.

“Politics dog our every move, whether we would have it so or not,” he said, his voice still ragged, but calmer. “We are each pawns in this game.”

“Go.”

“Placidia!”

She pulled away from his grasp, rose, and walked to a table, her back turned so she could not see his beautiful eyes any longer, so he could not see her tears.

She squared her shoulders. “That is all.
Vale
, Athaulf.”

There was a moment of hesitation, then she heard his footsteps receding, and the click of the door as it closed behind him.

Placidia gazed at the silken bag, proof he had thought of her, too, day after day, night after night, over these many long months of separation. He loved her, yet he’d refused her utterly.

She dropped to her knees and opened the bag. Her necklace slid out, glittering with the same green fire she’d seen in Athaulf’s eyes.

Placidia put her hands over her face and sobbed.

Spring,
A.D.
410, Constantinople

Magnus stood on the great wall of Constantinople, looking out over the Golden Horn. Cloaked in purple, the boy-emperor Theodosius and his older sister, Aelia Pulcheria, were just visible in the distance, faint shapes on the prow of the royal galley as it rowed up the great bay. The day was fair and windy, yet the Horn was smooth as glass, its protected waters mirroring the blue of the sky with its tracery of clouds.

Tall for his age, the young emperor of the East was near to manhood and therefore desirous of finding his future empress. The coming ceremony made Magnus’s heart quake, his whole body shudder, as he stood with a contingent of nobles, waiting for the docking of Theodosius’s ship. Would Gigi be led to the parade grounds among the horde of candidate brides? Would he see her soon? Was it possible?