After the Fall

by Morgan O'Neill

  “She’s proving a little bitch, your princess,” Verica muttered to him. “Her haughty, willful, pampered self-indulgence is — uh!” she grumbled. “She is much like her brother, conceited and craving flatterers. I can’t see why we should go out of our way to accommodate her whims. She should be thankful we were as gentle as we — Iésus!” Exasperated, Verica jabbed her knife into the meat, leaving it thus, got up, and marched toward Placidia’s tent.

  Scrambling to his feet, Athaulf followed and listened from outside the tent as his sister forcefully pointed out Placidia’s petty behavior, accusing her of tacitly siding with Honorius by her refusal to stand up to his brutal treatment of the Visigoths over the years.

  “Our brutal treatment of you?” Placidia spat back. “Since we’ve left Rome, you have ravaged the countryside. What of Campania or Nola or Capua? You targeted the wealthy, despoiling the families, and binding their youth in slavery, forcing them to serve you with their own plate and silver. Is that not brutal? You have no justification to complain!”

  Athaulf heard Verica roar in fury. “Realize one thing, you pampered, useless butterfly,” she thundered. “Had your depraved brother ordered the sack, no one would have been spared! No woman, neither young nor old, no child, no male. All would have been tortured, raped, debased, and then slaughtered or driven into slavery for his personal lusts. You can’t deny it, for that’s exactly what he’s been doing to my people for years!”

  Athaulf stood by as Verica stormed out, but it wasn’t until after she was gone that he heard weeping, ragged, bitter weeping. He couldn’t help himself, realizing he’d probably be shredded by Placidia’s angry nails, but he slipped inside anyway.

  Elpidia was there, having made her way out of Rome with Leontius, carrying with them some of Placidia’s personal belongings, despite the danger. Hovering protectively near the princess, Elpidia scowled at him, but left the tent, allowing him his moment.

  Athaulf knew he had but one final chance, one opportunity to try to make Placidia understand, to bring her back to him. He took her firmly in his arms, partly because he didn’t want her to flail at him, but mostly because he wanted to comfort her, and for a time she didn’t react.

  Then she struggled and tried to push him away, but her arms were caught.

  “Placidia,” he said, pressing his cheek against the top of her head and rocking her back and forth. “It has nearly killed me to hurt you so badly. Please forgive me. Please. I love you. I want you to love me again, to be my wife. Your anger is destroying me, I swear it.”

  He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away, and they stood like that for several moments. Finally, unexpectedly, just as he was about to give up, he felt her shoulders relax, and her hands moved tentatively to his waist. He swallowed hard, relishing the moment, and tightened his grip.

  “Verica was right, as much as I hated to hear it,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “My brother would do — has done far worse, many times. It’s just … sweet Persis is dead. And Rome, it was mine, my home, my people, my solace, and you hurt her, it, knowingly, willingly.”

  He sighed heavily. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  “Athaulf?”

  “My love?”

  She looked up at him then, and his heart thudded with hope. Her dark eyes were so beautiful, still sparkling with tears and remnants of anger. He clenched his jaw, wanting to devour her, and it took all of his determination to deny himself a physical reaction to her beauty.

  “You wish to marry me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Indeed. Since the first moment I saw you. If you would but give me another chance … Placidia, I am yours.”

  He watched as her eyes traveled over his face, and he recalled the words she’d said, the things she’d asked for, so long ago. Would she ever ask again?

  “Tell Verica I must speak with her,” she said.

  Placidia pulled away then, and he let her go, aching, but hopeful.

  • • •

  It was late when Placidia dismissed Elpidia, despite her nurse’s pleas to stay. After all, it was time. It was time she stopped being a child, an innocent. Rome was gone and she would never return, could never return. Honorius might think her dead, or he might hear of her escape with the Visigoths. Either way, she didn’t care, because that life was over.

