After the Fall(43)

Scrambling to his feet, Athaulf followed and listened from outside the tent as his sister forcefully pointed out Placidia’s petty behavior, accusing her of tacitly siding with Honorius by her refusal to stand up to his brutal treatment of the Visigoths over the years.

“Our brutal treatment of you?” Placidia spat back. “Since we’ve left Rome, you have ravaged the countryside. What of Campania or Nola or Capua? You targeted the wealthy, despoiling the families, and binding their youth in slavery, forcing them to serve you with their own plate and silver. Is that not brutal? You have no justification to complain!”

Athaulf heard Verica roar in fury. “Realize one thing, you pampered, useless butterfly,” she thundered. “Had your depraved brother ordered the sack, no one would have been spared! No woman, neither young nor old, no child, no male. All would have been tortured, raped, debased, and then slaughtered or driven into slavery for his personal lusts. You can’t deny it, for that’s exactly what he’s been doing to my people for years!”

Athaulf stood by as Verica stormed out, but it wasn’t until after she was gone that he heard weeping, ragged, bitter weeping. He couldn’t help himself, realizing he’d probably be shredded by Placidia’s angry nails, but he slipped inside anyway.

Elpidia was there, having made her way out of Rome with Leontius, carrying with them some of Placidia’s personal belongings, despite the danger. Hovering protectively near the princess, Elpidia scowled at him, but left the tent, allowing him his moment.

Athaulf knew he had but one final chance, one opportunity to try to make Placidia understand, to bring her back to him. He took her firmly in his arms, partly because he didn’t want her to flail at him, but mostly because he wanted to comfort her, and for a time she didn’t react.

Then she struggled and tried to push him away, but her arms were caught.

“Placidia,” he said, pressing his cheek against the top of her head and rocking her back and forth. “It has nearly killed me to hurt you so badly. Please forgive me. Please. I love you. I want you to love me again, to be my wife. Your anger is destroying me, I swear it.”

He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away, and they stood like that for several moments. Finally, unexpectedly, just as he was about to give up, he felt her shoulders relax, and her hands moved tentatively to his waist. He swallowed hard, relishing the moment, and tightened his grip.

“Verica was right, as much as I hated to hear it,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “My brother would do — has done far worse, many times. It’s just … sweet Persis is dead. And Rome, it was mine, my home, my people, my solace, and you hurt her, it, knowingly, willingly.”

He sighed heavily. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“Athaulf?”

“My love?”

She looked up at him then, and his heart thudded with hope. Her dark eyes were so beautiful, still sparkling with tears and remnants of anger. He clenched his jaw, wanting to devour her, and it took all of his determination to deny himself a physical reaction to her beauty.

“You wish to marry me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Indeed. Since the first moment I saw you. If you would but give me another chance … Placidia, I am yours.”

He watched as her eyes traveled over his face, and he recalled the words she’d said, the things she’d asked for, so long ago. Would she ever ask again?

“Tell Verica I must speak with her,” she said.

Placidia pulled away then, and he let her go, aching, but hopeful.

• • •

It was late when Placidia dismissed Elpidia, despite her nurse’s pleas to stay. After all, it was time. It was time she stopped being a child, an innocent. Rome was gone and she would never return, could never return. Honorius might think her dead, or he might hear of her escape with the Visigoths. Either way, she didn’t care, because that life was over.

Placidia let her gaze roam around the rustic hide tent with its strange adornments: its wooden poles intricately painted with geometric designs, chairs made from interwoven antlers, furs scattered everywhere. She nodded to herself. It was time for her new life to begin.

Verica had helped her dress, brushed out her curls to their full length, and made sure everything was ready, everything but her fear of the precipice from which she was about to leap.

She heard a soft scratching at the tent flap and her heart beat more rapidly.

“Placidia.” Athaulf spoke her name softly and she turned to greet him, her throat too dry to respond.