Return to Me

by Morgan O'Neill

  It must be faced, he told himself. Placidia is no longer a virgin. He had lost that honor. But he still cherished her, would do anything for her. It was his greatest pleasure to have been given the command that would see her brought home, once and for all, after the Visigoths were defeated and Athaulf killed. And then, at long last, she would be his.

  Constantius straightened and smiled. How he loved her! He would do everything possible to make her happy.

  Shouts and commotion in camp caught his attention and he turned to look. A legatus bearing the emperor’s standard approached his tent. A message or command of some sort from Honorius, no doubt. Constantius went to greet him.

  “Titus Africanus!” he exclaimed, surprised to see him. They saluted and grasped each other’s forearms. “I thought you were still in Ravenna. Are you come to tell me of your achievements in that regard, I hope? From the look of it,” he indicated Africanus’s new uniform with a nod, “your visit pleased the emperor very much.”

  “Alas, only partially. The functions of most of the objects recovered from Magnus’s gear continue to puzzle Honorius’s magicians,” Africanus admitted.

  “Ah,” Constantius said, nodding.

  “As to my new status,” Africanus went on, “I am most grateful to Honorius for his beneficence.”

  Constantius smiled. “As are we all. And what of Magnus and his wife? Have they been captured?”

  “No. As you know, they stole a skiff in Vada Sabatia and were able to elude the blockade. It has been confirmed Magnus and his wife have joined Athaulf and Placidia in Barcino.”

  “Damn him to Hades!” Constantius blurted. “I swear that man has the goddess Fortuna in his pocket! Any idea where he has kept himself all these years?”

  Africanus shrugged. “Britannia, perhaps? I know not, but anywhere else, and we’d have gotten wind of it, you may be sure.”

  “Does Honorius send any messages? Directives? Is that why you are here?”

  A smile flickered across Africanus’s face. “Only that I and my men are to join up with you, and aid in any way possible on the mission you pursue, for our goals are now the same. But there is a bit more news. Have you heard of the death of the Visigoth princeling?”

  “Indeed, I have.” Constantius nodded in self-satisfaction, again savoring the momentous news. When his own plans came to fruition and he married Placidia, it meant there would be no complications from Athaulf’s spawn, no possibility of anyone getting in the way of his own heirs, for he planned on begetting many fine and beautiful children on her. Given Honorius’s penchant for chickens and whores, Constantius had every hope he would father the next royal family.

  He guided Africanus to his map table, explaining the route he’d laid out. Then, just as he was about to arrange for the bivouacking of Africanus’s men, he spotted legionnaires escorting a pair of Visigoths to his tent. One was short and very slight, his face smooth like a young girl’s, yet he moved as an athlete and was dressed like a warrior. The other was quite familiar.

  Sergeric the Visigoth!

  Constantius had served with Sergeric’s brother, General Sarus, for years, and although a very able and cunning tactician, Constantius had not trusted Sarus, and was not bereft when the man got his throat slit. Sergeric, however, had never served Rome. Instead, he’d stayed with his Visigoth brethren, even after his brother, Sarus, had been murdered, most probably on the orders of Athaulf.

  Whatever Sergeric had to say, this promised to be a most interesting conversation. Constantius let no hint of expectation show on his face as he held out his arm in greeting.

  Sergeric clasped arms and nodded curtly, then released his grip. “General Constantius, greetings. I have come to speak with you on an urgent matter. In private.”

  Constantius inclined his head and glanced at the slight man, before returning his gaze to Sergeric. “We may talk in my tent, but you will forgive me if I keep my legatus close at hand, for appearance’s sake.”

  The Visigoth looked at Africanus and nodded agreement. “This is Eberwolf. A trusted aide.”

  Constantius found it hard to suppress a smile. “You may be certain I did not mistake him for a man-at-arms.”

  “You are correct, most noble warrior,” Eberwolf replied, then bowed low. “I am not a warrior, but I think none could disparage my intellect.”

