Return to Me

by Morgan O'Neill

  I failed.

  Tears filled Magnus’s eyes as he continued rocking her back and forth, speaking softly, trying in vain to staunch the pain that would never heal. “My little princess,” he murmured. “My dear little princess.”

  Wallia and his men suddenly moved into a defensive formation, and Magnus was aware of footsteps fast approaching, the sounds coming from the direction of the bishop’s private rooms. Putting Placidia behind him, he drew his sword.

  The door swung open and Gigi burst in.

  Upon seeing Magnus, she halted and locked her gaze with his. Pale and stricken as she was, ragged with fatigue and grief, Magnus caught the gleam of triumph in her eyes, and he knew, he knew, the children were out of harm’s way.

  “Go, Magnus,” Placidia said. “Go to your wife. Elpidia will see to my needs.”

  He kissed the queen’s brow and turned, but before he could move a step further, Gigi rushed into his embrace.

  • • •

  Gigi held Magnus, breathing in his scent, feeling his warmth. He was alive!

  His arms tightened around her.

  “My sweet,” he whispered into her hair. His voice was filled with relief, and such sadness.

  She drew back and kissed his lips, wanting to convey all the love she felt for him. She realized he would not soon forgive himself for Athaulf’s death, even though he had already admitted that altering the major events of history was probably beyond their capabilities.

  “We could not change the path of history,” she quietly said. “But we succeeded, too. Don’t forget why we came here in the first place.”

  “Where are they?” he asked her in English.

  Gigi shook her head. “I can’t tell you,” she answered in English. “In the off chance Sergeric captures us, torture cannot bring out what you don’t know. It’s little enough, but I’ll protect the kids any way I can.”

  His eyes softened slightly, and he nodded approval. “They deserve no less a warrior fighting on their behalf. I’m proud of you.” He looked away for a moment, then grimly added, “You must know something. I was delayed reaching Athaulf. I was ambushed by a Roman soldier named Titus Africanus, the one from Vada Sabatia. We fought and I prevailed. He’s surely dead by now, but his mission was to capture both of us, I’m sure, and take us back to Honorius.”

  Gigi was stunned. Honorius! Even now, even here! Would they never be rid of that bastard? Enraged, she swallowed her fear. She couldn’t worry about that now.

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “I need to talk to the bishop before we go.”

  She turned to Bishop Sigesar and switched back to Latin. “Sergeric is behind this. You need to make it very clear to the people of Barcino, and all the Visigoths, that he has not only the king’s blood on his hands, but that of seven innocent children as well. He is despicable. You must get the people to stand with you, in case he tries to seize power. In the meantime, we must protect the queen.”

  Wallia stepped forward. “We plan to take King Athaulf’s body into the mountains, to keep him safe from his enemies.” He turned to the queen. “My lady, it is my wish that you accompany us. We can keep you safe.”

  Gigi grasped Magnus’s arm. “Maybe we should go with them. We can explain everything to Placidia … ”

  Magnus nodded and Wallia said, “As you wish.”

  The darkness of this night still weighed on Gigi, and she deeply mourned Athaulf, but now she saw glimmers of hope. The children were alive and safe with Lucius and Vana. She and Magnus had survived, and, with Wallia’s help, they would protect Placidia for as long as possible.

  Dawn’s pale light touched the chapel windows. Events seemed to be turning in their favor.

  She could feel it in her bones.

  • • •

  “Shit!” Sergeric muttered as he strode the corridors of the castle, sword drawn, looking for signs of the assassin. What in hell happened? There were rumors of Roman legionnaires having infiltrated Barcino, but he hadn’t seen anyone matching that description, let alone captured one. No one claimed to know anything, and most were accusing him of murdering Athaulf! Would that it were so! But Christ Almighty, someone had beaten him to the punch. Who was it? Had Constantius double-crossed him? If not him, who?

  And where was Eberwolf?

