Nobilissima (13 page)

“You will not be fighting stalks of wheat, husband, but fierce native peoples, a Roman garrison and maybe even the Vandals if the rumors of their movement south are to be believed. You will be gone for a long time.”

“Peace, Taiga,” said Alaric in a soothing voice. “ Just look forward to the delights of Sicilia, where you will be joining me within a week at the most.”

Taiga smiled, her frown gone. “Here’s to Sicilia then,” she said, as everyone raised a goblet.

“Nobilissima, rest assured that you will be well protected here. I will leave one of my most trusted captains with you.”

“So, I cannot escape?” I said, trying to make a joke of it.

“Escape is out of the question,” said Alaric. In truth, I reflected, I had not considered escaping until that moment. On the long journey south, it would have been impossible, with so many of Alaric’s troops protecting the caravan. And for now, I was so exhausted from the journey, the lack of sleep and poor food, that the prospect of staying in the villa, although still a prison, was a welcome one.
 

The comfortable bed and quietness of the room helped us all sleep through the night for the first time since leaving Rome. I awoke refreshed and ate an early breakfast with Aurelia and Sylvia. Outside, the weather had changed dramatically. The sunshine that had made our lives so hot and uncomfortable had given way to grey drizzle. We ate quickly and hurried to watch the preparations for Alaric’s departure.

When he and Ataulf left the villa, they wore heavy fur cloaks around their shoulders to keep out a chilly mist that obscured anything more than a few yards from the villa windows. I was relieved to see Sigeric leaving with them. The soldiers bid their wives and children goodbye and, when they had all disappeared into the mist, those men who had stayed behind helped to put up more shelters and dug pits for fires and for latrines. Within a few hours, the camp looked as though it had been there forever, nestled around the walls of the villa.

The time passed very slowly. Taiga stayed in her room, and there was little to occupy us. I found a few books of poetry and philosophy in the villa’s small library and read for hours while, outside, the weather grew worse. Thunder rolled around the peaks above us, and brilliant flashes of lightning briefly illuminated the rough shelters of the camp, now dripping with the rain that grew heavier with every hour. Fierce gusts of wind rattled the shutters and whistled through cracks in the doors and windows.

Several days later, while Sylvia was preparing a small breakfast of bread and cheese we heard galloping horses on the paved road leading to the villa.
 

Jumping up, we rushed to the atrium, where Taiga was already pulling a cloak around her shoulders. She ran out into the rain, grabbing the reins of the first horseman. I could not hear their words above the sound of the wind but saw her go deathly white and crumple to the ground. Aurelia and I ran to her, and the rider leapt from his horse. Together, we carried Taiga inside and laid her on a couch, calling for servants to bring hot wine and covers to keep her warm.
 

“What happened?” I asked the soldier. His skin was grey and his eyes  were shadowed.

“A storm struck the fleet and sank many of the ships,” he said. “Some, though splintered and almost broken, were able to turn back and return to the harbor.”
 

“Alaric?” I questioned, darting a look at Taiga.

“He’s safe, but injured,” he said. “Ataulf and Sigeric also survived. They are all coming back here and should arrive within a few hours. King Alaric is too frail to ride and the carriage goes slowly.”

I had Aurelia keep watch over Taiga while Sylvia and I organized rooms for the men. We instructed the servants to make up beds with clean linens and secure the shutters so that they would shake less in the wind. It was late afternoon and almost dark under the boiling clouds when Ataulf and his men arrived on horseback. Ataulf was bleeding from cuts on his arms and face, and I sat with him while his wounds were washed and bound.

“What happened?” I asked.

“We were barely a league from the shore when the sky went black, the wind began to roar and the waves rose so high that they were great green walls bearing down on the ships and tearing them to pieces. Most of the vessels were lost within minutes. Ours was badly damaged but we were able to turn back to port. I’m not sure how we survived, but our ship crashed into the harbor wall and we were able to scramble off. I watched a few men float in on planks but most were drowned. Two other ships made it back but the crews suffered many losses.”

Sweat beaded his forehead as he talked and the doctor told him to be quiet and asked me to leave them for a while. Distraught, I paced the atrium, waiting for Alaric’s carriage to arrive. A few soldiers sat on the ground, leaning against the walls, some clutching at hastily bandaged wounds.

“Have you seen your king? How did he seem to you?” I asked them.

“He saved quite a few of us with his quick thinking,” said one soldier. “I’ve lived through some of the bloodiest battles you can imagine, but nothing compared with this.”

“Those sea monsters were dragging us down,” another murmured.

“You’re crazy. There were no sea monsters,” said his friend.

The man shrugged. “I know what I saw,” he said.

“What sea monsters?” I asked but the others told the man to be quiet.

“He’s delirious,” one of them said.

“I saw them,” he insisted. “It means we weren’t supposed to be there. We’re not meant to travel across water. We’re land dwellers, always have been.”

A carriage rolled into the courtyard beyond the atrium and I watched Alaric being carried in on a wooden stretcher.

“How is he?” I asked one of the attendants.

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly. “It’s hard to say. He was in the water for a long time, trying to drag others out of the waves. The doctors say he has a fever.”

Alaric was taken to Taiga’s room and the door was closed. For three days, I waited, the monotony broken only by visits from Ataulf. His wounds were healing well but his eyes showed his anguish over the fate of his king. And it continued to rain, a steady downpour that soaked the gardens and kept everyone captive inside the villa.

Preparing for bed late one evening, I heard a shrill scream from Alaric’s chamber. My heart was pounding as I ran down the corridor to comfort Taiga. The doctors allowed me to enter and  tears blinded me when I saw Taiga lying across her husband’s body, sobbing and screaming his name. It was Ataulf who gently pulled her away so that the attendants could prepare his body.