  “If you are as smart as you are undersized,” Constantius replied, “we shall determine the truth of it soon enough, I’ve no doubt. Africanus, come, and we shall see what these fellows want.”

  “General,” Africanus said with a bow.

  Constantius called his steward. “Prepare meat, bread, and drink, and inform the clowns to ready themselves. I have a feeling we shall be feasting tonight!”

  • • •

  Music filled the night air. A great bonfire had been lit, and food and drink flowed in abundance. Sitting in an honored spot beside Africanus, Sergeric followed Constantius with his gaze. He’d met the general before, on missions with King Alaric and Athaulf to parlay with the Romans. Constantius had always struck him as taciturn and sober, moody even. But now, the general laughed at the clowns capering around and making fools of themselves. Then, when Constantius got up and began to dance and cavort in delight alongside his clowns, Sergeric could only stare, drop-jawed.

  Suddenly, the general wheeled toward them.

  “Come, come little man,” Constantius grabbed Eberwolf’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “Make merry! But first, tell me, I think secretly you must be a great warrior. Show us some of your moves. Surely your specialty is poking knives into the feet of your foes, eh? Indeed, you are probably the very weapon any general would dream of, one to turn the tide of battle forever!”

  Constantius bellowed with laughter and clapped Eberwolf on the shoulder.

  Sergeric closely watched Eberwolf to gauge his response, and noted a clenched jaw. Well, what did he expect?

  “Go on, Eberwolf, dance for the Roman dunces. Play their games,” Sergeric said, speaking Visigoth. Laughing for the crowd, he prodded his man toward the dancing. “We have brought them a great gift this night, and when we receive ours, do not forget that you will be handsomely recompensed.”

  Eberwolf glanced darkly at Sergeric, then plastered a smile on his face and began to hop about to everyone’s delight. Sergeric shrugged inwardly. The little man should be happy to be taken seriously at all, given the dearth of blessings God had bestowed upon him.

  Sergeric watched as Constantius took a brightly colored cap off one of the clowns and shoved it on Eberwolf’s head. It was much too big, and slid down over his eyes, stopping only when it reached his nose. Another roar of laughter, as everyone watched Eberwolf blindly teeter around.

  With a feigned grin, Sergeric glanced at Africanus, who looked introspective as he watched his cavorting general. He admitted to a grudging respect for the legatus. He was tall and well-muscled, and obviously cunning, but emitted a sense of self-control that was palpable. Sergeric could tell he was not a man to be flustered, or let his emotions get the best of him.

  Sergeric then turned to look at the small group gathered at the other side of the bonfire. Filthy Huns, here to negotiate some sort of treaty with Constantius. Their brethren lurked in the lands beyond the Danubius, the very lands once belonging to Sergeric’s forefathers. Miserable Huns. Horse-fuckers, if the rumors were true. He stared at their heads, shaved but for top-knots of hair, long as their horses’ tails. The Huns were bare-chested and covered with tattoos. He half expected to see them drinking from the skulls of their enemies, as they were wont to do. He spat to rid himself of their foulness. A villainous lot, they held no allegiance except to the silver and gold they craved. Equally as cunning as any Roman, they tended to disparage self-control, and were far more apt to let their emotions embolden their ferocity. Thankfully, he need not worry about them, since he�
��d also made an alliance with Constantius.

  Grinning, Sergeric felt such a surge of pride he could hardly contain himself. Thinking back to the meeting, he’d instantly known, by the look of shock, avarice, and lust on the Roman general’s face, that he had offered a plan more audacious, more cunning, than Constantius could ever have dreamt up on his own. It was the first salvo, the first victory in his grand plan.

  He knew Athaulf, and more importantly his wife, the filthy Roman bitch, Placidia, would be delighted to welcome him home, only too willing to believe he was ever their loyal captain. As ever, their gullibility would be their downfall. Once he was allowed access back into Athaulf’s inner circle, he would kill the king, and then go after the children, making sure to leave no vestige of Athaulf’s hated bloodline alive. Then he would reclaim that which Alaric and Athaulf had stolen so long ago — his family’s crown, for he and his kin were the true leaders of the Visigoths, not the foul little bastards springing from Alaric or Athaulf’s stinking loins.

