Love, Eternally

by Morgan O'Neill

  Huge mistake! In an off-handed attempt to comfort her, Vana said she’d heard Magnus had never taken a wife, despite his advancing age, which was several years over thirty. And besides, Gigi shouldn’t have any hope in that regard, because the senatorial class was forbidden to marry slaves of the Empire. Vana cautioned Gigi to keep her guard up and her body to herself, for, if he were truly as interested as he seemed, Magnus might be persuaded to purchase her, and that would be wonderful, wouldn’t it?

  Would it? No! Gigi’s heart sank and she looked at the statue, a solitary woman, like her. This garden must have been built for her, whoever she was, but it was neglected now, perhaps even forgotten. Like her.

  How ironic she wished the same for herself — neglect and forgetfulness on the part of Honorius — yet dreaded the notion she was getting the same from Magnus. Her mind spun, a jumble of doubt and hope and foreboding. She swallowed hard, her thoughts dark. Was she simply an amusement for both men, something to use in a game of one-upmanship?

  Gigi gazed at the sky, seeking answers, but found none. The light was fading, sunset approached. She took her flute from a pocket in her apron. Having slightly retooled the holes to produce a more perfect pitch, she blew and the sounds floated out, an original tune she’d been working on. Soft, lonely, sad. No “Minute Waltz,” no “Just Wave Hello,” nothing lively or light. She didn’t have the heart for it.

  At these moments she remembered all she had lost: her family, friends, her career, everything she’d once called her life, but, most especially, her freedom.

  She’d once used the word lightly, telling people she reveled in it, her independent lifestyle just the ticket for happiness, but she hadn’t understood what it truly meant, not until she’d ended up here. Vana’s story haunted her, the scars, both physical and mental, horrible beyond words. Here, Vana and Gigi and all the other slaves weren’t even considered human, let alone allowed to harbor any hope for freedom. They were things, subject to the will of whoever was in charge, with the constant threat of abuse or death at the whim of the owner a never-ending torment. Her quest for independence in that other cushy existence as Gigi Perrin, Ms. Superstar, now seemed silly and selfish, far removed from reality and not important at all. She realized she’d give anything simply to be back with her family and friends.

  She lowered her flute and wiped a tear. “Mom, Dad,” she whispered, “I wish I could see you again, even just for five minutes, so I could tell you I love you and explain.”

  No, stop thinking about … everything, she scolded herself, taking several deep breaths to calm her raw emotions. Just stop.

  Then something moved on the path. She held her breath, listening. What had she heard? Gravel crunching? Her heart thumped madly and she stood, ready to bolt. Had Honorius found her? She waited, but the birds continued their singing undisturbed. After a minute, Gigi closed her eyes and slowly exhaled, willing herself to calm down, sure her imagination was playing tricks.

  No, she heard it again — footsteps — someone was coming.

  She shot up, ready to run.

  “Wait!”

  She recognized the voice and spun to face Magnus. “Oh, it’s you!” she said, her heart still drumming.

  Silent, he stood only a few feet away. She tried to gather her thoughts, the prickle of unease on her skin.

  “You should be more mindful of your surroundings,” he finally said.

  “But I … this is the only place where I can be by myself.”

  “None of us is ever alone within the palace grounds, or even within Ravenna, for that matter. You must always be mindful the guards are watching.”

  “I know, but Silvia said it’s okay.”

  “But the sound of your music travels a fair distance. That is how I found you. It could lead others, even Honorius, to this place.”

  “Oh, that’s not good. I try not to play too loud.” She glanced at the gravel path winding toward the garden’s entry. “I’m hoping he’s forgotten all about me.”

  “I doubt it,” Magnus smiled, “but let us hope to the gods it is so, as he has much to occupy him.” He hesitated. “Your music was beautiful, but sad. You have a great talent, Gigiperrin.”

  “Thank you, Senator. But, uh, call me Gigi. My family name is Perrin. I mentioned it once. My full name is Geneviève.”

