Return to Me (18 page)

Despite what he knew, at this moment the future was unwritten.

Fuck the inevitability of history!
Magnus glanced at the ceiling, sending his anger skyward, to Victoria and all the gods.
I will not let this happen,
his mind thundered. About to mutter a curse, he forced himself to cool down. This would not do. He needed to think clearly.

Reassessing Gigi’s plan, he hoped Placidia would understand the significance of what his wife was going to tell her.

Lives depended on it. So many lives.

• • •

It took Gigi several minutes to find out that Placidia was praying with Bishop Sigesar in the palace’s private chapel. At first, the guard at the door had refused her entry, but Gigi insisted she had urgent news for the queen, and he relented.

The door quietly closed behind her, and she stood for a moment, taking in the candlelit scene. The bishop and Placidia knelt before the altar, deep in prayer.

Gigi let her breath out slowly, seeking to relax. It wouldn’t help if she seemed desperate or frantic as she tried to make her case.

“Your Majesty?” she called softly.

Both Placidia and the bishop started at the interruption.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” Gigi apologized with a quick curtsy. “Placidia, I need to speak with you. It’s very important.”

The queen frowned with concern. “What is it?”

As the bishop helped Placidia to her feet, Gigi realized what she was going to say next would probably not go over well with him.

“Bishop, forgive me, but would you leave us alone? I must speak to the queen in private.”

His eyes widened at the affront, but Placidia waved her hand through the air. “No need for you to leave, bishop,” she told him. “Gigi will accompany me to my chambers.”

She watched as Placidia kissed Bishop Sigesar’s ring. He shot Gigi another look, grumbled, and then returned to his knees and his prayers.

As soon as they were in the hallway, the queen drew Gigi to her side. “Tell me what is so important.”

“Placidia,” Gigi began, and then reconsidered how she should to do this. She switched gears and said, “I think the king ought to hear this, too.”

The queen glanced at Gigi with a patient smile. “As you wish. I shall check to see if he is able to receive guests. He was planning to have his weekly bath while I visited the bishop.”

Gigi sucked in her breath. There were two versions of Athaulf’s death in the historical records: one where he was murdered in his stables, the other in his bathtub!

Desperate, Gigi grabbed her walkie-talkie, pressed the button, and shouted in English, “Magnus, where are you?”

• • •

Heart pounding, Magnus grabbed his walkie-talkie.

“Magnus!” Gigi’s urgent shout crackled. “Magnus! Hurry!”

“What is it?” he shouted back.

“Are you with Athaulf?”

“No — ”

“Go to him! Now! Placidia said he’s alone. He’s taking a bath!”

“On my way,” he yelled and broke into a run. Taking out his Bowie knife, he flattened it against his forearm, rounded a corner at full speed, then skidded to a halt.

Before him a tall man stood poised, grinning, the tip of his short sword a mere finger’s length from Magnus’s chest.

“From all accounts I thought I might find you nearer the king’s apartments,” the man said. “But your running into me certainly saves me time. On the floor, Magnus. Face down. You are my captive and you will be returning with me to Ravenna.”

Recognition flashed. The centurion. Vada Sabatia.

“Out of my way,” Magnus growled.

The man laughed. “I am the
legatus
Titus Africanus,” he said. “And your commands mean nothing, since you are nothing, nothing but meat for Honorius’s beasts in the arena. Get on the floor.”

“Fuck you,” Magnus replied, then flicked out his knife and charged, rending the cloth at Africanus’s belly, but nothing more.

Africanus sprang to one side, swinging his blade at Magnus in a wide, deadly arc, but Magnus blocked the strike with his knife and sparks flew off the metal.

“Magnus, are you there yet? Magnus?” the walkie-talkie screamed.

Startled by the sound, Africanus looked around for the source of the voice.

Magnus saw an opportunity and drove his knife in, but Africanus twisted away and slashed downward in one movement.

Leaping aside, Magnus heard the crackle from the walkie-talkie, just as it took a hit from Africanus’s blade, then scattered across the floor in pieces.

• • •

From his hiding place, Eberwolf heard Athaulf dismiss everyone from his bedchamber. He continued to wait behind the curtain, not moving, not even daring to take a look.

Finally, he heard the soft thud of boots falling to the floor, and then, after a long moment, the sloshing of water.

