After the Fall (17 page)

“Do you refer to our mother?”

“Among others.”

Alaric grimaced. “My blessing on your marriage will do nothing to placate Randegund. In truth, I fear nothing will placate her now that her mind is tortured by … demons,” he sighed, “but I — ”

“King Alaric,” a sentry interrupted from outside, “there is a Roman soldier here with a package, one which must be delivered in person to your brother. May he enter?”

“If he is unarmed, of course,” Alaric called out, “let him in.”

Wary, Athaulf stood, wondering who among the Romans might send him something, and Magnus and Alaric rose to stand beside him.

A common soldier entered, looking haughty and unabashed at being at the very center of his enemy’s encampment. He glanced at the three men, his air of disdain obvious when he recognized Magnus. Then, assessing height differences between Athaulf and Alaric, he turned to Athaulf and held out a small crate, bound with leather straps and sealed with wax.

“You are the shorter of the two, so I take it you are Athaulf?” he asked.

Athaulf acknowledged the fact with a slight nod. “Who sends this, and what is it?”

“As to what it is, I wasn’t informed,” the man said coolly. “The sender is none other than Flavius Honorius Augustus, Emperor of Rome.”

Troubled, Athaulf glanced at Alaric and Magnus, then took the proffered box. He pulled out his knife and cut the straps, then pried off the lid. The interior held a glass jar, tightly packed in straw.

Magnus stepped forward. “Leave it, Athaulf. This is some twisted jest.”

“There is a note,” Athaulf said.

Magnus reached in, snatched the small piece of parchment, and read it in silence.

“What does it say?” Alaric asked, stepping toward him.

Magnus’s lips tightened. “When you fuck Rome, Rome will fuck you.”

Furious, Athaulf spun around to demand an explanation, but the Roman soldier had already slipped out of the tent.

Athaulf pulled forth the jar and peered at its contents, then recoiled and cursed in anger. A shriveled, blackened head floated inside, a young boy’s head, and a tag read, “
Eucherius, son of Stilicho
.”

Magnus grabbed the jar and quickly put it back in the box.

Alaric’s gaze was filled with disgust. “Truly, Honorius is deranged.”

“Eucherius must be buried,” Magnus said emotionally. “It is little enough we can do to honor the poor child.”

“I shall marry her, Alaric,” Athaulf insisted. “Placidia must never fall into the hands of that monster. Never! I will not allow that beast to have sway over her again. I will protect her with my love, and with my sword.”

“Say nothing to her about this,” Magnus warned. “Nothing — ever. She must never know.”

“Tomorrow, brother,” Alaric said quietly. “I will tell Verica to make everything ready. You may wed the girl tomorrow.”

• • •

Placidia felt breathless with joy. Athaulf had come in late in the night and held her so closely, so tenderly, as though she might slip away without warning. Then, as dawn lightened the sky, he’d asked her to marry him — without delay — and now, here she was, looking at her bridegroom through an orange veil.

The Arian bishop had just made the pronouncement, declared them wed. Never again would she be beholden to Honori —
no!
she scolded herself. She mustn’t even think the name, not on this perfect, perfect day. It was a time for new beginnings.

Athaulf lifted the veil and smiled at her.

My husband! To think we found love amid the ashes, after the fall of Rome. Together, we will make a future, together always …

She smiled back. “I love you, Athaulf. I am so proud to be your wife.”

He leaned down and kissed her, gently at first, then scooped her into his arms, lifting her off her feet, and kissed her more deeply.

When he set her back down, everyone was cheering and applauding, Gigi and Magnus most of all. Placidia reached out and took Gigi’s hand.

“I’m not jealous of your love any longer, Gigi,” she cried out, smiling through tears of joy, trying to make herself heard over the noise. “My heart is so full!”

Gigi laughed and started to say something, but Athaulf took hold of Placidia’s hand, pulling her toward their tent and the blessing the bishop would pronounce over it.

She hurried beside her new husband, his big, reassuring hand grasping hers, as though he would never let go. She had always known she would marry a prince of a foreign nation, a non-Roman, and that much was true.

She had never once thought love would have anything to do with it.