  Placidia let her gaze roam around the rustic hide tent with its strange adornments: its wooden poles intricately painted with geometric designs, chairs made from interwoven antlers, furs scattered everywhere. She nodded to herself. It was time for her new life to begin.

  Verica had helped her dress, brushed out her curls to their full length, and made sure everything was ready, everything but her fear of the precipice from which she was about to leap.

  She heard a soft scratching at the tent flap and her heart beat more rapidly.

  “Placidia.” Athaulf spoke her name softly and she turned to greet him, her throat too dry to respond.

  “Verica said you asked for me?” He came inside, but stayed near the doorway. He was wearing a clean tunic and new sandals, Placidia noticed, and she let her eyes wander over him, then blinked and swallowed, forcing her gaze to his face.

  He looked as hesitant as she, and then his expression changed to shock. “You — you’re wearing the — the gown — from our first meeting!”

  Determined, her eyes fixed on his. “True. Verica knew where to find it, since it was a part of the original siege ransom.” She held out her hand, her pulse racing, and she wondered if she would faint before … before …

  “Come in.”

  Athaulf slowly approached, then knelt and kissed her hand, but she withdrew it quickly. “Don’t, Athaulf. I’m not a princess any longer. Get up, please.”

  He smiled at her, his gaze ardent. “I don’t kneel for a princess. I kneel to honor the woman I love.”

  Moved by his words, she reached out and touched his cheek with trembling fingers, then his lips. She had kissed them once passionately, and her mind was filled with the desire to feel their heat again. “Please get up.”

  Rising, he looked at her steadily, his beautiful eyes soft, warm, and anxious. “You wished to see me?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, and then suddenly recalled a conversation she’d had with him once before, when he’d returned her necklace the first time. She blushed deeply, her face hot, her body frozen with discomfiture at the remembrance of that evening, her humiliation after she’d begged him to take her, after he’d honorably declined.

  He took her hand again and turned it over, kissing her palm. “You’re terrified, like a trapped little bird. Why?”

  “Because I love you,” she whispered.

  He kissed her hair, then her temple, allowing his lips to linger. “And this frightens you, my love? Why?”

  Placidia leaned against him, welcoming his gentle touch.

  “Tell me, Placidia,” he asked as he drew strands of her hair over her shoulder, letting the tendrils run through his fingers, “why are you wearing this gown?”

  “Because,” she looked up at him, breathing rapidly, “because it is time you returned the necklace to me properly.”

  She looked to a silk bag on the table, and heard Athaulf stop breathing for the slightest moment, knowing he remembered.

  He stepped to the table, opened the bag, and drew forth the emerald necklace. Hands trembling, Athaulf placed it at her throat, and she pulled back her hair so he could work the clasp. When he finished, he hesitated, then bent and kissed her, just above where the necklace lay. “I love you, Placidia.”

  Sensations, tingling poured over her. “I don’t want you to refuse me this time, Athaulf. I want you to … stay … all night … please.”

  Athaulf took her face in his hands and covered her mouth with his, kissing her wi
th a fervor she had not expected. His tongue sought hers, gently probing, and she let him in. Weak with pleasure, she felt a melting warmth between her legs and moaned with desire.

  He suddenly pulled back, concern etched across his face.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “You are so young, so … I will gladly stay, but if — if you’re fearful, after what happened in the palace — ”

  “No! I mean, I’m not,” she insisted, flustered. Clutching him, she said, “There is nothing I want more than to be with you … joined with you … at last.”

  Athaulf drew her to him, cradling her in his arms. His lips touched her brow.

  She looked up, desperately wanting his kisses, but he was so very tall. Instead, unsure and tentative, she placed her hands against his chest and kissed him there. Hearing his sharp intake of breath, she grew bolder and brushed her lips against him again. The fabric of his tunic was thin, and she could sense his body heat, his rapid breathing. Moving her hands to the small of his back, kissing him still, she reveled in his taut skin and muscular physique. He moaned openly and she closed her eyes, her heart racing as she sensed the roundness of his backside at the edge of her fingertips.

