Love, Eternally (25 page)

“There is much to do, Jolie, and no time to waste,” Verica said earnestly. “You will sleep here tonight, while the men feast. Flowers must be gathered for your wreaths. Berga will show you which ones,” she hesitated and looked questioningly at Gigi, “and I suppose she’ll need to show you how to weave the wreaths as well?” When Gigi shrugged her shoulders, she added, “Indeed, I thought as much. Come.

“I will be your
pronuba
, the matron who oversees the ceremony, as there are no priests of the old ways here. You may wear my
tunica recta
and the rest of my ceremonial garments. My niece has a newer tunic, but her betrothed died of a fever days before the wedding, may God rest his soul, so her things are unlucky and must never be worn.”

“As
you
shall be unlucky, for you have consented to marry the Roman filth!” Randegund exclaimed.

Gigi nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t seen Randegund lurking in the shadows, and she remembered the dagger tucked under her belt, hidden by her clothes.

Verica shot the old woman a sharp glance, and then rolled her eyes at Gigi. “I’m glad to see you, Mother. Alaric has been asking for you all morning. You’d best go see what he wants.”

Randegund nodded to her daughter, then turned to leave. With a strange smile, she glanced back at Gigi with her terrifying eyes, and then gave a mirthless laugh that sounded more like a witch’s cackle.

Gigi shivered, watching her go.

“Please, do not let my mother interfere with your happiness.” Verica patted Gigi’s hand reassuringly. “She is old and, well, as I was saying, we have very little time to prepare for the wedding. Magnus wants a traditional one in the old pagan style, but he has indicated your beliefs should be a part of the ceremony as well.”

Gigi nodded. “I would be honored if your husband, King Alaric, would bless us by his authority and in God’s name.”

Verica smiled. “It will be done.” She squeezed Gigi’s hand. “Worry not, my dear, the pagan ceremony is not as foreign and bizarre as you’ve probably heard. I will instruct you on everything you need to know.”

Gigi nodded again, feeling overwhelmed, trying to take it all in.

“Good! We have tonight to prepare for tomorrow’s ceremony, then the procession of the bride and the wedding feast tomorrow evening and, finally, you will have a night of consecration before we leave for Rome.”

“We’re getting married tomorrow?”

Verica rolled her eyes again and sighed. “As I’ve said many times, tomorrow.”

Alaric searched in vain for Randegund all morning. The sun was high, and he cursed his parched throat and growling stomach.

“Read these runes!”

The words came from somewhere beyond the bushes. He crept forward, parting branches, until he spotted her. He could see she was in a trance by the way she held herself still, her spine so straight, her blue eyes glassy.

She rattled small, carved pieces of bone in her fist, then cast them on the ground. “Read these runes!” she repeated to the air. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she chanted in Latin, “
Penetrabis ad Urbem. Penetrabis ad Urbem.
” You will penetrate the city …

It was the same each time Alaric heard the chant — it resounded like thunder in his soul. The foretelling of the fall of Rome, spoken by Randegund in the enemy tongue. For as long as he could remember, she had told him he was destined to be Rome’s conqueror.

With a wail, Randegund shook herself free of the spell and looked down at the runes. Alaric heard her gasp, and then mutter something about Magnus.

He stepped forward. “Mother, stop this.”

“
Gasts!
” she fumed at him. “You must listen to me. The Roman filth — ”

“Say no more, Mother. He is my friend and a friend to our people. You must treat him with respect and you must also honor his bride. I will tolerate nothing less.”

Her gaze wavered, and Alaric reached out and gently stroked her hair. She was old now, by his reckoning some nine and fifty years. And her wits were not as they once were, her mind clouded by a muddle of hatred and fear.

He kissed her brow. “Mother, do this for me, your chosen son.”

She grumbled, then nodded. Alaric closed his eyes in relief, for he loved her openly, with all his heart. By God, he would do everything in his power to ensure she had a peaceful death one day, honorable, in her own bed, surrounded by her birth children and himself. She deserved as much, and when the time came, he would make certain it happened.

• • •

As calm took hold of the camp, and the women sought their beds to rest before the wedding, Randegund stood at the doorway of the tent and stared blankly into the dark. She was right to have done what she did, so many years ago. Magnus deserved it! So did all the filthy Roman pigs!

