Love, Eternally (5 page)

But … wasn’t the sun shining when they forced me into this hellhole?
She rubbed the nasty bump on her forehead, her face still sore where the soldiers had landed their punches. Nothing made sense. Nothing. When she was playing for the mayor’s wife, it was evening. Then — wham — it was daytime? And what about the door of the baptistery? She may have been out of her skull with pain and terror, but she knew something was different because they dragged her down some stairs and then
outside, through the old door, the ancient one that had been half-buried, but which opened for them.
What the … ?
Frustrated and scared, she spun and smacked the wall with her palm. What was going on?

She froze. Time travel? No, that was absurd!

Heavy footsteps in the corridor interrupted her thoughts and torchlight filtered through the bars. She leapt up when a key turned in the lock, and the door creaked open. The two brutes who’d manhandled her earlier stood there, motioning her forward.

She glared as they marched her outdoors, one on either side. Shading her eyes against the sun, she was led through some alleys, then down an avenue lined with plane trees to a broad plaza and into a terraced garden of fruit trees, laden with blooms. Row upon row of laurels trimmed into shapes of animals and birds richly scented the air.

She walked on toward gleaming marble steps, which rose to a large veranda, backed by a colonnade of arches painted red, blue, and yellow — the façade of an enormous building. Gigi and the soldiers moved up the stairs onto the veranda, where colorful marble statues seemed to follow her with their painted eyes. She glanced at her dress, which was torn and filthy, and she was sure she neither looked nor smelled any better. Another group of soldiers announced her arrival.

Finally, this was it, she tried to convince herself. Pretty soon, they’d tell her it was all a big joke. Big ha ha!

She entered the spacious interior. At any other time, she would have admired the beautiful room, with its gray-and-white marble floor and rose-colored walls, but now she felt a desperate need to find where the camera crews were hidden. Dozens of men stood waiting, dressed more formally than the people she’d seen at the baptistery, wearing white tunics bordered in gold, green, or purple. No one spoke, but she could hear chirping and clucking and looked around, expecting to see chickens again.

Glancing over the crowd, Gigi spotted Magnus — he was hard to miss — resplendent in a crimson cape clasped at the shoulder with a golden brooch. She felt as stunned seeing him now as she had that first time in the baptistery. His features were set in a mask, yet his blue eyes were filled with concern, his gaze intense and for her alone.

Gigi didn’t believe this was a result of her stressed-out imagination. He cared about her. She could read it in his eyes.

But her anxiety returned when she looked at Bug-eye, who wore a polished metal breastplate and short leather skirt, his legs crisscrossed by thongs coming up from his boots. Scowling, he glared back at her with a fierce, scornful air, his chin thrust out, his beefy hand gripping the short sword on his belt.

The soldiers pushed her forward, and Gigi found herself standing before the creep from the previous night. He lounged on an ornate throne, with a golden laurel wreath crown on his head. At his feet, pigeons and chickens pecked at the bits of grain he let fall from his fingers. Bird droppings were everywhere.

Furious, she saw her flute lying across his lap, her diamond on his finger. Sudden squawking erupted from behind the throne, and she could see ugly guinea fowl nervously darting around, their raucous screeches filling the room.

• • •

Magnus frowned as Honorius hushed his ridiculous birds and handed off the golden feed bowl to one of his servants. He noted the emperor’s contemptible joy as the golden-haired woman was led to him, then forced to her knees on the soiled carpet.

Honorius smiled at the woman. As he reached toward her, a fat brown hen raced forward and crouched, tail down, wings splayed. Honorius continued to smile as he turned his head sideways and considered the bird, which stared back at him with her right eye and clucked.

“Ah, Rome, dearest pet, do you think this lady will finally deign to speak to us? Will she tell us whence she came? We must learn her identity, mustn’t we?”

Listening to the emperor coo to his bird, Magnus averted his gaze.
Half-wit!
He watched the woman as she knelt there, mute, shaking, yet boldly staring down Honorius. He recalled the strange name she gave: Gigiperrin.

