After the Fall

by Morgan O'Neill

  Serena saw the flash of sunlight on metal and instinctively threw up her arms, saw the arching, terrible swiftness with which the blade tore through the air, saw the edge embed itself and then slice across the neck of her beloved … her sweet babe … Eucherius!

  Oh, dear God in Heaven! The murderer darted away, carrying something round and dripping in his hand. No! Oh Lord, no! No!

  She started to run in the opposite direction, terrified she would be next, crashing through the people who stood and stared.

  A wail rose up, a high-pitched keening. Serena halted in her tracks, listening to the horrible cries, then turned back, fearing the certainty of what she would see.

  There, kneeling, Thermantia rocked, screaming and weeping, holding Eucherius's gaping, headless body against her own.

  • • •

  Thermantia watched as her mother lay curled on the floor of their squalid tenement.

  “Oh, my dearest,” Serena cried. “Please, hold me. I cannot bear any more grief.”

  It was the second day since her little brother’s murder, and her mother had done nothing but bewail her misfortunes. Serena’s eyes were puffy slits, her face blotchy and red, her hair undone and in a shambles. She was a disgrace to her family and dishonored Eucherius’s memory by this endless display of self-pity. Where was the evidence of nobility to which she was born? Where was her pride?

  Thermantia had stood alone, dignified, stoic, and brave when they’d buried her brother’s headless corpse. Alone she had represented the family as her mother writhed on the floor at home, alone she had endured the pain of saying goodbye. And now her mother wanted comfort from her?

  Enough is enough!

  Serena checked her sobbing for an instant and looked up with a startled expression.

  Did I say that aloud? Thermantia wondered.

  “Sweet girl, please don’t be angry,” her mother sank back onto the floor and started in again. “Hold me. I have lost everything. Hold me, please.”

  In a fury, Thermantia crouched and grasped her mother by the hair, snatching her head off the floor.

  Pitiful, disgusting, covered with snot and tears, Serena raised her arms, pleading, “Don’t strike me, please, my dearest.”

  “You bitch, how dare you whine and wail and ask me for comfort!” Thermantia thundered. “You have done nothing but use us, use everyone you ever knew, for power, for prestige, for standing. You married off my dear sister Maria to Honorius, to be shamed and brutalized unto death, but that was not enough, oh no! Then you handed me over for the same, and the same he gave me. But I survived, because you could not wait to hand over one more, your own husband, and he was slaughtered! That makes two … two dead because of you. And now you have seen your son butchered before your cowardly eyes because of your words, your plotting, your plans, and then … you ran away! That makes three! Three within your own family whose blood is on your hands, yours and yours alone! May God curse you for the wretched human being you are!”

  Her mother stared back at her, unmoving, silent for the first time in days.

  Something in her mother’s eyes, something deep inside her own mind, told Thermantia she had gone too far, much, much too far. Don’t say another word, she told herself. Don’t do this, don’t give in to the hatred or … or you will become what she is, and you mustn’t, no, you must never let that happen. You must never become like her!

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” Thermantia whispered, releasing and smoothing her hair. “Forgive my harsh words, it was the grief speaking, only my grief.”

  Weeping, Thermantia knelt beside her mother and gathered her into her arms, cradling her, soothing her, rocking her. “We shall get through this together, Mother. Worry not. Shhhh, now, Mama. It will be all right, you’ll see.”

  • • •

  Placidia wrote the last few words on her waxen tablet, put the stylus down, and smiled at her steward. “That should do it, Leontius. Please see the funds are quietly gotten to poor Thermantia. She has endured much because of her mother’s endless machinations, and now her brother’s murder, and I shall do my utmost to see to her needs. Honorius would treat his former empress as a leper, but he has no feelings for anyone but himself, does he? Tell Thermantia the old royal villa at Capreae will be made available for her use, and arrange for an escort.”

  The steward nodded. “Your will be done, Domina — ”

  The door to Placidia’s office crashed open, and Leontius sprang up to protect her, but the intruder was only Elpidia.

