Authors: Morgan O'Neill
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.
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.
Another shiver and she pulled the covers close. She wished she could sleep … she was so tired … but she didn’t dare take her eyes off Randegund, who’d probably stab her, if given half a chance. She wished Placidia was with her, but Verica hadn’t wanted the reminder, since Placidia was now effectively the queen of the Visigoths.
Poor Placidia. If she ever found out what Athaulf had done …
In turmoil, Gigi sat up.
How long does it take to murder that many people? Are they done yet, or are they still at it? What will Magnus be like when he gets back, how messed up?
Rubbing her eyes, Gigi regretted having argued with him. There was nothing he could have done. All she wanted right now was his soothing presence, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her.
Pulling on her boots, she crept out of Verica’s tent and slipped into her own. In the faint light, she was surprised to find their bed empty, then recalled telling him not to return that night. Glancing around, she could see the tent wasn’t as she’d left it. Obviously, Magnus had come back, his blades and cloak stowed in the corner, a mug of wine on the table, another lying on the floor near the bed, the wine spilled. Gigi grew uneasy, wondering at the overturned mug. Where had he gone? Why hadn’t he looked for her among the women? Was he ill?
She checked the nearest latrine, but it was empty, then one farther off, also empty. Fighting panic, she hurried toward Athaulf’s tent, reassuring herself she’d find him there. She passed the occasional night sentry, but no one else. It had to be well past midnight, she decided, because so few were around. Her concern grew when she saw there was no light showing beneath the skins. “Athaulf?” She knocked on a pole, then called out softly, “Placidia, is Magnus in there? Athaulf, where is Magnus?”
“Gigi?” Placidia’s muffled, sleepy voice sounded confused.
She heard movement in the tent, and moments later Athaulf was before her, looking rumpled. “What’s this about?” he asked with a yawn.
“I can’t find Magnus!” Gigi heard the rising panic in her voice, but didn’t care if she woke up the entire camp now. “He came back to the tent, but he’s not there anymore.”
Athaulf frowned. “Not there? He told me he was heading home, that he needed to make things right with you.”
“I’ve been with Verica the whole time, but he never went there — I would’ve seen him. Something’s not right. Please, help me find him.”
Athaulf disappeared inside, then returned almost immediately, fully dressed. “Is my mother with Verica?”
Gigi nodded. “She’s in Verica’s tent.”
Athaulf set off without waiting to hear more, Gigi close on his heels as he burst inside the tent.
“Mother!” he bellowed, sending several women scrambling, but Verica and Randegund slept on. Athaulf was across the tent in a few strides and threw back his mother’s blankets. “Mother, wake up!”
Her eyes flew open and she cowered for a moment, but then her gaze grew hard and she sat up, glaring and undaunted. “Why would you ruin a mournful old woman’s sleep?” she griped.
“Because the old woman is endlessly duplicitous,” Athaulf replied sharply. “Where is Magnus? What have you done?”
Gigi expected Randegund to deny any knowledge of his whereabouts, but a smile pushed back her wrinkles. In fear, Gigi sucked in her breath at the vision of pure hatred.
“Magnus is our bane, Athaulf, though you refuse to acknowledge this fact,” Randegund said. “Ill-fate and ruin have dogged our every step since he first came into our lives so many years ago. It was time to deal with him.”
Crying out, Gigi lunged at her, but Athaulf blocked her path.
Randegund’s eyes flickered toward the movement, her brows lowered over a venomous glare. “Oh, he still lives. I tried to rid us of his whore as well, but no matter, her fate will be sealed soon enough.”
“No!” Gigi yelled, struggling to get at her, but Athaulf held her fast.
“Where is Magnus, Mother? Where?”
Randegund grinned. “I slipped some of Verica’s sleeping draught into wine I left for them. At this moment he is amongst his own — though he won’t be aware of it yet — being taken back to his beloved emperor,” Randegund spat on the floor of the tent, “to Honorius in Ravenna.”
“You bitch!”
Gigi screamed in English, then lunged at Randegund, but Athaulf wouldn’t let go.
Randegund shrieked with laughter.
“Get you gone, old woman,” he bellowed to his mother. “
You
are the poison in our midst. Magnus never was.”
Athaulf forced Gigi out of Verica’s tent.
“Let me go, Athaulf! I need a horse — I have to help Magnus!”
He shook his head. “It is no woman’s job. I’ll send men after him at dawn.”
“Take your hands off me! I refuse to sit around and do nothing like you all did when he went looking for me in Constantinople,” Gigi raged. “I swear I’m going to Ravenna, right now, whether you help me or not, whether you think I can or not.”
Athaulf stared hard at her for several moments, then shrugged and let her go. “So be it. I’ll see you have a fast horse and provisions. Wear the clothes you’ll need and leave the rest behind. Take the weapons I gave Magnus, and may God give you strength, because you will surely have need of them before this is over.” He paused and looked even more closely at her. “Never allow Honorius to take you. It will go far better for both of you if you take your own life instead, for he will not kill you outright, but will torture you in each other’s presence, you may be sure, so that your agonies and his delight are compounded.”