When she glanced at him, Magnus saw the light catch her green eyes, making them flash.
Ah, what a woman! Even Venus cannot have such eyes.
His mind whirled. Venus had risen full-grown from the ocean’s foam. This woman had appeared likewise, born of the misty air. He recalled his first impression of her. Could she actually be a goddess?

He noticed the stain of tears on her cheeks, the tremor in her hands. Now she seemed fragile, frightened — and so very human.

He sensed he was being watched and turned to see the simpering Honorius staring at him.

Would that your father had not died young
, Magnus thought.
Would that Theodosius sat there instead of you.

The old emperor had been a proselytizing Christian, yet he had given Magnus leave to follow his own path, even bestowed upon him a ring bearing a pagan image. Theodosius had respected his beliefs.

Despite the forced calm of his expression, Magnus’s thoughts railed
, You threaten this woman now, Honorius, because she frightens you, because she is different. You strut and bluster, but you are utterly without courage.

• • •

Gigi needed to get a grip, and figure out once and for all what was happening.

She watched as Toga Guy smiled and waved her flute, her ring sparkling, then said something that sounded pleasant, even tender — but she was sure, by now, he was altogether insane. Okay, this had gone on long enough.

Her anger defeated all common sense. She pointed at him. “Give me back my stuff! I’m sure you think playing this mind game is fascinating, but — ”

Cries of outrage erupted from the crowd, stopping Gigi short. Scowling, the creep crossed his legs and quickly folded his tunic over his lap.

“
Meretrix!
” shouted Bug-eye, stepping forward and pressing his blade against her throat.

The metal felt icy cold, and Gigi froze in terror.

“
Constantius, desino!
”

Heart thumping, she recognized Magnus’s voice as Bug-eye withdrew his weapon.

Stepping in front of her, Magnus went down on one knee and said,
“Augustus Maximus, Imperator Honorius, clementia.
”

A memory flashed through Gigi’s mind. Honorius? She’d heard that name somewhere.

Toga Guy’s eyes blazed, but then he waved a dismissive hand and let loose a torrent of Latin.

What had he said? She looked to Magnus and saw the grim line of his mouth, then felt the guards’ rough hands on her bruised arms again. As she was yanked up and hauled away, she glanced back and shouted, “What are you doing to me? Where are you taking me? Stop!”

Struggling against her captors, Gigi was hustled through the courtyard and gardens to a vast brick building. Inside she saw dozens of emaciated women standing shoulder-to-shoulder along two long tables, chopping at bits of bloody flesh. Beyond them were countless other work stations, where women bent over their tasks. The room pulsed with the heat of ovens, open fires, and overworked bodies. Everyone was dressed in rags and wore crude metal collars, so tight the skin beneath was chafed raw, the open sores oozing, looking every bit as disgusting as the meat on the table.

Oh God, where am I?

Several of the younger women looked up, and Gigi sensed their pity, but the soldiers pulled her along, past barrels filled with dark water, and — something alive, roiling, writhing in the murky liquid.

Shuddering, she was forced to her knees before a stout woman with a big, wooden spoon.

One of the soldiers grumbled an order, then he and his comrade left. The woman placed her hands on her hips and considered Gigi, sizing her up with a cunning smile.

Gigi felt a rush of anger, but this time she held her tongue. No longer searching for hidden cameras, she assessed her surroundings, looking for any way to escape.

The woman touched the spoon to Gigi’s chest, then under her chin, lifting it, and looking straight into her eyes. She let fly a jumble of words.

“I don’t understand you,” Gigi said flatly.

The woman yelled back. The rest was a pain-filled blur as the spoon connected with Gigi’s skull, as someone yanked her hair and others pulled at her gown. Kicking, screaming, she fought back, but was quickly overwhelmed and stripped down to her underwear.

Stunned, she curled up on the floor.

“
Cave, cave
.” Someone hovered above her, clucking her tongue. Gigi protectively grasped her grandfather’s ring, still around her neck, and focused on a wrinkled face. The old woman eyed her keepsake with curiosity, but didn’t make any comment. She took Gigi’s arm and helped her up, then gave her a lump of scratchy cloth.

