Gigi tried again to wrench free of his grasp, but he grit his teeth and seethed, his intense physical arousal clearly driving him mad. He forced her arms over her head, pinning them together with one hand, and pulled at her smock with the other. Gigi screamed, but he was unfazed, his gaze intent as he uncovered her legs, her thighs, her hips, her —
He moved on top, his legs straddling hers. Balanced on his free forearm and knees, he had his chest raised, his hips poised over her, and she was able to look down her length and see him hovering above her, stiff, horrible, ready.
Shaking with revulsion, she tried to squirm away, but he held her fast.
His gaze followed hers and he laughed. “Ready yourself, slave. And when we are done with you,” he looked over at Magnus and grinned, “he’ll be next.”
She spit in his face, but he merely licked his lips and laughed again. Tensing, her whole body trembling, she writhed, trying to find Magnus, but Honorius blocked her view. She couldn’t bear the thought of — oh, God help us! Please, this can’t be happening!
Out of nowhere something black crashed against Honorius’s ear, crossing his eyes and sending him sideways, out cold. Unsteadily, Magnus raised his arms again, ready to crush Honorius’s skull, when Gigi felt something inexplicable, a presence so powerful it caused her to glance around to see if someone were actually watching them.
Suddenly, the instinct for self-preservation enveloped her, willed her to action, and she scrambled up and grasped Magnus’s arm, pulling him away from Honorius.
“No, Magnus, no!” she urgently whispered in his ear. “We don’t have time. We have to get out of here — now!”
She gathered the two weapons she’d thrown, and handed the dagger to Magnus, but just then he reeled and dropped what he had used on Honorius. Gigi put a shoulder under his arm, bracing him, and looked at the bloody object on the floor. It was a … a … Oh, my God!
Sickened, she turned away and helped Magnus to the bed, then held his face up and forced him to look at her. His eyes seemed unfocused, but he asked, “Did I kill him, Gigi? Did he … ?”
“I don’t think he’s dead, not quite,” she said, “but don’t worry about anything else. I’m all right. You stopped him.”
Nodding, Magnus looked like he was about to pass out again, and she wondered how she was going to get him out of the palace. The balcony, of course, but Magnus was so woozy.
An idea struck and Gigi pulled the sheets off the bed. She cut them into wide strips and knotted them together, end to end, then tied the end to her palla and tied the palla around Magnus’s bare chest, securing it under his arms. Then, supporting him, they moved onto the balcony.
He shivered and Gigi stopped. What was she thinking? He needed clothes, something warm — then she saw torchlight in the garden. Soldiers! She pulled Magnus into the shadows, watching until the light faded and they were gone.
She glanced back and then dashed inside for one final item. Stepping over Honorius, who was still out cold, she rummaged through his clothing and grabbed his lavish, purple cloak, then ran back and threw it off the balcony.
Carefully easing Magnus over the balustrade, Gigi spoke softly, soothingly, explaining what he must do. “Hold onto this. Don’t let go until I tell you.”
Standing on the outer edge, his eyes cleared and he nodded. He gripped the stonework, but then his eyes grew unfocused again, his legs wobbly.
Frantically, Gigi tossed the other end of the sheet strips over the same branch she had used to escape once before, then jumped for it herself and scrambled to the ground. Holding the other end around her back and leaning against it to take out the slack, she looked up at Magnus and swallowed, hoping her plan would work, hoping her sailing knots would hold.
“Magnus,” she whispered up to him, “let go and fall backward on three, do you understand? One, two … three.”
There was a slight hesitation, but then he let go, and she could see him falling, dropping, and suddenly the sheet went taut and nearly jerked her off her feet. Catching her breath, she couldn’t help but grin as Magnus swung easily on the other end of the line, looking pleased and bewildered. Then, gradually, Gigi let the sheet play through her hands until Magnus’s feet touched the ground.
She untied him, pulled the cloak over his head, and tossed the palla over her shoulders, then wadded up the sheeting and hid it behind a bush. With one shoulder propping him up, Gigi and Magnus made their way through the grounds, heading for the garden, and hopefully, the horse would still be tied there, waiting to take them out of town.
