The dancer stopped moving, pouted, and shook her head, then pointed to a brothel several doors down.
Magnus gave her a coin and then patted her butt, before he turned and smiled at Gigi, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Follow me, wife.”
Once they picked their way along the crowded street and reached the second brothel, a young boy dashed out of the door to take their horses. Magnus helped Gigi dismount, and exclaimed, “I’m sure we’ll like this place.”
“I doubt it,” Gigi grumbled under her breath in English.
She saw a smile flash across Magnus’s face, just as they ducked inside. The interior had tables filled with noisy patrons and nearly naked prostitutes. It smelled of crushed rosemary, and Gigi guessed the floor was strewn with the stuff in a decent attempt to mask earthier odors.
A beautifully clothed woman approached, and Gigi thought the madam looked surprisingly upscale and clean, her hair and makeup tastefully done. She wore gorgeous gold and turquoise earrings, and a necklace of turquoise and pearls.
“How may we serve you, brother?” the madam asked Magnus pleasantly.
“Are you the owner?”
“I am. My name is Vespera. Would you like to see girls? Women? Boys? We can accommodate any desire.” She glanced at Gigi’s gold ring. “Will your wife be enjoying our services, or would you rather she wait? We have a very lovely, very private garden in the back.”
“May we all go into the garden for a moment?” Magnus asked.
Vespera tipped her head and led the way.
The open-air courtyard was tiny, the surrounding walls three stories high and covered in flowering vines. There was a table and two benches, and a small, bubbling fountain in one corner. It was an oasis compared to the interior.
Vespera turned, hands clasped before her. “Obviously, you wish to speak with me of something other than my regular business. I run an honest establishment and will not be bribed. What do you want?”
“I believe you know my uncle, Decimus Pontius Flavus.”
Vespera gasped and stepped back, her hand at her throat. “I have not heard that name in a very long time — a time belonging to another life.”
Surprised, Gigi looked from one to the other. Magnus hadn’t mentioned having any connections in town.
“I hope he is well?” Vespera asked, the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
Magnus’s expression wavered slightly, his brow furrowing. “The last I heard, indeed, he was enjoying his old age.”
“I remember a nephew of his,” she said cautiously, while studying Magnus’s eyes, “one he doted on … Quintus?”
Magnus bowed his head. “Quintus Pontius Flavus. I am called Magnus, now. This is my wife, Gigi.”
She nodded toward Gigi before turning her attention back to Magnus. She straightened and squared her shoulders. “How may I help you?”
“We need to sail out of here tonight, without fail. I can pay.”
Vespera heaved a sigh, and then tilted her head back, thinking. “I know of one sailor. He could acquire a ship, without permission of course, but then he would do anything if the price were right.”
“Are you sure he can be trusted not to talk?”
The brothel owner smiled. “He is my son, and for me, at least, he is entirely trustworthy.”
“We are most grateful.”
“I do this for Decimus … and that other life,” she replied. “Wait here.”
As the afternoon faded into night, Gigi and Magnus anxiously waited in the garden for Vespera to return. Servants came in, bringing an oil lamp, food and wine, all the while saying nothing.
Despite their nerves, Magnus and Gigi took advantage of Vespera’s hospitality. Dinner proved delicious: filets of grilled tuna served with fava beans, the wine a sweet white that reminded Gigi of Riesling.
She finished her wine, then poured some more. “Are you completely sure we can trust Vespera?” she asked Magnus in English.
He nodded. “In Rome, family always comes first. She is my cousin, fathered by my uncle, Decimus, on his mistress. I met Vespera when we were children, at my uncle’s villa on Capreae.”
“And your aunt allowed her to visit?”
