Return to Me

by Morgan O'Neill

  As the slaves finished his manicure and pedicure, he basked in the delightful remembrance of seeing Athaulf’s pickled remains. The jar was locked in a cabinet in his private study, a mess of tattered flesh and cloudy liquid, but still delicious to behold. He was delighted by the diminutive size of the barbarian’s cock and wished he could show it around, but, despite his glee, he had decided to hide the thing. He did not want Baha to see it, fearing it would cause her much distress, something he could not bear.

  Life was good. General Constantius’s plans had worked, and the future of the Western Roman Empire looked bright. There were some disappointments, to be sure, the criminals Quintus Magnus and Gigiperrin had avoided capture once again, but Honorius was certain they would soon be found and made to suffer for their crimes.

  One mystery nagged him, however; the witch Dipsas had disappeared from Ravenna. Honorius could not fathom why she had not remained to share in his triumph, for he knew her dark arts had played a major hand in Athaulf’s downfall.

  Ah, it mattered not. Honorius shrugged and smiled. Before the public celebrations started, he had private plans, an intimate celebration with his girls. He had called for Baha, along with his former mistresses, Britomartis and Adriadne, to attend him this evening. And Rome, his pretty, pretty chicken. All of his beauties, together again!

  The hairdresser finished, gave him a bronze hand mirror, then bowed and left, knowing Honorius preferred to look at himself in private. He glanced at the wavy image, moving the mirror so that he could see his face in the best possible light, and approved his new hairstyle, his face framed with dark curls and … white hairs?

  Honorius almost dropped the mirror, such was his shock. He stared hard at his reflection. There were new wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, too, and … his jaw … it sagged!

  Oh, God, no! His guts twisted.

  Just then, he heard the giggling of his women, the clucking of a chicken, and he burst into tears, for, despite his great anticipation of the afternoon’s pleasures, he felt nothing down below, his loins flaccid, dead.

  His instincts flared, and he feared this was permanent. His body went cold, his throat dry. What cruel curse was this?

  No, no! Honorius sat there, blubbering and soft, as Baha, Britomartis, and Adriadne passed through the curtains, Baha holding Rome. The women stopped short and stared, and then they surrounded him, attempting to give comfort as he told them his woes. They began soothing him with gentle caresses and tender kisses, sucking and licks, just as he’d always enjoyed from them, but nothing drew him up. Nothing!

  Honorius pushed them away, and their looks of piteous concern only made it worse. “Go,” he cried out. “Go!”

  They hesitated, but he waved them off, tears falling down his cheeks and onto his bird, now clucking on his lap, his only solace.

  Alone, but for Rome, Honorius had a sudden, stark vision of the future. True death was not far off, for him or his beloved chicken.

  No, oh, God, such heartache!

  He hugged Rome, then hung his head and sobbed in agony.

  • • •

  The moonlit night was clear; the winds light but steady when Gigi came on deck to relieve Magnus of his watch. Moving to the stern, she sat beside him and snuggled close.

  “It’s my turn to take the helm,” she said. “Everyone below deck is asleep.”

  “I’ll go down soon,” he replied, “but being alone with you has become too rare an event to give it up for mere sleep.”

  Gigi smiled. “I think I know where we can take the kids, but we’ll need to put into port somewhere and buy a decent chart. The only ones Lucius has barely cover western Italy, Sardinia and Sicily.”

  “Where do you propose we go?”

  “Canariae Insulae … the Canary Islands.”

  “Ah, yes. I’ve heard of them, but where are they? How far?”

  She held up her right fist and pointed to it. “Say my hand is the top of Africa, my thumb its western coast. The Pillars of Hercules are up here, at the first knuckle, and the Canary Islands are just off the coast, right here, maybe one hundred miles, or so. I’m not really sure. But they’re a cluster of islands. I know people live there. It’s quiet, peaceful, and we’d be safe, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Beyond the Pillars of Hercules?” Magnus sounded skeptical. “Have you ever sailed out there? I’m sure Lucius hasn’t ever gone so far.”