  “My apologies,” she began breathlessly, “but I heard noises and shouting in the street and went to see what was going on. Everyone is yelling that barbarians have descended upon Rome! Can it be true? Have you heard anything?”

  Stunned, Placidia glanced at Leontius.

  “Domina,” he said, “I shall go to the Forum to see if the Diurnal has been posted with any news.” He headed for the door, but found the way blocked by the sudden arrival of Senator Attalus.

  “Forgive the intrusion, O most exalted Placidia,” Attalus said, “but I must speak with you immediately.”

  Elpidia’s hand went to her mouth. “It’s the barbarians, isn’t it? Dear Lord, it’s not the Huns come all this way, is it?”

  Attalus looked from Elpidia to Placidia, then shook his head. “It’s the Visigoths, King Alaric and many thousands of his people, not just the warriors. They are within several mille of Rome — of all of Rome. The city will soon be completely surrounded, cut off. As to whether they plan to attack, or lay siege, or simply to parlay with us is as unclear as this tactic is unprecedented.”

  Placidia could feel her heart madly thumping. King Alaric and his people! Why had no one seen them coming? Where were Rome’s scouts? Why hadn’t the army stopped their advance? She knew the military was in total disarray because of what Honorius had done to General Stilicho. So many barbarian soldiers had deserted the ranks that the legions in Italia had been decimated. It was impossible to believe, but had the Empire decided to let Rome fend for herself?

  She glanced down at her shaky hands, then clasped them together in an attempt to control herself. What should she do? Send to Honorius for help? Was there time? Would her brother even care? No, probably not.

  Attalus cleared his throat. “Placidia, know this … the walls of Rome cannot be breached. We are safe here. And King Alaric is honorable, in his own way. I do not believe he will do anything unprovoked, or without warning. If it pleases you, I shall send out a delegation, or go myself, to find out what is on his mind and if there is anything we can do.”

  “How I wish Magnus were here to deal with this,” Placidia said as she walked to the balcony to look out. “Where is he, Attalus? He knows this king and his ways. What does the Senate say about this?”

  “Some are drinking, some pray, most are pissing themselves,” Attalus replied. Leontius grumbled and Attalus smiled grimly. “Forgive my tactless words.”

  Placidia waved her hand. “Never mind. There is all too much truth in what you say. We’ve had little besides doddering, nervous old men occupying the Senate chamber these many years, and few, if any, were born with a spine.”

  “Until they receive word from the emperor, they will look to you for leadership and guidance.”

  Would they? Placidia wondered if this were true as she gazed out the window.

  “Placidia, what say you? Shall I go to Alaric?”

  She turned back to Attalus. “I believe you must. Find the king and bid him send emissaries to meet with me tomorrow eve, so we may sup together and speak in peace. Assure him it is no trap — upon my word — his ambassadors shall come and go without harm. And tell him … ” Placidia paused, thinking. “Tell him I am willing to hear his grievances, for they must be serious indeed, if he is taking this action.”

  Attalus put a hand to his chest and bowed. “As y
ou say, O most noble Placidia, so will it be done.”

  She watched him leave the room, then turned to her nurse and steward. “We will be having company tomorrow, if I’m not mistaken. Please see the banquet room in the House of Livia is prepared, Elpidia, for I think its coziness will not overwhelm our guests like any of our royal palaces would. And Leontius, I have heard the Visigoths like beer, so make certain there is plenty of it, along with meat, lots of roasted meat.”

  Chapter 3

  Gigi and Magnus sat by the campfire with King Alaric. The sun was almost down, the full moon rising. She took a sip of her beer and yawned.

  Magnus saw this and made a move to rise. “With your permission,” he said to Alaric, “I believe it is time we retire to our tent — ”

  There was a sudden commotion, and a man raced forward, then dropped on one knee before Alaric. “My king,” the man said, “a Roman emissary has arrived. He has requested an audience with you.”

  “Bring him here,” Alaric said.