  It was just past dawn, and chaos reigned. He’d managed to gather some of the castle guard to his side, and together they did what they could to bring calm. Despite the turmoil, Sergeric was cautiously hopeful. Had there been a coup? Was this the moment he’d most sought?

  Finding no sign of resistance, Sergeric and those who followed him went to the king’s chambers to see for themselves what had happened.

  He halted in the doorway to the bedchamber and stared. Several serving women knelt, weeping and scrubbing the floor. There was a vast amount of blood.

  “Where is the king?” Sergeric demanded.

  The women looked up, startled. “We do not know,” one answered, her voice thick with grief. “We were ordered to clean up, but, God rest his soul, the king was already gone.”

  Speechless, Sergeric turned to his men.

  “He’ll be laid out in the chapel,” one of the men offered.

  Sergeric nodded and headed for the chapel. When he got there, he found the door hanging open, blood everywhere, and the bishop lying prostrate at the foot of the altar.

  “Christ! They’ve killed him, too?” Sergeric exclaimed.

  Suddenly, the bishop was on his feet. “May God strike you dead!” he shouted, shaking a finger at Sergeric. “Strike off his head for the evil he has done this day! The murder of innocents can have no other outcome. Send him to hell — now!”

  “Quiet, old man!” Sergeric shouted back. “What the hell are you talking about? The king is dead, but not by my hand, as you seem to think. And he was no innocent, either.”

  Enraged, Bishop Sigesar launched himself at Sergeric, but the soldiers stopped him, although he continued to claw and rail. “The children! Your man butchered the king’s children! Right here, before the very eyes of God, you had them butchered! How can the world breed such evil, and yet survive?”

  Sergeric’s mouth dropped open, and he looked again at the blood covering the floor. Could it be true? He dragged his gaze back to the bishop and considered his injury. Certainly head wounds tended to bleed profusely, but there was more here than a single wound would produce.

  The Visigoths holding the bishop started to glare at Sergeric, and he realized they would not tolerate a child-killer. His hold over them was slim and temporary, at best, and now they looked as though they were about to turn. He had to regain the moment.

  “Calm down and speak plain,” he ordered the bishop. “I am responsible for none of this night’s events, but you say the children — Athaulf’s? — were all murdered? Here? Where are their bodies?”

  Bishop Sigesar stopped struggling and dropped his arms, so the men loosened their hold. “The queen herself was witness to the slaughter on this very spot, forced to watch as each of the children was struck down. They were under my protection, all of them, and they were ripped from our very arms and butchered. You had them butchered!”

  Sergeric pondered this news. He did not care that the children were dead, but he had planned to make them quietly “disappear” only after the crown was securely on his head, perhaps by an accident of fate.

  He could feel his world spinning out of control and fought to save his future. “Who would butcher the children? Can you identify him, at least? Can you give any pertinent information we can act on, instead of flinging lies and accusations?”

  Tears suddenly sprang from the old bishop’s eyes, and his shoulders slumped as he covered his face with his hands. “It was my fault! He had the voice of a woman, begging to be let in for safety’s sake.”

  Eberw
olf! Sergeric thought, reeling. That little shit did all of this!

  “He was dressed as a female servant, and barged in as soon as I opened the door,” the bishop continued. “He slashed at me and knocked me down. I do not recall what happened after that, but when I finally came ’round, the queen was with me, lamenting the loss of her children. She said your mimi had murdered them all, and she did not know where he was, or what he had done with the bodies of her precious babes.”

  “Eberwolf,” Sergeric confirmed, facing the obvious head-on. “I met him in Gaul, where he danced and cavorted and told jokes. That fucking mimi. Who would have imagined such evil lurked within such a body?” He looked at the soldiers, one by one. “Honorius,” he exclaimed. “Eberwolf must be Honorius’s man. You all heard the rumors of Romans in the castellum when the king was murdered. How would they have known when to enter if not for a signal from within, from Eberwolf?”

