Nobilissima (24 page)

I often sat with Ataulf, bouncing Theodosius on my knees, enjoying the feeling of the sun on my skin and the fragrance of the grass.

“I almost wish we could stay here,” I said one morning. “I like it. It’s empty. There are no enemies, no Romans, and we can roast goat for dinner every night. Theodosius can learn to walk in these meadows and then he can chase the rabbits.”

Ataulf laughed. “I like it too. But Barcino is our destination and our destiny. Ingenuus showed me maps and records of the place. The city is on the sea, with a good harbor. There are mountains behind it, which makes it easier to defend. The foothills will provide good land for crops and vines, and there’s an aqueduct bringing water to the city. The walls are intact, and there are law courts, a cathedral and a palace.”

“And it is far from Ravenna, which is a great advantage,” I said, smiling, caught up in my husband’s enthusiasm.

He kissed me. “It will be our home forever. We’ll make it our own.”

Theodosius squealed, quick as always to want his father’s attention.

“And we’ll make brothers and sisters for you,” Ataulf told him.

Chapter 23

After enjoying our brief respite in the sunny foothills, we moved on towards Barcino. With each mile we covered, I grew more concerned. I was sure we would encounter the hostile Vandals and dreaded seeing Ataulf riding into battle once again. But my fears were allayed by the arrival of the governor of the Barcino province at the camp one morning. He was accompanied by several attendants and escorted to the royal tent.

He made it clear that they would welcome the Goths into the city on the understanding that Ataulf’s troops would provide a permanent defense force against any future raids by the Vandals or any other roving barbarian tribe.

“There are very few of us left,” he explained. “We’ve sustained several assaults and many of those citizens who survived have moved away to smaller towns that are less attractive to the Vandals. But Barcino is worth saving and we’ve fought hard to protect it as much as possible. Now, the gates of the city are open and ready to receive you.”

Ataulf and I expressed sincere thanks to the governor, then Ataulf picked up Theodosius and held him high in the air. “You’ll soon be home, young man,” he said. “There’s a city waiting for you.”

In great excitement, we descended the gentle green
slopes to the walls of the city. Beside us, the sea sparkled in the sunlight.

“How funny to see the sea from the west instead of from the east,” said Sylvia. “We’ve come such a long way.”

Our entry into Barcino was quiet and subdued. The citizens watched from the sides of the road in silence. I understood their reticence. The Vandal sieges, starvation and continuous hostilities had decimated their population while Rome did nothing to help them. They had been left to fend for themselves against the barbarian waves that washed over their land. It wasn’t hard to appreciate their distrust of anyone new.

The governor escorted us to a large, well-built mansion in the center of town. “This is the best house in the city,” he told us. “It needs repairs but it can made into accommodations worthy of a king and his queen.”

I agreed. The villa was spacious, with more rooms that I could count on the first walk through. Its architecture was different from anything I had seen before, with larger rooms and wider windows than those of the great houses in Rome. The walls were plainer too, with little of the fresco painting that gave Roman rooms vibrancy and color. But many of the chambers had balconies overlooking the extensive walled gardens, with the sea beyond, and I thought that the views were beautiful. Although most of the furniture was dilapidated or missing completely, a few fine pieces of dark wood survived and the governor assured me that local carpenters would soon be able to provide me with all the furnishings I wanted.

He was especially proud of the stable block and showed Ataulf around, enthusing about the size of the stalls and the availability of running water. Ataulf admired the structure and layout of the building and said that he would keep his favorite horses there as soon as a few holes in the roof could be repaired.

I also liked the feeling of the city, although it had clearly suffered a great deal from the conflicts of the past years. Many of the buildings were damaged and the port lay idle, with only a few rustic fishing boats moored in its shallow waters. But the city’s garum factory was still producing small quantities of the popular fish sauce and the governor was confident that it could be restored to its former production capacity with a little work.

The governor had told me that the city’s cathedral was worth a visit and I went there one morning, accompanied by Sylvia and a few ladies of the court. The city was compact within its tall walls and we walked through the narrow straight streets escorted by armed guards, as the mood of the public was still unsure. Along the way, dozens of small children ran alongside holding out their hands for coins or food.

“The children are so dirty,” exclaimed one of the ladies.

 
“And thin too,” I said. “These children aren’t being fed properly. We must do something about it.”

Sylvia knelt to talk with a little girl with a mop of dark hair. She slipped her a coin and the girl ran off, whooping with joy.
 

We continued on to the cathedral, which had been built about a hundred years previously. It was small but beautiful, a little gem at the center of the city. The outside walls were of plain white plaster but the inside was decorated with delicate carved stone of a light grey color that was soothing and restful. I knelt to pray in front of the altar, to give thanks for our safe arrival.

Retracing our steps to the palace, I was surprised to see that a large crowd had appeared, lining the streets to watch us pass. The people were quiet and curious but some waved in response to my smiles.

I was bursting with ideas by the time we returned to the villa.

“The people are very suspicious of us,” I explained to Ataulf. “We must get them involved with the governing of the city and reassure them that we are not here as oppressors or dictators. We should reestablish the administrative and judicial systems that Rome had
created here to win their support and revive the city.”

Ataulf nodded in agreement and smiled as I went on without pausing for breath.
 
“And the children need special help. If we could promise a daily ration of milk and bread for all the children, we could help them grow healthier.”

“Whatever you want to do,” he said. “I want this to be a city that you are proud and happy to live in and rule over.
 
"

“Good,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “And what have you been doing?”