  Watching the fun, Sergeric furrowed his brow, recalling with surprise that Constantius had insisted, on pain of death, that Placidia be spared and turned over to him immediately, without the least hair on her head out of place.

  He chuckled as Eberwolf, still blinded by the cap, stumbled over the ring of rocks surrounding the fire, tumbled to the ground, and had to be batted about by several men, before the flames on his clothing were tamped out.

  It would be no hardship to hand over Placidia, Sergeric mused. Let the Roman general do with her what he would. It was not his concern.

  With a laugh, Sergeric got up and joined in the revelry.

  • • •

  Two days later, Constantius and Africanus watched the pair of Visigoths ride out of camp. Constantius waited until the dust kicked up by their departure cleared, then turned to look at Africanus.

  “I’ve no doubt the pact Sergeric made with us is sincere, but it does not go far enough.”

  Africanus bowed, and then returned the steady gaze. “I am yours to command. What would you have me do?”

  “Gather the men with whom you came. You will ride out today for Barcino, but do not follow the same path. Do not let yourself be seen by Sergeric. When he makes his move on Athaulf, I want you to be there. You have two objectives. The first is to fulfill the emperor’s command: capture Magnus and his wife, or if you cannot, then kill them and bring back their bodies. The second command is mine, and it will cost you your life if you bungle it: protect Placidia and bring her to me unscathed.” He looked squarely at Africanus. “There can be no failure of the second command.”

  Africanus returned his gaze without flinching, but a telltale swallow let Constantius know he had made his point.

  Chapter 13

  Placidia stood on her balcony overlooking the pine-covered hills. In the distance, majestic Mons serratus, with its dramatically jagged peaks, stood guard over Barcino. It was a beautiful, warm day, with a breeze puffing in from the sea. How she wished she could spend a carefree afternoon up there, exploring the nooks and rises, with nothing on her mind more pressing than getting back before dark.

  She stretched and yawned, recalling yesterday’s happy events. Verica’s wedding to Frideger had been quiet and dignified, yet full of joy. Verica had thought she would never love again, yet there she was, gazing at her new husband with a tenderness that warmed Placidia’s heart. The couple would leave for Narbonne in a week’s time, accompanied by Alaric and Verica’s children. Placidia would miss them terribly, but Frideger was a good man, and Verica deserved this happiness.

  Placidia thought again of how the couple had gazed at one another, the bond between them strong and beautiful to behold. Then, with a jolt, she wondered how long it had been since she had gazed at Athaulf in that way.

  Of course she knew the answer. Regardless, she suddenly realized how badly she missed her husband. Though they’d been tender and attentive to one another, Theo had been standing between them since the moment he got sick. All these months they’d been missing their son, but now Placidia knew she must remedy the situation, or the bond she and Athaulf shared would die, too.

  Hurrying inside, she was intent on finding him, but was met instead at the door by a gaggle of smiling girls.

  “Mama, Gigi wants to take us to the market!” Marga squealed, hopping up and down.

  Placidia couldn’t help smiling. Athaulf’s oldest girl, Gaila, stood with her sisters, Amala and Rosenda, and Verica’s youngest, Berga, was there as well. Gigi and Vana stood at the rear, and all of them wore their most ardent expressions of hope and pleading.

  “Come with us, Mother,” Amala, just ten years of age, suggested.

  “I cannot, but it sounds like a wonderful idea. Are you sure you want to take on such a project?” Placidia asked the two grown women.

  Grins and nods were her answer.

  “We will have escorts with us, of course,” Gigi added.

  “So be it. Let me give you some coin so you may all buy beads and ribbons for your hair.”

  The girls twittered with excitement as Placidia rummaged for spending money. Then, giving a small pouch to Gigi, she bent and took hold of Marga’s hands. “You cannot wander off. You must hold on to one of your sister’s hands every moment. Do you promise?” She gazed at the others, binding them all to this mandate.

