Nobilissima (34 page)

I stood and walked to the edge of the patio, which was bordered on one side with a rose garden. The fragrance was sweet and strong and I reached out to stroke the petals on a peach-colored rose, feeling their velvety softness.

“He was the one that created all the trouble for Ataulf,” insisted Sylvia, her voice shrill with accusation.

“Yes,” I said. “He was our enemy. And in that case, how could he believe that I’d want to marry him? He must know that my brother is forcing the issue.”

“He doesn’t need to believe it,” said Aurelia. “He will choose to believe that you were infatuated with Ataulf and have now come to your senses and realized the importance of your position. Or that is what he will tell his friends. His own intentions are transparent enough. If it is to be a marriage of convenience, he can hardly demand your love.”

I plucked petals from the bloom and watched them float gently to the ground.

“I know how hard it sounds,” said Aurelia, “but if you stay in Ravenna, you can use your position to do great good for the Empire and for the Goths. And you have the experience of having lived outside of Ravenna and Rome. Most of the Emperor’s advisors have no idea what is happening out there in Gallia and Hispania. Marcus tries to tell them, but they don’t want to hear it.”

“Things are far more precarious that anyone understands and a firmer hand is needed than Honorius can provide,” I agreed, and went back to sit with Aurelia. “When I was married to Ataulf, it was easy to believe in a new life and I ignored my feelings of duty to my country. Now my chance of happiness is over and I think it’s my destiny to stay here and do what my father knew I was capable of. It isn’t perhaps the life I would have chosen, but it’s right.”

“Oh Placidia, you deserve better,” said Sylvia, kneeling down in front of me and stroking my hand.

“No, I don’t. I was born into the imperial family and have no right to put my own desires first. When I was selfish and thinking only of myself, I was happy. But Ataulf and my baby were taken from me, as Serena had predicted.”

I fought to fight off the melancholy that suddenly enveloped me like cold, dank fog.

“Put Serena out of your mind.” Aurelia’s voice was firm. “Her words were the ravings of a lunatic.”

“She cursed me and told me I would never find happiness and that all who love me will die or come to hate me.”

“She was stark raving mad,” said Sylvia. “Aurelia is right. You should never think of her again.”

I looked at my friends, then straightened my shoulders and stood. “When will Constantius next be in Ravenna, I wonder?”

“I don’t know, but I can find out,” said Aurelia. “I’ll send a message to Marcus.”

“Well, we should find a way to fill the time,” I said. “Let’s go visit Tertius. He probably has some information on Constantius among all his papers and I can learn more about this potential husband of mine.”

Tertius was where he always was, at his desk, behind a teetering pile of ancient scrolls that seemed fated to fall. He stood and wiped his hands on his tunic as we entered. “Placidia, ladies, how lovely to see you. What can I do for you?”

I hesitated and Aurelia spoke. “We were interested in seeing any documents or information about Magister Constantius.”

Tertius cocked his head, his eyes black and twinkling like a bird’s. “I wouldn’t have thought you were interested in military matters,” he said, “but come with me and I’ll show you what I have.” He wandered off and we followed behind.

“Ah,” he said. “This is new. Just came in.”

He picked up a gold medallion, looked at it and placed it with the rest of his huge collection, neatly arranged on narrow wooden shelves along one wall. “I’ve also acquired some fascinating examples from the early Augustan era,” he said, heading towards an alcove on the right of the room.

“Constantius?” I reminded him.

“Oh yes, Constantius. Let me see. Here is one, commemorating his latest victories in northern Gallia. The quality is excellent as Honorius himself commissioned it.”

He gave it to me. A portrait of Constantius was in relief on one side, while the other held inscriptions extolling his courage and virtue. The face of Constantius was harsh and severe. I knew the engravers were often kind in their interpretations, but even so, they rarely hid obvious flaws, taking pride in their ability to produce good likenesses.

“So, why the interest in this particular General?” asked Tertius, fixing his birdlike gaze on us.

