After the Fall(35)
Love. It was powerful — uplifting, poignant, and powerful, so powerful. An image of Gigi rose in his mind, and Magnus smiled. My sweet, my dearest wife.
He rolled over and opened his eyes, not fully comprehending, for a stranger lay there, not a finger’s width away, someone coarse and bloated, ugly. Her blond wig was askew, her lips painted, smeared, and much too red. What in Hades was he doing here? How long had he — where was Gigi?
He shook his head, addle-brained from too much cheap wine, from months of drunkenness. The room spun, and he groaned in pain, his head splitting. The whore opened her eyes and belched. Her breath smelled of vomit.
“Do you want another taste of this?” she asked, spreading her legs. “Half price.”
Repulsed, he bolted from the bed, ignoring his pain, and then scrounged in his clothes for a coin. When he found one, he tossed it without looking, not caring what it was worth. “No,” he said, dressing on the run. “No, no!”
He raced for the door.
• • •
“May the gods pity me!”
Magnus wept, not trying to hide his tears from the passengers and crew of the galley. Where is Agrippa? he wondered for the hundredth time. What have I done to my horse?
He couldn’t recall. Had he sold him while in one of his drunken stupors? Was that what happened?
May the gods have mercy upon my noble steed. Victoria, keep him safe from harm. I beseech thee!
Wiping his eyes, Magnus looked out at the receding walls surrounding the Harbor of Eleutherius, the great city of Constantinople fast fading into the mists. Oars moved in their oarlocks, lapping in the Sea of Marmara, soft, echoing sounds.
Magnus turned to face the west and gripped the ship’s handrail. Only one person could help him now, only one.
Placidia.
Chapter 10
Rome. It was all he could think about. What was left of his life, of normal, of good and decent, resided there. Magnus was determined, if he had to live, that his remaining time on Earth would not be wasted in fruitless politics or endless searching, but given to one who was worthy of honor, his friend, that good and noble lady, Placidia.
But he was weary. Weary of walking along the Via Salaria, weary of dust and grime. The vermin that had taken up residence on his body nearly drove him mad, and his need for drink was worse. Soon, he thought. Soon I shall be clean, have a bed and decent clothes, and wine, fine wine to slake my thirst. Rome is not too distant, not any more.
Magnus passed a milestone, but he did not need to check the distance to Rome’s Forum. He knew he was close, so very near, but coming over the crest of a hillock, a scene met his eyes he hadn’t expected.
Tents covered in crimson hides, banners boldly displayed, the smoke of hundreds of individual campfires filled his view. The Visigoths.
“By the gods,” he muttered, “they have done it again.” Another siege. How dare they! Angry, he decided to begin his service to Placidia there and then.
Sentries shouted his name as he passed, but Magnus waved them off as he stomped past row after row of tents. He moved with a single-minded determination, ignoring the others who called out, until he reached the king’s tent.
He threw open the flap. “Alaric!” he yelled. But when his eyes adjusted he saw only Randegund. “Bitch!” he said, then paused, noting how she cowered. He’d never seen her cower, not in battle, not before men, never, so why … ?
He let the thought pass, for she wasn’t worth his trouble. “Where are your sons?” he demanded.
Her eyes were wide with fear, her voice barely audible. “Hunting, until dusk.”
It was mid-August. Dusk wouldn’t come until well into the evening, and it was barely past midday. “I’ll wait,” he said flatly. “See that I’m brought food and beer. Lots of both, and be quick about it.”
Magnus sat near the fire pit, scratching, grumbling and waiting. Finally, a young woman brought a platter of cold meat, dark bread, and cheese, plus a cup and flagon of beer.
Magnus considered the fare hungrily, then smiled. “I have a long wait ahead of me, child. Roll out the barrel so I can serve myself, then be on your way. I’ll have no more need of you.”
“As you will, my lord,” she said meekly, and quickly did his bidding.
His hands trembling with anticipation, Magnus grabbed the flagon and sloshed drink into the cup, then emptied it in one, long swill. Little rivulets ran down each side of his mouth, but he didn’t bother to swipe at them as he poured himself another, and then a third.