Love, Eternally

by Morgan O'Neill

  “Do you even remember them?” Honorius asked. “We don’t care for any of the girls, especially Pulcheria. She is forever sticking her nose in everyone’s business.”

  “I remember her for her intelligence, Honorius. I think it will be a great asset, now that she has been named regent for her brother.”

  He shrugged and poured wine into two goblets. Placidia settled herself somewhat awkwardly, smoothed her new gown, and glanced about, wondering at the absence of his birds. He began to hum, something she had never heard him do before. This reminded her that she did not know Honorius very well, for he had been out of the nursery and care of women when she came along. Additionally, he and his full brother, Arcadius — so recently dead — were the sons of their father’s first wife; she was daughter of the second, her dear mother, Galla, who died when she was but four years old.

  “We do believe you are pouting.” Honorius offered her a goblet, then took the couch opposite hers. “Smile, dear sister, for the day has dawned bright, and joyfulness awaits you. Why, we even called for an ancient amphora to be opened for our celebration. This is a rare Pollenzo wine, more than fifty years old.” He raised his glass and intoned, “Alas, alas, that wine should live longer than man — ”

  “Brother, forgive the interruption, but,” Placidia’s heart raced, “but what celebration?”

  “First this.” He sniffed his wine. “Drink. Tell us what you taste.”

  Placidia did as she was told. The wine had a pronounced violet fragrance; she let it linger on her tongue. “It’s fruity, but not too sweet. Wonderful,” she sighed.

  Honorius sipped and nodded. “It is sublime, is it not?” He gulped down the rest and burped.

  “Brother, remember your manners,” Placidia teased. “You sound like those ghastly ambassadors from Syria Palaestina.”

  He laughed. “And now, dearest sister, let us return to the reason for our little celebration. Today, we have but one wish, Placidia — to make you happy. You are finally of marriageable age, and, we dare say, in need of a husband.”

  She felt herself blush.

  “Hmmm, we have been thinking … ” His expression grew melancholy. “We consider you our closest kin, even closer than Arcadius was, for we were separated from him so long ago. As such, dearest sister, we would always keep you near, and we intend to do just that.”

  She was instantly aware of the significance of what he had said — he was being quite personal with her, very intimate in tone. But he’d also just eliminated several potential husbands, the sons and nephews of Christian foreigners. What was his aim?

  He rose, walked to the table, and poured himself another glass of wine. Upon rejoining her, he sat on the edge of her couch and looked into her eyes. “Father honored you greatly, Placidia, when he raised your status beyond that of mere princess of Rome. As Nobilissima Puella, you are almost our equal in power and wealth — almost,” he winked, “and long have we pondered how we could surpass — ”

  “Honorius,” she cut in, “please forgive my rudeness, but who shall be my husband? Please, the suspense — ”

  “Is maddening? Hmmm, you are so very different from Pulcheria, aren’t you, dearest sister?”

  Placidia frowned in puzzlement. “How? What has she to do with this?”

  “Surely you’ve heard she declared perpetual virginity for herself, in order to rule as regent,” he glanced slyly at Placidia, “and so she could never be forced into a marriage of state.”

  “No,” Placidia’s voice was low, “I had not heard. Still, what has her decision to do with me?”

  “Ah, but you are eager for a husband, a virile man, one to warm your bed, your body, aren’t you, dear sister?”

  She suddenly felt hot, her cheeks aflame with embarrassment.

  Honorius chuckled. “And what, pray tell, what clue should we first reveal, as to the identity of the one who will have the honors?”

  “Brother!”

  He laughed, then leaned toward her conspiratorially. “We have found a way to pay tribute to you, Most Noble Girl, by giving you something even Father could not. Your future husband is a military genius, a great commander of men.”

  Military genius? Placidia searched her memory, trying to recall the remaining names on her list. But there were no soldiers … unless … Magnus had fought many battles against the barbarians. Yet, she had not put his name down, for at thirty-two he was too old for her. And besides, her brother would never call him great again, not after his capture by Alaric.