“I am considering marrying him,” I replied.

“I see.” Tertius took the medallion from me, wiped it carefully with the hem of his sleeve and placed it back on the shelf. “That seems like a most admirable plan,” he said.

“’Admirable,’” I repeated. “That is not the word I would have expected to hear you say.”

Tertius nodded. “It would be good for the Empire. Constantius has gained a huge amount of support amongst the people and the army. His successes in Gallia are well known and his reputation is unmatched in the West. Honorius trusts him, which means that he in a position to influence decisions – and you would be in a position to influence him.”

We stared in silence at him. “I don’t know that I want your whole-hearted approval,” I said finally. “I think I was hoping for some outrage or at least an element of doubt that would help me back out of my decision.”

He smiled and shrugged. “You didn’t ask for my opinion, but I gave it freely anyway because I think it’s a good idea.”

I picked up the medallion again and stared at the image, trying to recall the details of my meeting with Constantius in Nizza. I remembered only his supercilious attitude, his lack of respect for his Goth peers and for Ataulf. And the embarrassing and awkward proposal he had made to me, and his fury when I refused.

“Is there anything else you would like to know?” asked Tertius, waving a hand at a set of shelves on the other side of the room. “Appointments, titles, lands granted, honors, triumphs, debts. I have it all.”

The machinery of the State administration was well oiled and churned out masses of such information, keeping an army of scribes and notaries happily employed.

I sighed. “We have plenty of time. We may as well learn what we can.”

I crossed the room to the shelves and pulled down a document underneath a label showing the name of Flavius Constantius. Opening it, I read out a list of engagements undertaken by Constantius, including dates, numbers of infantry, numbers of cavalry, horses, lists of camp equipment and lines of figures showing expenditure on food, supplies and horse feed. It was dull reading.

For several hours, we looked through the documents and learned about Constantius’ military prowess. There were testimonials from some of his men, praising his bravery and charismatic leadership. The list of his victories against the Burgundians, Sueves, Vandals and Goths throughout Gallia and the northern territories was prodigious.

Finally, we took leave of Tertius, and Aurelia went to her rooms to write a note to Marcus. I decided I wanted to pray for guidance so Sylvia went with me and we talked about Constantius while we walked to the chapel. It had been built when Honorius moved the court to Ravenna eight years earlier, added on to a wing of the palace and completed in haste. Its small size and simplicity pleased me. I liked the brick barreled ceiling and white plaster walls, broken only by three windows of clear glass. The floor was made of slabs of creamy limestone.

When we arrived, Sylvia stopped dead at the entryway. “Well, look at this!” she said, moving aside to let me see. The altar was covered with a magnificent red cloth, embroidered with gold and hung with tassels that each held a single glowing ruby. The candlesticks had been meticulously cleaned to a sparkling gold that reflected the light, and the simple cup and plate that held the sacraments after they were blessed had been replaced with a heavy gold platter and goblet, also inset with jewels.

“I suspect that Alanus has been busy in here,” I commented, kneeling on a new hassock, woven in gold and red. I wasn’t sure that I approved of the increasing tendency of the ecclesiastics to indulge in the same level of luxury as their civil counterparts. Every church was being redone with rich decorations, marble altars, and intricately carved pulpits. The bishops’ palaces were equally opulent and even the vestments of the ecclesiastics had become more sumptuous, their accoutrements more splendid. I decided to ask the Bishop of Ravenna his opinion of these developments when I next saw him.

Sylvia knelt down on a padded cushion, grumbling as she did it. We prayed silently for a while and when I opened my eyes, I saw that Sylvia was staring vacantly at the candles. She jumped when I spoke to her. “What were you thinking about?”

Sylvia got to her feet. “Well,” she hesitated. “I went to the market yesterday to buy fabric, and there were some people protesting about a temple being pulled down. A lot of folks are very superstitious, well, I am too, I suppose, and we don’t think it’s right to take apart a place of worship.”