Whenever she saw guards, Gigi hid with Magnus until they passed. Twice she had nowhere to hide and was forced to pull Magnus against her in an embrace, so the guards would only see the cloak. Both times, they started to ask questions, but as soon as she giggled and manipulated Magnus’s hips, they backed off quickly, full of apologies to the emperor.
Exhausted and worried Honorius would sound the alarm at any minute, Gigi and Magnus moved as fast as possible, heading for Venus’s garden — and freedom.
Chapter 18
The moon hid behind silver-edged clouds. Using her shoulder, Gigi supported Magnus, guiding him down the path into the depths of the garden. She was terrified by the crunch of gravel beneath their feet, the sound magnified by the night and her fear. Stumbling on, she was relieved when the gravel finally gave way to dirt and weeds. Magnus felt so heavy, and he was groaning more often, but this only made her more determined to reach the tumbledown wall and her horse.
We’re almost there, she thought, willing herself on. We’re almost there.
She had been aware for some time of dampness spreading across her shoulder. This was bad. He was bleeding too much!
Gigi could hardly see in the gloom, the path overgrown and so dark, the naked vines pulling at them, raking like claws. Magnus’s steps were unsteady, like he was drunk, and she adjusted her gait, bracing herself to counteract his ever-increasing wobbliness. But just when Gigi feared their legs would give out, the vines disappeared, and they emerged into the clearing.
She could barely see the statue of Venus guarding the frozen pool, and to her relief, she heard her horse’s gentle snorts. Good. No one has taken him.
“Magnus,” she whispered, halting by the little bench, “we’re in the garden. We’re almost safe. I have a horse waiting on the other side of the wall.”
He managed a slight groan and whispered, “I don’t think … I can’t go on. Save yourself.”
“No,” she whispered back. “We’re staying together no matter what.”
The moon slid from behind the clouds, and the luminous statue glowed at the center of her columned temple and icy pool. But Gigi barely noticed. Magnus’s hood had fallen back, and his face looked terrible, his eyes sunken, dark pools of agony. And there were stains on the cloak, fresh stains.
“Magnus, you’re bleeding badly. I need to bandage you up.” Thoughts racing, Gigi wished she’d kept some of the torn sheeting. Desperate to find some way to staunch the wounds, she decided the cloak would have to do. She kissed his cheek and helped him sit on the bench. Untying the cloak, she could see dark smears all over his arms and chest, oozing, dripping blood.
Tears threatened, but she fought against them, the lump in her throat agonizing, making it hard to breathe. Unsheathing her knife, she cut strips from the cloak.
“Magnus,” she whispered, hoping to provide some comfort as she worked, “we’re going to get out of here. You’ve got to believe me. Placidia and Athaulf are waiting for us at Hadrian’s Villa. We can stay with them for the winter, and then maybe we’ll get a boat and sail away. Far away. Ever heard of blue water sailing? Of course you have. You’ve sailed to Constantinople. It’s very risky, but it might just be what we need to do. Perhaps we can go to the other side of the world. Hawaii, maybe. I don’t know if anyone lives there yet, which might be go
od, too. We’d be the only ones.”
As she rambled on, he tried to answer back, but all he could manage were gasps and moans. Working furiously, she finished binding his arms, then started on his chest and back, trying to ignore his tortured breaths, all the while cursing Honorius and berating herself for not killing him when she had the chance.
Tying off the final bandage for Magnus, she took a moment to study her handiwork. No seepage showed. Maybe he’d be okay for now. She glanced at her arm. The bleeding had stopped, but she wrapped a last strip around the cut just to be safe. Looking down at the cloak, she realized she’d made a mess of it. There wasn’t enough whole cloth left to wear as a cover.
She was sweating with her efforts, but the air was cold, and Magnus’s skin was freezing and damp to the touch. “Magnus, here,” she said, fumbling with her wool palla, “you must wear this. You need to stay warm.”