  Smiling, Honorius sipped his wine. Placidia suddenly wondered if her reasoning could be wrong.

  “Brother, I am sincerely perplexed by your reference to a military man.” She hesitated. “You did not by any chance mean Magnus, did you?”

  “Bah!” Honorius looked as if he’d swallowed poison. “The witch’s phallus? We think not.”

  Blushing again, Placidia ignored his vulgarity and kept her voice low. “Magnus is not the kind of man to consort with his enemies, certainly not a witch.”

  Honorius looked bored. “Enough talk of Magnus. We swear it gives us a bellyache.”

  “But, if not Magnus, then who?”

  His lips twisted into a little smile. “Ah, patience has never been one of your strong suits, has it? Well, we have concluded that our cousin and mother-in-law, Serena, has given us the best suggestion, and in spite of our loathing of her, we have approved of her reasoning, and, therefore, her choice is ours as well.”

  Placidia froze at his words. Serena had raised them both, but had never shown any interest in them beyond what they could do for her. A surge of foreboding swept through her, and sweat sprang onto her brow. What had they done? Whom had they chosen?

  “The lucky fellow,” Honorius continued, “has himself reassured us he has harbored tender feelings for you for some time and shall strive to be a good husband to you. You are young and strong, and he is anxious for sons. Flavius Constantius — ”

  “Constantius?” She drew back in horror. “Oh, Honorius, how could you? He is so ugly — and old. When he looks at me with those bulging eyes … God save me! How could you listen to Serena’s advice? He must be at least fifty. I cannot — I will not marry him!”

  His mouth dropped open. “What did you say?”

  She swallowed. “Honorius, he is repulsive, a mockery of my wishes and my status. If you insist upon this folly, then I will do as Pulcheria and remain a virgin.”

  He lunged, hurling his wine straight into her face. She was stunned, as much from the cruelty of the act, as from the fearsome stinging in her eyes, the blinding insult to her dignity.

  Suddenly, her scalp was blazing with pain as he grabbed her hair and wrenched her off the couch. This was not her brother. No, no, this was a stranger, a mad man! The transformation was startling, overwhelming — and the pain, the pain! She heard herself shrieking.

  He dragged her across the room, roaring, incoherent, until he stopped before the doorway. “By Christ’s wounds, you will marry him,” he seethed. “No one disobeys our royal commands. No one!”

  He flung her down, her jaw whacking against the floor, teeth clattering.

  “Guards!” he yelled.

  Placidia was barely aware as brutal hands grabbed and lifted her. She was limp, so far gone she could hardly whimper, let alone struggle against them.

  “Henceforth, dear little sister,” Honorius’s hot breath filled her ear, “you shall be confined to your villa under heavy guard. You shall not leave until you acquiesce and marry Constantius.” He moved off, ordering his men, “Remove her from our sight!”

  She had never cursed anyone before, never. But now, she was like a creature caught in a snare, a prisoner of her humiliation and despair, and she lashed out.

  “Damn you, Honorius, damn you to hell!”

  • • •

>   “In the name of Jupiter, what happened to her?”

  Placidia could hear the anger in the man’s voice. But who … who was speaking?

  She opened her eyes. Her jaw ached, and she moaned. Magnus’s face hovered above her.

  She drifted off, whether for moments or hours, she could not say. When she reawakened he was still there, sitting by her bed, holding her hand. Elpidia stood nearby, her lips tight, her eyes burning with hatred.

  For whom? Whom does Elpidia hate?

  “Placidia,” Magnus said, “I cannot forgive your brother for what he did to you.”

  With her tremulous hand, she gingerly explored her jaw. “What … do … I … look … like?” she implored.

  “You are bruised and swollen, my sweet child,” Elpidia said, “but you shall heal. Your physician has assured us there are no broken bones. And you still have all of your teeth.”

  Magnus’s eyes sparked in anger, but then he forced a more kindly expression. “I must go now, dearest Placidia, but I will visit you again soon, and we shall talk at length.” He locked eyes with Elpidia and then returned his gaze to Placidia. “I am on your side, my dear. I am your friend. Remember that. Always.”