  “I’ve never sailed there, which is why we need a chart and maybe some information from sailors who have. The currents through the Strait of Gibraltar might be bad, but probably no worse than at the Golden Gate or Deception Pass. With the wind at our back … ”

  “Can you handle it with an inexperienced crew?”

  Gigi tilted her head and smiled at him. “Everyone will be experienced enough by then. I’ve read stories about the Canaries, and they’re supposed to be beautiful. I don’t think we’ll regret the choice.”

  Gigi could see Magnus’s smile by the light of the moon, and knew the matter was settled. A sense of peace enveloped her when she realized they would soon be sunning, swimming, and playing on sandy beaches to their hearts’ content. There would be no further threats of capture, torture and execution.

  “You look happy, my sweet.”

  “I am.” She reached up and drew his face to hers, kissing him and inviting more.

  He shifted and dropped a leather loop over the tiller — the ancient mariner’s version of auto-pilot — then pulled off her tunic and his. He embraced her, covering her throat and breasts with kisses.

  The night air was warm and velvet-soft on her bare skin. Magnus’s body was searing hot, sending jolts of lust through her with his caresses. Running her hands over every inch him, she relished the familiarity, knowing what would set him free. She kissed him slowly, moving down, exploring his body with her lips, her tongue.

  Magnus groaned when she reached the delicious area just below his navel, the magic trail, then pushed her onto her back and covered her with his body.

  “There are certain things I cannot withstand after being so long denied, and you know it,” he murmured with a smile in his voice. “I would come inside you, my sweet, deep inside. But I mean to take my leisure before reaching that moment.”

  He explored her body with his lips and tongue, tasting, taking his time. He entered her gently and she arched, loving every bonding thrust, until the heavens seemed to waver and dim in the wake of her own explosion of stars.

  • • •

  Below deck, Lucius settled in beside Vana, a single candle casting shadows and sharp angles across her pretty face. He grinned at her lowered chin, knowing her face was deeply flushed with uncertainty, despite the gloom. He could tell she enjoyed his attention; the blush hardly ever left her cheeks when he was near.

  He wondered at his feelings for her, at his need to protect her. They’d become great friends since she came onboard with the children, and although he couldn’t say why he felt such an overwhelming desire to be accepted by her, or why their friendship gave him so much pleasure, he knew he needed to tread carefully, nevertheless.

  Lucius crooked a finger beneath her chin and raised her head until she was focused on him, a touch of fear lurking in the depths of her gaze. “Don’t be afraid, Vana. You must know by now I intend no harm.”

  She blinked, but didn’t look away. “I trust you. I do, it is just … ”

  “I know, I know.” He raised his hand and gently brushed aside her bangs, surprised when she didn’t pull away. “I think I may guess some of your story, and it pains my heart, but it also tells me you are strong and determined. I would like to hear the details one day, but I leave the timing up to you. Does that sound agreeable?”

  She sat motionless, looking back at him, her body tense. He thought he saw a slight change deep in her eyes, a softening perhaps, or a tha
w, and then her shoulders relaxed and she nodded.

  “I must say,” Lucius continued, “watching you with the children, it is obvious you are kind and also exceedingly patient!”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “Do you believe in love?” he asked abruptly.

  “Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

  “Do you think you might ever be able to accept that rape and lovemaking are two entirely different actions? Do you think you’d ever … ?”

  She drew back sharply, and he regretted his bold words, but when she put a finger to his lips, his hopes rekindled.

  “There is no need to bring up my past, but if you must hear it, I will tell you one day,” she said, watching him in the soft light. “As for my … future, I saw Placidia and Athaulf’s love. I have seen that of Magnus and Gigi, as well, and I have come to yearn and pray that one day I will know such in my own life. Someday.” She hesitated, and then smiled. “Perhaps sooner than either you or I might imagine,” she ended in a whisper.

