After the Fall(22)

She seemed a statue by a hand divine,

Had not the wind her waving tresses showed,

And down her cheeks the melting sorrows flowed.

Her faultless form the hero’s bosom fires;

The more he looks, the more he still admires …

The beauteous bride moves on, now loosed from chains,

The cause, and sweet reward of all the hero’s pains.”

He rushed across the stage until he reached Britomartis, dramatically breaking her chains with his sword. He swept her into his arms and away from her rocky prison. The drama was nearly over, and he, Perseus, had prevailed.

The audience erupted in applause and shouts of triumph, showering the stage with roses. Honorius grinned, glorying in the adulation.

Then he saw General Sarus out of the corner of his eye, standing just offstage. Damn him to Hades! He sighed and placed Britomartis on her feet. Picking up a rose, Honorius bowed to the audience, then walked over to Sarus.

He breathed in the flower’s sweet scent. “What is it now, General?”

“Venerabilis, forgive the intrusion, but I have important news of Rome.”

The rose fell from Honorius’s fingers. An icy-cold surge tore through his gut, for Rome, his dear, sweet bird, had not been eating, and he feared she had taken ill. “Wh — what happened to her?” he croaked.

Suddenly, there was thunderous applause, and Honorius glanced at the finale, a mock sea battle raging across the stage. He felt faint. Tears filled his eyes.

“The siege is lifted, O Great Emperor Honorius. King Alaric … ”

Honorius could barely hear General Sarus. Alaric? What has Alaric got to do with my beautiful Rome?

He tried to listen, but the noise was still too great. Finally, Sarus leaned in, saying into his ear, “Alaric has taken the treasure. The siege of Rome has been lifted, and, my lord, there is other news — ”

This last was drowned out by laughter and shouts, but Honorius cared not. Giddy with relief, he wiped his eyes. Rome was alive! He pushed past General Sarus and started for his chambers, for he wished to hold his chicken, his pretty, pretty bird.

“Honorius, Serenissimus, please, you must listen to me. Do you not wish to hear what I’ve learned about the traitor Magnus and his bride, the flute-playing whore?”

Startled, Honorius spun on his heel. “What? The bitch Gigiperrin has been found? They’re married?”

The general nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but the uproar in the theater was now insufferable. Frowning, Honorius crooked his finger at Sarus and then led him toward the royal apartments.

• • •

Honorius stroked Rome, who clucked at him in joy. His heart was full as he fed her little tidbits of apple, her favorite food.

General Sarus cleared his throat. “My lord, Constantinople may yet send reinforcements, but I fear we must give in to Alaric for now, in case — ”

Honorius waved him off. “We shall handle Constantinople. You must arrange a meeting with the Visigoth king. Although it greatly pains us, we’ll have to give in to Alaric the Uncouth, but Sarus,” he stared hard at the general, “you make certain Magnus is killed as soon as possible. We would prefer you use a poison that causes a lingering, painful death, but a swift knife to the gut would do the job just as well. Whatever the case, make sure he suffers. Then find Gigiperrin and bring her here, for we have some unfinished business with her.”

Sarus bowed and moved off, not turning his back to Honorius until he reached the door.

Honorius lovingly touched Rome’s feathers, for in her he had the world, he had everything he desired.

Except …

He saw Gigiperrin again. Her lips in a fulsome pout. Her green eyes sparkling with tears. Her breasts high and heaving in fear.

He grew hard and glanced at Rome, then called for Britomartis.





Chapter 7


Magnus squinted at the pale winter sun, then glanced away, eyeing the group of fifteen Visigoth noblemen and chieftains who had accompanied him and King Alaric. He pondered how far they had come since the lifting of the siege, some three months past. They had left Rome far behind, and now, as they advanced on Ravenna, Honorius had panicked and agreed to negotiations. With the realization of their goals before them, Alaric’s mood was jubilant.

There was not a breath of air as Magnus sat atop his stallion, gazing at the emperor’s magnificent royal tent, dyed with bands of red and purple and embroidered with gold. Despite the season, the sun felt warm on his face, and a trace of sweat trickled down his brow. He swallowed, wishing for some beer to quench his parched throat, waiting for some movement from within the tent.