After the Fall(41)
Time dragged as he searched room to room, level by level, yelling at any Visigoths he found, ordering them to leave at once. The place was a labyrinth, and he could only hope, in his despair, that he’d not missed something along the way.
He stopped suddenly — what had he heard? A scream? Athaulf turned and peered behind him, then crept back. There it was again, muffled and indistinct, but very close. Glancing into a room he’d already checked, he considered it more closely, and then caught sight of something he hadn’t noticed before, the merest crack of a concealed doorway. He’d seen one like it before at the House of Livia: painted over by botanical scenes and blending with the rest of the wall.
Another sound of anguished struggle, a stifled cry. Athaulf sprinted across the room and thrust open the door.
The Visigoth was half-naked, his buttocks flexed as he pinned Placidia against the wall.
Athaulf’s blade pierced the whoreson, jabbing from one side of his waist to the other. The body buckled and fell as Athaulf pulled Placidia into his arms. Bruised about the face, bleeding and naked, she held on to him and wept.
“Placidia, my love, forgive — ” His voice strangled. “Iésus, forgive me. I tried to get here, truly I did.” He held her close and let her cry, tears of his own falling into her hair.
After a moment, her sobbing slowed, and she raised her chin, but wouldn’t look him in the eye. “My gown, please,” she said, her voice faint but determined.
Athaulf let go and turned away, shoving the dead bastard with his foot to free her things. He handed them to her without glancing back, and she dressed quickly.
“You may turn,” she said, her voice ragged with pain.
He faced her. Her gown was bloodstained, and suddenly he was certain he’d arrived too late. Oh, God in Heaven, why had this happened?
Arms folded tightly across her chest, she kept her eyes averted, her agony clear to see. Athaulf held her gently, felt her trembling. “I love you, Placidia. I love you.” It was all he could think to say. He had to reassure her he felt no different because … because …
“We must go see to the others,” Placidia said, pushing away from him, her voice a monotone. “I have to protect my people.”
“Placidia, I love you. It does not matter if he … ”
She met his gaze, and he sucked in his breath — her eyes looked dead.
“I thank God you came when you did, Athaulf. He didn’t … he hadn’t … not yet.”
Then she turned around and left.
• • •
When Gigi and Magnus reached the atrium, they saw Athaulf standing amid the damaged foliage and broken statues. The place seemed empty now, quiet, the palace abandoned by the Visigoth marauders. They started toward Athaulf, still cautiously looking around, but when Gigi spotted Placidia kneeling on the floor, she rushed forward.
When she reached the princess, she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no, Placidia!”
Persis was lying in a pool of blood amongst the shards of a broken urn, her skin already yellow and waxy after bleeding to death.
“How dare you, Athaulf, how dare you,” Placidia moaned, weeping uncontrollably, reaching out to finger Persis’s sodden hair. “You have sent your people to burn my city, rape and murder my citizens, yet you would protect me? I will stand against you, Visigoth, and fight with my own.”
Athaulf bent and touched Placidia’s arm, an expression of pain and pleading on his face, but Placidia, covered with blood, suddenly got up and launched herself at him, shoving him backward with all her might. “Stay away from Persis! Don’t touch her — this is your doing.”
Devastated, he opened his mouth to explain, but Placidia shrieked, “You are no better than any of the others. I will not run away and leave my people to their fate. How dare you suggest such a thing!”
Gigi gripped Placidia by the shoulders, shocked to see how badly battered she appeared. “Who — what happened to you?”
It was only at that moment Placidia seemed to realize Gigi and Magnus were there. Her eyes filled with tears as her face contorted in misery. “Oh, Gigi,” she cried. “Persis, my Persis is dead!”
Gigi hugged her. “I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”
Placidia shook her head just as a great gust of black smoke billowed into the room through the roof of the atrium. Shouts followed, rising from nearby corridors.
“We must leave — now,” Athaulf warned.