Return to Me

by Morgan O'Neill

  “Great,” Gigi said, “and be sure to take care of the music scholarships for the kids.”

  “Already covered,” Jack said. “You’re good to go, kiddo.”

  Her mother groaned and Gigi hugged her. “We have to, Mom, we just have to do this.”

  “Promise me you’ll try to come back, darling. I can’t stand the thought of losing you again.”

  Gigi nodded. “We’ll be back, with all of Athaulf’s children safe and sound.”

  Her father looked up. “Mon Dieu, do you suppose we can do something at the baptistery, something that will always keep the door open for you?”

  “Oh, yes! The ‘Minute Waltz’,” Gigi exclaimed. “That’s a great idea. How could we do that? ”

  “An endowment,” her mother suggested. “With a stipulation they always have that song playing in the background?”

  “Perfect,” her dad said. “Jack, you can handle that, can’t you? And we’ll put up the money.”

  “I know just who to call,” he replied, and reached for his phone.

  • • •

  Ravenna’s ancient baptistery was set up for a mock photo shoot, an excuse Jack had given the curator to explain why Gigi and Magnus were in costume. Her parents had decided to pose as the photographers, while Jack was Jack, the efficient manager and ace controller of crowds. He’d just left with the staff, ushering everyone out with the promise of autographed pictures and CDs of the Nero soundtrack.

  It was just the four of them now. Gigi looked around at the shadowy frescos, knowing as soon as they went through time, if they were able, the walls would be bare, the baptistery still fairly new and undecorated.

  Her dad clicked on one of the umbrella lights. “We need to see everything clearly, chère Gigi. We want to spend every last second with you that we are able.”

  Her mother started to sob and Gigi enveloped her in her arms. Rocking her, she whispered, “It’s okay, we’ll be okay.”

  Jack came in and locked the door. “The coast is clear for now. Are you ready?”

  Magnus put his arm around his mother-in-law’s shoulder. “I will protect your daughter with my life and sword, I swear.”

  “Keep this safe for me, Mom.” Gigi removed her ruby and diamond wedding ring and placed it in her mother’s hand, then turned to Magnus. “And here’s yours.” She took out the ancient garnet ring and slid it back on its original home, Magnus’s right forefinger.

  “No, my sweet. This will not do,” he said. “As my wife, you must wear a ring. It is Roman custom.”

  Gigi’s mother twisted her gold wedding band off her finger. “Take mine,” she said, her voice low and halting. “That way … a part of me will always be there with you.”

  Choking up, Gigi took the ring. “Would you wear mine?”

  “Oh — ” Her mother’s voice caught, then she tenderly whispered, “Yes, I’ll wear it until the day you come back.”

  Gigi hugged her mom. Her father joined in, wrapping both of his women in his arms.

  Despite their tears, Gigi heard Magnus say, “We must go.” She wiped her eyes and nodded. It was time.

  Together, she and Magnus stepped to the pulpit, where they put on their knapsacks. Fingers trembling, she got her flute ready. Gravely serious, Magnus withdrew his blades and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  Her heart pounded. With a last look, she memorized the moment. A nod from Jack. Her parents’ tears. Her mom blowing her a kiss, the ruby ring sparkling on her left hand.

  Gigi placed her golden flute to her lips and began to play.

  The “Minute Waltz.”

  • • •

  The air shimmered with color and sparkling lights, and Jack heard two flutes playing. In amazement, he glanced around the baptistery for the other flutist, but only Gigi stood at the pulpit, Magnus by her side.

  Jack cocked his head and listened as the musicians got more in sync, until they matched note for note. Then, in a flash, Gigi and Magnus vanished.

  Jack’s mouth dropped open. Holy shit, it worked!

  Susan Perrin collapsed into her husband’s arms, and Jack quickly helped him lower her to the floor.

  “Libertas!” someone triumphantly shouted.

  Jack spun toward the pulpit and saw him, a little man in a toga, holding a silver flute.

  Chapter 2

  Ravenna, Italy

  “Libertas!”