  “Athaulf, please.”

  “What, my love?” His arms tightened and he pressed against her, kissing her hair, and she could feel him, all of him, ready, hard.

  “Help me … Athaulf … my gown.”

  He fumbled with the straps of her dress, then kissed her hungrily, his desire unleashed as her clothes fell to the floor.

  She pulled at his tunic, running her hand over his bare hip, then looked at him and gasped when she saw him fully exposed. She touched him and he groaned her name.

  “Athaulf,” she said, desperate with longing.

  He picked her up, his hands grasping her backside, and she felt the heat of him against her as he laid her on the bed.

  “Athaulf!”

  This was bliss, perfection, and she cried out as he thrust himself against her. There was a stab of pain and her eyes flew open in shock.

  He hesitated. “Have I — ”

  “No, please … don’t stop, don’t ever stop,” she murmured as he started to move gently inside her.

  Wanting more, grabbing him, she instinctively forced her hips against his, over and over, and his fever matched her own. She had never imagined so much, never realized … and arched as her body exploded with a mysterious, thunderous pleasure, even as Athaulf tightened, and then convulsed, shuddering in his own powerful release.

  Her breathing slowed until it matched her heart’s deep rhythm, her soul’s fulfillment. As Athaulf gradually relaxed against her, she touched her lips to his shoulder. Eyes wide with amazement, she wondered how long it might be before they would do it again, or how anyone could willingly leave the bed, after experiencing such wonders.

  Propping himself up on an elbow, Athaulf considered her for a long moment, tracing her cheek, his fingers feather-light as he touched the gems at her throat. “We should take this off,” he said, seeking to unclasp her necklace. “I do not want to break it.”

  She stayed his hands, kissing him over and over, whispering, “No, I am bound by my faith … must keep one thing on … one thing at least … when I am naked before you … when we make love.”

  He smiled and then stroked her breast, and she trembled, yearning for more.

  “How long I have dreamt of seeing you like this, of having you so close.” His gaze roamed over her body, his desire rekindled. “You are a wonder, a vision.” His eyes returned to hers. “I love you, Placidia.”

  She drank in the nearness of his beautiful eyes, the musky scent of his warm skin. “And I love you,” she whispered, touching him. “Please, let’s never get dressed.”

  Athaulf threw back his head and laughed, then kissed her again, and made love to her again and again.

  • • •

  The Visigoths moved ever southward into gathering storms. A cold wind howled, the miserable trek made worse when a virulent flu swept through camp.

  The rain pattered down as Gigi jumped into bed and pulled the furs up under her chin. She snuggled close to Magnus. “Finally, now it’s my time. I thought your meeting with Alaric would never end. Besides, I’m freezing, so do something, but I warn you, I’m keeping every last stitch of clothing on, so you’ll have to get creative.”

  When he didn’t respond, she glanced at him in the dim light and saw the look of pain in his eyes; something she’d hoped never to see again.

  “What’s wrong? You’re not getting sick, too, are you?” she asked anxiously.

  “No,” he replied.

  “Then what is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  She stared at him, realizing she’d seen this same expression many times since his return. So far, she hadn’t been able to get a word out of him, and she’d always let it pass. Pursing her lips, Gigi decided it had gone on long enough. It was time to force the issue, or at least try.

  “What is bothering you, Magnus? Please let me in.”

  He turned his head away without a word, so she reached up and gently coaxed him back. “You’re breaking my heart with this, I swear. Please, what can possibly be causing you so much pain? It’s not doing you any good keeping it inside.”

  Magnus shook his head, his gaze on the ceiling of their tent. “I live with a terrible shame — many, in fact.”

  “Stop it,” Gigi demanded. “You can’t talk like that. What can be so bad, so shameful? You spent months looking for me. I don’t see the shame in that. It sounds courageous and noble.”