Soon the room filled with Taiga’s relatives and I slipped away, feeling like the outsider that I was. The night was long and I didn’t sleep. Aurelia kept me company and we talked in hushed voices about what Alaric’s death meant for the Goths, and for ourselves. It seemed clear that Ataulf would succeed his brother-in-law as sovereign and I wondered if we could hope that Ataulf would allow the remaining hostages to leave. We passed the night speculating about the future and were summoned at dawn to attend the funeral.

The service was held in a barn in the grounds of the villa. Alaric’s most senior men and close family gathered inside the barn, while the area outside was packed with people from the camp, come to bid their king goodbye. Aurelia and I were invited to stand with Taiga, who seemed helpless with grief. Ataulf held her upright while the Arian priest read prayers for Alaric’s soul and salvation.

The dead king lay on a makeshift bier in the center of the barn, dressed in a tunic, leggings and leather boots. A jeweled crown glittered on his pale brow. Hundreds of soldiers filed past to salute him while the priest intoned blessings over his body. I dimly recalled my father’s funeral in the great Basilica Ambrosiana in Milan, of the smell of incense and guttering candles, and of feeling cold, just as I did now. My cousin Serena had stood with me, stiff and upright at my side, and had pulled her hand away when I tried to hold it.

At a signal from the priest, Taiga made her way to the bier. With shaking hands, she took off the gold pendant that always hung around her neck and placed it on Alaric’s chest, coiling the long golden chain carefully. She kissed his forehead and whispered goodbye. One by one, soldiers stepped forward to place treasure on the bier: gold plates, ornate goblets, rings set with jewels and silver swords.

After the bishop finished his final prayer, eight soldiers lifted the bier on to their shoulders and carried it past the silent crowds outside. The mourners, led by Taiga, followed slowly as the soldiers turned on to a rocky trail that led down into the valley. But, at a nod from Ataulf, a group of guards moved on to the path and blocked the way.

“Go back, Taiga,” Ataulf said. “All of you. Return to the villa while we bury our king.”

Taiga obediently turned, but I walked towards him.

“Can we not accompany you?” I asked.

“No.” His serious tone preempted any further questions. He must be planning some kind of Goth death rite that excluded women.

Walking slowly back towards the house, Aurelia and I had to step to one side of the path to allow a large group of men pass. Most of them trudged forward with their heads down but one young boy at the back was looking around and he flashed a wide smile at me as he passed. I realized that these were not Goths and must be the local townspeople from Consentia.

“Where are you going?” I called to the boy, but a Goth guard pushed him forward and he made no answer. I watched his thin figure disappear around a bend in the path before we continued our path back to the villa. Taiga was already closeted in her room when I arrived and a large, red-faced woman waved me away.

“You must leave her alone now,” said the woman. “I am going to give her something to help her sleep and she doesn’t need you disturbing her.”

Still mystified by the Goth secrecy about the burial, I joined Aurelia and Sylvia back in our room. It was chilly and the light was grey and dim. Rain dripped from the eaves of the roof in a maddening pattern that made me want to scream. I picked up a book, read a few pages and put it back down.

Almost eight hours passed before we heard the sounds of men returning.

“I’m going to find Ataulf,” I told the others. “Wait here.”

At the entry to the villa, I watched a number of soldiers marching back to the camp. They were all soaked from head to foot, and mud clung to their boots and clothes. To my confusion, many of them appeared to be spattered with blood. It was on their hands and tunics and smeared across their faces. Alarmed, I pulled back out of sight and waited until they had passed. I paced around the atrium until Ataulf arrived, tramping mud across the tiled floor. He pulled his cloak from his shoulders and sank on to a couch to take off his boots. He didn’t seem surprised to see me.

“How is my sister?” he asked.

“Sleeping.”

“She loved him so much,” he said, and there was a tremble in his voice. “I pray to God that she will survive this.”

He looked into my eyes for a few seconds. Then he bowed his head to hide his tears. Without thinking, I took a few steps, knelt in front of him and put my hands over his.

“I don’t understand what just happened,” I said. “Why couldn’t we attend the final laying of Alaric’s body in the grave? And why did it take so long?”

“We buried him where no one can ever find him,” said Ataulf. He didn’t move his hands away from mine and I felt the pulse of his blood under my fingertips.

I waited, unable to speak. I wanted to ask more questions but something made me hesitate.

“There’s a river close by, the Busentius they call it, and that’s where he is buried,” he continued. His voice was low, almost a whisper.

“You buried Alaric in the water?” I asked, perplexed.
 

“No, we diverted the river while we dug a deep grave in its bed to make a resting place worthy of a king. Then we allowed the water to find its natural course again. We buried him with treasure that would attract the attentions of brigands and thieves but, with the river flowing over his grave, no one can defile his body or his resting place. Only a few of us know where he lies and the secret of his burial place dies with him.”

“How can that be?” I said, a little louder than I intended and we both looked around to see if anyone had heard. “We saw scores of local men following you and they must have helped with the work on the river. They know where he is. Can you trust them all?”

“There were more than a hundred of them,” said Ataulf. “We did what we had to do and we killed them.”

I pulled my hands away from his and jumped to my feet.

“Killed?” I repeated.
 

“To hide our secret, yes,” said Ataulf.

I thought of the young boy who had smiled at me. The thought of that slender, fragile body staggering under the blows of the Goth swords made me feel sick. Exhausted from their day’s work and unarmed, the townspeople would have been no match for the Goth warriors.

I turned my back on Ataulf, not wanting him to see my tears.

“Massacred,” I said. “How could you be so cruel? You are savages, nothing more.”

“Whatever you say, Nobilissima,” said Ataulf. “But we had to protect our king.”

“And you gave that order?” I asked.