After the Fall(53)
Unfortunately, Athaulf’s sons showed little promise of becoming the next great boy band, but she was determined to get them ready to perform at the coming banquet to celebrate Alaric’s survival. Something from the Jonas Brothers? Or maybe Justin Bieber?
Whatever, they’re kids. They’ll be a hit no matter what, she thought with a smile. They would certainly be better than Alaric’s minstrels, who sang nothing but the same bloodthirsty war ballads over and over again. Truly barbarous, she thought with a smile.
Despite their Visigoth heritage, Athaulf had allowed his sons to be “Romanized” to a degree, encouraging their education in the Latin language, Roman history and Greek philosophy, but he had not relented in one thoroughly Roman requirement of childhood: the bulla. It was a locket worn by Roman boys to ward off evil spirits. Gigi had overhead Placidia requesting that he consider bestowing the amulets on his children, to no avail. She wondered if Athaulf would eventually relent. Wait and see, she told herself, knowing how much it would mean to Placidia.
She blew into her hands, picking up her pace. Pushing on her tent flap, she stepped inside, trying to ignore the first twinges of a sinus headache. Rubbing her brow, she wished she could pop into a drugstore and get what she needed. She hadn’t told Verica, not wanting anything to do with the foul tasting, slimy-green potion she usually doled out as a cure-all.
Crawling into bed, she burrowed under the furs and closed her eyes. It was ironic, but people were now coming to her for medical advice, since the strange new role of miracle worker had been foisted on her after Alaric’s CPR. These days, the awestruck Visigoths made way as she walked by, as if she were a life-renewing goddess. They’d even started asking her for favors, such as the blessing of their children. It was weird and unnerving, but nice just the same. Many were reminded of her arrival among them, posing as High Priestess of the Old Ones, and believed it was her true identity.
Yet still, only Magnus knew her truth. She couldn’t risk telling anyone else, although Placidia had asked her point-blank where she’d learned how to bring a drowned man back to life. Gigi smiled, recalling how she’d scrambled for an answer, but then realized the simple truth was good enough, telling her it was a common practice among sailors. She even offered to teach her the method, but Placidia demurred, saying she hoped they would never again travel anywhere by ship. The recent sea disaster had killed many and devastated everyone in the camp, but at least there was one ray of hope: Alaric was getting better day by day, lovingly tended by Verica and Randegund.
Those haunting blue eyes, frightening in their intensity, were always hate-filled and all-consuming. Chained to her memories, Gigi shivered. More than once since Alaric’s near-drowning, she’d caught Randegund staring at her, and she felt it acutely, as if the old bitch wanted to murder her with her gaze.
But why? Why? I saved Alaric’s life, she argued inwardly. You’d think she’d be grateful.
She turned her face into the furs, snuggling deeper, her headache fading, her fears threatening her still. She needed to forget Randegund. Gigi and Magnus had each other, and the bitch couldn’t hurt them anymore. Her children were seeing to that.
Her thoughts roamed on to more pleasant things. She had her music, plus theirs, so many wonderful ancient melodies. And Placidia was going to take them to Hadrian’s Villa for the winter, where plenty of food was stored, and there would be shelter enough for everyone. After that, when Alaric led his people to their new homeland in Africa, then maybe she and Magnus could take a little side trip to Capri, even go to southern France. Or … ?
“Gigi, where are you?”
She roused herself, just as Magnus entered their tent. She smiled at him, stretching luxuriously, but then caught herself, recognizing something in his expression, something she hadn’t wanted to see ever again.
“The king,” his voice was halting, anguished. “Alaric has taken a bad turn.”
She couldn’t believe it. When she’d seen him a few hours earlier, he’d looked so much better. He still had a slight cough, but he was sitting up in bed, and he’d gotten his color back. Verica had just given him a big spoonful of honey, and for the first time in days, he was asking for something hearty to eat, to replace the gruel and soup she’d been feeding him.
“Verica said you must come quickly,” Magnus went on. “Alaric’s lungs have filled with fluid.”
Pneumonia? Shocked, Gigi threw off the covers, wondering what she could do, how in the world she could help.