Authors: Morgan O'Neill
“Some are drinking, some pray, most are pissing themselves,” Attalus replied. Leontius grumbled and Attalus smiled grimly. “Forgive my tactless words.”
Placidia waved her hand. “Never mind. There is all too much truth in what you say. We’ve had little besides doddering, nervous old men occupying the Senate chamber these many years, and few, if any, were born with a spine.”
“Until they receive word from the emperor, they will look to you for leadership and guidance.”
Would they? Placidia wondered if this were true as she gazed out the window.
“Placidia, what say you? Shall I go to Alaric?”
She turned back to Attalus. “I believe you must. Find the king and bid him send emissaries to meet with me tomorrow eve, so we may sup together and speak in peace. Assure him it is no trap — upon my word — his ambassadors shall come and go without harm. And tell him … ” Placidia paused, thinking. “Tell him I am willing to hear his grievances, for they must be serious indeed, if he is taking this action.”
Attalus put a hand to his chest and bowed. “As you say, O most noble Placidia, so will it be done.”
She watched him leave the room, then turned to her nurse and steward. “We will be having company tomorrow, if I’m not mistaken. Please see the banquet room in the House of Livia is prepared, Elpidia, for I think its coziness will not overwhelm our guests like any of our royal palaces would. And Leontius, I have heard the Visigoths like beer, so make certain there is plenty of it, along with meat, lots of roasted meat.”
Gigi and Magnus sat by the campfire with King Alaric. The sun was almost down, the full moon rising. She took a sip of her beer and yawned.
Magnus saw this and made a move to rise. “With your permission,” he said to Alaric, “I believe it is time we retire to our tent — ”
There was a sudden commotion, and a man raced forward, then dropped on one knee before Alaric. “My king,” the man said, “a Roman emissary has arrived. He has requested an audience with you.”
“Bring him here,” Alaric said.
Magnus exchanged a look with Gigi. She glanced at his hands, so steady, no hint of nerves. She gripped her mug, striving to match his calm. Who was coming? What was going to happen now? She turned as several Visigoth scouts walked forward, escorting a lone, balding man with a fringe of graying hair, wearing a white toga bordered with purple.
“Attalus, you old dog,” Magnus exclaimed, leaping to his feet.
“Magnus?” The man looked stunned. “Well, damn me straight to Hades! We were all wondering what had happened to you.”
The two Romans clasped forearms, then embraced.
Attalus glanced at Gigi. “I see you found your beautiful flute player.”
Magnus grinned. “Indeed. My Gigiperrin. And now she is my wife.”
“My sincerest felicitations,” Attalus said, slapping Magnus on the back before turning to Gigi. “It is about time someone tamed this grizzled warrior.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Gigi laughed.
Alaric broke in, “Priscus Attalus, welcome. What brings you here?”
Attalus bowed. “O most excellent King Alaric,” he intoned, “I am here to extend an invitation on behalf of the
Nobilissima Puella,
Aelia Galla Placidia. She desires to meet tomorrow eve with ambassadors of your own choosing to discuss our mutual concerns. She plans a banquet in their honor and ensures their safety within the walls of Rome — and their safe return.”
Hearing this, Gigi felt her heart race with anticipation. Magnus must have felt the same, because he quickly said, “King Alaric, if I might be so bold, sending Gigi and me would be seen as a gesture of friendship.”
“I concur,” Alaric agreed. “The two of you shall go to Rome, to sup with Galla Placidia. And Athaulf shall accompany you. He can speak for us and shall benefit from a look at the city, to see her full splendor, before … ”
The king let his voice trail off, and Gigi saw Attalus pale ever so slightly, as if he understood, as if he knew what was coming.
• • •
The next day, Gigi, Magnus, Athaulf, and Senator Attalus and his bodyguards rode their horses along the Via Salaria toward Rome. As they drew closer, the city’s massive walls and then the Salarian Gate came into view. It was a solid, rather plain archway of squared stones, with a gallery above flanked by two brick towers. They were manned by soldiers wearing the Roman-style, bristle-topped helmets. People streamed through the gate, while hundreds of wagons and carts congested the road.
“I never imagined it would be so crowded,” she said to herself, wishing she could share this with her grandfather, her dear Grand-père, who had loved studying the ancient world, especially Rome.