  Magnus exchanged a look with Gigi. She glanced at his hands, so steady, no hint of nerves. She gripped her mug, striving to match his calm. Who was coming? What was going to happen now? She turned as several Visigoth scouts walked forward, escorting a lone, balding man with a fringe of graying hair, wearing a white toga bordered with purple.

  “Attalus, you old dog,” Magnus exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

  “Magnus?” The man looked stunned. “Well, damn me straight to Hades! We were all wondering what had happened to you.”

  The two Romans clasped forearms, then embraced.

  Attalus glanced at Gigi. “I see you found your beautiful flute player.”

  Magnus grinned. “Indeed. My Gigiperrin. And now she is my wife.”

  “My sincerest felicitations,” Attalus said, slapping Magnus on the back before turning to Gigi. “It is about time someone tamed this grizzled warrior.”

  “It wasn’t easy,” Gigi laughed.

  Alaric broke in, “Priscus Attalus, welcome. What brings you here?”

  Attalus bowed. “O most excellent King Alaric,” he intoned, “I am here to extend an invitation on behalf of the Nobilissima Puella, Aelia Galla Placidia. She desires to meet tomorrow eve with ambassadors of your own choosing to discuss our mutual concerns. She plans a banquet in their honor and ensures their safety within the walls of Rome — and their safe return.”

  Hearing this, Gigi felt her heart race with anticipation. Magnus must have felt the same, because he quickly said, “King Alaric, if I might be so bold, sending Gigi and me would be seen as a gesture of friendship.”

  “I concur,” Alaric agreed. “The two of you shall go to Rome, to sup with Galla Placidia. And Athaulf shall accompany you. He can speak for us and shall benefit from a look at the city, to see her full splendor, before … ”

  The king let his voice trail off, and Gigi saw Attalus pale ever so slightly, as if he understood, as if he knew what was coming.

  • • •

  The next day, Gigi, Magnus, Athaulf, and Senator Attalus and his bodyguards rode their horses along the Via Salaria toward Rome. As they drew closer, the city’s massive walls and then the Salarian Gate came into view. It was a solid, rather plain archway of squared stones, with a gallery above flanked by two brick towers. They were manned by soldiers wearing the Roman-style, bristle-topped helmets. People streamed through the gate, while hundreds of wagons and carts congested the road.

  “I never imagined it would be so crowded,” she said to herself, wishing she could share this with her grandfather, her dear Grand-père, who had loved studying the ancient world, especially Rome.

  Senator Attalus moved his horse alongside. “Within the walls, there are perhaps one million people. Far too many, if you ask me. We patricians are few; the rest are the plebecula, the masses who even now care for little else than bread and circuses.” He shrugged. “And, because of the overcrowding, we must leave our horses here and proceed inside on foot. We shall have a contingent of imperial guards protecting us from the plebs.”

  Honorius’s thugs? With a shiver, Gigi handed off her horse and strained to see beyond the gate, looking for big, hairy German-types with axes. She shot Magnus a glance, glad he was less recognizable these days, then adjusted her palla, attempting to hide her face.

  Before they passed through the gate, the men stopped and urinated in urns provided by the guild of fullers, to facilitate the bleaching and dying of their cloth. Gigi turned her head away, embarrassed to watch a bunch of men peeing, and wondered where she might go. Magnus assured her public latrines were placed at regular and convenient intervals throughout the city.

  They continued on, pushing their way through the throng, to where the Palatini guards stood waiting. Their leader saluted Attalus, then briefly eyed Magnus and Athaulf. Gigi hazarded a glance at the man, but there was nothing telling in his gaze, no hint of interest or recognition. The other soldiers stood at attention, carefully training their eyes on the distance. She felt a small measure of relief as the party set off, although her palla was still close about her face.

  The chaos of the Roman streets was astounding compared to Ravenna, the noises every bit as loud as any modern metropolis, but the smells were different — a combination of wood smoke, fish, and garlic, loads of garlic.