  Sergeric could discern a change in the men’s faces; even the bishop’s expression had softened. He took a deep breath and put a gentle hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Do not blame yourself. Great harm has been done to the Visigoths and the people of Barcino this day, but the fault, as ever, belongs to Honorius and his minion, Eberwolf. We must assume he has somehow spirited away the king’s body, as well, but we will track him down and see he pays for his evil.”

  There was silence for a moment, and Sergeric was about to move out when the bishop straightened and glared at him once more.

  “The murderer does not have the king’s body. The king’s personal guard came after I awoke, and soon after that, Magnus and his wife arrived to comfort the queen. I learned it was she who asked the guards to take the body and hide it, for they feared you would desecrate the remains.”

  An angry heat tore through Sergeric at this insult, for he would never stoop so low. Even the corpse of King Alaric — a man whom Sergeric had cursed and hated — had been safe with him. Only the bastard Romans, or the loathsome Huns, were known to do such depraved things to the remains of their enemies.

  “Listen well, bishop,” Sergeric spoke through clenched teeth, “I had no hand in any of this. So, what about Magnus and his whore of a wife? They have feigned loyalty to the Visigoths for years, yet, curiously, when they are in our midst, all our plans are continually thwarted. Think on this: I believe they have been feeding Honorius information. How else could the emperor have been so successful? How else could he have found a way to insert an assassin here, in the castle, if not for Magnus? We all know Honorius is not smart enough to achieve such a master-stroke on his own.”

  Everyone stood silent, digesting the information, and Sergeric could tell by their nods he had won them over. A smile flitted through his mind, but he did not let it show. How he had managed to sway Athaulf’s men to his side and condemn Magnus with the same breath was beyond his understanding, but he was delighted. God was indeed good.

  “Come, we have much to do,” Sergeric said. “We must find the murderer and the bodies, if we can, then take control of the castellum, and see that the people fully understand what has happened. And we must make sure we are in readiness, should the Roman filth try to do more harm.” He started to walk out, the soldiers following dutifully, but he turned at the door. “Bishop, please arrange for a Holy Mass to be held for the king and his children. And do you know where we might find the queen? I fear she may yet be harmed.”

  Wringing his hands, his brow furrowed, the bishop said, “She is gone. She and her servants left with Magnus and his wife. They spoke of a secret hiding place, where they would all be safe.”

  Sergeric stared at him for a moment, then turned, slammed his fist into the wall, and left the chapel.

  PART THREE

  Chapter 18

  Montserrat, Barcelona, Spain

  Exhausted and overcome with grief, Gigi stood in a cave on the flanks of Montserrat. Even with the help of Wallia’s men and fast horses, it had still taken them all afternoon and most of the night to arrive at this hidden spot.

  They had just buried King Athaulf in a ravine not far away, in a place where he could rest in peace until the day Wallia returned to retrieve the body.

  The queen sat mute, rocking herself, her eyes vacant and teary. Leontius and Elpidia waited nearby, watching her with great concern. Magnus, Wallia and the other Visigoths were still at the grave, erasing all traces of their presence, so that no one would be able to find clues which would lead them to Athaulf’s remains.

  There was nothing Gigi could do to take away Placidia’s heartbreak, so she simply sat next to her friend and held her hand. She gazed into the distance, past faraway Barcelona, and saw several sailing ships in the waters beyond. She wondered which one, if any, belonged to Lucius.

  Placidia stirred beside her, then withdrew her hand, and Gigi realized she was being scrutinized.

  “What is it, Placidia?” she gently asked.

  “Yesterday, when you got back to the chapel, you said something to Magnus about changing history. What did you mean?”

  Gigi froze. She could not lie. It was time she told Placidia what they knew.

  “Let me get Magnus,” Gigi replied, scrambling to her feet. “We need to explain ourselves, but it can be for your ears only.” She looked at Leontius and Elpidia. “Please, when my husband arrives, give us this moment to speak to the queen.”

