Nobilissima

Chapter 1

A rat crouched on the chest of the dead child and stared at us in defiance. I poked at its scabrous gray body with the tip of my fan and watched it scuttle away. We’d seen many awful sights today, but the rat turned my stomach.

“How did a little boy end up here alone like this?” asked Aurelia, reaching out to touch the child’s cheek.

“His parents are out scavenging for food, or they’re dead,” I replied. The boy was probably six or seven years old, and he was lying face up in a dry water trough, his skinny legs slung over the edge. Ebony hair curled over his bloodless cheeks, and dark eyes stared unseeing at the smoke-filled sky. The rat had been chewing on his fingers and I saw white bone under the raw skin.
 

“I hope he didn’t suffer too much,” said Aurelia.
 

“You’re too gentle-hearted,” I said, softening the words with a quick hug. My friend’s face was pale and her blue eyes brimmed with tears. We turned away from the child and I thought of the other people we’d seen that day. Hungry and thirsty, they’d gathered at dusty water troughs with empty buckets in their hands. A few had turned to look curiously at our carriage as we rode by, but most seemed hypnotized by the silent fountains, and stared at the dry faucets in disbelief.

I guessed that the Goth king, Alaric, would turn the valves to allow small amounts of water into the city from time to time. His goal didn’t appear to be to kill the entire population, but to force Rome’s leaders into meeting his demands. At least, that’s what I hoped.

But, meanwhile, our citizens were dying. We’d seen many bodies on our ride through the streets of Rome. Left out under the broiling sun, the corpses were so bloated that they’d burst through the seams of their clothes. The death wagons collected the dead in the evenings, when it was cooler, and took them to a mass grave on the north side of the city. Each day, the death toll grew higher. 

“Let’s go back to the palace before anyone notices that we’ve gone,” Aurelia said. She turned towards the waiting carpentum, the spacious carriage in which we’d traveled to Rome so many months ago. My lictor stood next to the driver. Charged with my safety, he had one hand on the hilt of his sword and scanned the area for any sign of trouble.

Aurelia and I had walked the length of the Forum Romanum, along the white travertine pavements usually crowded with tradespeople, customers, clerks, money changers and senators, but now almost deserted. The tabernae were closed, their shutters pulled down and locked because there was no food or wine left to sell. The law courts were closed; the lawyers who had the money and means to get out of Rome had left long ago. The usual smells of roast meat, herbs, flowers and perfumed customers had been replaced with a sickly-sweet odor of decaying garbage, which rose in drifts against fluted marble columns and clogged the passages under the massive arch of Augustus. The public services had given up cleaning the city months ago.

We were making our way back to the carriage when we heard hoof beats at the far end of the Forum. Aurelia glanced around nervously, grasping my hand so hard that it hurt. Two horses, dark against the dazzle of white marble, cantered along the deserted thoroughfare. The clatter of their hooves was deafening in the unusual silence.

Seconds later, the horsemen pulled to a halt. Magister Militum Marcus Gaius Albinus slid from his horse and strode towards us. He was young, but wore the purple cloak that indicated his high military rank. His face was tanned and unlined, marked only by a faint white scar on his cheek.

“Nobilissima,” he said with a bow, careful as ever to follow protocol in front of others. He and I had been friends since I was a child, although he was older by some six years. I put my arms around him, knowing it would irritate him to be hugged in front of one of his soldiers. It was my way of retaliating for the lecture I knew we were about to hear.

“What in God’s name are you two doing out in the city?” he asked, pulling back out of my embrace.

“It’s not Aurelia’s fault. I asked her to come with me,” I said. “I wanted to see if things are as bad as people are saying.”

“Now you see that they are,” said Marcus. Behind him, the horses shifted their weight and their saddles creaked. “And that seems like a poor excuse for leaving the palace and putting yourself in danger.”

“We’re perfectly safe,”
 
I replied.

“Safe, Placidia?” Marcus pointed towards the grey battlements that flanked the Porta Tiburtina in the distance. “There are twenty thousand Goths camped outside the city walls and more are on their way. Believe me, no one is safe in Rome.”

“Unless Honorius agrees to Alaric’s terms.”

“That won’t happen, as we all know. He won’t change his mind now.”

Honorius was refusing to honor payments due to Alaric, King of the Visigoths, for his years of military service on behalf of the Empire. Alaric’s response to the Emperor’s broken promises was this long-standing siege of Rome.

“I’ll write to my brother,” I said. “I’ll reason with him, tell him what I’ve seen and how his people are suffering. I’m sure he’ll do what’s right when he understands the scope of the catastrophe.”

Marcus shook his head. “You and Senator Gardius have been writing letters to him for months, Placidia, and he takes no notice.”

I didn’t need reminding that my brother was ignoring us. He was tucked away safely in his palace in Ravenna, several hundred miles away, and was doing nothing to alleviate the suffering of Rome’s citizens. Dejected by thoughts of my brother’s cruel behavior, I sighed. “We’ll return to the palace now,” I said.
 
“Will we see you later?”

Marcus shook his head.
 
“No, there’s still much for me to do this evening, but I’ll look forward to the pleasure of your company whenever my duties allow. Meanwhile, let me escort you to your carriage.”

