With a smile, he took Placidia’s hand and led her down the other side of the crag.
• • •
Barcino’s open-air market was a glory to the senses, filled with color, gaiety, and captivating smells. Gigi smiled as the girls, dutifully holding on to hands or skirts, moved through the crowd, gawking at ribbons, scarves, and straw hats. She wondered what they would think of an American shopping mall, and decided this place would give one of those a run for its money.
Gigi and Vana held up the flanks, and three guards covered the rear, their eyes constantly moving, checking the crowds for any threat. But the crowds were well mannered, and soon each of the girls had a new hat tied to her head with bright ribbons.
“Gigi!”
She swung around, seeking the source of the familiar voice. The guards surged forward and took up defensive postures.
“Please, I know him!” Gigi exclaimed, holding out her hands. “Lucius! What are you doing here? How are you?”
The guards let him pass, and Lucius quickly embraced Gigi.
“My prospects were rather damaged in Vada Sabatia,” he shrugged with a grin. “It seems my assistance in your matter did little to soften the impact of what I had done. Despite the fact that I returned the boat to its owner, as Magnus requested, I am a wanted man — yet not at all wanted by my mother. She prefers we correspond via carrier pigeon until the antagonism dies down.”
Gigi laughed. “Well, I think we may find something for you to do around here.”
“No need,” he replied, glancing at Vana. He straightened to his full height and ran a hand through his unruly blond hair. “I am making a name for myself in more legal ways, these days. I have spent the winter plying routes in my new ship — it’s bigger than the other, and one I purchased. I’ve been able to make a very good living.”
“I’m so glad to hear it,” Gigi replied, sneaking a peak at Vana, and noticing a touch of heat on her cheeks. The kids had gathered around, too, curious about the new face.
“Let me introduce you. This is Magnus’s cousin, Lucius.” Gigi went through all of the names, and was pleased when Lucius nodded respectfully to each girl. She saved Vana for last, and was delighted when Lucius bowed.
Vana’s cheeks were deeply crimson by now, and Gigi was jolted back to caution when she noted a spark of fear in her eyes. Of course she was afraid! Gigi recalled only too well how badly she had suffered after her attempted escape from Honorius’s palace: gang rape by his guards, torture, and then the horrible branding.
“Is Barcino your homeport, Lucius?” Gigi said taking his arm and steering him to one side, in order to give Vana some extra breathing space.
Lucius seemed to have noticed Vana’s reaction, too, and he turned his full attention on Gigi. “For a time my homeport was Portus, with the larger islands being so close,” he said, “but a shipment brought me here last week, and,” he cast a glance at Vana, “I think I may stay. It is safer for me, and commerce is more reliable.”
Gigi smiled. He was smooth; she had to give him that. “Would you like to join us for a meal? The girls are getting hungry.”
Lucius turned to the girls and put his hands on his knees. “Do you like spicy or mild? I know a fellow who serves wonderful lucanica, just a few booths from here.”
Gigi’s stomach growled at the mention of the delicious pork sausage. Delighted, the girls began jumping with excitement.
“Well, then,” he said, “come along with me. I’ll buy each of you a sausage!”
He held out his hands, and Berga and Marga instantly took hold.
“Do you know any songs?” he asked the girls. “I’ve always thought food and singing should go together. Perhaps you could teach me … ?”
Gigi smiled at his easy, winning manner. No doubt he’d sensed Vana was shy, although he couldn’t possibly understand why. The guy is wiser than I gave him credit for, she thought happily, as she and Vana followed in his wake.
• • •
They had long since come down from the hills, seeking refuge on their private balcony overlooking the sea. It was a balmy night, the air salty and fresh, yet the light breeze also brought the wonderful scent of flowers blossoming throughout the gardens of Barcino.
Placidia let her gaze drift to the ocean. It was dark except for swaths of sparkles dancing in sea froth, a luminous counterpoint to the summer stars, fixed and twinkling above.
She smiled as Athaulf wrapped his arms around her and she nestled against him.
Placidia’s glance traveled back to the sky. “All of my life,” she said, “I have been captivated by the heavens. Do you suppose I was foreseeing this very moment in my heart? Is this why the stars have always called to me?”
Athaulf lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck. “Until this moment I thought only I captivated you.”
She smiled. “I had one of the ceilings at my home in Ravenna tiled in mosaics of deepest blue, inlaid with golden stars, because they spoke to my heart, as if they were a part of my very soul. I know I will never see my ceiling again, but I can still look at the sky and pray, as I have since I was a child.”
“And what did you pray for at such a tender age, my love?”
“That I would one day find a man who treasures me.”
“And you have, for I do.”
Without another word, Athaulf lifted her up, his arms strong, his body powerful with intent, as he carried her off to their bed.
He settled her among the pillows and took her hands, kissing one palm, and then the other. “Sweet Placidia,” he said as he leaned in and softly kissed her lips.
“Sweet Athaulf.” And Placidia felt a new hope rise between them, their love as strong as ever, splendid and deep, yet more heartfelt than before.
As he moved upon her, she prayed the seeds sown this day would take hold and blossom, giving them more to love and cherish, so much more.
