After the Fall(40)
Suddenly sensing trouble behind him, Alaric twisted in his saddle.
More fires, hungry flames leapt out of windows and rooftops — no! He heard a shriek and spun back to see one of his men raping a young woman right in the street.
“Stop!” he yelled, urging his mount forward and kicking the man with his boot. “Leave her be. You are not to rape!” But the wretch paid him no heed, so Alaric jumped down and pulled the man off his victim, then punched him in the jaw, knocking him senseless. The woman scrambled to her feet, then spit at Alaric and ran away, cursing him and sobbing.
Alaric reached for his reins, but his horse shied and bolted as more Visigoths came on, and he found himself on foot, alone. Frantically looking around, he realized his army was out of control. With only his authority and his sword to curb the tide, he ran deeper into the city.
Smoke was everywhere, thick and black. Alaric saw three men coming back down the street with sacks of booty, and he was about to continue past, when he noticed one of them carried a lit oil lamp.
“Do not — ”
Laughing, the man tossed the lamp against a wall, which burst into flames.
Alaric grabbed the man by the throat, furious. “Your orders were not to burn — pillage only!”
“I take my orders from Sergeric, and he gave us a free hand,” he pushed Alaric aside, “to do whatever we please, just as the Romans would do. When in Rome!” The man broke off, laughing again, then sprinted away with his friends, bumping into a terrified woman and causing her to fall.
Dressed in black, her head modestly covered, she was obviously of some religious order. Alaric approached her as thick, acrid smoke filled the air, but she cowered, hiding her face.
“Sister, fear not. I am a friend.”
She peered at him, and he was struck by her youth and beauty.
“Sanctuary!” she cried out, whimpering, yet defiant. “I am Marcella, Daughter in Christ, and I claim Holy Sanctuary. But, please, I haven’t the strength to get to my church, so I claim it right here, on this spot, before God.”
“Sister,” Alaric said, reaching out, “I, too, am a Christian, and if you allow me, I will escort you wherever you want to go. I will protect you — I swear.”
It took a long time to get the woman to safety, passing bodies, burning buildings, and the horrific din of rape and destruction. After leaving her at St. Peter’s, safe and among many of her own, Alaric refused to accept her blessings and grimly continued on.
He moved through the streets, commanding those breaking his rules to desist, even swinging his blade against some when needed. At other times, he dispatched people in the throes of an agonizing death, and many times, too often, he pulled horrified women from the clutches of their abusers.
What had happened? How had it gotten so badly out of control? He knew Sergeric was partially to blame, but he blamed himself as well. He should have known that once unleashed, a sack would be ungovernable. Lawlessness breeds frenzy breeds every kind of unspeakable evil.
This was his sorrow, his sin to bear. He made the sign of the cross and beseeched God for forgiveness.
• • •
Dawn approached, the sky lightening despite the heavy smoke in the air. Reaching the Domus Augustana and finding the palace gates broken, Athaulf hastened inside, securing his horse in a side court. He prayed no one would steal him. The palace was supposed to be sacrosanct, yet everything was in turmoil, people fighting, bodies scattered everywhere. Placidia! Her soldiers battled the onslaught as best they could. Even servants struggled, almost comically, with pots and pans and broomsticks against his well-armed men.
“Leave the palace at once,” Athaulf bellowed as he passed his men. “At once!” He ran from room to room — her study was open and empty — the adjoining imperial bedchambers hacked up, the beds, tables, and couches overturned.
Iésus, where is she? He barged into an unfamiliar room and found one of his own men raping a servant, and he pulled the man’s head back and struck him hard with the butt of his sword. “Leave!” he roared. “You’re not to touch — ”
“Athaulf!”
He spun around to find Magnus, bloodied sword in hand, and Gigi, looking fierce and holding a club.
“Where is Placidia?” Athaulf cried out.
“Don’t know — we haven’t found her,” Magnus shouted back.
“Keep looking.” With that, Athaulf ran off, alarm redoubling over what he might find.