After handing us up into our seats, he spoke to the lictor and reprimanded him for bringing me into the city. “Do that again,” he muttered, “and I’ll run my sword through you, understand?”

The lictor nodded and Marcus strode back to his horse. I watched him go with mixed feelings. It was all very well for him to be
 
angry with me for being outside the palace, but he had no idea what it was like to be cooped up there, not knowing what was happening in the city below. Even the servants had more freedom than I did, although their visits to the markets had ceased now that there was no more fresh produce to be found. King Alaric’s men had recently seized the great seaport at Ostia and diverted all supplies to their own camp. No food, oil or wine had been delivered to Rome for weeks. The great warehouses on the banks of the river Tevere were rumored to be empty for the first time in centuries.

I sank back into the crimson cushions, blinking my eyes to clear them of the dust from the streets and the smoke from hundreds of campfires that burned in the Goth settlements. For months, the sky over Rome had been stained brown with acrid fumes, the sun dimmed, together with any hope that the city would survive the siege. My bodyguard leaned over to close the curtains that hung at the windows and the air inside quickly grew hot and stale. I looked up to see that Aurelia was crying quietly, tears running down her cheeks.
 

“It was the little boy,” she explained, rubbing her eyes. “I know that so many have died, but to see a child like that, in the flesh, it’s different.”

The carriage jolted up the winding road that led to the old palace of Severus on the Palatine Hill.
 
My retinue and I had taken up residence there when we’d first arrived in Rome a year ago, part of a contingent of courtiers and senators intent on arranging a settlement with the Goth king.

“You’re clenching your fists, Placidia,” remarked Aurelia, who seemed to be recovering some of her composure as the carriage neared the top of the hill. “Are you upset with Marcus for speaking to you the way he did?”

I shook my head. “No,” I smiled. “I can never be angry with Marcus for long.”

“Now what?” I heard the lictor mutter, as the carriage slowed almost to a stop. He cursed under his breath and looked out of the window. Loud shouts erupted from both sides of the road and Aurelia moved to my side and held my arm.

“What’s happening?” she asked. “Is that Cousin Serena’s name they are calling?”

“Keep going. Don’t stop!” the lictor yelled but the driver shouted back that the road was blocked. I leaned out of my window to see a mob of ragged citizens approaching with shovels, sticks and other makeshift weapons. A sudden hailstorm of stones exploded over the carriage and a pebble hit me hard on the cheek. At once, I felt blood springing from the wound and pressed my hand against it.

“God in Heaven!” The lictor flung the door open and jumped to the ground, yelling at the unruly crowd to back off. I pulled a long jeweled pin from my hair and grasped it tightly as though it were a dagger.

The men outside were shouting and, although most of the words were indecipherable, I heard the name of Serena chanted over and over again. The lictor raised his sword in warning and they stopped, muttering and jostling each other. Motioning to Aurelia to stay in her seat, I stepped out and confronted the crowd.

“Tell me why you are calling for Serena.”

Two men nearest the front looked at me and then at each other.

“You’re the Nobilissima Placidia,” said one of them. Immediately, they and everyone behind them knelt, foreheads touching the ground.

 
“Get up and answer my question,” I said, and the men cautiously raised themselves from the cobbles.

“We thought this carriage belonged to that witch Serena,” said one. His coarse tunic was torn and filthy, and he carried a rusty rake in his hand, but he appeared to be the leader.

“And why would you stone Serena’s carriage and call her a witch?” I asked.
 

“She’s evil, Nobilissima.”

“And she’s put a curse on Rome,” shouted someone in the crowd.
 

“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous,” I said. “You should leave now and go about your business. If you make further attacks on any member of the imperial family you’ll be punished.” I paused. “I’m sorry, but there’ll soon be an end to this.”

“It’ll only end when Serena is dead,” replied the man.

The lictor held out a hand to help me back into the coach and followed me, pulling the door firmly closed. To my relief, the mob moved a few feet to one side, clearing a path. At once, the driver yanked on the reins and the horses took off at speed, the coach swaying and creaking and the wheels roaring over the cobblestones.

“What did they mean about Serena?” I shouted to the guard over the din, when I had enough breath to speak again.

“I don’t know, Nobilissima,” he said.

I looked at Aurelia, who shook her head. “I’ve no idea what’s going on, but let me attend to that wound,” she said, removing a linen handkerchief from the silk purse on her wrist. She carefully dabbed at the cut, and murmured that it was bleeding more than she had realized.

“Rome is bleeding too,” I said, gently pushing her hand away.

Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke tired and dispirited, haunted by a bizarre nightmare of my cousin Serena carrying lifeless children through a vast, firelit camp of white tents.

The morning sun filtering through the shutters laid bands of light and shade across the silk coverlet. I traced them with my fingers, thinking again about the words of the peasants on the street. Why had they made those accusations against Serena? Why did they hate her so much?

The doors to my chamber burst open and Sylvia, my personal maid, rushed into the room. Her apron was hanging loose over her plain cream linen dress and her round face was flushed with excitement. She set a tray of food on the bed then sat down, almost tipping the tray over.