  They complied, and Gigi hurried to find Magnus. She quickly told him the situation, and soon they were standing with the queen at the mouth of the cave.

  “Do you remember that day in the baptistery when Horace vanished and I was suddenly there?” Gigi asked.

  A faint nod from Placidia was all that told Gigi she was listening. Her dull expression told Gigi she didn’t care in the least.

  Gigi exchanged a nervous glance with Magnus.

  “Go on, tell her everything,” he urged.

  She took a deep breath and dove in. “As strange as it sounds, Horace and I switched places in time. You see, I was born in the late twentieth century, almost sixteen hundred years from now. I was playing my flute for some people in the baptistery, when all of a sudden everything changed. I could hear Horace playing, trying to mimic my music, and somehow we changed places. He went to twenty-first century Ravenna, and I came here, to your time.”

  Placidia frowned in confusion.

  “I know this sounds insane, Placidia, I know that, but hear me out. The time travel might have been caused by the flute playing, or it might have been Magnus’s ring.” Gigi touched her husband’s hand. “My grandfather found the ring in 1947, in southern Italy, very near where Randegund ripped it from my finger the night Magnus was kidnapped. It was not found at the battle site where he’d lost it, because I’d altered history by traveling back in time with it.”

  Placidia muttered, “A wonderful story, Gigi. A great tale for children, but it is beyond me why you should think it comforting for me to hear such … such a ridiculous fantasy.”

  “Placidia,” Magnus took up the thread, “it is the truth. I swear on my love for you it is true. After I was kidnapped and tortured by Honorius, Gigi saved me by getting me to the baptistery, playing her flute, and taking us both to her time. The medical knowledge there is very advanced, far beyond anything I could ever have imagined, and they were able to save me. We enjoyed our time there, happy to finally be free of your brother, but when the ring was mysteriously returned to Gigi, we knew we were called to return. When we checked the historical records, we realized what had happened … and what we had to try and stop from happening.”

  Magnus glanced at Gigi and she knew why he hesitated. This was the crux of the problem. The fact that they had known of Athaulf’s impending death and not stopped it might turn her against them forever. How could they help her to understand?

  Gigi continued, “We knew Athaulf would be murdered, and we did try to stop it — we did try to
change history. Some things we’ve been able to nudge, but not the major events. Not the events that would ripple down through history with lasting effect.”

  Tears started to course down Placidia’s cheeks, and her shoulders shook, but Gigi could not be sure if she was accepting the story, or if she was simply reliving the prior day’s horror.

  Gigi took hold of Placidia’s hands. “The reason we came back was because history told us Athaulf’s children would be slaughtered, and we knew we couldn’t let that happen, regardless of the danger it might put us in. Marga isn’t in the history books, so when we arrived in Barcino and met her, we hoped that meant we were supposed to save her as well. If we made history think they’d all been murdered, then we thought we could save them.”

  “Did history tell you about Theo, too?” Placidia asked flatly.

  Unable to meet her gaze, Gigi looked down. “We knew, and we came with medicine in hopes of saving him, but we had no control over when we got here, and we simply got here too late. I’m so sorry.”

  Placidia’s lower lip quivered. “What else do you wish to tell me?”

  “That Sergeric will die within the week, and Wallia will take over and rule well. But before he dies, Sergeric will torment you and others by parading you as captives, however this will cause such an uproar that everyone will turn on him.”

  “And then?”

  Gigi hesitated, knowing Placidia’s near future was going to be very painful.

  Magnus took up the story again. “You will be turned over to Constantius and taken back to Ravenna. You will marry him in a little over two years.”

  “That is ridiculous,” Placidia flared. “I would never marry him!”

  Gigi sighed, but soldiered on. “You will have two beautiful children together. Then, Honorius and Constantius will each die within ten years of your return, and you will become regent over your son, who will go on to rule the Western Roman Empire.”