He peeked from the curtain. In the candlelight, he saw King Athaulf sitting chest deep in the tub, head back and eyes closed.

Eberwolf smiled.

Taking a steadying breath, he raised his knife, and lunged. He struck Athaulf in the chest. Once. Twice. Three times, as hard and deep as he could. Blood spewed.

Breathing heavily, he leapt back and watched, fascinated, as the king thrashed about, pathetically struggling to get out of the tub. Mortally wounded. The bath water crimson.

Just before the king slipped beneath the surface, he arched up and wailed.

Hearing noises outside, Eberwolf roused himself and quickly returned to his spot behind the curtain.

“My lord?” someone called from the antechamber.

There was no response from Athaulf, and Eberwolf heard the door crash open, then the riotous tumult as the king’s guards swarmed into the room.

He waited a moment longer, then looked out. The men had Athaulf on the floor, the atmosphere utter chaos as they attempted to save him. No one had yet thought to search the room for the king’s assassin. Eberwolf could not expect to remain undetected forever.

He had only this one chance for escape. He pulled his
palla
back up, grabbed one of the buckets and swiftly left his hiding place. He walked toward the door and then faced the scene with his most convincing expression of shock.

A guard noticed him and yelled, “Get out of here, woman! Alert the queen. She is in the chapel!”

Dropping his bucket, Eberwolf turned and ran.

• • •

“Magnus!” Gigi shouted into the walkie-talkie again, but all she heard was static. No answer. Where was he? What was going on?

The queen immediately realized Athaulf was in danger and took off, intent on reaching her husband. Gigi clipped the walkie-talkie back on her belt, clamped her hand over the .45 hidden beneath her
palla
, and chased after Placidia, summoning guards as they ran.

When they finally reached the hall leading to Athaulf’s chambers, Placidia cried out in panic and reared back, Gigi nearly stumbling into her. The place was in chaos, the corridor filled with soldiers and servants, all shouting and shrieking, everyone trying to make sense of what was happening.

The queen’s guards quickly formed a tight ring around the two of them. Just then, Athaulf’s kinsman, Wallia, came from the bedchamber, his tunic covered in blood. Placidia gasped and sagged against Gigi, who felt sick to her stomach.

The crowd fell silent, their shock palpable.

“My lady, you must hurry.” Wallia moved to support Placidia. “The king is asking for you. You must not fail him.”

Stunned, Gigi could only stare as he helped the queen inside. At that moment, the world tilted, her knees threatening to give out, but a guard standing nearby helped her follow Placidia through the antechamber and into the room beyond.

Gigi froze with shock; Athaulf lay sprawled upon the floor. He clutched his bloody chest, gasping for air with lungs that could no longer draw breath. He stared at Placidia with horror-filled eyes, pink foam bubbling from his chest wounds and mouth.

There was an immediate change in Placidia, and, with a focused purpose, she knelt and took her husband’s hands. “I love you, my Athaulf. I have loved you from the moment our eyes first met. Do you remember? God destined that we should find one another, and we did. Do not doubt, my love, I shall go on loving you, until the day we meet again in Heaven. Whatever my destiny, none will replace you in my heart. None. I love you, Athaulf, I love you, I love you.”

Tears streamed from Gigi’s eyes as she sat beside the queen and king. Behind them, pandemonium had resumed; shouting, cursing, men calling out for vengeance, but no one bothered them. It was too late for that. Gigi hoped Magnus was one of those giving orders, chasing down the man who’d done this, a man who probably had less time to live than Athaulf.

Something, a vague change in Placidia’s bearing, drew Gigi back. The queen leaned close to her husband, whispering in his ear, praying, saying goodbye. Gigi’s throat tightened when she saw a faint smile touch the king’s lips, and then the light in his eyes flickered.

Gigi tensed, sensing the moment.

“I love you, my Athaulf. I love you,” Placidia insisted, over and over.

Through her tears, Gigi stared as the light in Athaulf’s eyes flickered once more. For some reason she couldn’t let herself look away. It was important, vitally important that she witness what was coming. Somehow, it would be the ultimate act of respect, a way to honor an honorable man.

Another flicker, then a fading, a dulling of the once-brilliant light.

And then the light winked out.