  He kissed her brow and left, Elpidia following behind. The door closed, and Placidia was alone.

  Honorius. Her wretched brother. She stared at the ceiling, her face throbbing, remembering his sneer as she was being hauled away.

  Everything had changed. You hurt me, Honorius. You betrayed me. You shamed me and ruined my future. Never will I forget what you have done.

  Chapter 5

  In the ensuing month, Gigi caught only glimpses of Magnus and, thankfully, saw nothing of Honorius. She recalled Magnus’s words about the emperor’s menagerie of slaves, and she desperately hoped Honorius had forgotten all about her, turning his crazy mind to other things. But, despite everything, she sensed he wasn’t finished with her yet.

  As for Magnus, she had not forgotten their stolen moment in the vegetable garden, and she hoped he hadn’t either. She thought of him day and night, although her actual dreams of him came in frustratingly brief snatches. Frightening nightmares of Honorius superseded all else.

  Unfortunately, Gigi’s stint outside had ended weeks ago and she was now back on kitchen duty full time. At least Silvia had upgraded her to dishwashing, while insisting she take long breaks to concentrate on speaking Latin with the staff. All the slaves helped out, giggling when she made some gross linguistic error, but otherwise they were very patient in their efforts. With her fluency in French, and being surrounded by Latin at every turn, she picked up the language more quickly and easily than she’d imagined.

  Her stomach still churned as she confronted the sheer insanity of all she’d experienced since her appearance in the baptistery. Gnawing at a ragged cuticle, she looked around the miserable kitchen, determined to escape. But how could she get past the imperial guards stationed all over the city walls, always on the alert for trouble from without, or from unruly slaves within?

  Vana, the slave girl with the brand on her forehead, had angrily confided to Gigi that she once tried to run off, but she’d been caught escaping on a skiff from Ravenna’s port. Wanting to make an example of her, Honorius had ordered her savagely whipped and then gang raped by several of his soldiers, while he watched and stroked himself.

  Gigi was horrified, but Vana wasn’t done with her story. The last step in her punishment was the gruesome branding. Honorius himself had pressed the white-hot iron to her forehead, marking her forever with the letter “F,” for fugitivus. Vana had fainted at the moment of contact from the indescribable pain, but was revived with vinegar held to her nose, the jolt of it mixing with the reek of her own, seared flesh. After Honorius’s men took turns on her again, she’d begged for death’s release. The emperor had only laughed at her pleading, saying she was young and still had much life in her, and, besides, he was not one to waste a good scullion maid.

  Gigi shuddered at the recollection and went back to her scrubbing, afraid Honorius wouldn’t need any kind of excuse with her; he’d just punish her whenever he got around to it.

  Silvia bustled into the kitchen and pulled Gigi aside. “You work well, better even than most of the girls,” she conceded. “But you were not born to it — that much is obvious — which makes your diligence and lack of complaint all the more surprising.” Silvia rummaged in her apron. “Plus, you stood your ground before Emperor Honorius. That was a dangerous, stupid thing to do, but one you survived, which is also surprising.”

  Gigi found herself shivering at the truth in her words. Where was Silvia going with this?

  “Were you anyone else,” Silvia continued, “your fate would have been much harsher than being sent to work with us, which gives us all pause to wonder why. Perhaps it is because a senator favors you,” she shrugged, “perhaps not, but I think one day you shall find your rightful place, and at that time, you may remember us kindly. Therefore,” Silvia pulled a stick from her apron, “we have decided to give you back a portion of that which was taken from you.”

  Gigi gasped when she saw the stick had holes. “Is this … ? Oh!”

  “It is a nay.” Silvia handed it to Gigi. “It is very well made. Old Berenice carved it herself in the spare time I afforded her.”

  Gigi smiled at Berenice, then turned the object over. Six holes were drilled at regular intervals, but it had no mouthpiece other than an open end. It was a reed flute.

  She had her music back! Tears of joy welled and spilled down her cheeks as she hugged everyone in the kitchen. She thanked them all, then put her new instrument to her lips.