“Ah, boring stuff, compared to you,” he said. “But I’m pleased with my progress. I’ve
 
assigned the entire first auxiliary unit to repairing the walls and watchtowers. You should’ve heard them complaining. So I told them they can build their own garrison when everything else is done, and they were all happy with that. Mostly, they’ll use it to play dice and drink wine but that will keep the peace.”

Over the following weeks, the Goths threw themselves into their tasks and it seemed that the locals were warming to us. The city regained some of the shine it had boasted during the time of Augustus, and the port bustled with fishing boats.

I was happier than I’d thought possible. Ravenna seemed so far away, Constantius and his cruel blockade a distant memory. I loved to watch the sun set over the mountains to the west of the city while I sang lullabies to Theodosius. We celebrated his first birthday with a public holiday for the citizens and free food and wine. He had begun to walk a month before, tottering about on his chubby legs, to the delight of everyone in the court. Even the most important meetings could be interrupted by his noisy arrival, calling for his father in his tiny, high-pitched voice. His energy seemed inexhaustible, with nurses always on call to supervise his every move.

It was Sylvia who first noticed the signs of a fever on him, as she brushed his hair early one morning before getting him dressed. She called to me to come quickly, and we felt his skin. It was burning hot and his hair fell lank and damp against his forehead. Sylvia shouted for a nurse to bring cold water and cloths at once, while I pulled the child on to my lap and murmured to him, trying to quell the panic I felt on seeing his green eyes looking so dull and glazed.

He nestled against me, grasping one of my fingers in his soft hand. “Love Mamma,” he said quietly, causing tears to spill down my cheeks into his dark blonde hair. I held him tightly and prayed as I had never done before.
 

Doctors arrived, looking so serious and determined that I felt sick with anxiety.
 
One recommended bloodletting, while the other suggested willow bark to reduce the fever. Both agreed on using cold water to cool the child’s skin.

"I'd already thought of that," muttered Sylvia.

“Send for his father,” I instructed one of the guards.

Ataulf had been away for a day or two on the other side of the city, checking on the reinforcements of the outer walls. I knew that he preferred sleeping rough in the garrison rather than in the soft beds of the villa and I never minded his short absences. But now I needed him to be here with our son and me.
 

The day wore on and, after hours of treatments, Theodosius was still feverish, sometimes lying limp and still, sometimes whimpering and fidgeting. When Sylvia tried to give him water to drink he spewed it back up. Ataulf arrived in the late afternoon. Quietly removing his belt and sword, he knelt in front of me and stroked Theodosius’s forehead.

“He’ll be all right,” he told me. His face seemed to be chiseled out of stone, devoid of expression, but I saw the fear in his eyes.

The doctors stood outside the room, talking quietly while the daylight faded and the room darkened. I allowed the servants to light just one candle, and I kept the shutters open to allow air to circulate. Ataulf and Sylvia sat with me while I rocked Theodosius in my arms.
 
One of the doctors begged me to allow someone else to hold the child so that I could rest, but I refused. Letting go of that precious little hand was more than I could bear.

“The hours in the early morning are usually the worst,” explained one doctor. “The body is at its most vulnerable at that time.
 
If he can get through the night, we can be optimistic of a good outcome.”

In spite of my best resolutions, I must have dozed for a while because the sun was rising when I opened my eyes. Frantically, I checked my son, holding my hand to his forehead. It was still hot, but cooler, I was sure, than it had been the night before. I watched his tiny chest rise and fall until I was sure he was breathing normally, and allowed myself to hope that the worst was over. Beside me, Ataulf stirred and then sat upright.

“How is he?” he whispered.

“Better, I think. Call the doctors. They will want to see him.”

The men hurried in, examined Theodosius and then moved away to confer in whispers.

“Well?” Ataulf demanded. “Is he out of danger?”

The men looked at each other and one of them shuffled his sandaled feet on the tile floor.
 

“It’s hard to say, my lord,” said the older of the two. “His symptoms have not changed significantly. The fever is still high.”

“He feels cooler to me,” I argued, wanting to convince them it was true. The doctors glanced at each other and said nothing.

“But he got through the night. The worst is over. That is what you told me.” I could hear my voice rising and took a deep breath to calm myself.

Theodosius stirred in his sleep and then coughed. It was a horrible sound, as though his body was full of fluid. Something inside me seemed to break and I began to cry, burying my face in my child’s hair. I was aware of Ataulf’s arms around me and we sat like that for a long time.

“What do we do?” I asked the doctors.

“If you’ll give us permission, Your Highness, we can proceed with a more intense treatment,” said the older man. “We need to put the child in a bed and cover him with blankets, close the shutters and burn the fever out of him.”

“And more bleeding,” recommended the other. “I think we should continue with that in conjunction with the warming.”

I looked at Ataulf, who nodded his head.

“Very well,” I said.
 

Handing the baby to the doctors, I climbed to my feet, feeling dizzy and stiff after sitting for so long. In silence, I watched them prepare the room and pile covers over the bed.
 

Neither Ataulf nor I ate or drank all day. We sat by the bed, watching Theodosius. At times, I thought he looked better, but then his violent coughing reminded my how fiercely his little body was fighting the unknown malady. I had run out of prayers. All I could do was hold his hand and wait.

The light in the room was fading once again when Theodosius began to struggle to breathe. Each breath was so labored that I felt the weight of them in my own chest. As suddenly as it had come, his fever seemed to die. His skin, so hot just minutes before, became chill and clammy to the touch. His eyes widened but he didn’t seem to see us or our anxious, scared faces just inches from his own.