  He looked into her eyes. “An enchanting name … Geneviève.”

  The way he said her name was beguiling, so different with his charming, lilting pronunciation that she longed to hear him say it once more. But she reminded herself to take care. After all, she really didn’t know him.

  “I shall try to call you Gigi,” he went on, “however, please accept my apology in case I lapse, for I always think of you as Gigiperrin, because it was how I first heard your name.”

  She liked the notion he was always thinking of her. “I couldn’t speak the language at all then,” she said. “I couldn’t fully explain.”

  “You have made great strides in a very short time. May I ask a favor? Would you play a bit more, for me? Something less gloomy, perhaps, but keep it quiet.” He smiled.

  What should she play? She decided on a classic, “Moon River.” Dreamy, hopeful, not gloomy, and she could play it low. Gigi put her flute to her lips and blew softly, keeping her sights on the walkway, on the pond, on anything but him.

  By the time she finished, dusk had settled in, and Gigi knew she needed to return to the kitchen. Hazarding a glance in Magnus’s direction, she saw him sitting on the bench, elbow to knee, gaze unfocused.

  For a startled moment, she sensed vulnerability about him, as if his spirit were wounded, not whole. He seemed lost and profoundly sad, not only because of his distracted stare, but also in the way he held himself, a captive of his thoughts, his mind a prisoner of some distant memory.

  What had happened to him? What was he thinking about?

  She hesitated a second longer. “I have to get back, Senator.”

  He came back to himself and looked up at her. “Ah, I know, and I shall be brief. First, please, call me Magnus. I do not know whence you hail, but here, within the Empire, we do not, as a rule, call each other by our titles, lofty or otherwise.”

  “Not even a slave?”

  “Gigi, you are no slave to me. I believe you have come from more noble stock. Furthermore, yours is a mystery I wish to pursue, to satisfy my personal curiosity. As you are aware, I have watched you closely over the weeks since you appeared in the baptistery.”

  Gigi started at his emphasis on the word “appeared.” Had he seen something? Is that why he was staring so hard when she first noticed him?

  “Many things are beyond my power of reasoning,” he continued, “but for that alone I do not denounce. I use events I cannot understand to study and learn, instead of condemning outright, but all that is not why I sought to be with you this evening. Alaric and his Visigoths are in Noricum, in the Alpine foothills, grazing their livestock and drinking beer,” he smiled, perhaps a little wistfully, “and all the while hatching plans of attack. I must go there and try to stop this advance with words, as Honorius refuses to meet them in battle. I shall be gone a fortnight, at the least.”

  “Oh.” Gigi racked her brains, trying to figure out what he was driving at. He had seen her appear, but he was not jumping to conclusions. Fine. So, what was this about the Visigoths? Was Italy about to be invaded?

  Magnus rose to stand beside her. “When I first saw you, it was an odd thing, though perhaps not unique in history, and it is something I cannot dismiss. And I can assure you others at court wish to find out more about you as well, even if they seem to have forgotten for the moment.” His expression grew serious. “Should you sense the emperor’s renewed interest, or be given some misguided demand, should you fear there is no one to stay Honorius’s hand, then you must go, take your ring — ”


  “What?” He knows about my ring?

  He reached out, but hesitated when she pulled back.

  “No,” she said, devastated.

  He reached again, but she blocked his hand, ready to defend her only, her dearest possession.

  “No, Senator, don’t.”

  “Fear not, Gigi.”

  His touch was as gentle as his voice, but she was still too upset to let down her guard.

  “My intentions are honorable.” He ran his finger under the chain around her neck, drawing out the ring. “I will not take it,” his gaze was level, his arm dropping to his side, “for it is yours, and most holy in my eyes.”

  His words chased away her fears. The sun’s last rays found their way through the tangled tree limbs, lighting his face with glimmering bits of gold. Captivated, she watched his lips move, her mind overtaken with the memory of how she’d wanted to kiss him, on that other, faraway day in the kitchen garden.