“Th — the statue,” he stammered, “has a niche behind … with my clothes.”
She stared at Venus, pale in the moonlight, catching the goddess’s little smile, as if she held a deep secret.
“Before I … left with Attalus,” Magnus’s teeth chattered, “I hid my robes.”
Elated, Gigi nodded and carefully made her way across the ice. She ran her hands over the frozen, mossy wall behind the statue and found a crevice. Reaching inside, her fingers touched cloth; it was still there and thankfully only cold, not stiff with frost. She hurried back, draping the garment over Magnus as best she could.
His eyes were closed again, his body swaying as she said, “Magnus, we need to go. I’ll help you over the wall. It isn’t very high. I want to be miles away from Ravenna by sunrise. Here, take my arm.”
He opened his eyes and nodded. With her assistance, he struggled to his feet. “Gigi,” he said with a deep shiver. She was suddenly aware of how weak his voice seemed. “Gigi,” he repeated, then licked his lips. “Get my robes, Gigi, and we’ll leave. We’ve got to leave. Agrippa can carry us both.”
He’s delirious! Terrified, Gigi somehow managed to find the strength to get Magnus over the wall and on the horse. She got up behind him, encircled him with her arms and held him close as she coaxed their mount forward. “Magnus,” she whispered, “I love you.”
He managed to respond with a halting, “I … love you, too,” but then his head rolled, and Gigi grasped him even tighter. She forced her attention on the road ahead. They were past the last stretch of garden wall, leaving the palace complex behind. Before them, the Via di Roma stood empty. Avoiding the light cast by street lanterns, Gigi nudged her horse onward. Moving through the shadows as much as possible, she was grateful for the late hour and frigid temperatures keeping the curious indoors.
As they moved into a big square, Gigi guessed it was the parade grounds where Magnus had witnessed General Stilicho’s execution. She took a deep breath, recalling her husband’s bleak expression when he’d told her about that day, so long ago. She wondered if this was where Honorius would kill them, given the chance.
She looked around, but felt no impending threat. Still, she could not let down her guard. The horse kept a steady pace, ears relaxed. He wasn’t sensing anything, either. If they could just get past the gates and out of the city.
But then what? Gigi felt Magnus shivering through his clothes. She tried to recall what else she could do to counteract shock, other than keeping him warm, but had no idea. The possibility she’d gotten this far only to have him die from shock was inconceivable.
As his body continued to shudder, they rode toward an area just off the plaza. With its scattering of churches, wide streets with plane trees, it was a familiar-looking place.
She was suddenly consumed with a desperate thought, so crazy she knew she had to push it aside, and yet she’d considered it before. Instantly, she found herself looking down the street, urgently searching, until she spotted it — a tall, octagonal structure. Could it be their only hope?
No, Gigi told herself. If we go inside, we’d be trapped. No! You can’t pin Magnus’s life on something so insane.
• • •
A shock of sound ripped through Sarus’s dream. Heart pounding, he awakened with a start, instinctively pulling out his dagger, ready to strike the intruder in his room.
“A-hem.” The tall centurion, Titus Africanus, stood several paces away, holding an oil lamp.
Shielding his eyes against the glare, Sarus lowered his dagger. “Iésus, Africanus, what is this about?” he muttered.
“General,” Africanus said evenly, “forgive the intrusion, but the emperor was attacked this night.”
“Is he alive?” Stunned, Sarus bolted from bed, grabbed his tunic, and started dressing.
“He will live,” Africanus said as he assisted Sarus with his sword.
“Where is he?” Sarus asked as they left his quarters.
“In his bedchamber. His physicians insisted he stay there.”
As they hurried down the corridor, Africanus continued, “Honorius was alone but for Magnus, who escaped with the help of a female, a kitchen slave. It was well planned, for Magnus took Honorius’s cloak, and when several of the Palatini guards saw him and the female in the imperial gardens they did not interfere with his, er, sport, assuming it was the emperor. Guards are searching the palace grounds … ” Africanus hesitated.
“And?” Sarus asked.
“To my knowledge, Magnus and the woman have not yet been found.”