  Holding the nay in front of her, Gigi blew across the top, but it sounded hollow. A couple of the girls giggled; Berenice pursed her lips.

  “Come on, you did this all the time with beer bottles in college,” Gigi muttered in English.

  Adjusting her angle and blowing lightly across the opening, she managed a stronger, full-bodied, and richer note. She decided to attempt scales, and a stream of notes spilled out, mellow, similar to a panpipe’s, yet slightly rough and off-key in the lower register. But after having been so long denied her music, to Gigi the precious gift seemed to emit tones more beautiful than anything she’d ever played.

  Excited, Gigi grinned at the women, then tested her recall, performing the simple “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” as she learned her notes and continued to adjust her breathing technique. Her audience clapped and giggled, then kept time with the melody as she played the song a second time.

  Gigi blinked back more tears, loving each of them for their kindness and knowing one day she would have to leave them behind. Despite the awful risks, she had to find a way to escape. If, or when, Honorius remembered her, she knew he would make her suffer the same fate still haunting Vana — or something even worse.

  • • •

  As the days lengthened and the evenings grew warm and dry, Gigi found a few moments for herself now and then. With Silvia’s permission — and before every ounce of strength had been sapped from her body — she hurried through the palace grounds to a place well away from the main buildings, a refuge secreted behind overgrown hedges and rock walls, a small, rundown garden. There, she could think and try to plan an escape while playing her music, surrounded by birds singing their quiet evening songs.

  At the entry, Gigi glanced around to make sure she was alone, then ducked inside. Taking a breath of the peppery-sweet air, she walked on the graveled path bordered by carpets of thyme and mounds of budding lavender, riotous tangles of pink roses, and stalks of proud iris. Soon, the gravel grew sparse, shot through with weeds. She passed walls overhung with trailing vines, the route to the innermost sanctuary.

  The sound of bubbling water soothed and enticed, before Gigi reached the garden’s jewel: a small pond encircled by marble columns. A thin rivulet of water
cascaded over the emerald-colored stones, splashing onto the base of a painted statue, a lovely nude. The figure’s blue eyes were surrounded by lushly rendered eyelashes, and her fingers lazily pushed into yellow curls atop her head. Gigi still wasn’t used to the effect of paint on marble, but had to admit it was strangely beautiful; the figure looked more alive than cold, white stone.

  As Gigi sat on a bench, listening to the water and birds, she recalled the weekend she and Yves had spent in Aix-en-Provence, a town filled with fountains and small, secret gardens. Yves. She sighed and wondered at her thoughts, the memory of their times together distant and growing dimmer with each day. She closed her eyes, coaxing a vision of Aix again: rows of plane trees hugging the main boulevard, branches twisting to the sky, flowers everywhere, a multitude of little shops.

  A bird twittered nearby and she tried to find it among a tangle of bushes, but couldn’t. She let her gaze roam over the garden, pretty as a jewel box, even overgrown as it was. Would Yves have liked it here? Probably not, she decided, recalling how, by the end of the weekend he’d seemed anxious to get back to the coast. Sailing on a gusty day, salt spray hitting his face, was more his style.

  It was how she’d first met him at the Vieux-Port in Marseille. She was going to solo-sail over to Cassis in a rented, twenty-five-foot sailboat, and he’d been very happy to fill her in on the many beautiful inlets and dicey moorages along the way. He was still there when she returned hours later, and helped her to dock and secure her boat. Afterward, she’d had dinner with him at a nice restaurant, which led to an exchange of phone numbers and several months of dating.

  But he didn’t exist, wasn’t even born yet. And besides, when he touched her, she hadn’t felt any semblance of the power she felt in the presence of …

  Magnus. She closed her eyes, remembering the way his tunic clung to his powerful shoulders, remembering his muscled arms and passionate gaze … but then a nagging thought sprang to mind, something that had been bothering her for days. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him in a long while, several weeks at least. What was going on? She thought of what he’d said about Honorius having many female slaves and wondered if Magnus had his own diversions as well. For all she knew, he already had a wife. The thought so bothered Gigi she’d confided it to Vana.