After the Fall(3)
“Greetings, O most exalted Placidia,” Attalus said.
“Welcome, O most excellent Attalus. Please take your ease. Have you any word from my brother? Or from Magnus?”
“There has been no word from Magnus, nor any hint of his whereabouts. It’s as though he dropped out of Italia altogether.”
She frowned. “No word at all? Not even rumors?”
“None. But fear not, dearest princess, for Magnus is Magnus. He will survive. As for the emperor, I received a letter from him this morning, which is why I sought an audience with you. Although it is addressed to me, I believe it is meant for your eyes as well.”
Attalus handed over the rolled parchment, and Placidia quickly opened it and read:
“Priscus Attalus,
We were most decidedly vexed by your unanticipated leave-taking from Ravenna, but we understand your fear, for we have received word the Visigoths have left Noricum and are heading south.”
“His royal ‘we’ annoys, does it not?” Placidia asked, then caught herself, remembering her manners. It would be unseemly to speak more about Honorius’s conceit. She looked up at the senator. “Does this mean the Visigoths are on the march again?”
“Indeed, I’m afraid they will spread like a plague of locusts,” Attalus said flatly. “But know this, I did not leave Ravenna with my tail between my legs because of the damnable Visigoths.”
“I know.” She swallowed. “But … do you know where they are heading?”
He shook his head. “I have heard they made plans to attack Ravenna by sea.”
Placidia took a breath. Magnus had said that was a possibility. “Then the barbarians are fools. They will not succeed.”
She resumed reading:
“As to the main point of our royal message — we care not if the Roman citizens hate Serena. There must be no housing in any royal properties and no bodyguards given her or any of her family. MAKE SURE OUR SISTER PROVIDES NONE! We would not want the boy to grow up weakened by overprotection. As to our former wife, let her EARN her bread.
With all esteem and sincerest regard,
Flavius Honorius Augustus, Emperor of Rome.”
Placidia frowned and met Attalus’s troubled gaze. Her brother had not changed, would never change, his selfish disregard for all but himself still paramount.
Knowing Rome seethed with hatred for Serena because of her loathsome deeds, Placidia said a swift, silent prayer for the two remaining innocents of the family. Thermantia and Eucherius were not responsible for their mother’s desecration of pagan temples, her burning of sacred books, or her utter deceit. However, without bodyguards, their lives were as good as forfeit, for the mob would have its vengeance if they were ever recognized.
She crossed herself. “I must help them.”
Attalus looked surprised by this, and so, she realized, was she. But then, Honorius had not thought of everything.
As to financial succor, he had said nothing at all.
• • •
The Avenue of Janus was hot, noisy, overcrowded, and stank of human sweat and garlic. Serena left the pawnbroker’s shop and eyed the street carefully, mindful of the purse of coins hidden beneath her palla. The last of her jewelry had brought this final pittance, and she worried where she would get more money once it was gone.
Slipping back to the doorway of her tenement house, she was relieved to see Thermantia waiting there with Eucherius. They set off together without a word, and Serena breathed easier when no one caught her eye, nobody looked suspicious or seemed to care about their presence.
The crowds at the market had always terrified her. She didn’t trust the plebian hordes, and knew they would attack if they discovered her identity. Unwilling to leave her children unprotected at the tenement, her only other choice was to bring them along when she did the shopping.
“Pull your palla close, Thermantia,” she said in a harsh whisper. “I don’t want the plebs recognizing you. Eucherius, keep your head down, and don’t draw attention. Now, come.”
They moved down the street as one. Suddenly, the hair on Serena’s arms rose and she tensed, but there was no shoving, the sounds hadn’t changed, the faces around them wore expressions of boredom.
All’s well, just keep moving, Serena told herself.
They turned right, onto a better street lined with more prosperous shops, heading toward Quirinal Hill, to the Great Market. Serena saw Thermantia cast a longing glance at the window of an unguentarius, and she scowled at the girl — cosmetics were the last thing they could afford. She heard hawkers shouting from butcher and wine shops and smelled her favorite bakery’s delicious fresh bread and pulmentum, the scent of the rich barley cakes making her stomach growl.