After the Fall(15)
“My lady?” Persis asked, as she and Elpidia entered, bringing in Placidia’s warmest night shift and blankets. “How were the gladiatorial contests? Did they amuse? Were the people happy to have something else to think about, beyond finding food?”
Elpidia grumbled at this, and Placidia looked at her for a moment before raising her arms to be undressed. “It was a disaster, and yet the Senate wants to do it again next week.” She paused as Elpidia slipped the shift over her head. “I cannot abide such violence, but I was overruled by Attalus and the other senators. I closed my eyes to the blood.” Her voice broke and she swallowed hard, willing away the images of sodden, red sand, of bodies cut to pieces. “And, do you know, with each death the crowds chanted, ‘Food, food, food,’ and we tried to ignore them, pretending we didn’t understand what they were saying. By the end, though, it … it was horrible … they were howling, insisting the dead be handed over as part of the food rationing.”
Persis recoiled. “No, they didn’t!”
As Placidia’s eyes welled, Elpidia patted her arm, trying to comfort her.
“Heaven help us,” Placidia said, “but the whispers of cannibalism are true! They didn’t even care that such evil desires were given voice so publicly. Everyone was clamoring for the bodies. If not for the guards, I think they would have started tearing at each other.”
Someone knocked at the door.
“Senator Attalus has just come in, Domina,” Leontius spoke from behind the closed door. “He begs your forgiveness and wishes to speak with you.”
“Tell him I will meet him in my study immediately.” Placidia sighed and stood, squaring her shoulders. “I am sorry, Elpidia. I don’t care if I’m being indecent, but I haven’t the strength of body or will to get redressed.”
“Here, put on your palla. With this and your heavy shift you’ll be fine, my dear. You are always a proper lady. Go ahead.”
The hallways echoed with their footsteps as Placidia followed her steward. The palace seemed so empty these days. Many had deserted her or died. Even the three old women she’d brought in were dead, each having lasted less than a week. Since then, dozens in her household had succumbed, and many more had simply vanished. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do to look as defeated as she felt, not even to Attalus.
Leontius opened the door to her study, and she went inside. With one look at Attalus’s haggard expression, she wished she’d never come to Rome, wished she’d never been born a princess, wished all these burdens and worries had never been placed at her doorstep. She was only seventeen, after all. She started. No, she was eighteen! Her birthday had been missed, not celebrated or even remembered. God in Heaven, what more could she possibly —
Placidia checked herself. Even now, the spoiled princess lurked within.
She sighed. What grief was Attalus going to add to her heart tonight? By his dour looks, it was something momentous and grim.
Placidia lifted her chin and looked directly into his eyes. “Attalus, what news?”
He bowed. “I am sorry to have to tell you, but this afternoon Serena was arrested while sneaking in through the Quirinalis Gate. It is not the first time this was observed. She has been watched since the murder of her son, although at first we did it for protective measures. However, soon we observed her frequent comings and goings. It is said she brought in contraband — food to be precise. We are not sure how she acquires it. But it is either through the, er, sale of herself, or perhaps she is giving the Visigoths information. At any rate, she is having extensive dealings with them.”
“With King Alaric?” Placidia paused, then blurted, “Not Athaulf!”
“No. The tents of the barbarian leaders are not located in the area she frequents,” Attalus replied. “But there is another, one Sergeric by name, who is known to be corrupt, even disloyal, when it serves his purpose. He has often been seen hanging around the gate. We have reason to believe it is with Sergeric that Serena meets and comes by her food.”
Placidia sat on the closest couch, staring at the floor, on the verge of abandoning all hope, for she feared what was coming. “And what have they decided is to be done with my cousin?”
“The Senate has decreed Serena be brought before the people at next week’s games,” Attalus said flatly, “where she will be charged as a traitor to Rome. The crowd will also be reminded of what she did at the Temple of Rhea years ago, when she stole the offerings to the goddess, just in case anyone has forgotten that travesty. Then they will ask what sentence they would demand for her crimes.”