Gigi bowed her head, horrified by his words, knowing they were true. “Please send Placidia to me while I get ready. I want to see her before I leave.”
Athaulf nodded and Gigi raced to her tent. She threw on her warmest clothes, pulling on her heavy boots just as Placidia rushed in.
“Gigi!”
In tears, they hugged for a long moment. Finally, Gigi pulled away and looked at her friend. “Placidia, I have to go.”
“Gigi, dearest Gigi,” she cried. “You are so strong — so unafraid — I know you will save Magnus! Meet us at the villa as soon as … I pray God … I pray He grants you success.”
Gigi kissed Placidia’s brow, then slung her flute and short blade over her head, and grabbed Magnus’s sword and dagger. She could hear the horse moving about outside and hurried from the tent.
Athaulf held the steed, and Gigi slipped Magnus’s weapons into their straps, then jumped into the saddle. Placidia followed her out, looking stricken. Gigi’s eyes welled, but she blinked her tears away, fighting for control.
“Gigi, your saddlebags are full of provisions. You must go by way of the Via Appia,” Athaulf said, “then the Via Flaminia.”
“I’m going to follow Magnus, wherever they’re headed.”
“And I’m telling you this is the route they’ll take. There will be markers along the way, so you’ll know.”
She listened impatiently as Athaulf gave more travel advice, then handed her a pouch of coins. As soon as he let go of the bridle, she blew a kiss to Placidia and turned her horse, urging it toward the edge of camp and the road north.
One obstacle remained before she could pick up speed: a steep, boulder-strewn rise. Gigi allowed her mount to find his way up, knowing a clear path lay just over the crest. Once there, she’d be able to dig in her heels. For the moment, however, she had to keep herself from slipping over his rump.
Damn
, she thought
, what I wouldn’t give for a pair of stirrups.
A flash came out of nowhere, a bolt of fire, blinding her and causing the horse to lurch, hurtling her into the air. She hit the ground hard, the jolt making her vision blur, making it impossible to breathe.
Trying in vain to roll over and get her bearings, her limbs barely responded. She heard a familiar cackle, then looked around to see Randegund pick up the torch she’d flung. She hovered over Gigi with a sneer.
Gigi still couldn’t move, stunned, certain she was about to die.
“I’ll not have her polluted blood on my hands,” Randegund whispered to herself, kneading her chest. “No, but I will take her blessed protection away from her, something her despicable flesh is not worthy to wear.”
The world spun crazily. Gigi felt helpless as Randegund wrenched off her Roman ring, gathered her skirts, and then ran, her gleeful cackles echoing off the boulders. Gigi squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, fighting vertigo. She caught torchlight flickering in the distance, but then it winked out, Randegund gone.
Head swimming, Gigi struggled to her knees and tried to make sense of her immediate surroundings. It was so dark. The horse snorted close by, waiting for its rider.
“Good boy,” Gigi mumbled, and put a hand on a rock, forcing herself to her feet, gulping oxygen into her lungs. Staggering, she made her way to the horse and clutched his reins, then slowly, painfully, climbed onto a boulder and pulled herself into the saddle.
“Good boy,” she repeated, grasping, entwining her fingers in his mane. Leaning forward, she rested her head on his neck, and then thudded her heels against his sides. “Now, find Magnus.” Nothing. She gathered her willpower and tried again, but the beast only flinched, unsure of what she wanted.
What am I going to do?
she wondered. The desperate situation both she and Magnus were in, the sheer odds against her success, threatened to crush her spirit. She looked down at her empty ring finger, her fear of losing Magnus made all the worse by Randegund’s evil deed.
If I could only … if …
No!
Her resolve, her inner strength surged back, and she summoned every ounce of her courage.
Forget the ring! Forget the witch! You can do this, Gigi!
Save your husband!
She gathered the reins in one hand, sat up, and whipped the leather straps across the horse’s haunches with as much violence as she could muster.
“Yah! Move it!” she shouted, and her chest seized, fighting for every breath. The beast leapt forward, nearly unseating her again, but she held on and dug in her heels a third time.
Together, they sped into the night, north to find Magnus, north to Ravenna.
• • •
The wind bore Randegund up the rocky slope, blowing at her back, hurling her forward.
Her left arm burned, throbbed with pain, and she blamed Magnus’s damnable ring for this new agony. She looked at her aching hand, wishing she could cast the ring to the winds, but not yet, not yet. Soon, she thought, for dawn was near, and then she would be rid of this terrible burden.
She stared out. The clouds were gray, low, but lifting from the horizon, the barest slash of color in the sky, as red as the hideous ring.
Final, tortuous steps. Randegund forced her leaden legs to move on. The summit lay just before her.
Suddenly, her chest exploded with crushing pain and she lost her footing, dropping to her knees. Gasping for air, she sensed Nemesis had attacked, lashing out and passing through her, in search of Victoria. She clutched the ring in her trembling fist, intending to fling it with a renewal of her old curse, but instead her eyes closed and she felt nearly paralyzed by the bone-shattering agony in her breast.