The fabric was coarse burlap, a dishrag gray. Gigi unfolded it. It was a shift, just like the rags everyone else wore. Trembling, she slipped it over her head and let it fall. It barely passed her knees. Now the woman gave her a length of rope, indicating she must tie it around her waist.

In disbelief, Gigi looked down at herself, then at the woman who’d given her the shift. “I, I look like a slave.” Saying the words redoubled her fear and she stared at the woman’s hideous collar
. No, not me!

The old woman nodded as if she understood. “
Slav
,” she said as Spoon Lady pointed toward the gross things thrashing about in the barrels.

It dawned on Gigi she was supposed to go over there. To do what?

She took a step backward. “I can’t.”

Spoon Lady plunged her arm into a barrel and pulled out a large, gray, nasty eel.

Gigi realized nothing mattered now, nothing, except finding a way out of this nightmare.

• • •

After Gigiperrin had been taken away, Magnus spent most of the day at the baths, although without any thought of pleasure or relaxation. On the contrary, it was demanded that all courtiers now keep to a strict protocol when it came to grooming. Honorius had decreed they must stay immaculate, to the point of having thrice weekly sessions to remove all body hair. In the past, Magnus had looked forward to luxuriating in the baths, but no longer. The only saving grace now was the excellent wine, which he drank to excess as the slaves plucked and shaved him.

He willed his thoughts away from the moment, his mind returning, as it had over and over that day, to Gigiperrin. He needed to help her, but how? The palace kitchens would keep her away from the emperor’s immediate attention, but Magnus knew it was only a matter of time before Honorius was reminded of her, and she would be further abused. He closed his eyes and bunched his fists, silently imploring the gods to grace him with a solution, some way to free her.

“Senator, please hold still.”

Blazing pain shot through Magnus’s groin and his eyes flew open.
By Jupiter’s cock!

“
Dominus
,” the man stood back and bowed from the waist, “forgive my poor skills.”

“Steady your hand, man. A less charitable client would have had you crucified for such rough treatment,” Magnus grunted as the depilatory slave nervously resumed his plucking.

Another slave entered the room with a flask of red wine, and Magnus motioned him over. He tasted it, appreciating its dusky, mellow richness, then downed the cup, then another, his thoughts growing sour, despite the fine wine. He knew the Visigoths were to blame for Honorius’s damnable obsession with hair; each time the emperor met with their envoys, he was filled with revulsion at their full beards and shaggy locks. Two meetings had occurred in the past several years, each resulting in a new round of asinine imperial demands: the first being the requirement of hairless limbs, bare chests, and armpits; the second, the pubes. And although Honorius had not insisted anyone display actual proof of this final travesty, Magnus knew the slaves sent weekly reports on his courtiers, and woe to him who did not submit.

Despite his bizarre obsession, Honorius was not completely blind to the necessities of state, realizing he could not insist on imposing his hair fetish in two quarters. His
palatini
guards and his two most talented barbarian advisors, General Stilicho and Namatianus, were given leave to retain their body hair.

Magnus rolled his eyes as the slave dusted him with the final touch, an expensive powder made with cassia, horn of rhino, and myrrh, this last added not only for its scent, but to curb the interminable itch. He stood, downed the final drops of wine, then flipped the man some coin.
There. Done. Damn Honorius to Hades!
His skin was already prickling as he dressed and headed back to the palace.

When he arrived, the throne room was less crowded than usual, and he cursed under his breath. He much preferred larger crowds, for he was less likely to draw Honorius’s attention. The emperor pranced about and gossiped with his favorite courtiers, doting on every syllable of rich praise they offered. More people entered, and finally the room began to fill, until, at long last, Honorius deigned to sit on his throne.

The emperor held up his hand and the crowd grew silent. Magnus heard someone clear his throat in a bid for attention, but Honorius waved him off and called out, “Slave, where is our Rome?”

A servant hurried forward with a fat, brown hen, setting it before Honorius’s feet.

“Ah, our baby,” the emperor clucked his tongue as he fed the bird bits of apple. “Dearest Rome, such beauty, you must stay close and help us through this tedious business.”

The man cleared his throat again, and the crowd shifted just enough for Magnus to see it was Stilicho.