Authors: Morgan O'Neill
“Ah,” the queen said. “I understand. It is a wonderful gesture.” She smiled. “Forgive me again, but I have another question. How can it be you and Magnus do not have children of your own?”
Gigi looked up and shrugged. “I don’t know. It just never happened. Maybe I’ve been too busy.”
“When has ‘too busy’ ever stopped a babe?” Placidia chuckled, then took Gigi’s hand in hers and watched her daughter prance about. “I am sure you will be blessed, one day. I pray Athaulf and I are not yet done, and that we will have more beautiful sons. Not to replace our Theo, of course, but others.”
Gigi tried to mask her knowledge and smiled at her friend. “I hope so, I truly hope so.”
Placidia sighed. “Death is a harsh, implacable master, but I take some comfort in knowing my son is with God, and with my parents. My mother was an angel on Earth, and now she is one truly, looking over my dear boy. She died when I was very young.”
Gigi listened to Placidia’s recollections, glad that she was opening up, and realized no matter how hard she and Magnus had tried to save Theo, it wasn’t meant to be. There was no way to completely shelter anyone from the vagaries of life.
“I am glad you have such sweet memories of your mother, Placidia. You were so little when she passed on,” Gigi said. “It wasn’t until recently I realized how much I’d taken for granted having my mother as close as a
phone
, er … a call … er … a letter.”
“When I was a child I used to pen letters to my mother all the time,” Placidia said, nodding. “I just knew she was looking over my shoulder, reading every word.”
“Children find ways to heal, don’t they?”
“They do. But then, one day Serena found my letters and burned them all,” Placidia added bitterly.
Startled, Gigi recalled Serena, the wife of the late General Stilicho. “I remember her from the palace. She was very pretty.”
“Yes, her painted face was beautiful, yet hard, a mask of icy intent. She was my cousin, did you know? I had to be present at her execution by order of the Roman Senate. It was a day I shall never forget. Serena was cruel, yet I wish I had been able to commute her sentence. Alas, I could not. In the end, she was a victim of her own evil machinations.”
“I had no idea she was like that. Why did she burn your letters?”
“To be cruel,” Placidia said flatly. “But … I’ve forgotten myself. This is a story you will enjoy, because it involves Magnus. The first time I remember meeting him was right after Serena put my little packet of letters into the fire. We lived in Constantinople at the time, and I was very young. Magnus was called simply Quintus Pontius Flavus then, and was just a young, fresh face in my father’s court, but he seemed quite grown up to me.” Smiling, Placidia turned toward Gigi, tears glistening in her eyes. “I actually ran right into him, but after some grumbling he listened as I poured out my broken heart, and I shall never forget what he said.”
Gigi waited, but Placidia had grown quiet, reflective. She patiently sat a moment longer, then her curiosity got the best of her. “Tell me, please! What did he say?”
For the first time since she and Magnus had arrived, Gigi heard Placidia laugh.
“I’m sorry, I was just remembering,” the queen said. “Magnus pretended to scold me, saying, ‘Stop crying, little one! Serena loves to make you cry. You shouldn’t give her such pleasure. Of course your mother sees your letters! Don’t you know when you burn a letter the smoke takes it straight to the afterlife? Your mother can hold them for herself now, and read them as often as she likes.’” Placidia smiled. “Since then I have always cared for Magnus, and I have always burned my letters to my mother, and now to Theo, and so I have taught Marga. And we never fail to place a kiss on them first.”
A mist of tears clouded Gigi’s vision as she thought about Placidia’s story, amazed to realize she could love Magnus even more than she already did.
• • •
Magnus spent a long afternoon with King Athaulf and his advisors, going over security in general, and Athaulf’s in particular. The king had been amused by Magnus’s insistence that he have bodyguards accompany him at all times, even in his private chambers.
“I am not a coward like Honorius, pissing my bed while hiding behind my axe bearers,” Athaulf said with a laugh. “Besides, my people are loyal unto death. No king or ruler is ever completely safe, but I am safe enough.”
And that overconfidence,
Magnus reminded himself,
is the first step on the road to destruction.