He sipped his wine, and then smiled. “Aunt Publilia is a kind woman, and she regularly welcomed Vespera to her home. As a child, I swam and played with her, along with Decimus and Publilia’s daughters. After I entered my teens, I went to Constantinople, and I did not see anyone from that branch of the family for a long time. Before Vespera turned fifteen, she ran away with a lowlife. My uncle lost track of her after that, until word came that she was alone and supporting herself as a prostitute, later, as a madam. He offered to bring her home, but she refused, saying she had done too much to dishonor him. Despite this, I believe she has overcome the circumstances of her birth and her youthful indiscretions, and I am glad she has prospered.”
“You knew she was here in Vada Sabatia?” Gigi asked.
“She’s been living here for many years. After you escaped from Honorius, Rufus was to contact her once he’d gotten you here.”
Gigi fell silent, thinking of Rufus, now long dead. He had been Magnus’s good friend, and he’d served as her guide after she’d escaped enslavement. He had given his life to protect her and she would always honor his memory because of that.
She locked eyes with Magnus, and then touched her glass to his. “Here’s to Rufus,” she quietly said.
“The best of men,” Magnus replied as he downed his wine. He rubbed the silver ring he wore as his wedding band. “This was his and became mine upon his death, because you gifted it to me to honor his memory. I’ve always believed Rufus approved of that, and I know he watches over us, even now.”
“I think he does, too,” Gigi said, just as Vespera came back.
“It is time,” she whispered, after taking a seat beside them. “The streets are crowded with the usual revelers, so you will pass unnoticed. My son has already brought the ship alongside the northernmost dock. You must be quick. The winds are light, so he will expect you to help with the rowing, at least until you are past the imperial ship at the mouth of the port. May the gods blind those onboard, until you are safe and gone.”
Magnus stood and moved to open his coin pouch, but Vespera stopped him. “Pay my son. I do this freely for Decimus’s sake, may the gods bless his old bones. Go!”
Back on the busy street, Gigi and Magnus led their mounts away from the brothel. She felt tired and nervous after the long day. She knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until they were on the boat and safely away.
“What about the horses?” she asked Magnus in English. “I can’t imagine whatever we’re sailing on will be big enough for all of us.”
“We must keep them with us until we get to the dock,” Magnus replied. “Once we know we can leave, we’ll take our gear and set the horses free. They bear the tattoos of the Roman legion, so I am certain they will be returned to the nearest garrison.”
Despite his assurances, Gigi was worried. She looked around, feeling the weight of stares, and noticed the crowd had thinned. They walked on, nearing the intersection where the street met with the main road to the docks.
She turned to pat her mare, their imminent parting tugging at her heart.
“Gigi!”
Magnus’s harsh whisper sent a chill down her spine. She spun back around. The intersection was blocked by soldiers bearing swords and torches, a tall centurion standing in their midst.
“It may be a patrol, nothing more. Stay calm.” Slowly, Magnus drew forth his sword, his breathing controlled, but heavy.
Gigi took out her knife, then glanced at Magnus, and also pulled out her .45. She could see his gaze flicker to it, and then heard, “Well done. Stand ready.”
As they moved forward, Gigi hoped the presence of
the soldiers was just a coincidence. Still, she ran over her gun lessons, focusing on an important rule: know what is behind any potential target. She didn’t want to shoot anyone, but if she were forced to, she sure didn’t want to hit any innocent bystanders lurking in the background.
Sensing danger, their horses snorted and pranced, but thankfully didn’t try to bolt.
“Magnus! Halt!” the centurion shouted.
The command jolted Gigi.
“I am Titus Africanus, and you and your wife are my prisoners!”
Townspeople scattered. The presence of the soldiers was no coincidence, and Gigi and Magnus were horribly outnumbered. An image of Honorius laughing over Magnus’s tortured and inert body came to mind, and she steeled her resolve. Her husband must never be at his mercy again. Never.
Grim, yet determined, Gigi listened as Magnus answered, “We do not recognize your authority to detain us,” he said, “so let us pass unharmed, or prepare to meet your own end.”
The centurion laughed and brandished his sword.