  “Gigi, you carry with you Victoria, Goddess of Victory. She favors you and has watched over you until now. I am sure she will continue to do so.” He hesitated. “I am part of a delegation that departs on the morrow, but you will not be left without a friend in Ravenna. I will have my people looking out for you, but should you have any trouble go to Placidia — Honorius’s sister.”

  “Placidia? Galla Placidia?” Gigi said, refocusing on his words and recalling the name from the hotel concierge. “She’s his sister?”

  He nodded. “Although she is as yet quite young, she is strong and principled, nothing like Honorius. She will shield you from him, if need be. Show no one this ring but her. She knows it well, for I, er, I described it to her, and she will understand by this token that I have pledged you my protection.”

  Gigi gazed at the ring and worried at his words, suddenly fearful of being left alone.

  He enclosed her palm around it, his hand lingering on hers. “I shall carry the sound of your music with me,” he released her, placing his hand over his heart, “here, but will you remember what I have told you? Will you promise to do it?”

  Gigi swallowed hard, not wanting to entrust her safety to a ring and a sister, hoping she would never have to take that step. “But I don’t trust … can’t trust anyone like I trust you,” she blurted out. “Take me with you, or buy my freedom. I will pay you back.”

  She stopped speaking when he touched his finger to her lips. There were so many things he could say, so many words she longed to hear: Do not worry … I won’t leave you … come away with me …

  He withdrew his hand, but continued to gaze into her eyes. “I cannot stay. Neither can I take you with me, however appealing it might be. Besides, Honorius will never willingly let you go, so you must be very careful not to remind him of your presence. I have a duty to the Empire that surpasses all else. But someday, if the Fates should will it, we may meet here again, and then we might — with your permission — use this garden as it was meant to be used. I believe Great Venus herself,” he nodded toward the statue, “will be pleased with the honor we bring to it, for she has never seen its destiny fulfilled, so far as I know.”

  Venus? Goddess of love? Gigi glanced at the statue and blushed deeply.

  She was painfully aware of his nearness, his skin’s delicious scent: the warmth of incense and spiced wine.

  Magnus touched her arm, the contact pure electricity, and she hoped — no, she knew — he was about to kiss her.

  She closed her eyes, the sweet, searing pain of anticipation tightening around her heart.

  “Vale, Gigiperrin.” His voice was husky and low.

  Her eyes flew open. Vale? Farewell?

  Stepping back, he bowed and she wanted to reach out to stop him. He gave her a last look, then turned and walked away.

  “No,” she whispered, shivering, suddenly feeling empty, and she longed for the promise of his warm embrace. She watched him until he was out of sight, then continued to watch, hoping for his return, until dusk gave way to night. She swallowed the bitter taste of the aborted kiss, trying to convince herself he was right — now was not the time — but someday, maybe someday.

  And she remembered her first impression after his visit to her cell; he was truly the antithesis of the one who’d put her there — he was a man of honor.

  She sank onto the bench, her body aching, longing for what hadn’t happened. “Vade in pace,” she whispered to the air. Go in peace.

  But she felt no peace. Gripping the ring, she looked up at the first stars winking through the trees. What had just happened? What exactly did he want?

  What do I want?

  With a ragged sigh, she rose and left the garden, thinking of Magnus, barely remembering Yves, excited, guilty, her emotions a jumble. She could see their faces, but Yves was indistinct, unfocused, whereas Magnus was all too clear, etched into her mind, and she recalled the way he walked, imagined his body, gleaming skin and all muscle.

  Gigi sighed again, thinking of how disturbing her dreams were going to be that night.

  Chapter 6

  Awake before dawn, Honorius paced, naked, along his eastern balcony. He looked out over the glimmer of earliest light dancing off the Adriaticum. With his most troublesome senators sent on a mission to the north and his riddlesome sister locked up in her villa, the month had been blissfully peaceful.

  Damn them all to fiery hell! he thought sourly. With the calends of Julius fast approaching, the senators were sure to return any day, spoiling his fun.

