Return to Me (11 page)

Screaming, Honorius dropped to the floor like a stone.

Horrified, Africanus stood stock-still, and then slowly removed his sword from its sheath, ready to fall upon it should his emperor die.

• • •

Honorius could not breathe, could not think or feel anything but intense pain. He lay on the floor, his muscles drained, lax and immobile; his thoughts the opposite, a riotous scramble. He had no idea who he was, no idea how to stop the agonizing jolts surging through his body.

Pain, endless pain, eternal pain — !

Suddenly, a thought crystallized, one he seized upon and repeated in his mind, a desperate chant, until he could breathe again, until the agony diminished and he remembered his name.

Live and seek vengeance.

He rolled onto his side, getting his bearings, and then realized he had pissed himself. Fury replaced his pain and his mind came into sharp focus.

Live and seek vengeance. Live and seek vengeance. Live and seek vengeance.

• • •

Honorius surveyed the great hall, filled to bursting with his entire court. The gathering was by royal command, but he knew everyone had come willingly, to witness the punishment of those who had harmed their emperor.

Bound and gagged, Africanus and his men knelt before the throne. Rumors were flying, hideous gossip about the method of execution. Crucifixion. Burning at the stake. Flaying them alive.

Shifting, restless, Honorius still felt pain and weakness in his hand, which had suffered a burn from the weapon. His physicians had warned him not to remove the honey-soaked bandage, but he had ignored them, taking a peek that morning. He was relieved to find his skin healing well and swiftly.

The bandage had been replaced; no harm done. He stole another glance at Africanus and smiled. The chant stole into his thoughts once more, as it had many times since he’d been wounded:
Live and seek vengeance.

“Ah, what to do?” With his good hand, Honorius stroked his favorite chicken, his dearest Rome. “Would you have me kill these soldiers now, my precious one? Or shall we spare you the fuss and bother, and set them free?”

He saw several of the men’s eyes widen at his remark. Ah, how he relished their surprise, mingled as it was with a desperate hope, the desire to live. It was almost poetic, a beautiful moment! Africanus, however, held himself still and straight of spine, as would any worthy warrior. Clearly, he was resolved to his fate, a noble man. Honorius had learned Africanus was ready to fall on his sword for the pain he’d wrought, a willing sacrifice to his emperor.

Honorius felt a sudden misty-eyed longing to hug him, but instead, he gently handed off Rome to a slave.

“We have considered this at length, with much thought as to the true intentions of these men,” Honorius proclaimed. “We are exceedingly grateful for the gifts brought to us by Titus Africanus and his legionnaires, and we hereby grant full pardons to them all.”

Gasps erupted from the crowd, followed by utter silence. Confident, Honorius waited but a heartbeat before he heard a smattering of applause, which grew louder with each passing moment. He watched with interest as several of the soldiers grew tearful.
Ah, look at Africanus! He smiles!
he thought, overjoyed.

Honorius knew this act of clemency would be hailed throughout his realm. It would give his army yet another reason to feel loyalty toward him, for he was not only God’s Chosen One and their Great Emperor, but he had shown mercy to their own.

He raised his hand and the crowd grew quiet. “To further show our gratitude, we have decided to grant these brave men rewards of coin and land: a gold
aureus
for each, along with rich farmland of his choosing, in thanks for noble service. And their commander, the centurion Titus Africanus, is hereby given a great honor; he is now a
legatus
of Rome, and, as such, he is to resume his work with General Constantius to seek out and vanquish our foes, the criminals Quintus Magnus and Gigiperrin, and our greatest enemy, Athaulf the Uncouth.”

Africanus looked stunned as Honorius motioned toward several of his
Germani
guards. “Raise them up and unbind them. They are free.”

“Honorius the Merciful,” he whispered to himself. He liked the sound of that, but he also knew this show of compassion would only go so far.

Seek vengeance.
The chant in his mind had changed slightly, and he grinned at the truth in this, for he felt alive and whole, quite well, in fact.

He visualized his enemies. Athaulf. Magnus. Gigiperrin. Even his own sister, Placidia.