Gigi watched as the face of the Visigoth king relaxed in a peaceful expression far beyond that of natural sleep. She closed her eyes and hung her head.

King Athaulf of the Visigoths, her friend, was dead.

Placidia’s resolve evaporated and she moaned, then collapsed beside her lost husband.

Fear, anger and despair suddenly surged, each fighting for supremacy, and Gigi realized time was of the essence. She needed to get Placidia out of there. They had to find the children.

The castle was in an uproar, Sergeric probably seizing power at this very moment. How long did they have before he went after the kids?

“Come on, Placidia,” Gigi implored.

The queen didn’t seem to hear her. With trembling fingers, she closed her husband’s eyes, and then fell onto his chest. “Gigi, give me your blade. I must cut my hair, as I did for King Alaric. It is my duty. It is expected of me.”

Gigi realized Placidia wasn’t thinking clearly. “Not yet, not now. We have to make sure Marga and the other children are safe.”

Placidia gaped, trying to focus on her words, and Gigi again urged her to stand.

“They have killed my husband, Gigi. They have killed my Athaulf.”

“I know.” Gigi pulled the queen to her feet and told Wallia, “Protect the king. Take him away from here. Guard his body.”

“On my life, I will do it,” he promised.

Taking Placidia by the hands, squeezing them to get her attention, Gigi leaned in and spoke forcefully, “Listen to me! We can’t stay here. We have to go to the children. Sergeric is behind this and he will kill them next.”

Placidia’s eyes went wide and Gigi yanked her away. Together, they ran to the nursery, arriving to find the door open, the room empty. Where were the kids?

Placidia just stared, her eyes vacant.

Gigi turned at the sound of hurrying footsteps and brandished her gun. Vana! She quickly put the gun away and hugged her. “Where are the children?”

“I heard the commotion and got them to the chapel for safety. The bishop was there, and he took them inside.”

The three women hurried to the chapel and found the entry barred. Gigi banged on the door and yelled, “Bishop, it is Gigi. I’m with Queen Placidia and Vana. You must let us in. We are not safe out here.”

The
screech
of the iron latch brought Gigi profound relief. The door swung open, and she hustled Placidia and Vana inside. As the bishop bolted the door once more, the children started screaming at the sight of Placidia’s blood-soaked dress.

The queen burst into tears as she looked down at herself. Vana ran to hold the smallest ones, who were hysterical.

Gigi did a quick head count. Seven kids.
Thank God!

• • •

Frantic to reach the king, Magnus could not get the upper hand against Africanus. The man was his equal in strength and fighting prowess.

Victoria, I beg you! End this now!

He adjusted his grip on the knife and stepped sideways, keeping Africanus watchful, uncertain.

“Victoria strengthens this arm!” Magnus bellowed, desperate to get to Athaulf. He drove at Africanus again, this time connecting solidly with the man’s thigh, just as Africanus reeled and hit the side of Magnus’s skull with the flat of his blade.

Stars erupted before Magnus’s eyes. Dizzy and breathing hard, he collapsed, but immediately started forcing his mind, arms, and legs to obey. He rolled onto his side, and then struggled to his knees, commanding his eyes to focus, to no avail.

Africanus’s face was deathly pale, and he whimpered in pain. His leg wound was deep, blood spurting from a huge gash.

Magnus rose and stumbled toward Athaulf’s chambers, not caring that Africanus would soon bleed out, if he wasn’t already dead.

He felt nauseous and weak, his vision blurry. Too much time had passed. He knew he had failed to save the king.
Gigi, where are you?
He stumbled on.

He reached the corridor leading to the royal chambers. It was empty, the door open. There were no guards. Where in Hades was everyone?

Holding his knife before him, Magnus blinked hard, trying to clear his sight. He moved inside the anteroom, then through the door to the bedchamber.

Ye gods.
Gore was splattered, pooled, and smeared all over the floor, Athaulf’s bath red with his life’s blood. Unsteadily, Magnus stepped to the balcony and was relieved to find it empty. He turned and tripped over an empty bucket, then stumbled forward.

Cursing, he spotted something he’d not noticed before, a trail of blood going out the door.

Fear pulsed the air, shook him to full attention. He gathered himself and followed the trail, hoping he would not find Gigi at its end.