Senator Attalus moved his horse alongside. “Within the walls, there are perhaps one million people. Far too many, if you ask me. We patricians are few; the rest are the
plebecula
, the masses who even now care for little else than bread and circuses.” He shrugged. “And, because of the overcrowding, we must leave our horses here and proceed inside on foot. We shall have a contingent of imperial guards protecting us from the plebs.”
Honorius’s thugs?
With a shiver, Gigi handed off her horse and strained to see beyond the gate, looking for big, hairy German-types with axes. She shot Magnus a glance, glad he was less recognizable these days, then adjusted her
palla
, attempting to hide her face.
Before they passed through the gate, the men stopped and urinated in urns provided by the guild of fullers, to facilitate the bleaching and dying of their cloth. Gigi turned her head away, embarrassed to watch a bunch of men peeing, and wondered where she might go. Magnus assured her public latrines were placed at regular and convenient intervals throughout the city.
They continued on, pushing their way through the throng, to where the
Palatini
guards stood waiting. Their leader saluted Attalus, then briefly eyed Magnus and Athaulf. Gigi hazarded a glance at the man, but there was nothing telling in his gaze, no hint of interest or recognition. The other soldiers stood at attention, carefully training their eyes on the distance. She felt a small measure of relief as the party set off, although her
palla
was still close about her face.
The chaos of the Roman streets was astounding compared to Ravenna, the noises every bit as loud as any modern metropolis, but the smells were different — a combination of wood smoke, fish, and garlic, loads of garlic.
Roma, Caput Mundi
— the capital of the world. How different the city looked, how ancient and splendid. Gigi gawked at the throng, multiethnic and mostly young, all moving in a swirl of tunics and gowns. The Roman Empire’s reach was vast, but she was still surprised to see the occasional person with jet-black hair and slanted eyes, clearly someone from central Asia or beyond; some were richly dressed merchants, but others wore simple tunics and had pierced ears, the mark of slaves coming from the Far East. The Empire’s connections with the northern realms was evident, too, in that many of the younger Roman women had blue streaks in their hair, a new style copied from the barbarians of Britain.
Then Gigi spotted three women wearing togas and tugged on Magnus’s sleeve. “Do you know them? Are they senators’ wives?”
Magnus laughed. “No, women don’t wear togas unless they’re prostitutes. It is their way of flaunting Roman law, for only male citizens may legally wear the toga.”
“So, you’re saying you don’t know them?” Gigi teased.
He winked at her and she went back to gawking. People haggled with shopkeepers or filled water jugs from fountains, while others begged for alms or ate where they stood. She even saw one couple having sex in broad daylight under the archway of a building.
Gigi grabbed Magnus’s arm, but he was already watching. “In public?”
“Ah, perhaps she is but an impulsive lass, giving him a gift this day,” he replied, laughing. “Here is my Rome, in all its grime and glory.”
Their party moved on, past an area Gigi recognized — barely — as the Forum. It was stunning to view it whole, not in the tumbledown state she was used to seeing. Soon, the sun dipped behind a building, but up ahead the Coliseum still gleamed, its marbled walls catching the last rays of sunshine. Huge. Breathtaking.
Magnus nudged her and pointed. “That is the Palatine Hill, where we’re headed, and on its summit is the great palace where Placidia resides.”
More exquisite marble, columns, and balconies, pinked by sunset.
Gigi nodded and smiled. She was excited to see Placidia after so many months, and the prospect of spending a night in luxury with Magnus was tantalizing. She could hardly wait.
The Visigoths would soon arrive!
Placidia stood in the Garden Room of the House of Livia, awaiting King Alaric’s ambassadors. The last light of day filtered through a trio of lunette windows, illuminating the walls and their ancient frescos with a pearly glow. She loved this room with its lush depictions of Livia’s country garden, the walls painted with garlands, fruit trees, and birds. It was one of the true glories of Rome, revered since the time of Livia and her husband, Emperor Augustus, and lovingly cared for by their successors.
Placidia could sense their presence still, and knew she must protect Rome as they had done. She had to find a way to convince the Visigoths, make them understand this great city should never be destroyed. She bowed her head, praying to God she would find the words to save her people, her world.
A tap at the door, and she nervously looked up as her nurse stepped into the room, holding a jewelry box.
