After the Fall(34)
But it did not matter. Nothing did. Not if he found Gigi.
He set off for the nearest stairwell.
• • •
Inching forward, Magnus took care not to step on toes as he moved toward the forefront of the crowd. Theodosius had disembarked from his galley only moments before. His personal Guards of the Purple, his flaxen-haired Germani thugs, held their great axes before them, forming a formidable knot around the smiling boy-emperor and his elegant sister.
There was an apple in Theodosius’s hand. Like Paris, Prince of Troy, it would be given to the woman of his choice. Magnus’s gaze flew down the line, scanning the aspirants’ features; coal-black curls framed a winsome face, followed by a blur of other girls and women, all beautiful brunettes and redheads, another girl with raven-dark hair, and then, and then …
A young woman stood near the middle of the line, her figure slight, almost too slender, yet proud, her blond tresses barely visible beneath a gossamer veil of green silk.
Magnus willed her to turn. Look at me! he wanted to shout. Look here! Let me see your face!
He waited, hoping, praying to the gods for mercy at last.
To his horror, Theodosius stopped before her, Pulcheria at his elbow. The crowd grew silent, expectant.
“Alas, it was through a woman that evil entered the world,” the young emperor said, smiling at the blonde. He raised his hand, hefting the apple for effect, then glanced at his sister, her face calm, a vision of neutrality. “And,” Theodosius went on, “it is said Eve — ”
“My lord,” the blond girl interrupted, “it is also through a woman that One who is greater than evil entered the world, for a young woman, the Virgin, gave birth to Jesus Christ.”
Gasps erupted from the crowd, and Theodosius’s mouth dropped open, while Princess Pulcheria flushed red as the apple.
Magnus shook his head in wonder, for here was a girl who certainly had Gigi’s spirit, someone with enough daring to challenge an emperor. Although this girl’s voice was not nearly as strong, there was something familiar, a spirited timbre, which caused him to take a step forward in hope his memory had somehow dimmed, that it was really she.
One of the guards turned and looked directly into Magnus’s eyes, then raised his axe ever so slightly.
Magnus fell back, disappearing into the chattering crowd, and took another position, one less conspicuous, but nearer the girl. Meanwhile, Theodosius had strolled on, still searching for his bride. Magnus guessed he would choose a shy one now, for it was clear his brush with the bold girl in green had thoroughly rattled him.
Suddenly, she turned and stared in Magnus’s direction, as if to challenge the yammering crowd, as if to say, I am not ashamed.
He sighed. Her eyes were as beautiful as Gigi’s, sparkling with life, but they were blue as the sky, not green, not green.
O, ye gods! Why have you forsaken me? Magnus sadly thought. Victoria, where are you? Where is my wife?
“Gigi, will I ever find you?” he whispered to no one. Listlessly, he glanced at Theodosius and saw Pulcheria take his arm. She directed him toward another group of several young women, dressed alike in silver gowns.
Someone in the crowd called out, “The emperor now considers the princess’s ladies-in-waiting,” just as Theodosius stopped. He suddenly grinned, then handed his apple to a beautiful girl, a slim blonde with big eyes and a gracious smile.
So, he had found the one. Grim, bitter, Magnus turned away, determined to drown his sorrows, and ran straight into his uncle.
“She is not here?” Britannicus asked the question, but clearly he already knew the answer. “I am sorry. Come,” he added, placing his arm around Magnus’s shoulder. “Your aunt awaits us.”
“Forgive me, Uncle, but I would dine alone this night.”
Britannicus frowned. “No, this is not a night to dine alone, dwelling on dark thoughts. You need your family. Come home with me.”
Magnus shrugged. “As you wish.” But he had no intention of staying overlong at his uncle’s house, not on this night, perhaps not ever again.
• • •
Magnus awakened from a dream of the olden days, of golden places and distant times. He could not stop thinking of his grandmother. He closed his eyes again, willing himself to sleep some more. He drifted off a little, seeing her again, her hair pure white, her eyes warm and brown. He was twelve when she died, but he always remembered how she looked at him one moment during her final year, how her gaze went to his face and lingered. He could not comprehend why her eyes welled, but later his father told him the reason; she felt as if she were young again and staring into the face of his paternal grandfather, the love of her life, whom she had first met during childhood.