“Shit!” Sarus said, changing direction. “Saddle my horse and have it brought to me.”
“It is already done.”
“Then make certain the other kitchen slaves are thoroughly questioned,” Sarus said as he swept past Africanus. “Torture them if you must. Have the sentries at the city gates been alerted?”
“No, General. I came here straight away.”
“Send word for all to be on the lookout. I want a citywide alert for the two of them: check the gates, docks, even the sewers. Assemble my personal guard.”
“Your guard already awaits you outside, and the rest shall be done immediately, General.”
Nodding, Sarus left the palace. Africanus would see to the lowly details, allowing him the luxury of hunting Magnus. He bounded down the steps, accepted the salutes of his men, and mounted his horse. “Yah!” he shouted, welcoming the surge of muscle beneath him.
Despite the cold night air, the hard ride, Sarus was suddenly drawn back to a cozy image, a snatch of a dream, which enveloped him in a palpable feeling of warm expectation. Images and sensations flitted through his mind: peering down at the sandy floor of the arena, the continual roar of the crowd, a rush of deep satisfaction, and then the dream came back full-blown, and he saw the rotting corpse of that bastard Alaric, murderer of his family, being torn apart by jackals. Sarus smiled, recapturing his exultation as he sat by Honorius’s side in the royal enclosure. Laughing uproariously together, they beheld the spectacle of Alaric’s final defilement.
But … was the dream a portend? Would it become reality?
He frowned. Honorius was a fool for not letting him question Magnus first, for Sarus knew he could get the location of Alaric’s tomb out of the bastard’s traitorous mouth. Honorius had not the talent for subtle torture, and now he had let Magnus escape.
Then Sarus chewed on another thought: the female slave who aided Magnus must be none other than that bitch of a flute player in disguise. Of course! Who else would have known he’d been brought here?
Perhaps she also knew where Alaric’s corpse had been buried. Torturing her in front of Magnus’s eyes would no doubt loosen his tongue, for he was besotted with her, and if he didn’t reveal the location, she certainly would.
Riding on, Sarus was glad he had not divulged the true details of his plan to Sergeric. For all his failings, his younger brother was loyal to his people and would n
ever reveal the location of a Visigoth king’s tomb. In fact, even Honorius had not guessed the real purpose of Sarus’s plan, so engrossed was he by his own vulgar desires.
But it was now clearer how things might play out, with a little luck. Yesterday, Sarus had received word the new king, Athaulf — may he be cursed! — was leading his people north, to winter in the shelter of the Sabine Hills, near Hadrian’s Villa.
Sarus was certain Magnus and Gigi would be heading there as well. Indeed, he thought, tonight they would try to leave by Ravenna’s southern gates.
He nudged his mount to the left, southward, then motioned for his men, fifty strong, to follow.
• • •
Gigi heard the distant drumming of hooves. She glanced over her shoulder, listening, trying to ignore her thudding heart.
Horses were coming their way, they were coming!
She didn’t know what to do. Dozens of horsemen with torches burst into sight at the far side of the square and Gigi was forced to make a desperate decision. There was no hope of evading them, no hope of outrunning them.
There was only one option, one choice left.
“Magnus,” she whispered as she reined in, “Magnus, we need to get off now.”
She slid down, helped him dismount, and then slapped the horse’s rump, sending it trotting back toward the moonlit square.
A moment. It was all she had. Turning, Gigi set off through the shadows, helping Magnus along, moving as fast as she could go.
• • •
Sarus saw the riderless horse. Was this a diversion? Where were they? He reined in and looked around, his men already fanning out in all directions, searching, shouting, sensing blood.
At first he saw nothing, but then he caught sight of two dim shapes moving beneath the plane trees.
He turned his horse’s head and shouted, “There they are!”
• • •
Just as they reached the door of the baptistery, Gigi heard someone shouting. She propped Magnus against the wall and started pounding on the door, working the latch, yelling, “Help! Please, let me in. Hurry! I am a woman in need! Help me!”
After the Fall Page 18