The soldiers circled them, and she recognized the tactic. Heart pounding, she knew their only option was to go on offense, slash blindly and try to survive. Or …
The centurion and his men suddenly rushed Magnus. Gigi raised her .45 and fired.
A blinding flash. The roar of the gun. Everything was instantly illuminated, then gone, leaving only a negative image of the scene seared onto her retina. The explosion continued to reverberate, echoing and hurting her ears. Her mare screamed and ran off. She looked around, dazed. Many soldiers had gone to ground, cursing in fear; others stood gaping.
Stunned, the centurion was on his knees, covering his ears.
Farther off, townspeople had also dropped, groveling and praying. She glanced at Magnus, then looked down at his feet, where a solder sprawled, limp and still, blood pouring from beneath his body.
Horror engulfed her — she’d shot a man to death! — but then Magnus jumped on his horse and hauled her up behind him. Holstering her gun as they galloped through the dark streets, Gigi buried her self-recriminations, knowing there was no time for such luxuries if they were going to survive.
When they reached the northernmost dock, there was a small sailboat waiting. Even as they neared, Gigi could see someone onboard throwing off dock lines.
Magnus ground the horse to a halt and they leapt off his back. He grabbed his gear and together they jumped onto the skiff. Gigi heard shouting and saw soldiers running down the dock, ducking away from the escaping horse. Cursing, they flung their torches.
“To the oars!” the skipper shouted.
The torches landed all around them, sizzling as they hit the water.
Gigi and Magnus scrambled to sit and began pulling on the oars, while their skipper fishtailed the tiller, slow and steady, back and forth.
Heart pounding, Gigi could hear the soldiers furiously calling for a boat. Agonizing minutes dragged by as their skiff neared the imperial blockade ship. Their sailboat wasn’t more than thirty feet in length and low in the water, but was it small enough to go unnoticed?
The sounds from shore faded, only the faint dip and swish of their oars could be heard. Dip and swish, in and out of the water, in and out.
Gigi held her breath. No shouting. No alerts. The imperial ship appeared deserted.
Dip and swish. In and out of the water, in and out.
They left the inner harbor behind. Gigi could feel the night breeze pick up as they moved out. Waves began slapping against their hull. She glanced back and saw the blockade ship, still dark and silent.
Magnus kissed his garnet ring and whispered, “Blessed Victoria blinded them, just as Vespera asked.”
When they finally rowed into open water, the wind picked up sharply. It felt good, refreshing, and Gigi took a deep breath.
“We will raise the sail, then put up the oars,” the skipper said, speaking low and grinning. “But first, pay up, cousin, or I’ll drop you overboard before we’re out of sight of land!”
Magnus laughed, paused in his work with the oars, and reached for his knapsack.
“I’ll take care of the sail,” Gigi said, hurrying to the mast.
The sail was attached to two booms, one that was tied off at the base of the mast, the other that had to be drawn to the top. As Gigi hauled up the sail, she saw Magnus pull out a bag of coins. With a jolt, she realized her knapsack was still attached to her horse, gone forever. What had they lost? What would the Romans find? Her extra ammo — useless to them. What else? She wracked her brain, trying to recall every item she’d stowed away the last time they packed.
Gigi finished with the sail, tying it off when it was fully open. Using the sail lines, she adjusted the angle of the lower boom to match their heading. The sail caught the wind and snapped full. They were under way.
Shit! The stun gun — and one of the chargers! Gigi glanced at Magnus and their skipper, who were smiling and talking.
Jaw clenched, she checked her shoulder, glad to feel the straps of her flute case and gun holster. She had the double magazine in her .45, which meant only fifteen rounds of ammo remained. Shit, shit, shit! There would be no practicing, and there must be no missed shots. More than ever, each one would have to count.