“But Sylvia, it’s a place of worship for gods that we no longer have faith in,” I said.

Sylvia sighed and put her head on one side as she thought about it. “I feel better about the old temples when they get turned into churches,” she said. “At least then they are still congregated places.”

“Consecrated,” I corrected her.

“Well, anyway,” she continued, her voice rising as she warmed to her theme. “It’s wrong to take away what people have believed in for hundreds of years. Things felt more certain when you could pray to the deities your parents and grandparents had prayed to. This new faith is harder for me. The talk of hell scares me and it’s confusing too, all that stuff about redemption.”

A movement at the door stopped me and I turned to see Alanus entering the chapel. “Nobilissima, good day,” he said. “I am so pleased to see you here. I couldn’t help overhearing something of what was said and would be happy to offer my help in any way I can.”

I stood up, and brushed the creases from my gown. Sylvia had a panicked look on her face.

“Thank you, Alanus, but there is nothing that requires your assistance. Sylvia and I were merely having a philosophical discussion.”

Alanus frowned. “Really? I must have misheard.”

“Then you shouldn’t eavesdrop,” I said. “If you’ll excuse us, we must return to my rooms now.”

Maybe it was my imagination or maybe Alanus intended to block our exit by remaining in the doorway. I took Sylvia by the arm and walked towards him.

“It is my duty to counsel those who don’t understand the dangers of clinging to the pagan gods,” he said. “I’ve been in the city this very morning, talking with the officials about the protests. It’s the Church’s view that the protesters be punished for openly criticizing the loss of a pagan temple.”

Sylvia moved closer to me, stepping on the hem of my gown in her attempt to hide herself from Alanus.

“The Church?” I asked. “And exactly what does that mean? Is ‘the Church’ a specific person, or collection of people? Whose view are you referring to? God help us once we start acting on the word of a faceless institution.”

Alanus flushed and his eyes flickered from Sylvia to me and back. I pressed on. “Tell me, Alanus. Whose view are you expressing? The Pope’s? The Bishop’s? Your own? Or do you all believe in punishing the protesters? And what does that punishment constitute? Vagueness of terms, Alanus, often reflects vagueness of thought. And that, believe me, is dangerous in those who wield any power over others.”

Alanus’s face turned from pink to crimson. He stepped back, leaving the doorway open and I took the opportunity to walk past him, pulling Sylvia along.

“Good day, Alanus,” I called over my shoulder and strode away towards my rooms. When Sylvia and I were behind closed doors and the servants had been sent away, I made Sylvia sit and pulled up a stool opposite her.

“You have to listen to me. Pope Innocent is a good man but he has very strong views on religious deviance, as he calls it. The Bishop of Ravenna is far more moderate and I think it’s safe to say that the protesters will not be punished in any way. But now Alanus is here, things could change. He brings with him misconceptions and prejudices that won’t be easily eradicated.”

Sylvia nodded, biting her lip to hold back tears.

“You cannot associate with the protesters. And you can’t go to the temple on the Via Paulinus.”

Sylvia’s eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. “How did you know?”

“I’ve always known. But you have to stop. It’s dangerous for you and it puts me in a difficult position.”

I knew that there were several old boarded-up temples in Ravenna, as there were in Rome, where pagans gathered to hold services in secret. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said it was dangerous. In the past two weeks alone, there had been several killings and numerous beatings as mobs of Christians, mostly young men, set on pagans coming away from the illegal services. Even though the Bishop decried the violence, it seemed to be escalating.

Sylvia started to cry, tears dripping down her cheeks.

“You can keep the statuette of your Lar, but keep it in your linen chest and out of sight. Does that make you feel better?”

I had seen the small bronze statue of a female holding a bowl of fruit, a representation of one of Sylvia’s household gods. Sylvia had kept it with her throughout the siege and our travels with the Goths, even sleeping with it under her pillow, although it must have been uncomfortable.