After the Fall(48)
The emperor started blubbering and Sarus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He feared his life teetered on a knife’s edge. Olympius had been cruelly executed on a whim by Honorius, his ears cut off before he was clubbed to death in front of the entire court. Stilicho had been killed, too, as had so many others, too many.
Am I next? Sarus wondered, knowing full well once Honorius was done with his weeping, he’d lash out, placing blame on …
He let his breath out slowly, and then lowered himself to one knee, his hand over his chest. It was time to play his hand.
“O, Great Honorius, I have heard through my brother, Sergeric, that much more has happened in Rome. Prepare yourself, my lord, for the news is dire.”
Honorius gaped, his fears unmasked. Sarus clung to his hope the little worm would finally give him leave to wreak vengeance against the man he blamed for the death of his wife and children, the one who had stolen the kingship from him, that bastard, Alaric. But would Honorius act against the news, or lash out against the messenger?
“What more?” the emperor’s voice was a raspy whisper as he placed his bird on the floor and shooed her away. “Tell us, Sarus.”
“Quintus Magnus returned to Rome just before the sack.”
“Magnus?” Honorius’s eyebrows raised in surprise.
Sarus nodded. “You know I had spies tailing him in Constantinople.”
“Indeed, and we were quite vexed when your men could not find the right moment to slip him poison.”
“Venerabilis, for that I apologize, but they lost track of Magnus after he sold his stallion to the horse master of the royal court. Magnus disappeared for months after that, only to show up in Rome. He and Gigiperrin were with your sister when she was taken hostage by Alaric’s brother-in-law, Athaulf. It is said Magnus and the bitch flute player engineered your sister’s capture, and Sergeric told me Athaulf and Placidia now share a tent — ”
With a howl, Honorius grabbed Sarus by the throat. “What did you say? Is she f*cking him?” he roared.
Sarus couldn’t speak, tried to get hold of Honorius’s hands, to push away and free himself. Suddenly, several of the imperial guards rushed into the room, and Sarus was knocked flat to the floor. Axes flashed, swam before his eyes, and he felt icy-cold metal pressing against his neck, the sting of the first cut. He was dead.
But Honorius blared, “Idiots, stand down! Let him go!”
Sarus was freed, then pulled to his feet by one of the guards.
Fingers trembling, he rubbed his neck, wiping away a trickle of blood.
Honorius was smiling as if nothing untoward had happened. “Come, General,” he said, “we must put our heads together and hatch a plan. We were thwarted once before, but now it is time. We must kill our enemies — all of them — without delay. As for our sister, well, once she’s brought home … in chains, perhaps, indeed, chains would be appropriate, we shall mete out her punishment. And then we’ll hand her over to Constantius for marriage.”
Honorius nodded, an exultant look in his eyes. “For too long our sister has acted willfully, not keeping to her place, and now she is no longer chaste. We intend to bring her low,” he grinned, “by finding a way to cleanse her of the barbarian seed, perhaps supplanting it with the purity of Rome.”
The emperor’s gaze grew unfocused, and he touched himself.
The blame had been passed on to others. Sarus swallowed heavily in relief, but then shame swept over him as he recalled young Placidia’s sweet gaze.
He closed his eyes, trying to force visions from his mind, depraved visions.
Heaven help the princess!
• • •
Athaulf stood outside his brother-in-law’s tent, listening to him cough. As with so many in camp, it had gone on for weeks, although his fever had abated some time ago. “Alaric, it is Athaulf. I would have a word.”
“Come — ”
Another fit of coughing interrupted the king’s words, but Athaulf didn’t wait. Asking leave to enter was only a formality. He found Magnus inside with Alaric, looking contented and thoughtful, but Verica and his mother were elsewhere. Perfect.
“Take your ease before me, brother.” Clearing his throat, Alaric smiled and raised his golden goblet. “Get something to drink, and then pull up a chair.”
Athaulf grabbed some beer and sat next to Magnus, then toasted the health of both men.
They all drank in silence, until Alaric wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “So, how goes the, er, peace negotiations between the noble Visigoth prince and Rome’s fairest, er, maid?”