Vengeance would be his. But first he must find them. Where were they at this very moment? The answer might be revealed if he could determine what they had been doing in Ravenna two months ago. Were they meeting with fellow usurpers, a previously unknown group of enemies hidden here, perhaps under his very nose?

Honorius turned to the Master of Offices, Rutilius Namatianus. “Go to the jailer of our royal dungeon. See if there is anyone left from our kitchens who served with Gigiperrin. If so, bring them to our private study, but only after we have eaten our evening meal.”

“Your will be done,
Serenissimus
.”

Honorius felt his stomach growl. He left the throne room without a backward glance, seeking sustenance, for he would need much energy and stamina for the evening ahead.

• • •

To his dismay, Honorius learned only one kitchen slave remained alive from the time of Gigiperrin’s captivity, only one. Would the slave remember anything of value? He sighed and wondered if she would still have her wits about her after four years in his dungeon.

Waiting for her arrival, he sat at his desk, carefully cradling the strange weapon in his hand. He now called it the “lightning bolt.” Earlier in the day, he had commanded that criminals be brought in. With studied purpose, he applied it to their flesh, testing its power on their body parts. Africanus had warned him he should be careful to touch the victims with the weapon — and nothing else. If he were holding them as the crazed heat poured into their bodies, he would be jolted, too.

Honorius was delighted with the knowledge gained by his experiments and soon felt confident in his ability to use the weapon effectively. He glanced at the three people who stood before him: the brilliant inventor, mathematician, and astrologer, Theophanes, a man who had studied with Hypatia of Alexandria at the Great Library; the chief court magician Anthemius; and the old witch Dipsas.

Theophanes had wisely, though unnecessarily, warned Honorius of the need for secrecy regarding all of the strange objects brought to Ravenna by Africanus, for it was clear they had come from a land far advanced in the arts of science and weaponry. Such power could greatly benefit the Western Roman Empire; however, it could also prove its bane should spies uncover the true nature of what they had found. Both he and Anthemius were convinced they could learn more, if given the time for a complete study.

Honorius had already decided to grant their requests. Unlocking the secrets of the objects could allow him to build weapons of great power. Such glory! And if he succeeded, he would be remembered for all time, alongside Alexander of Greece, Gaius Julius Caesar, and Hannibal Barca.

Honorius the Great, Military Genius! The emperor who used lightning bolts to vanquish the barbarian hordes and reconquer the world!

But first, there were so many unanswered questions.

“Dipsas,” Honorius asked, “what did you mean when you said Magnus’s uniform comes from a place where soldiers are not soldiers?”

“I have pondered my vision, O Great One, and I believe I understand more of this strange land. The soldiers are not real. They are players in a great theater, actors — ”

“Actors?” Honorius scoffed. “They are no better than whores! Even we cannot believe that wretch Quintus Magnus would stoop so low as to consort with such scum!”

“My lord, they are not considered scum in that place. Truth be told, they are worshipped like gods.”

Honorius laughed and decided she had to be telling the truth; to make up such a ridiculous tale would be the height of stupidity, given the seriousness of his quest. He was about to question her further, when he heard, “A thousand pardons, O Serene Highness … ”

He turned and saw in a small mob of people standing by the doorway: Rutilius Namatianus, accompanied by the royal dungeon master, several guards, and a bedraggled woman in chains.

“Send in the slave, but the rest of you … you are dismissed,” Honorius ordered.

When the woman hesitated, Honorius crooked his finger at her. “Come in. Do not be afraid,” he said affably. “We would ask you but a few questions, and, if you tell us the truth, we will be charitable and free you from your confinement.”

Her gaze still fearful, the woman shuffled forward.

“Come now,” Honorius said, “dear lady. Tell us, what is your name?”

She glanced at his advisors, then at Dipsas. The witch smiled at her.

“I am Silvia,” the slave said.

“Good, good.” Honorius smiled. “Now, Silvia, we know it has been a long while, but think well on this. What can you tell us of Gigiperrin and Quintus Magnus? Where did they go four years ago? Do you know where they hid? We recall another kitchen slave disappeared that night as well. Did she accompany them? Where did they go?”

Silvia looked confused. “I don’t know, I don’t know. Please, my lord! I’ve told the jailers over and over, I told them I never knew what happened to Gigi or Magnus or Vana. Please, you must believe me!”

