After the Fall(2)
She considered King Alaric and the other men standing by the tent. They looked serious and proud, especially the king and his second-in-command, Verica’s brother, Athaulf. Gigi found confidence in their strength, and gratification in the way they’d offered their protection.
Her husband came out of the tent, an upstart Roman who had also thrown in his lot with the Visigoths. Quintus Pontius Flavus Magnus. His name reflected great heritage and high honors. Gigi felt a burst of pride when she recalled how he had bravely defended her after she was enslaved by Honorius, how he had engineered her escape. Then, with a death warrant on his own head, he had barely made it out of Ravenna. But they were now free!
She almost laughed as she envisioned him riding a white horse. Magnus had his back to her, bending an ear to Athaulf, who considered him an equal. He was valued here, and she could see how much he had changed, his confidence reborn, now that he was out of the emperor’s evil shadow.
Sunshine lit her husband’s dark brown hair, now almost long enough to start a braid in the Visigoth style. Gigi loved how he looked, loved even more all the little things he did to show how much he cared: making certain she got the first taste of whatever was served; letting her ride his horse, Agrippa, for hours as they traveled, and when she walked, placing himself between her and the jumble of wagons for safety’s sake.
Gigi smiled, her will to succeed, to embrace this life, fully restored, and she marveled at how everything had changed since she’d met him. Magnus, I adore you.
Just then, he turned, searching the camp as if sensing her presence and the intensity of her thoughts. His gaze found hers, and he gave her a long look back. Soon, he told her, love lighting his blue eyes. Very soon.
She entered their tent and dropped onto the bed. Home. Not much considering what she’d had in her other life, but it was everything she needed here. She picked up her flute and idly played scales, wondering what Magnus would say if she could snap her fingers and show him what she used to have: her new digs in LA, and the charming, centuries-old family farmhouse she was having restored outside Avignon. Considering he was a Roman, she’d make sure he saw the big Jacuzzi tub in her LaLaLand abode, surrounded by vanilla candles, a bucket of champagne, and some luscious chocolate truffles.
Gigi laughed. That stuff might be necessary to enhance the mood with another guy, but she didn’t need it with Magnus. He just had to show up in this tent and …
Magic happened.
She played a tune that had been running through her head, “That Old Black Magic.”
The tent flap opened, and Magnus walked in. His face broke into a wide grin, and Gigi put down her flute. It didn’t matter where she lived — he was her life.
“Oh, yeah, my Magnus,” she smiled, “pure magic.”
Chapter 2
Rome, Italy
Placidia stood on a balcony of the Domus Augustana, on the side of the palace overlooking the Circus Maximus. She breathed deeply of the crisp, fall air and caught a hint of the distant sea. Persia. India. Exotic places, so far away, yet were they truly beyond her brother’s reach?
She had no answer. Honorius had the right, the duty, even, to use her marriage to shore up his alliances in this ever-changing world. But his choice of General Constantius did nothing in this regard. The general derived what power he had from Honorius, so her brother was treating her as nothing more than common booty, to be drooled over and played with, and, ultimately, caged like a dainty bird.
Constantius. Placidia cringed at the memory of his bulging eyes, balding pate, and thin smile. Fifty-odd years of fighting and court intrigue and military regimens. Set in his ways and much too old. God Almighty, she was only seventeen!
Would she be brave enough to seek her freedom when it came time to marry Constantius? Freedom. What did it actually mean? Slaves longed for it, of course, and debtors wanted to be free of their debts, but didn’t everyone desire something other than what they had? She sighed, feeling guilty for worrying so selfishly about her own situation.
“Placidia?” Elpidia said, coming outside. “Priscus Attalus has arrived.”
Placidia nodded to her old nurse and smoothed her gown, her thoughts in turmoil even as she strove for calm. What was happening in Ravenna? After Honorius murdered General Stilicho, two senators, Attalus and Magnus, had abandoned the city and her brother, each escaping a fate identical to Stilicho’s, if the rumors were true.
And now her cousin Serena, Stilicho’s detestable widow, had come to Rome. Ruined and impoverished, she had dragged along her surviving children, her young son, Eucherius, and her daughter, Thermantia, the emperor’s discarded wife. Realistic about her own shortcomings, Placidia didn’t know if she would extend a helping hand if Serena showed up on her doorstep, but shrugged it off. She admittedly felt the need for revenge, after all Serena had done, but the need was a burden unto itself, and Placidia wondered how long it would be before guilt overwhelmed her.