After the Fall(13)
They bowed and moved off, and Athaulf approached. Placidia looked into his eyes and trembled at his masculine beauty.
“My lady,” he spoke quietly, “it was my greatest pleasure to meet you, for you have opened my eyes to what is good and fine about Rome. Would that I could stay longer.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Would that I could stay forever.”
He released her and sighed.
Her skin still tingled with the memory of his touch. “Athaulf,” she whispered, realizing his name was already precious to her. “Athaulf, we cannot leave it here. We must meet again.”
He looked startled and then gazed at her eyes, her lips. Placidia felt the rush of her blood, a deep surge of desire. Her hand moved toward him. She wanted to touch his face, but he checked her move with his eyes and pulled back.
“We shall meet again, if God wills it. Farewell, sweet Placidia.”
She watched him leave with the others, her throat tight with emotion. It was the first time he had spoken her name. She prayed to all the saints in Heaven it would not be the last.
Chapter 5
Accompanied by her maid, Persis, and her few remaining bodyguards, Placidia trudged back up the Scalae Caci leading to her palace, pushing at dripping curls escaping from beneath her palla. It had been raining for days, and the weather was unseasonably cold. What were they going to do? When was Honorius going to pay the city’s ransom? She wrapped the sodden cloak closer about her shoulders and shook her head, miserable. She was a fool! Her brother hadn’t even bothered to respond to her pleas, other than to say it was none of his doing, and Rome would have to find her own way out of this disaster.
Between the two of them, she and Attalus had managed to browbeat the Senate into gradually doling out what was left of the grain supply. Alaric had cut off all deliveries into Rome, rationing the food allowance by half, then by two-thirds when he learned some amount of grain was still to be found within the walls. Every Friday for the past month, Placidia had gone to different storage facilities, begging the people there to share what they were given, share what little they had stashed away with their families, their neighbors, those most vulnerable. And Placidia was adamant her household should receive no more food or fuel for heating and cooking than any other.
But despite careful planning, strict rationing, and city-wide cooperation, everything was running dangerously short, and no amount of money could buy what wasn’t there to be had. Where once meat and fish had been plentiful, now none could be found, and it was becoming apparent dogs, cats, even rodents, were disappearing from the streets and homes.
Many men had already escaped, singly and stealthily, abandoning wives and children. Some people left openly, throwing their lot in with the Visigoths, either for survival or out of ideological reasoning, and many slaves had vanished as well.
When she reached home, there were three pitiful old women sitting outside the gates. When they saw her, their thin arms rose up as one, their weak, crackly voices begging for food.
“Placidia, please.” “Domina, help us.” “We have been left to die.” “Nobilissima Puella, please help us.”
Placidia crouched down, taking their feeble hands in hers. “I haven’t much to offer, only some olives, cheese, and stale bread. But we will divvy up what little we have, and at least you may come in out of the rain and sit by our fire,” she smiled apologetically, “although we have but a small amount of wood left. Please, you are welcome at our hearth.” She glanced at her bodyguards, who looked angry and disinclined to assist. Even Persis hung back.
Placidia frowned. “If you don’t care to share your portions with these women, then they may take mine, but I insist you bring them inside!”
Their expressions were petulant, but they all helped, and soon everyone was settled and the doors were closed against the frigid, damp air.
• • •
The rain drummed loudly against the roof tiles, keeping Placidia awake. It was late, and she was so very tired. Hunger hurt more than just her body, it hurt her mind with its ceaseless torments, the wretched cravings. When would this be over? When?
Suddenly, a loud thump on the balcony jolted her upright in bed.
Her ladies hurried in. “What was that?” Elpidia asked.
“Perhaps a bird has crashed into the side of the palace?” Placidia suggested. She got up and followed the women to the balcony. Together, they pulled open the heavy curtains and peeked out. A large burlap sack was lying against the wall.