Shielding her eyes against the driving rain, Gigi looked out over the rough sea, the waves wind-whipped and streaming foam. Hundreds of watercraft of every shape and description were still in the bay and getting thrashed by the storm. Some, loaded with soldiers and horses, were already struggling to make it across the Strait of Messina.

Alaric had made agreements with the people of Rhegium and the surrounding hamlets for anyone owning a boat to help transport the Visigoths to Sicily, where he planned to spend the winter. Southern Italy was played out, and his people faced starvation. In the spring, the king would lead them from Sicily to northern Africa, Italy’s breadbasket. They would take the grain supply by force, thus putting a stranglehold on the Western Roman Empire, driving her once and for all to her knees. There was also talk they might permanently settle in Africa, which was why Rhegium gladly agreed to help, hoping to see the swift departure of the voracious barbarians, who had already picked their fields, vineyards, and flocks down to stubble and bone.

Farther downhill, pacing, Magnus looked as uneasy as Gigi felt. That morning, he’d asked her what she knew of this plan, if to her knowledge it had worked, but she didn’t have any idea. History was not her thing, after all. She’d only vaguely remembered hearing about the sack of Rome, her grandfather saying it was the beginning of the end of antiquity. But as for details about crossing the strait, she recalled nothing.

Gigi caught some movement and looked to see Magnus climbing the short rise to join her. His brow was creased with worry when he got to her side.

“Alaric has left a small contingent of soldiers for the last boat,” he said, “to protect the women and children on this end. For now, the bulk of the force will cross, then provisions and most of the animals, then women, children, and the infirm. It will take most of the day.”

She looked up at him. “With this weather, and those boats having to do roundtrips, I’d guess it will take a couple of days.”

“I fear you are right. The king keeps telling himself the wind will hurry the process.” Magnus shook his head. “He’s not in his right mind. I can’t understand this decision, this urgency to get across, especially in these conditions.”

“He’s been sick for ages.”

“Everybody’s been sick for ages, and he’s been sick often enough before this. That’s never stopped him from thinking clearly.”

Gigi shrugged. “I don’t like this. I wouldn’t try this crossing on a day like today in a Beneteau, let alone the rickety stuff he’s got out there.”

“A Beneteau?” He looked at her with curiosity. “A sailing ship from the future?”

“Indeed, and a very good one,” Gigi smiled grimly, “but I still wouldn’t go out today.”

Magnus turned back to the sea. “I have asked to go with the last of the soldiers, to be closer to you and Placidia.”

Gigi glanced at him, but he was watching the pier where the boats were being loaded. It had been nearly a week since he’d unburdened himself to her, and no matter how much she tried to make him realize it was all in the past, he was still angry with himself.

But today was different. This was scary, and she couldn’t allow him to go on like this. Reaching out, she put her hand in his and his fingers closed around hers at once.

“I love you, Magnus,” she said. “Don’t ever doubt that, not for a moment.”

He nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and simply squeezed her hand. They stood like that for some time, watching as more and more heavily loaded craft dotted the strait. Sicily’s highest peaks had been shrouded in rain clouds all day, but now Gigi noticed the mist had descended lower still. The whole island was difficult to make out, the clouds darker and more threatening.

Gigi clutched his arm and cried out. A sudden squall was kicking up heavy seas, and boats slammed against one another. Several capsized, while others were listing.

Magnus saw it, too, and started running down the hillside.

Gigi followed as lightning flashed across the sky, and the heavy rain picked up its intensity, the gusts sending it sideways. Wiping the rain from her eyes, Gigi tried to see what was going on. Overhead, thunder boomed, and she stumbled and fell.

Three more boats pitched over in the swells, men and horses flailing, their screams rising above the howling wind. She got up and ran on. Magnus was headed for the end of the pier and she followed.

Frozen in shock, Verica stood with dozens of others. “Their boat — Alaric’s boat,” she sobbed.

“Stay here,” Gigi ordered, “and do not move. Stay where I can find you.”

Stricken, the queen nodded, and Gigi pushed her way through the horrified crowd, grabbing people she knew, giving orders. “Get everyone back. Make room to bring the survivors on shore.” “Get help — get supplies — blankets —
now
.” “Don’t panic — whatever you do — they need you to be strong.”