Chapter 14
The Ides of August, A.D. 415, Barcelona, Spain
Sergeric felt the summer heat radiating off the walls of Barcino. Surrounded by an escort party, he and Eberwolf rode toward the main gate.
He’d originally thought he would part company with the little man before entering Hispania, so no one would know they were connected. But his plan had been foiled when they’d encountered Frideger and Queen Verica crossing the pass into Hispania. From that moment on, they’d been escorted, with a courier sent ahead to let Athaulf know of their coming. Regardless, Sergeric was convinced their plan would still work. He just needed time and a bit of luck.
So far, so good, he told himself.
He heard the jangle of jewelry and turned to see what Eberwolf was doing. A shift in his saddle and a glare were the man’s only responses.
Sergeric laughed and turned back to the gate. Eberwolf looked ridiculous in the mimi costume, but making him wear the clothes of a comical and womanish character was a stroke of genius. Constantius’s clowns had taught him the basics, and he’d quickly, if not enthusiastically, settled into his role. Sergeric was convinced no one in Barcino would guess the extent to which Eberwolf, too, lusted for Athaulf’s downfall.
Or suspect his skill as an assassin.
The city gate opened and they passed through, arriving moments later at the castle, where Athaulf, Magnus, and a strong bodyguard awaited his arrival.
The corner of Sergeric’s mouth twitched in amusement. As he’d expected, Athaulf-the-Soft gazed at him as though he’d recovered a lost dog, and Magnus-the-Slave-Fucker looked like he wanted to do murder on the very steps of the castle.
He dismounted, unsheathed his sword, and bowed low, placing the weapon at Athaulf’s feet. “My lord king, your most humble servant has returned. I am, as ever, at your service.”
• • •
Desperate to speak with Athaulf, Magnus
paced the king’s private study, relieved to get him alone for a meeting. The attack could happen at any time. All the players were in place. He had to make his friend see the urgency of the moment, had to convince him to do something, anything, to keep Sergeric from acting.
Magnus swiped a nervous hand over his mouth, as Athaulf came in and shut the door.
“I think I can guess as to why you requested this conversation,” Athaulf said, putting a hand on Magnus’s shoulder. “But truly, you need not worry. I do not trust Sergeric any more than you, and my guards have been tripled for months, on your insistence.”
“And despite my months of warnings, despite the fact I told you he would come back, you welcomed him home!”
“I did not ‘welcome him,’ as you say. I allowed his return and took the sword he offered. He has ever been one of the Visigoth captains, first for Alaric, then for me. He is part of our inner circle, and yet now he has neither weapons nor power, and he is watched at all times. Until there is evidence of some crime, I cannot simply lock him up, or banish him.”
“Athaulf, you cannot be serious!” Magnus raged, and resumed pacing. “He is slime, a faithless cur! I assure you Sergeric is doing everything in his power to see you dead. Do you really think he can’t find himself a blade? How can you be so blind to the threat?”
“I am not blind to the threat, Magnus,” Athaulf replied. “Calm down.”
“How can I be calm when I know, I know, Sergeric is plotting your murder at this very moment.”
“You’ve claimed this for months, and yet you give no proof in your assertions. Are you holding back some information that would convince me, or might your hatred of the man be coloring your thoughts?”
Magnus stared at Athaulf. Of course he had information. He had knowledge, because somewhere in the future, it had already happened. “Please hear me,” he spoke quietly. “Think of all you have gained for your people. Think of your family. Think of Placidia, and the unbearable pain it would mean for her if Sergeric succeeds. And then think of the day after. The Visigoths destroyed. Your family, destroyed, and Placidia, in her grief, once again a pawn in Honorius’s evil game.”
He saw the muscles flex along Athaulf’s jawline, and hoped he’d finally gotten through, but when Athaulf responded, his voice was dark with anger, his eyes glinting.
“Don’t, for a moment, think I don’t hold my wife and family first in my considerations, or that I don’t realize that her protection is only as strong as the breath I draw.”
Magnus bowed his head. “I know you are not taking this lightly, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. It’s just that I feel we are standing on the edge of a steep cliff, and even the most insignificant moment of inattention could prove fatal.”
There was a prolonged silence between them, as each sought to control his emotions.
Finally, staring at the floor, Athaulf shook his head. “Do you suspect the mimi he brought with him is implicated? He has been entertaining everyone at court. For my part, I doubt he is a threat.”
“Don’t discount anyone. Everyone is suspect and I am having him watched as well.”
“As you will,” Athaulf said. “I know your heart is troubled, and I respect your instincts. If there is anything further you think needs doing to ensure my safety, please see to it, including keeping Sergeric and his little friend under constant surveillance. You have my blessing.”
• • •
The stars were bright, the air blessedly cool. Titus Africanus rode into Hispania on a little used pass north of Barcino, leading his men by stealth and darkness of night. When they reached the last hillcrest before the town, he raised his hand, halting his men. He walked his horse forward from the rest and looked out at the vista.
Africanus searched the coastline for twinkling lights, lanterns, or torches, but he could see nothing except the faint and meandering line of pearly waves, snaking the ink-black sea. Just inland, a bank of fog obscured his view, and he guessed Barcino lay there, swathed in mist and waiting.