  Delightfully surprised by her admission, Lucius nodded. “I pray you will soon be free of the darkness of your past. Your future will hold no shadows then. And it will belong to … us.”

  She leaned in and kissed him lightly on the mouth. Lucius felt his body stir, but he quelled his ardor and instead folded her into a sheltering embrace.

  He held her for a long while, until her breathing became slow and even. She had fallen asleep in his arms, another indication that her trust in him was strengthening.

  Lucius smiled, wishing to protect her for the rest of her life.

  Trust. Ah, indeed, it was a first step. And, for now, it was enough, more than enough.

  Chapter 21

  Spring, A.D. 416, Spain

  Standing in the room where once her dear Athaulf had held his most important meetings, Placidia waited patiently. Her shorn head covered with a scarf, she felt old, ugly, and stretched to breaking, but dear Elpidia assured her she looked no different on the outside. Ha! How odd to hear that, since her very heart had been ripped from her body.

  Athaulf. Theodosius Germanicus. Margareta.

  The first two taken from her by death. The third gone by separation, a little death that gnawed at her every day, for she would never know what became of Marga.

  She ran a finger over Athaulf’s former desk, inlaid with mother-of-pearl in the pattern of a Greek key, waiting for her audience with the new king. King Wallia.

  He was a good and faithful man, and she was certain he would lead the Visigoths well. Now, however, he was being stubborn and foolish, even though his reasoning was honorable. It was time she set him straight.

  Soft footfalls approached and she turned to greet him with a curtsy.

  “Queen Placidia,” Wallia said, kissing her outstretched hand.

  She shook her head. “I thank you for the words, but I am no longer queen.”

  He looked at her squarely and his grip tightened. “You will always carry that title, my lady. Always. And you shall forever be honored by the Visigoth people, never to be forgotten or put aside. You have given and sacrificed too much for our cause, for our gratitude to be otherwise.”

  She inclined her head. “My sacrifices are precisely the reason why I asked to speak with you. We have spoken of this before, but it is becoming urgent.”

  Wallia let go of her hands. “I will never barter you for food. Never! It is repugnant, and however noble your offer, I deem it to be distasteful and utterly incomprehensible. I do not want to go over this again. The subject is closed.”

  Placida reached out and put her hand on his arm, trying to catch his gaze, but he would not look at her. “I fear I have done a poor job explaining myself. Hear me out once more. As I live and breathe, I am certain my future, a brighter future, lies in Ravenna. Take a knee before Constantius. Let me go with him.”

  Wallia grumbled and turned toward the window, arms crossed.

  “My lord, Constantius will allow you to rule as a vassal king, and then you will no longer be bothered by Roman threats. I am all he wants from you, so the longer you keep me here, the hungrier your people become. He will not let the food supplies flow in until he has me, so I beg you, please, trade me for grain! I know your people would think it barter and despise you for it, so let me speak to them from the balcony. I will address them, tell them goodbye, and tell them the truth — that I ask it of you. They may never understand, but they will accept my words and you will not be held to blame. Let me go.” She reached out again and touched his arm. “Wallia, your own son lies abed, without the strength good food would provide to fight his illness. For his sake, for mine, and for all your people, let me go.”

  Heaving a sigh, Wallia turned and looked at her with sad eyes. “You know I never coveted this crown, but I wear it to honor and carry on the legacy of a man I loved and served my whole life. Your husband. King Athaulf. How then can I turn you out, you, his greatest love, his widow?”

  “Because my life here is done,” she said earnestly. “I know you would not turn me out, but think politically. As his widow, as both Queen of the Visigoths and Royal Princess of Rome, I can do more for you in Ravenna what I could ever do remaining here. I can fight for you, Athaulf’s people. I can advance your cause. I can make sure your future becomes yours to determine. No more Roman meddling. No more Roman lies and misbehavior. My brother will be so pleased to have gotten me back, he will do anything I ask, and that is how I, how both of us, can still serve Athaulf’s great vision.”