  Gigi heard the man’s distant cry and knew the time travel had worked before she opened her eyes. Unsteady, woozy, she leaned against Magnus, who held her fast. The other flutist had played the “Minute Waltz” with her, their music meshing easily this time. The present had given way to the past in a swirl of sparkles and cold fire.

  “We’re here, my sweet.”

  She nodded and looked around. The baptistery’s interior was dimly lit by shafts of moonlight filtering in through high windows. Bare, shadowy walls. The marble pulpit new, crisply carved. The scent of incense lingering in the air.

  Pinpricks of dread needled her spine, and her hands shook. They were back in the fifth century. Why had they done this? Why had they put themselves in such danger?

  The children. She took a deep breath.

  Magnus released her and sheathed his sword, but kept his Bowie knife at the ready.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said in English, then shook his head and switched to Latin. “Merda — from now on, we must speak my mother tongue.”

  “I am terrified,” Gigi admitted in Latin.

  He kissed her temple. “Think of the children, think of Placidia.”

  “I know. I’ll be fine.” She put her flute away and drew her palla over her hair. She followed Magnus to the door and together they slipped into the night, moving from shadow to shadow beneath the plane trees lining the plaza.

  No one was around. A chill breeze sent dried leaves skittering across their path. Autumn. But what year? The air smelled of wood smoke, fish and garlic — the ancient Ravenna she remembered.

  As they approached a guardhouse near the southern gate, the Porta Nuova, she knew their most brazen moment lay ahead. Gigi pulled her palla closer about her face.

  “Guard,” Magnus shouted, “I have need of horses.”

  A slave ran out of the stables, bleary-eyed and confused, followed by a Roman legionnaire coming from the guardhouse.

  “What’s this? You have a nerve! These are our — ” Seeing Magnus’s uniform, the legionnaire snapped to attention and saluted, his arm touching his chest, then thrusting forward. “Forgive me, sir. I, I didn’t realize.”

  “I have need of two horses,” Magnus reiterated. “Ours are down with stone bruises, and my wife and I must leave Ravenna tonight. I’ve let my stable boy know, and he will be here tomorrow to replace the two I’m taking now.”

  The legionnaire saluted again. “See to the needs of the legatus and his wife,” he commanded the stablehand, who ran off to saddle the mounts.

  Soon, Gigi and Magnus were passing through the gate. She hazarded a glance at the guards manning the tower and caught one man’s answering stare. She held herself straight in the saddle and stared back, as if she were the aloof, spoiled, high-born Roman wife of a legatus.

  His gaze was keen, but then he turned away, and Gigi hoped what she had seen was mere curiosity.

  • • •

  Smiling coldly, Sextus stood in the guardhouse and mulled what had just happened. His lot had worsened since the death of his general, Sarus, three years earlier. No longer a proud centurion, he and all of Saurus’s men had been demoted after that barbarian cocksucker Athaulf murdered the general. And now, unbelievably, the catalyst for all his woes had just left Ravenna — Senator Magnus and his slave-wife, whom he recalled had the odd name of Gigiperrin.

  The bitch had looked at him
as if he were vermin. I shall be a centurion again, he thought, and perhaps I will be the one to wipe that look off her face.

  He knew protocol demanded he report the appearance of Magnus and his wife to his superior officer, the centurion Caius Galba. But Sextus reminded himself of all he had suffered because of his double dealing superiors. News of this magnitude could not wait, and he decided to deliver the information in person to the one who would most appreciate it.

  Feigning illness, Sextus asked to leave the guardhouse. The centurion granted him permission to go back to his bunk, but, instead, he slipped away and headed in another direction.

  He found himself grinning in anticipation. His fortunes were about to turn.

  • • •

  Honorius ran a lazy hand over Baha’s magnificent brown body. She had come to him from the lands beyond the Indus, a gift from his nephew, Theodosius, the emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire. She had arrived on a ship from Constantinople just the week before, and he was already besotted with her exotic beauty.

  She opened her pale green eyes and smiled at him.

  Glorious! He buried his face in her hair and she wrapped her legs around him.