A shiver ran through her body at the recollection of the heartache they had caused her people, the heartache
he
had caused
her
.

The Romans hired the Visigoths as mercenaries, promising much in return for their service — lands, wealth, prosperity — if only they would fight for the Empire. And when the promises were broken, what had they gained? Nothing! The Visigoths rebelled, and the Romans kidnapped their children, murdering many innocents in the process. The heavy bounty paid to recover their own — an orphaned Alaric among them — had brought them to near ruin. Still, they had recovered. Later, forgetting hard lessons learned, the Visigoths came into agreement again, fought for the Empire again, for promises of land, wealth, and prosperity, and all for naught … again.

The sound of bawdy laughter coming from Athaulf’s tent made her smile, but it faded when she remembered whom they fêted.

I cursed him for his cold heart. I cursed him for his iniquity. Twice cursed is he!

When the Huns threatened her people, Honorius disallowed their crossing of the Danubius for their own protection. Magnus had done nothing to dissuade his evil emperor from taking this course, then had the gall to try and explain his reasoning to a disappointed Alaric.

Since then, there was no turning back. Randegund remembered how she’d crept into Magnus’s tent in the night. She’d drugged his wine to assure he wouldn’t waken, then took the ring from his finger. She spent the night calling to Nemesis, the Great Avenger Goddess, laying curse after curse upon it.

Years later, she’d felt like the Phoenix, rising from its ashes, when her curses matured and finally came to fruition. She had looked upon Magnus at Pollentia, had seen him fall and be taken captive, and she had gloated as his life hung so precariously close to the great precipice. He’d lost the ring during the battle, and Randegund had crowed inwardly when he despaired over its loss.

Now he was back, and he was the one soaring, so virile and potent, so in love.

Randegund gazed up at the clouds scuttling across the night sky, knowing she’d done the correct thing back then, but now times had changed. She had quailed at the sight of that blood-red ring, when Magnus displayed it on Jolie’s finger. How had he found it? And why did he choose
it
, of all things, to give to his bride? Only the gods knew why such mysteries happened, but Randegund must now obey Alaric and set things to right, before the sun rose anew.

She hesitated, furious at Alaric’s demand, for Magnus’s very bones still reeked of treachery and double-dealing. But she had no choice.

Going to Jolie’s bed, Randegund scowled as she bent and eased the ring off the cursed girl’s finger. Jolie muttered something in a foreign tongue and turned over, but didn’t wake.

The vile object felt as if it would burn a hole in Randegund’s flesh. She wrapped it in her skirt, then hurried outside, through the camp, and up to the top of the rise. Wheezing with the effort, she lowered herself to her knees, wincing with the pain the climb had caused. The breeze was brisk, whipping her hair in every direction, and she quickly grew chilled.

Holding the ring out, Randegund noted how beautiful it was, how the moonlight glinted off its carving, and she worried. The curse she’d laid upon it so long ago had been powerful — that its bearer would be the destroyer of Rome — thus bringing about two curses with one. She’d been quite proud of that, because Magnus would surely die in shame and grief if Rome’s downfall came by his own hand.

But now … now, Alaric must be obeyed. Could she do it? Could she lift the curse?

Raising her arms skyward, she stared past the twinkling stars to the hazy glow of mother’s milk, spilt from the breasts of the Great Goddess at the dawning of the world. She closed her eyes, wishing she could curse the ring anew, yet knowing in doing so, she would lose all she held dear: her foster-son, her family, her life.

• • •

Nervous, Gigi swallowed as Verica approached, cradling a gossamer-thin, flame-colored veil. The queen brought it down over Gigi’s special hairdo. Using grease, ashes, and butter as a kind of
sapo
mousse, Verica had twisted her hair into six separate coils, each wrapped and knotted with silver ribbons.
Really gross
. The veil covered her head and shoulders, and the world around her took on a brilliant, fiery hue. How weird to wear orange on her wedding day, not to mention smelling like butter.

As Verica fiddled with the
tunica recta
, Gigi was happy at least the gown was white. The fabric was soft and woven in one piece, the style simple, elegant, and one-size-fits-all. She wondered if Magnus was being fussed over like this. She doubted it. She hadn’t seen him since he’d announced their engagement, but by the sounds in camp last night, she knew he’d spent a long evening at an obviously raucous bachelor party.