Gigi spotted Placidia scrambling down the jagged boulders underpinning the pier. Another bolt of lightning made Gigi’s hair stand on end, and the thunderclap hit almost simultaneously, nearly knocking the breath out of her.

“Placidia, no!” she yelled just as the princess fell between the boulders. The sea surged over her, her arms flailing to find something to grab and hold.

Gigi hurried over the slick rocks, desperate to reach her. As the wave receded, she glimpsed Placidia’s terror-filled gaze. “Placidia!” Gigi lunged for the princess as another wave hit, slamming her against a boulder — but she had a hand! She had Placidia! Pulling with all her strength, Gigi hauled her onto solid footing, but Placida immediately tried to head back to the rocks.

Gigi held her fast, shouting, “What are you doing?”

“Athaulf’s boat — I must help — my husband is in the water. Let me go — ”

“No, Placidia! The surf will kill you. You’ll be no help, and when he swims ashore he’ll find you dead.”

The words must have sunk in, because Placidia stared at Gigi, eyes wide with fright. “But … I can’t do nothing,” she wept. “I can’t just stand by and watch.”

Struggling for a response, Gigi looked around and then spotted some women praying on a nearby hill.

“Placidia, get Verica and go up on that hill and pray. You can’t jump in the water and kill yourself. I won’t allow it!”

There was a flicker in Placidia’s eyes and then she was gone, thankfully toward the hill this time.

Shouts. Screams. Gigi ran toward the end of the pier. Waves crested, crashing across the top, driving people to their knees, and sweeping some into the sea. Hulls of overturned boats rose up, only to disappear again.

Pushing her way forward, she finally reached Magnus, who was grasping at swimmers and bodies alike, trying to get them out. Helping where she could, she glanced back, and saw most of the people had retreated. Some were on the hill praying with Placidia and Verica, and she spotted Randegund with them, arms raised, her white hair whipping in the wind.

Along the beach, people helped survivors get ashore. Gigi saw a horse rise out of the waves, stumble across the sand, and dash up the hillside.

“Magnus,” she yelled, “we should go to the beaches!”

But he was staring out to sea, a look of shock on his face. Gigi followed his gaze and cried out. Athaulf, Alaric, and another man clung to an overturned boat, the sea roiling around them. Athaulf’s head was up, but not Alaric’s, and Athaulf had a death grip on the king’s arm.

Magnus started for the water, but Gigi grasped his arm. “You can’t help them. You’ll die if you go in there!” He struggled against her, but she refused to let go. “You’ll take me with you if you go in — you choose!”

He glared at her, then looked to where she pointed along the shore.

“Over there,” she shouted. “The surf is pushing them over there.”

He nodded, and they ran down the pier together, reaching the beach just as lightning crashed somewhere close. The atmosphere reeked of sulfur as thunder shook the earth. The surf pounded the shore, great sprays of saltwater filling the air, and Gigi could see huge boulders just off the beach. Even if Alaric and Athaulf survived the rough seas, they would have a terrible time avoiding the rocks. The beach was already littered with pieces of boats and rigging, and there were bodies everywhere.

While Magnus kept watch for Athaulf, Gigi hurried among the debris, turning bodies over and checking for signs of life. When one man threw up a stomach full of seawater, she waved for help, and soon he was taken away to be treated.

Gigi continued to search, finding several corpses beneath planks or tangled up in ropes, and then she came upon someone with an ugly, bleeding gash on his head, making her think he wouldn’t last much longer.

She heard yelling, and turned to see a bare-chested Magnus start to wade into the angry surf. “No!” she screamed. “Magnus, don’t!”

Gigi ran after him, following him in up to her knees, trying to pull him back, but he wouldn’t be stopped this time, and Gigi saw why — Athaulf was swimming in, his head nearly submerged, and he was dragging Alaric’s limp body behind him. There was no sign of the third person she’d seen on the boat.

The riptide was fierce, nearly yanking her feet out from beneath her, and Gigi was helpless to do anything but save herself. She struggled back until the water was at her ankles, but when a big wave surged in, she turned and ran. Stumbling against something, she looked down and saw Magnus’s abandoned tunic and boots. Terrified by his daring, she took his clothes and hugged them to her chest, her cries carried away by the ocean’s roar.