  “You please us, Baha,” he said as he nibbled her ear.

  She giggled. “There are not two of you here, sire.”

  Perplexed, he stared at her, but then he understood. He was struck by her charming innocence and her lack of fear when it came to conversing with him. He grinned. “We rule as a God-given right, acting conjointly with the Lord, hence our use of the royal we — ”

  “Is your god here, too, sire?”

  He laughed. “You little minx, that is blasphemy,” he said, and then thrust into her. He started pumping, enveloped by her wet warmth, needing to come.

  There was a sharp knock at the door, but Honorius ignored it and pumped harder. Another knock sounded, and he went still, his anger flaring. Who dared disturb his fucking?

  “Venerabilis,” a muffled voice called out from the other side of the door. “Forgive my impertinence, but there is important news, news I felt you would want to know immediately.”

  Honorius grumbled and pulled out of Baha, then threw a silk sheet over her. “Enter.”

  He didn’t bother covering himself when his minister came in with a legionnaire, and was amused when the men averted their gazes from his erection.

  He rose, tied another sheet around his waist, and then sourly addressed his minister, “What is so important?”

  The man indicated the legionnaire. “This is Sextus Betto. He is a guard on the Porta Nuova.”

  Sextus removed his helmet and went down on one knee; hand on his breast, his eyes downcast and deferential.

  Honorius nodded, anxious to get on with it. “Speak. Tell us your important news.”

  The legionnaire lifted his gaze, then remembered himself, and looked down again. “O most illustrious Emperor, I have just seen Quintus Pontius Flavus Magnus and his wife leave out of the Porta Nuova, heading south.”

  Rocked to his core, Honorius burst out, “What? That is impossible! Their burned corpses were delivered to us years ago.”

  Sextus blanched. “I, uh … but Great One,” he stammered, “it was Magnus. I swear. He and his wife escaped the baptistery back then, and Sarus had to cover — ”

  “Are you saying it was a lie?” Livid, Honorius grabbed him by the throat. “You were there? All these years you’ve known of this sham?”

  Sextus’s eyes widened with terror. “But,” he croaked, gasping for air as Honorius squeezed, “but I … following orders … the bodies … slaves — ”

  “You worthless fuck!” Honorius screamed as he thrust his minister aside and dragged the legionnaire into the hallway. He shouted to his Germani guards, “Kill him! Kill him!”

  Honorius let go and backed away as a guard swung with the flat of his axe, smashing the man’s head open against the marble floor, blood and brains splattering everywhere.

  A high-pitched scream rent the air.

  Honorius turned and saw Baha at the door, horrorstruck. His vision blurred red at the thought she’d witnessed the slaughter, but he choked back his fury, for it was too late.

  Seeking to mollify her, he removed the yellow diamond ring from his pinkie and gave it to her. “Go back inside.”

  She looked at him, trembling. Her beautiful green eyes were deep pools of agony, loving and sad. He was touched by the depth of her emotions, laid bare for him. His feelings for her were delicious, new and intense.

  He smiled. “Baha, go.”

  Nodding, she placed the ring on her finger. “Your will be done.”

  He watched as she returned to his bedchamber, her hand held out before her, the ring sparkling like a golden star.

  Then he spotted his minister still cowering inside the room.

  His anger resurfaced. “Get out!” he yelled, pointing to the man, who bolted through the door and fled.

  Honorius spun back around and saw the guards hauling the dead legionnaire out of the hall. The trail of smeared blood marred his beautiful marble floor, and he noticed that some of his priceless statues were flecked with gore.

  “Clean this mess!” he shouted.

  Slaves scrambled to do his bidding.

  As he walked away, Honorius’s heart thudded with hate. So, the yellow diamond’s original owner, the flute-playing, slave-bitch Gigiperrin, was still alive.

  God damn her and filthy, traitorous Magnus!