“Ah, your gown is exquisite in this light! You look beautiful, dearest,” Elpidia gushed. “That shade of green matches this emerald necklace perfectly.”
“My favorite color.”
“For good reason. Please turn around and I’ll put it on you.”
Smiling, Placidia touched her chignon, then gathered stray tendrils away from her neck and waited until Elpidia was done.
“There is still time to get bracelets and earrings, Placidia. I fear you look too plain with but one necklace. A princess of the Empire should glitter in gold and gems.”
“This is quite enough. I am not here as a bauble on the emperor’s arm.” Placidia adjusted her necklace, gorgeously decorated with alternating emerald prisms and gold beads. She glanced in the mirror, moving her head ever so slightly until the image was clearer, and was pleased by her look. “Tonight, I am Rome. Elegant, powerful, worthy of honor.”
“Glorious,” Elpidia added. “You, my dear, should be empress and not — ”
“Shush, those are treasonous words!” Placidia shuddered.
“
Domina?
” Leontius tapped on the door. “Your guests have arrived.”
Placidia’s heart thumped, and she glanced at Elpidia. “Show them in, Leontius.”
He opened the door and Senator Attalus entered with a tall, bearded man, who bowed low before her, then raised his eyes to meet hers.
The barbarian was so handsome! Placidia could hardly breathe and labored to keep her expression calm and welcoming.
“O, most noble Placidia,” she heard Attalus intoning, “may I introduce Athaulf, brother-in-law to King Alaric and second-in-command of the Visigoths.”
Placidia stared. Athaulf’s beautiful eyes were hazel with flecks of emerald-green, so radiant, so full of life and humor and, and … passion! Tremors, like little shock waves, tore through her body, leaving her flushed and weak. He looked as surprised as she, and his gaze bore into her, holding her fast, refusing to let go.
The room was silent, the air pulsating, waiting, and Placidia knew there was something she must say, but she couldn’t find the words, couldn’t even find her voice.
She opened her mouth to speak, blinked, and tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry, and still he held her, caressed her, reached into her very soul with his wondrous eyes.
“A-hem, O most gracious Placidia.” Another man stepped forward and went down on one knee, as did the woman standing beside him.
Athaulf dropped his gaze and Placidia’s wavered, then broke, and she drew a deep breath as she turned to the other two. They knelt before her, their gazes fixed on the floor. Flustered, she realized the man’s voice had sounded familiar, and she stepped closer, trying to see his face.
“Please rise,” Placidia said. “Do I know you?”
The pair got to their feet, the man towering over her.
He smiled through his heavy beard. “I believe you do, under less hairy circumstances.”
Placidia gasped, then abandoned all decorum, launching herself into his arms. “Magnus! Magnus! Oh, how I have missed you!”
Magnus laughed, hugging her tenderly. “And I have missed you, dearest Placidia. Rome is treating you well, I hope?”
“Of course,” she replied, wiping her sudden tears. “We have so much to talk about, so much catching up to do. Oh, Magnus, I am so glad to see you!”
His eyes twinkled mischievously. “There is someone I would like you to meet. May I present my wife?”
“What?” Stunned, Placidia looked at the woman beside Magnus, and as recognition dawned, they fell into each other’s arms, laughing. “Gigi, dear, dear Gigi. I thought you dead, and knew Magnus’s heart would surely die with you. What a blessing this is! What a blessing to see you both again, and married — for love! I knew it! I just knew how strongly you felt about each other!”
Behind her, Placidia heard Attalus clear his throat, and she reluctantly disengaged from her friends and returned to her duties, carefully avoiding the hazel eyes that had so captivated her moments before.
“Please forgive my, er, inattention,” she said to Attalus. “I hadn’t expected such wonderful gifts. I am in your debt, for you have restored my friends to me, but perhaps I can repay it in some small amount, by treating all of you to a banquet.” She sensed Athaulf’s eyes on her, but forced herself to concentrate on her responsibilities as a royal hostess. “For now, let us dine and enjoy each other’s company, and when we have had our fill of good food and fine wine and beer,” her eyes flickered unwittingly to the irresistible Visigoth, “we might be more easily disposed to discuss your king’s concerns, and the reasons that bring you to Rome.”