  How bothersome was this Alaric, who fancied himself king of the Visigoths. Brutes and barbarians, they were uncouth and unclean — leaving their hair wild, unplucked, and stinking of foul things like grease and rancid butter — absolutely contrary to the hygiene of civilized men. Why, they even rapped on doors with their filthy knuckles, instead of their feet. Their manners were appalling.

  He seethed. Alaric continued to demand Roman honorifics, all the while sending his squatters to live on the south side of the Danubius and pleading for sanctuary from that other vermin race, the Huns. Well, Alaric could also go to hell. He had troubled the Empire for far too long.

  May God strike him dead for his impudence!

  “Honorius,” a sweet voice called from within. “Come back to bed. I would not see your morning fascinum neglected for all the silks of the Orient.”

  Still fuming, he ignored Adriadne’s sultry pleas.

  “Mighty warrior of the bedchamber,” she cooed again, “I have become tangled in the bedsheets, and you must help set me free.”

  He frowned. “Ask Britomartis.”

  “She has gone off to bathe, my lord,” she said, her voice closer now. Soft, white arms encircled his chest from behind. Honorius felt the press of her bare breasts against his shoulder blades, the caress of her mound of Venus against his naked buttocks.

  He smiled when she gasped, her hand having found his phallus well engorged and ready for the morning’s sport. He let her play with him, tease him to greater size, fondling his balls and shaft with mounting impatience, evidenced by the mewing sounds she made. He turned abruptly and pushed her against the wall. Seizing her thick, brown hair with one hand, Honorius pulled her head back and kissed her neck. She groaned, her fingers raking his back, and he grabbed her thighs, lifting her up against his hips. He entered her there, on the balcony, driving hard, making her cry out in ecstasy, uncaring that early risers might see his play from afar.

  Proud of his imposing fascinum, he closed his eyes in bliss, ramming it home. Adriadne gripped his shoulders, demanding more, and he groaned in return. Then, from the direction of the barracks, he heard the beating of drums and started to pump in rhythm, for it seemed they were playing for him, a tribute to his power, cheering him on. When Germani pipers on their utriculi joined in, signaling the first call to duty, Honorius paused and opened his eyes, suddenly recalling the
surly flute player, who had mocked his privy parts in front of everyone. His lust turned to anger, and he renewed his thrusts with vicious force. Adriadne shrieked and slapped his face, rousing him still further. He slapped her back and when she tried to bite him, he pulled out and turned her around, pushing into her rear. He pumped as hard as he could, wicked slams against her, and she started thrashing and grunting, deriving pleasure from her pain.

  Closing his eyes, he heard a drum roll, then the pipers playing their finale, and he was brought back to thoughts of the flute-playing whore. What had become of her?

  Adriadne began to writhe, to scream in climax, and Honorius smiled, knowing why he had ignored Gigiperrin these many weeks. He’d been too distracted by this little minx and her fair-haired sibling, fraternal twins of oh-so-twisted pleasures.

  He pumped harder still, until the floodgates let loose and he bellowed in response. Then, as he stood gasping, collapsing against Adriadne’s beautiful, sweaty body, he decided it was time he summoned the bitch, Gigiperrin.

  He would force her to play her music this very afternoon, and then he would take her, over and over, until she begged for the sweet release of death. Today! Before the senators came back, before their watchful, critical eyes returned to Ravenna, before life resumed its dull, drudgery pace.

  He pulled away from Adriadne without a word and walked into his bedchamber, dropping onto his bed. When she tried to join him, he pushed her aside, for he needed to think. As she skulked out of the room, he closed his eyes and concentrated, waiting for inspiration, the perfect way to set his trap. Then, with a sudden clarity of mind, he saw Quintus Magnus watching Gigiperrin that day in the throne room, remembering the heartfelt look in her eyes when she pleaded for his help — and Magnus’s answering stare. Honorius was sure his instincts were right and that Magnus was taken with her. What a perfect opportunity to humble them both.