  Roma, Caput Mundi — the capital of the world. How different the city looked, how ancient and splendid. Gigi gawked at the throng, multiethnic and mostly young, all moving in a swirl of tunics and gowns. The Roman Empire’s reach was vast, but she was still surprised to see the occasional person with jet-black hair and slanted eyes, clearly someone from central Asia or beyond; some were richly dressed merchants, but others wore simple tunics and had pierced ears, the mark of slaves coming from the Far East. The Empire’s connections with the northern realms was evident, too, in that many of the younger Roman women had blue streaks in their hair, a new style copied from the barbarians of Britain.

  Then Gigi spotted three women wearing togas and tugged on Magnus’s sleeve. “Do you know them? Are they senators’ wives?”

  Magnus laughed. “No, women don’t wear togas unless they’re prostitutes. It is their way of flaunting Roman law, for only male citizens may legally wear the toga.”

  “So, you’re saying you don’t know them?” Gigi teased.

  He winked at her and she went back to gawking. People haggled with shopkeepers or filled water jugs from fountains, while others begged for alms or ate where they stood. She even saw one couple having sex in broad daylight under the archway of a building.

  Gigi grabbed Magnus’s arm, but he was already watching. “In public?”

  “Ah, perhaps she is but an impulsive lass, giving him a gift this day,” he replied, laughing. “Here is my Rome, in all its grime and glory.”

  Their party moved on, past an area Gigi recognized — barely — as the Forum. It was stunning to view it whole, not in the tumbledown state she was used to seeing. Soon, the sun dipped behind a building, but up ahead the Coliseum still gleamed, its marbled walls catching the last rays of sunshine. Huge. Breathtaking.

  Magnus nudged her and pointed. “That is the Palatine Hill, where we’re headed, and on its summit is the great palace where Placidia resides.”

  More exquisite marble, columns, and balconies, pinked by sunset.

  Gigi nodded and smiled. She was excited to see Placidia after so many months, and the prospect of spending a night in luxury with Magnus was tantalizing. She could hardly wait.

  Chapter 4

  The Visigoths would soon arrive!

  Placidia stood in the Garden Room of the House of Livia, awaiting King Alaric’s ambassadors. The last light of day filtered through a trio of lunette windows, illuminating the walls and their ancient frescos with a pearly glow. She loved this room with its lush depictions of Livia’s country garden, the walls p
ainted with garlands, fruit trees, and birds. It was one of the true glories of Rome, revered since the time of Livia and her husband, Emperor Augustus, and lovingly cared for by their successors.

  Placidia could sense their presence still, and knew she must protect Rome as they had done. She had to find a way to convince the Visigoths, make them understand this great city should never be destroyed. She bowed her head, praying to God she would find the words to save her people, her world.

  A tap at the door, and she nervously looked up as her nurse stepped into the room, holding a jewelry box.

  “Ah, your gown is exquisite in this light! You look beautiful, dearest,” Elpidia gushed. “That shade of green matches this emerald necklace perfectly.”

  “My favorite color.”

  “For good reason. Please turn around and I’ll put it on you.”

  Smiling, Placidia touched her chignon, then gathered stray tendrils away from her neck and waited until Elpidia was done.

  “There is still time to get bracelets and earrings, Placidia. I fear you look too plain with but one necklace. A princess of the Empire should glitter in gold and gems.”

  “This is quite enough. I am not here as a bauble on the emperor’s arm.” Placidia adjusted her necklace, gorgeously decorated with alternating emerald prisms and gold beads. She glanced in the mirror, moving her head ever so slightly until the image was clearer, and was pleased by her look. “Tonight, I am Rome. Elegant, powerful, worthy of honor.”

  “Glorious,” Elpidia added. “You, my dear, should be empress and not — ”

  “Shush, those are treasonous words!” Placidia shuddered.

  “Domina?” Leontius tapped on the door. “Your guests have arrived.”

  Placidia’s heart thumped, and she glanced at Elpidia. “Show them in, Leontius.”

  He opened the door and Senator Attalus entered with a tall, bearded man, who bowed low before her, then raised his eyes to meet hers.