She started sobbing. “Please,
Venerabilis
, it was late at night. My shift was over and I slept through it all. I know nothing, or I would gladly tell you!”

Honorius watched her agony. She was telling the truth. Torturing her would reveal nothing. And, besides, he had grown tired. He thought of beautiful Baha waiting for him in bed, and decided he was done here.

“We believe you,” he said. “We shall set you free.”

Silvia’s blubbering continued. She hadn’t heard him, hadn’t understood. He was growing bored with this.

His anger flared. “Silvia!”

She gulped and stared at him.

Honorius moderated his tone. “We shall set you free,” he repeated.

Chains rattling, she slowly got down on her knees and kissed his hem. “
Dominus
, thank you.”

Honorius raised her up, then let go and touched the lightning bolt to her chest. The slave’s puzzled expression dissolved into abject shock as he unleashed the jolt, which went straight to her heart.

His advisors fell back, stunned, as Silvia dropped to the floor, dead.

Honorius looked at the old witch, Dipsas, who had not moved a muscle.

She gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Indeed,” she said as she clapped her hands in delight. “Honorius the Merciful.”

Barcelona, Spain

The end of winter felt more like spring, and Gigi reveled in the wonderful weather. Outside, the air had a warm, velvety quality, the birds sang endlessly, and the skies were a brilliant blue, day after day. And thankfully, each pleasant moment seemed to lift Placidia’s spirits a little bit more. Recently, she’d exchanged some of her heaviest mourning gowns for lighter, happier colors, and her gorgeous pearl necklace was free of its dark, gauzy shroud. But she was still very quiet and withdrawn, so Gigi was pleased when she agreed to spend the afternoon with her.

The castle’s
solarium
was bright and sunny, indoors and yet not. Attached to the main building, an open-air colonnade surrounded them, but they were protected from the sun’s rays by an expansive roof. Gigi would have liked to sunbathe in such wonderful weather, but ivory complexions were prized here, and catching a few rays in the buff certainly was not.

Whether queen or commoner, there was always sewing to be done, and the two friends worked side by side, enjoying each other’s company. Placidia sat quietly beside Gigi, the queen’s little three-year-old, Marga, between them, happily swinging her feet. Gigi found herself studying Marga. She couldn’t get over how much the little towheaded girl looked like Athaulf’s mother, Randegund.

The eyes especially.
Gigi wanted to mention this to Placidia, but she bit her tongue, reluctant to bring up Placidia’s evil mother-in-law. Besides, Marga’s gaze shone with innocence, her blue eyes pretty and bright, not the least bit scary, like Randegund’s had been.

As to the whereabouts of Randegund, Gigi guessed the truth, but she knew enough not to ask Placidia about that, either.

“I wrote to Theo, Mama,” Marga piped.

“You are a good big sister,” Placidia replied. “What did you tell him?”

“About Gigi.”

“About me?” Gigi asked.

Marga leaned against her and smiled, her eyes twinkling. “I like your music.”

“Thank you,” Gigi replied as the child got up and started dancing around the room, her little, dimpled arms upraised. She glanced at Placidia, worried how she felt about Theo’s mention. The queen seemed to be taking it in stride.

“We write letters to him,” Placidia explained, her head still bent over her work. “Actually, for now, Marga draws pictures.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Gigi said, not knowing what else to say.

“Magnus taught me that.”

Startled, Gigi turned and looked at the queen. “He taught you how to write letters?”

“No, no,” Placidia replied with a hint of amusement. “I have not thought to ask you before, but family weighs heavily on my heart, lately. Tell me, if you don’t mind, about your family?”

Gigi felt a stab of pain in her chest. “My parents are gone,” she murmured, wondering how permanent that statement might become. She glanced at her gold wedding band, once her mother’s, now hers, a memento to cherish and protect.

“Gigi, forgive me,” Placidia said, “but I have noticed that … and wondered about your new ring, and the fact Magnus now wears the garnet ring.”

“This ring was my mother’s,” Gigi said, holding it out for Placidia’s inspection. “I wear it now in memory of her.”