Hopefully, he’s had a chance to sleep it off
, she thought with some jealousy, wishing she’d had a bachelorette party.
So, he’s gonna be hung over and well hung, all in the same day.
She grinned. All she’d gotten was a crash course on wreath weaving and rituals — no martinis, no lingerie party, and not a single Chippendale dancer to tip!

She turned Magnus’s ring on her finger.
Wow, this fits really well now — the yarn around the band makes it snug.
Randegund’s idea
. I wonder why she’s being so nice to me?

Verica placed the wreath on Gigi’s head and stood back. “Almost done.”

“Are you ready?” Athaulf asked from outside the tent.

“A moment more, brother,” Verica responded. She pulled out a length of coarse rope from the chest that held her bridal vestments.

“My mother fastened this belt around me,” Verica said, wiping a tear, “and now I will tie it on you, as one day I shall tie it for Berga.”

Gigi watched as Verica wove the rope around and around, looping it together in the front, then tying it off in the back. She began to chant, “What has been bound together by this knot of Heracles, no man shall untie excepting Magnus, who alone takes possession of this body, of this woman, this day, and forevermore.”

Verica drew one final item from the chest, a saffron cape, and draped it over Gigi’s shoulders. “There, now you are ready to be wed.”

The queen threw the tent flap back and sunlight poured in, dazzling Gigi, causing her to shade her eyes. Cheers went up, and she followed Verica outside.

Theodoric stepped in behind Verica. He held a hawthorn stick, bound with pitch and rags to make a torch, as yet unlit. Next came Verica’s twins, who served as Gigi’s escorts, followed by little Berga holding flowers — Gigi’s own touch to the proceedings.

She looked up and saw Magnus standing with King Alaric beside a makeshift altar. Gigi caught her breath. Magnus was resplendent in his crimson
dalmatica
, a heavily embroidered, long-sleeved tunic. He was handsome beyond belief, his hair crowned with the silly wreath she’d made for him. Grinning like the devil, he looked totally hung over — maybe still drunk.

As Gigi was led out, Randegund fell into step behind her, carrying a distaff and spindle, reminding her of Sleeping Beauty’s wicked queen, making the hair rise on the back of Gigi’s neck. When they reached the altar, Alaric and Verica stepped up to face the bride and groom. The boys offered Gigi’s hands to their mother, then retreated to one side as Magnus placed both of his hands on Verica’s other outstretched palm.

“Angelina Jolie,” King Alaric said, and Gigi grinned, “do you willingly, in front of these witnesses, consent to marriage with this man, Quintus Pontius Flavus, called Magnus?”

Magnus leaned toward Alaric. “I call her Gigiperrin. Use that name.”

Alaric nodded and started again, “Do you, Gigiperrin, consent — ?”

“I do.” For the first time, she looked directly at Magnus through the veil, and a surge of emotion swept over her as he teetered slightly and grinned back. She laughed. “I do willingly consent.”

“Then show us this,” Alaric said, “by taking his hands in yours before the witnesses here gathered.”

Gigi grasped Magnus’s unsteady hands and squeezed hard, hoping to forestall his tumbling headlong into the crowd. Cheers erupted and Magnus beamed. Three expressions of consent were mandatory, Gigi remembered. The words, the rituals had been drummed into her head —
okay, one down, two to go
.

“And what have you to say?” Alaric asked her.

Gigi silently repeated the words she’d been made to memorize, then spoke carefully, “
Quando tu Gaius, ego Gaia
.” Where you go, Gaius, there am I, Gaia.

Gigi saw Verica nod her approval ever so slightly.

“
Et quando tu Gaia, ego Gaius
,” Magnus replied promptly, slurring his words.

Gigi grinned again.
Okay, two down
.

“Have you gifts for one another?” Alaric asked solemnly.

A smile crept across Verica’s face, and she winked at Gigi.

Magnus held up Gigi’s left hand, presenting the ring for all to see. “This ring I freely bestow upon my bride, as a token of my love for her and the eternal bond we share.”

Catching her breath as murmurs of surprise ran through the crowd, Gigi glanced at Verica, who was giggling. Verica had told her to expect the traditional declaration of duty and honor, and instead he’d made a bold declaration of love!