  Wallia looked at her, and she could tell she’d finally struck a chord. Something deep within his gaze told her she’d found her way around his protective, honor-bound heart. Her path, the one Gigi and Magnus had described to her, was finally open to her. All she had left to do was take that first, difficult step.

  • • •

  The soaring peaks and deep crags of the Pyrenees mountains were breathtaking, the air blessedly cooler in the mountain pass, than the stifling lowlands they had left nearer the coast.

  Regally gowned, a thin, golden coronet on her short curls, her pearl necklace at her throat, Placidia stood alone, head held high. Before her stood General Constantius and his legion of Roman soldiers, all battle hardened and grim, their spears and blades polished and glinting in the sun. Behind her, King Wallia and his Visigoths.

  As was so often the case, soldiers, women, and children stood shoulder to shoulder. Placidia felt pride in their number, for so many had accompanied her on this difficult journey, to honor her and her dead husband, their greatest king.

  She had addressed them from the balcony of the castellum, explaining why she must go, and absolving Wallia of all blame. Weeping, they had showered her with flowers, cheers, and praise, and when it had come time for her to depart Barcino, they had insisted on seeing her off, insisted on protecting her for as long as they could.

  The only sound was the breeze puffing across the heights, rustling leaves and skirts. Placidia let her gaze move over the Roman troops, and had to admire their straight lines and military discipline. General Constantius knew what he was about, and she was sure there was not a man among them who would not lay down his life for him.

  She turned to Constantius. He was battle hardened, tall, and tanned, an older man, yet fit and intelligent; no doddering fool was he. She saw the grim line of his mouth, the bulging eyes, and within that gaze, she also saw a spark of … hope?

  The unexpected glimpse into his thoughts filled her heart with butterflies of uncertainty, but, just as quickly, she thought of Athaulf and knew she would be fine. Even in death, he would protect her, never leave her alone, would forever be her guiding strength.

  Placidia bowed her head slightly in response, and then heard Wallia step up beside her.

  It was time.

  Constantius took a knee before her, his fi
st to his chest. “Aelia Galla Placida, Princess of Rome, I salute you.”

  She held out a hand and drew him to his feet. “General Constantius, I thank you for your kind greeting, but I must ask you, please, to remember I am not just a Princess of Rome. I am also the dowager Queen of the Visigoths.”

  Still clasping her hand, his eyes flickered for a moment to her short hair, then to Wallia, and he bowed his head. “Queen Placidia. I shall ever honor you with that title, my lady.”

  Placidia took a deep, calming breath, recalling what Magnus and Gigi had told her; she would marry this man, bear his children, and even reign with him for a short time. She had known him for years, and knew he harbored feelings for her. She was also certain he would act honorably toward her. Still … Placidia sternly reminded herself she had been blessed with great love, a gift very few people were ever given. Now duty called and she must fulfill her destiny.

  “King Wallia,” she said, gently removing her hand, “would you give us a moment?”

  He backed off a few paces and she turned to Constantius. “You will see the food blockade is lifted?”

  “It is already done,” he replied. “They should be offloading grain even as we speak.”

  Relief washed over her. “Then on behalf of my husband’s people, I thank you.”

  Constantius nodded curtly. “There are some issues I would like to discuss before we take custody of you. First, some unpleasantness we should cover, in case you disagree with my actions.”

  “Go ahead,” she replied.

  “The emperor commanded that I preserve and send your husband’s head and, er, his private parts,” Constantius blurted.

  Placidia gasped and stepped back, but he raised his hand. “Of course I could not ignore a direct command,” he explained quickly, “and for your sake I found a way around it. One of my men died of a wasting disease. He looked passably like your husband, and I thought to take … er, I preserved everything needed. Should your brother ask, I hope you will agree to acknowledge the contents of the jar as belonging to your husband.”