Frustrated, Magnus then decided to turn the argument on its head. “Might I remind you of what you did to General Sarus? You acted because you knew Sarus shrugged off bodyguards in his own residence — ”
Athaulf waved his hand in dismissal. “That was four years ago, and my enemies have made peace with me, or called a truce. Even Sarus’s kin have relented in their calls for retribution, Sergeric included.”
Magnus knew this was true to a point, but trusting Sergeric was akin to trusting Honorius. Despite what Athaulf believed, Sergeric still nursed a great hatred over the killing of his brother. If events were allowed to play out, Magnus knew Sergeric would seize the Visigoth kingship after Athaulf’s death and kill the royal children. The news that Sergeric had recently left court for Gaul on personal business made Magnus no less wary, and he was determined to make the necessary changes to Athaulf’s security.
The meeting finally came to an end, the question of security still at a standoff. Heading through town to the small but luxurious villa Placidia had given them, Magnus felt more than ready for “lunch and some down time,” as Gigi would put it, an opportunity to spend some quiet moments with his wife. The afternoon was beautiful, and he was determined to put his worries aside. It seemed as though neither of them had known a carefree moment since Gigi had been given the ring at the wrap party.
Nodding to passersby, he thought about what his life had been like in the future, in Gigi’s time. It was an amazing place, a place of peace for most people, but it was also an alarmingly soft place, which led to an astonishing level of naiveté. When, exactly, had almost everyone in her culture decided to jettison the most basic skills needed to survive?
Nevertheless,
he thought,
I wouldn’t mind making that other world, Gigi’s world, my own once again.
He glanced at his garnet ring and smiled.
Victoria, grant it!
The twenty-first century would be so much safer for them, and for the children.
He reached their villa, unlocked the front door, and went inside, but no one was about, not even their steward. Gigi seemed to be gone, too. Perhaps she was shopping. He went to their bedroom and splashed some water on his face to freshen up, then thought about the open-air pool in their atrium at the back of the house. He decided to take a dip.
Magnus pulled off his tunic and sandals and tossed them on the floor, then headed for the atrium. Parting the curtains, Magnus stopped short, mouth ajar.
Naked and wet, her body dappled by sunlight, Gigi lay on pillows on the far side of the pool, her iPod softly playing music unknown to him, the singer crooning a love song.
He watched as Gigi pretended to play her flute along with the tune, her beautiful breasts glistening in the sunshine.
Magnus grinned, as a powerful urge pulsed in his groin.
She saw him and smiled. “Welcome home,” she said in English, stretching languidly. “Michael Bublé. Isn’t he amazing?”
“I think
you
are amazing, my sweet.”
She giggled. “I gave everyone the day off. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I just had to sunbathe, even if Placidia rakes me over the coals for ruining my complexion. Would you like some lunch?” She gestured toward a tray on a nearby table.
“Not just yet,” he said. “I was looking for the matron of the house.”
“Mmm, that would be me,” Gigi answered, running a seductive finger over her wet skin. “I’m so glad you’re already naked. You’ve been so busy, I thought I’d have to coax you out of your tunic.”
Keeping his gaze on her, Magnus went down the steps into the pool, enjoying the gently cooling sensations as the water level crept up his body. He ducked under and pushed off, resurfacing next to his wife.
He leaned out of the pool and gently kissed her smile. “Would you like to come in for a swim?”
She kissed him back, mouth open, her tongue exploring his lips, and then lightly probing for his tongue. “No,” she said between kisses. “I’d rather we swam afterward. I need to have you on top of me, Magnus. I don’t want to drift. I want to feel your weight.”
Her words, so simply expressed, would have brought him to his knees had he not been holding on to the side of the pool. He smiled, knowing he’d be on his knees soon enough.
He rose out of the water, dripping wet, and sat beside her. Her green eyes dazzled in the sunshine, her gaze filled with love for him alone.
He traced a finger across her cheek, down her neck, and then circled her breast.
So beautiful
. He rubbed a thumb over her nipple. She moaned in pleasure.
Gigi’s arm encircled him and she pulled him down, pressing her hips against his and spreading her legs. “I want you inside me,” she whispered.
Magnus rose over her, electrified by her desire, but determined to take it slower than her insistence implied. He wanted to draw out the moment, drive her mad with longing, until they could climax together.