  Four years had passed since he’d last seen them. Four years! Honorius remembered how Gigiperrin had kicked him in the balls, how Magnus had fought him with subterfuge and guile. Then, one glorious night, Magnus had been delivered to him for torture and execution. He’d spent the evening leisurely whipping Magnus, almost to the point of death, but the bitch had ruined everything. In a bid to save her husband, she’d connived her way into the palace and attacked Honorius. But, just as he got the upper hand in their struggle, at the very moment he was about to ravage her body, Magnus had roused from his stupor and assaulted him, nearly killing him with a blow to the skull.

  Fists bunching, Honorius vowed he would execute them as soon as they were brought back to Ravenna, this time with alacrity, and cruelly, by his own hands.

  • • •

  Titus Africanus stood at attention in the royal audience hall. Honorius stared at the tall centurion, wondering if he had also been a party to General Sarus’s miserable deception. Honorius’s jaw clenched, but he willed himself to remain calm, for he knew Africanus had not been with Sarus on the night in question. Instead, the man had been ordered to comb Ravenna’s ditches, canals, and sewers for Magnus and Gigiperrin to no avail.

  The next morning, Africanus and his men had been recalled to attend the unveiling of the remains. Sarus had made a great show of displaying the charred corpses. Honorius remembered how the stench of burnt flesh mingled with the odors emanating from Africanus’s shit-encrusted boots. At the time, he had not given it much mind, for he was overjoyed with Sarus’s work.

  Honorius smiled grimly. The corpses were crucified the next day in Ravenna’s main square, to rot in public until the carrion crows had borne away the last, fetid scraps.

  But now, he knew the truth. It wasn’t them! Would that Sarus was here to answer for this travesty!

  Honorius’s fists balled and he spat, “Africanus, Quintus Magnus and Gigiperrin are still alive. Find them!”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Your will be done, Serenissimus.”

  “If you succeed where Sarus failed, you will rise to fill his boots,” Honorius promised. “If you lie to me, or fail as Sarus did, then you will die. You are dismissed.”

  He watched Africanus bow and scrape and then slowly back out of the hall. He turned to his ministers, who waited nearby, huddled together and, as always
, anxious to do his bidding.

  Honorius frowned mightily at the men, enjoying their show of nerves, and loudly said, “Summon General Constantius.”

  • • •

  Sitting on his throne, Honorius thoughtfully gazed at the balding spot on the top of his general’s head. It had taken three days for Constantius to arrive in Ravenna and take a knee before him. The general had been in the region of Picenum, putting down skirmishes erupting among ungrateful and hungry citizens.

  He felt excited at the prospect of telling his magister militum, General Constantius, that Magnus and Gigiperrin were alive. Too delicious. And then a new thought occurred to him: he was going to see his sister again.

  Aelia Galla Placidia.

  He would settle things with her once and for all.

  “Rise,” Honorius commanded.

  Constantius slowly got to his feet, silent, ready to listen. His bulging eyes were ugly, yet his gaze was filled with intelligence and steely determination. Honorius knew he could count on Constantius to succeed where others had failed.

  “We have had some very interesting news since you were last at court,” Honorius began. “It seems Magnus and his bitch of a wife, Gigiperrin, are still alive.”

  Constantius’s brows drew down, as did the corners of his mouth. “How can that be, Venerabilis?”

  “Sarus lied to us,” Honorius said, pleased to see even more shock register on his general’s face. “He failed in his pursuit of them the night they ran from here, and instead of admitting failure, we have learned he murdered two perfectly good slaves, burned their bodies, and presented them to us as the escaped traitors. To think we once mourned Sarus’s death at Athaulf’s hand. Now we applaud the act!”

  Constantius looked angry as he nodded in agreement. “What would you have me do? Hunt down Magnus and his wife? It would be my great pleasure.”

  “No, we have a centurion doing that,” Honorius replied. “We now regret the hand of peace we offered that Visigoth bastard, Athaulf, in giving our blessing for the proper marriage between him and our sister in Narbonne. And to think Athaulf named Senator Attalus ‘Augustus’ again, without our consent. Another slight, and stupid, for how well did it work out the first time they named him such? Badly! And we will not be a co-ruler ever again!”