  “I promise, Mama.” Marga nodded vigorously.

  “Then you may go with my blessing.”

  After a round of hugs, Placidia watched them hurry off on their adventure, a blur of color and curls and delight.

  She smiled, and her thoughts turned back to Athaulf. Would he comply with her wishes?

  Beckoning a servant, she gave him a detailed list of her needs, and then headed for a private study, where she knew she would find her husband.

  • • •

  Bone weary from the over-long meeting, Athaulf pressed the royal seal into the wax. He hoped this was the final document, for he wished to go outside, to ride and hunt. One of his advisors pushed another document his way. Athaulf girded himself for more.

  “Aelia Galla Placidia, Queen of the Visigoths!” a guard announced.

  Athaulf looked up, surprised. Placidia stood in the doorway, her smile hopeful, and her gaze for him alone. He felt a jolt to his gut, because he hadn’t seen such a sparkle in her eyes in a long while.

  He rose as she drew near and then took her hands in his.

  “Husband,” she spoke softly, “can you be persuaded to put away the things of state for an afternoon? I was hoping we might explore the hills together, just you and me. It is such a beautiful day, and … I’ve missed you so.”

  Joy swept over him at her heartfelt words. He spotted a servant just outside the doorway, waiting with a blanket and a picnic basket. “Friends,” he said to his advisors, “our work is done for the day. Please meet me back here in the morning.”

  Placidia lowered her head, a blush flaming her cheeks.

  Holding her hand, Athaulf took the picnic things from the servant, and together he and Placidia left the castle. Guards joined them, as they must, but they knew enough to keep a respectful distance.

  At first, they followed paths beaten into the earth by centuries of use, and the going was easy. Soon, however, the paths gave way to animal tracks, the hillside steepened, and climbing became more difficult.

  Placidia hiked without speaking, and Athaulf was impressed with her stamina. Keeping a firm grasp of her hand, he made sure she didn’t falter. Finally, when they reached a crest, Athaulf stopped and pulled her to him, and together, they looked out over the trail they’d followed.

  The castle and city lay below them, the azure sea sparkling in the distance, like a blanket of jewels spread out as far as the eye could see.

  “It is beautiful!” Placidia exclaimed. “I wanted to seek the beaut
y of the hills with you, never imagining what we would see from up here.”

  “I’m glad you thought of it, my love,” Athaulf replied, delighted by her happiness.

  Placidia turned to him, her eyes brimming with tears that spoke more of love than loss. His heart swelled. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d seen that look. His own pain had made him unaware, until now.

  “We’ve neglected one another,” he said, “haven’t we?”

  Placidia nodded. “It suddenly occurred to me how much I’ve missed you — how much I’ve missed us.”

  He leaned in and tenderly kissed her. “I, too. But it was understandable. Our hearts were broken.”

  “And the scar will always remain, but we must heal, and you are my greatest salve.”

  Smiling, he pushed a stray curl off of her forehead. “Do you remember the first time I tried to tame your hair?”

  Placidia chuckled. “Yes, but there was no taming our hearts, was there?”

  He grinned. “And the things you proposed … ”

  “Athaulf!” she scolded, blushing deeply.

  “I would gladly take you up on that now, sweet lady.”

  She leaned against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “That is why I invited you up here, and why I insisted we bring a blanket. There is a bottle of wine in the basket, too.”

  “You’ve thought of everything.” He held her close, breathing in her flowery scent.

  “My only thought was for our love.”

  Her eyes were smoldering, unfathomable depths, and he wanted to dive in. “Then perhaps we should follow this track down the other side of the hill,” he suggested. “I doubt you want us to share our love with the entire city.”

  Placidia looked over her shoulder and giggled. “Indeed! If we can see them, the reverse must also be true. I’ll follow your lead.”

  Athaulf nodded to his soldiers, who had been following a distance behind. “Take your ease, men. I’ll guard the queen from this point.”