Magnus entered her hard, but kept the rhythm slow. Despite the soft warmth that enveloped him, despite her long legs wrapped around him, he slowed his pace even more, fighting the urge to come. He kissed her neck, lingering in the soft curve where it met her shoulder. Then, rising slightly, he cupped her breast with one hand, and took in the look of longing in her eyes.
“I love you, Gigiperrin,” he said, pronouncing her name as he did years ago, when first they met, running it all together in what she called his “funny way.”
“I’ll always remember that day,” she murmured, smiling.
“As will I,” he whispered back. “I saw you appear from the magical mist, and that moment was the true start of my life.”
She took his head in her hands and pulled his mouth to hers. The sensations, the wet heat, the flowery scent of her skin. Desire mounted within him, insatiable, demanding release. Magnus drove harder, pleased to see her head go back, mouth open, eyes closed.
He loved doing that to her, loved seeing her natural restraint fall away. He felt her surge coming, like a beast, unstoppable, and drove against it, harder still.
Gigi’s body arched beneath him, and she groaned as her passions released on him, pulsing, grabbing. His answering climax tore through him, mind and body, to the very depths of his soul.
When the thunder of his heart slowed in afterglow, when his breathing grew more relaxed, he heard her whisper, “I love you.”
He kissed her and said in Latin, “
Benigno numine
… by the favor of the heavens, I am yours to love. I am yours forever.”
Lying beside her, holding her close, Magnus watched Gigi fall asleep. As the afternoon wore on, he wished he could share her tranquility. Despite the gifts of this day, despite the soft melodies still playing on the iPod, his thoughts returned to Athaulf. He tried to push aside his troubles, but … would he be able to save his friend?
His mind was in turmoil. Closing his eyes, he poured over all the possibilities that lay between hope and danger.
• • •
The next day, the rains returned, and Gigi was delighted by Placidia’s invitation to come to the castle and pass the time. The queen had requested she bring her flute, and now Gigi played as many happy tunes as she could remember. She was in the midst of the highly appropriate “Singing in the Rain” when noise broke into her reveries. Verica and Berga tapped on the door and entered with a bow.
“We are sorry to be so late,” Verica said.
“Take your ease,” Placidia replied. “We have all afternoon. There is no hurry.”
Gigi joined the ladies for some sewing. It seemed like the old days, if one could forget the lingering sorrow about Theo. Nevertheless, Gigi felt a deep joy at sitting with Placidia, Verica, and Berga, and chatting about lighthearted things, as they had so often done in the past. Verica told funny stories about their wanderings before coming to Narbonne, and described the pageantry of Placida and Athaulf’s wedding. She told anecdotes about the children, even venturing to describe the beauty and sweet nature of little Theo. This made Placidia smile in a way she hadn’t since his death, and Gigi was glad for Verica’s kind words.
Gigi couldn’t help glancing again and again at Berga. How she had changed! Nearly ten, the girl had grown slim and tall, her face held in a lovely pout, a study in concentration as she embroidered beside her mother. Gigi hid her smile, remembering Berga as a little five-year-old imp, her hair a blond rat’s nest of curls as she scampered about the Visigoth camp and continually caused trouble.
Now the curls had been somewhat tamed and Berga’s hair was long and well-brushed, falling just past her shoulder blades.
“You are already a wonder with a needle, Berga,” Gigi said, and heard a faint, “Thank you” in reply.
“However — forgive me for saying it — your needlecraft has not much improved.” Verica chuckled as she inspected Gigi’s handiwork. Berga glanced up and grinned.
Gigi was attempting to stitch a simple border of daisies on a little shift for Marga. “I know. It looks like a cat used my work to sharpen her claws.”
Berga’s proper demeanor couldn’t stand it any longer, and she burst into giggles, collapsing against her mother.
Gigi was delighted to see the girl hadn’t completely left her childhood behind, and, smiling warmly at mother and daughter, she gave up and put her work down. “I’m afraid I still haven’t acquired many practical skills.”
“We would not know you, otherwise,” Verica replied, patting Gigi’s hand. She turned to her daughter and examined her embroidery ring. “You’ve done a wonderful job. You may play with Marga, sweet child.”
Still grinning, Berga bobbed a curtsey, kissed Placidia on the cheek, and skipped to Marga, her curls merrily bouncing on her back.