  “Perhaps it was … I was … at first. I did search, endlessly, but to no avail. Never to any avail.”

  “That’s because Randegund lied to you,” she said, her anger flaring over the witch’s deceit. It was a good thing Alaric and Verica were keeping her well out of sight these days.

  “True, it wasn’t my fault, but at the time I blamed myself, and because of that, I did things, I allowed things to happen, I even pursued … ” Magnus paused. “I used it as an excuse for all manner of excess, because I didn’t want to know any more. I didn’t want to think, or remember, or feel anything. It hurt too much.”

  Gigi shook her head, uneasy. I finally have him talking, she thought ironically, and now I don’t want to hear another word. Apprehensive about what was coming next, she held her breath for a moment and then asked, “Such as?”

  “Drinking, at first. Nearly constant drinking,” he muttered. “I visited with my uncle and his family for a time, and he was very gracious and encouraging, but he was whole, and I was not. I didn’t want to see his contentment again, so I left without saying a word.

  “Once I was on the streets, my money held out for a time, but after weeks of debauchery, I did what I had to, to keep the drink coming. I sold my armor — I remember that — but then my memories fade.”

  Gigi had wondered about his missing armor, but there was an even greater question, and she feared the answer. “What happened to Agrippa?”

  Magnus swung his legs out of the bed and sat up, his back to Gigi. He shook his head as if loathe to speak. “One morning, right toward the end, I woke up sick from too much drink and realized Agrippa was gone. I couldn’t remember if I’d sold him, or if he’d been stolen. I still don’t have any idea, but I had money in my pocket for the first time in weeks, so I must assume I sold my old friend. I keep imagining him strapped to a plow somewhere, whipped and abused, where once he’d been so proud and strong.” His voice caught and he cleared his throat, struggling to finish. “He saved my life more than once, and now, frequently, I wake up fearing I might have sold him to a … to a meat vendor.”

  “Oh, no,” Gigi whispered in sorrow. She placed her arm around Magnus, hugging him, wanting to reassure. His skin felt cold, and he was trembling.
“What can we do? Is there some way to find him?”

  “No, he’s gone.”

  It was what she expected to hear, but she went on anyway, “But what about your uncle? Couldn’t he — ”

  “No, Gigi, no. Agrippa’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry.” Gigi shuddered, as much from his bitter tone as from the chilly air. Reaching for the blankets, she said, “Get back under the covers, Magnus. Come back to bed.”

  “No.” He stopped her hand. “There’s more, much more. For a time, I thought perhaps you’d gone back into the sparkling mist that brought you here, and I was desperate with the pain of losing you forever. So, I did things, things I’m not proud of.”

  Magnus’s voice was so devoid of emotion, she realized she did not want him to go on, feared he was just getting to the crux of his heartache.

  She looked into his eyes. “No more, please. It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. Please, Magnus, I don’t — ”

  “You must know everything, Gigi. I won’t live under a falsehood. Afterward, the decision will be yours, whether to stay or go.”

  “What? No! Stop it, Magnus,” Gigi said, sudden tears filling her eyes. “Don’t you dare! I made my choice when we married. How can I — you thought I was dead, and I get it, but I don’t want to hear it. Not another word.”

  “Gigi, I will not lie — ”

  “Stop!” She took his face in her hands. “I love you, and I’m no idiot, and I love you. That’s all either of us needs to know. If you say another word, I swear I’ll start screaming.”

  They stared at each other for several seconds, then, still holding him, Gigi took a long, calming breath. “It isn’t lying and it’s obviously no longer your dark secret, but I don’t want specifics. I don’t want details. If you unburden yourself, if you insist on this, then I am the one who will carry the burden forever. I have a vivid imagination, Magnus, and it will be inside my head for the rest of my life. Did she do it like this? Did you get turned on when she — ”

  “Gigi!”

  “So, now you don’t want to hear it,” she persisted.