She turned her mind to the man she’d gunned down. He wasn’t her first kill; after Honorius double-crossed the Visigoths and attacked their camp five years ago, she’d taken the lives of two Roman soldiers. She’d done it defending Alaric and Verica’s kids, a noble reason if there ever was one. Still, three killings by her own hand …
She shook her head. She didn’t have the time or luxury of wallowing in doubt or guilt. The fate of Athaulf’s children was all that mattered now.
As for the Roman soldier she’d just shot, she hoped he wasn’t supposed to have kids after this day. If so, she might have just turned history on its head in spite of their best efforts.
With a sigh, Gigi looked out at the sea, realizing all she could do was let it go, just let it go.
Chapter 6
The Castle, Barcelona, Spain
Sorrow hung heavy, like a shroud. The castellum was quiet and dark with foreboding, the joy of Christmas forgotten. People tiptoed and spoke in whispers, if they spoke at all.
Placidia placed her hand on her infant son’s chest, feeling his heart, its beat erratic and much too fast. He was very ill, his skin hot, his eyes unseeing and clouded with pain.
Just yesterday, Theo had been cooing and smiling, a healthy babe, but at dawn he had awakened fussy. By mid-day, he was listless, fevered, and sweating. The physician tried ice water baths and an array of medicines to cool him, but nothing worked. By evening, the seizures began — terrible, wracking fits, which no potion or prayer had been able to stop.
Now, deepest night enveloped them, and her little Theo had grown quiet, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he struggled for breath. It was starting to dawn on Placidia no one knew what they were doing, or how to help her babe.
“Oh, Jesus, no!” she heard someone cry out, and then realized it was her own strangled voice.
Athaulf bade Placidia sit by his side. Together, they held their child. Their tears dripped down and bathed his tiny face. Could nothing more be done? She looked at the physician, who shook his head, and then saw Bishop Sigesar standing by the door. Why had he been called … ?
Instantly, she knew they had only moments left. Placidia put her hand on her son’s chest once again, praying for a miracle, but his heart fluttered and stopped, and he went still.
Oh, God, no! Please do not take him from us! Lord, please!
She felt Athaulf sag against her, heard him clear his throat as he struggled with his own grief. She gazed at Theo in disbelief. This could not be happening. It was a nightmare.
Awaken! she ordered herself.
As if from a distance, she was aware of the bishop’s approach, then of Athaulf saying, “Leave us. I will call for your return when we are ready.”
The physician bent and whispered something to Athaulf, who nodded.
Placidia studied Theo’s face, so peaceful now. She fought her grief and cradled him, guarding the desperate hope he would yet stir, but knowing he would soon be taken from her arms, as he’d been taken from her life, never to return.
Awaken, her mind implored, as she fought against the hollow blackness in her chest, a deep chasm where her heart had been.
With a gasp, the babe suddenly moved, and Placidia’s heart thudded back to life. “Athaulf! He lives!” she cried out.
“No, Placidia, he has died. The physician told me this might happen, the last movements as the soul leaves the body.”
“No, he is mistaken!” Placidia wailed. She had felt Theo come back to life. She had heard him try to breathe. “Athaulf, no, Theo is still alive!”
Her husband put his arms around her, rocking her until her wild sobs died away, until her son grew cool to the touch and she knew, she knew.
Gently coaxing the child from Placidia’s grasp, Athaulf took their babe to the bishop, who proceeded to shout the infant’s name into his tiny ear, “Theodosius Germanicus! Theodosius Germanicus! Theodosius Germanicus!”
Numb, Placidia watched as the bishop turned to Athaulf and pronounced, “The soul of Theodosius Germanicus has gone to God.”
Athaulf’s shoulders drooped, tears streaming down his cheeks as he started to remove his son’s bulla.
Placidia felt faint. No, no! This cannot be happening. It is a nightmare!
“Give him back to me!” Overcome, Placidia leapt up, intent on taking Theo and leaving this foul place, but her legs gave way and she dropped to the floor. Screaming, flailing about, she rolled in grief, until Athaulf took her in his arms and the world went black.
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