He thought back to that afternoon, when he’d gotten word Sergeric and Eberwolf had already reached Barcino. He mulled Sergeric’s plans, recalling how the man wanted to take his time, renewing the bonds of friendship with his fellow Visigoths before he seized power.
Africanus doubted Sergeric could wait much longer, or pull off so seamless a transition to power, feeling the Visigoth dramatically underestimated not only the panic that would ensue at the death of Athaulf, but also the king’s personal popularity. Sergeric would find himself in the middle of a debacle, and it would be Africanus’s responsibility to step in and take control. He planned to do just that, he would infiltrate Barcino in disguise, his men following afterward, one at a time, until they were all in position, ready to strike.
He turned his thoughts to Magnus. He no longer had any illusions about what it would take to capture him. Either he’d have to seize the wife first, and thus force Magnus’s hand, or he’d have to kill him outright. Could he beat Magnus one on one? Magnus’s prowess was legendary, and he must assume it would come down to that.
He considered the view a moment longer and swore he caught the barest hint of briny air. Africanus took a deep, appreciative breath, vowing to bathe in the sea as soon as he could, or have his men wash his corpse in the waves if he could not.
He steeled himself against the latter. To question or worry about the outcome between himself and Magnus was useless. Africanus knew he’d have to win, or else he would be dead. There was no middle ground.
“Be warned, Magnus,” he spoke aloud, “I do not intend to die.”
Chapter 15
The Castle, Barcelona, Spain
Sitting on a bench after the evening meal, Eberwolf nursed a cup of wine. The great hall stood empty but for servants cleaning up. The lack of guards surprised him, because he knew he’d been under surveillance since he’d arrived at court. Someone will surely catch hell, he thought, or, mayhap, no one will ever find out his guards had grown lax. He certainly would not bring it to their attention. His mood lifted at the thought of them off somewhere playing dice or drinking.
He looked down at his mimi costume, a necessary evil. After supper, he’d provided the entertainment for the royal court, as he had each evening since his arrival three days before.
Ah, when will it happen? he wondered. He smiled to himself, knowing he must be patient and let events unfold as they would. After all, things had worked out so far. He and Sergeric were in place, out in the open and right under the noses of their intended targets.
As far as Eberwolf could tell, no one suspected them of any potential wrongdoing, except for that miserable Roman, Quintus Magnus. The man’s constant presence was troublesome, to say the least, but Eberwolf had ignored his suspicious gaze. He continued to play his part, and waited for the right moment to strike, Magnus be damned.
May he be fucked in the ass by Jupiter’s cock!
Eberwolf snorted. The Romans were enemy scum who killed his family when he was a boy. He’d grown up an orphan, lonely and small, an outcast even among his own people, the Visigoths, for they prized warriors and men of strength, something he could never be.
His mood grew sour. He would not have to deal with any of them much longer, for the coin he would earn for this task would provide him an escape. He had heard there were places in the East where all the men were small of stature. There, he would be considered average, a man like any other. He would find a wife, settle down, and raise a family.
But now he had a job to do. With a grunt of displeasure, he surveyed his damnable costume, then pulled off the jewelry he’d been forced to wear for hours on end.
“Idiots,” he muttered, recalling how the courtiers fawned over him after each performance. How he hated the Visigoth upper classes, soft as the debauched Romans, the face-fuckers!
He grabbed his cup and
swilled down the rest of his wine. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see a line of women leaving the kitchen carrying buckets and heading for a corridor.
Which, if he was not mistaken, led straight to the royal chambers.
Hmm. Always alert to Fortuna’s gifts, Eberwolf rose from the bench, settled his palla over his head, and moved toward a pair of serving women filling buckets with heated water. Barcino had public baths like any other civilized town, and it intrigued him that someone wanted a private soak. But whom?
In his excitement, he grabbed the handle of one of the buckets, then cursed to himself as the water sloshed onto the floor. The nearest servant turned and scolded him for the mess, which made him realize his disguise was working better than he’d ever imagined. She was still grumbling, so he bobbed his head up and down, apologizing profusely in his high, squeaky, womanish, mimi tone.
She huffed, and then turned away, intent on resuming her work.
It was working — and beautifully! Eberwolf grabbed a second bucket and found his place among the shuffling women.
• • •
Troubled, Gigi met Magnus in a rarely used courtyard of the castle, still holding the note he’d sent asking for the meeting.
Glancing around, nervous they might be observed, Gigi was glad for the darkness of night. She spoke to him in English, “I was almost out the door and on my way home when I got your message. Shouldn’t we be talking about private things there?”
“I can’t leave the king. I won’t be going home any time soon,” Magnus replied. “I’m not even comfortable with this time away from him, but I needed to talk to you.”
“It’s almost here, isn’t it?” she whispered in dread.
“Gigi, we have no time left,” Magnus said. “I have used every conceivable argument I could think of with Athaulf, short of telling him the truth, and I cannot dissuade him. I have men watching Sergeric at all times, but I fear history cannot be stopped.”
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