After the Fall(58)
Eyes straining against the dark, Sergeric crept forward until he spotted the silhouette of a great tree, bare branches twisting toward the star-filled sky. He halted and looked around. Unnerved, he felt as if the eyes of his people were watching his deeds, waiting to strike. Treason would bring a horrible end, mutilation first, the removal of the eyes, nose, ears, and tongue, then death by strangulation.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, berating himself for allowing fear to rule his heart, and for questioning his elder brother’s intentions. His loyalty to Sarus superseded all else, yet he was plagued with doubt just the same. What was his brother thinking? After all, time was on their side. Alaric was dead, and Sergeric was about to make a move for the kingship. Many said they would vote for him, for there was a groundswell of ill feeling toward Athaulf, because of Placidia.
Suddenly, there was a rustling of leaves, the faintest sound.
Wary, Sergeric touched his sword hilt as two shadowy figures appeared from the deeper gloom of the forest.
“Sarus is our general,” one of the men whispered to him.
“Sarus is my brother,” Sergeric answered back.
• • •
Randegund stood in the dark, gripping her knife. She could smell the Romans in her midst, the sweet stink of their fish sauce, the repulsive garum, filling the air.
She glanced at the goat she had ritually slaughtered. It lay in the shadows near the mighty, sacred oak, her pleas and prayers at its killing a silent testament to the power of the gods. Smiling, she thanked them again, for she knew her sacrifice had brought forth these Romans, who now huddled together, the scum.
They were speaking in whispers, but she cared not what they said. She would get her revenge on them this night, a poor substitute for her real enemies, but a substitute nonetheless.
Raising her knife, she inched forward, about to strike, when one voice rose above the whisperings, “The general’s instructions were exactly as stated, Sergeric. By whatever means possible, capture Quintus Pontius Flavus Magnus and his wife. Bring them to us for transport to Ravenna.”
“But how?” Sergeric asked in confusion.
“By whatever means possible,” came the angry reply. “The emperor has special need of them, as entertainment for games he will hold in celebration of Alaric’s death.”
Randegund froze. Bastard of Rome! she wanted to scream. Would that I could slit your throat and bathe in your blood, Honorius. I would gladly feed your eyes, tongue, and cock to the crows!
She used all her strength to control her rage, for the gods were kind, and they would strike the foul emperor in time. As for Magnus and his bitch-wife, they were to be taken to him. Oh, would that she could see with her own eyes what he had in store for them. This was the answer to her prayers.
But the stupid oaf, Sergeric, must be assisted in this, otherwise he would surely spoil the plan. She stared at the three black figures, hating them all, but most especially the miserable traitor. Yet now she would use him for her own ends, her mind awhirl.
By whatever means possible …
She lowered her knife, the itch to kill gone, replaced by a renewed desire for the settling of scores. She would go to Sergeric’s tent this night and provide him the sleeping draught to use on Magnus and his wife.
Touching her chest, she pleaded for the help of the Great Winged Avenger. And this time Nemesis answered back, for Randegund felt a strange fluttering, followed by a twinge in her breast, near the place where her heart drummed. She understood what it meant: her call to battle.
Chapter 16
Agitated, Gigi had left her tent, only to spend sleepless hours in Verica’s. She rolled over and opened her eyes. The dim light of a lone oil lamp pierced the gloom, and shadows flickered, wavering like ghosts. She shivered, watching Randegund. The old woman had crept in after everyone was asleep and hadn’t noticed Gigi. Now, she slept beside Verica, who was drugged with one of Randegund’s potions. Several other women were scattered about on cots, and looked to be sleeping peacefully enough. Like Verica and Randegund, their hair was shorn, spiky and uneven. It would take a while for Gigi to get used to seeing them this way.
Her gaze was drawn back to Randegund, and she recalled the first time she’d seen her over two years before. She was strangely beautiful then, her hair long and pure white, her blue eyes mesmerizing and fierce. But now, without the great mane, the acid glare, she looked pitiable, like the shriveled, decrepit old woman she was. Regardless, Gigi knew better than to turn her back on such hatred.