Authors: Morgan O'Neill
There was a prolonged silence between them, as each sought to control his emotions.
Finally, staring at the floor, Athaulf shook his head. “Do you suspect the
mimi
he brought with him is implicated? He has been entertaining everyone at court. For my part, I doubt he is a threat.”
“Don’t discount anyone. Everyone is suspect and I am having him watched as well.”
“As you will,” Athaulf said. “I know your heart is troubled, and I respect your instincts. If there is anything further you think needs doing to ensure my safety, please see to it, including keeping Sergeric and his little friend under constant surveillance. You have my blessing.”
• • •
The stars were bright, the air blessedly cool. Titus Africanus rode into Hispania on a little used pass north of Barcino, leading his men by stealth and darkness of night. When they reached the last hillcrest before the town, he raised his hand, halting his men. He walked his horse forward from the rest and looked out at the vista.
Africanus searched the coastline for twinkling lights, lanterns, or torches, but he could see nothing except the faint and meandering line of pearly waves, snaking the ink-black sea. Just inland, a bank of fog obscured his view, and he guessed Barcino lay there, swathed in mist and waiting.
He thought back to that afternoon, when he’d gotten word Sergeric and Eberwolf had already reached Barcino. He mulled Sergeric’s plans, recalling how the man wanted to take his time, renewing the bonds of friendship with his fellow Visigoths before he seized power.
Africanus doubted Sergeric could wait much longer, or pull off so seamless a transition to power, feeling the Visigoth dramatically underestimated not only the panic that would ensue at the death of Athaulf, but also the king’s personal popularity. Sergeric would find himself in the middle of a debacle, and it would be Africanus’s responsibility to step in and take control. He planned to do just that, he would infiltrate Barcino in disguise, his men following afterward, one at a time, until they were all in position, ready to strike.
He turned his thoughts to Magnus. He no longer had any illusions about what it would take to capture him. Either he’d have to seize the wife first, and thus force Magnus’s hand, or he’d have to kill him outright. Could he beat Magnus one on one? Magnus’s prowess was legendary, and he must assume it would come down to that.
He considered the view a moment longer and swore he caught the barest hint of briny air. Africanus took a deep, appreciative breath, vowing to bathe in the sea as soon as he could, or have his men wash his corpse in the waves if he could not.
He steeled himself against the latter. To question or worry about the outcome between himself and Magnus was useless. Africanus knew he’d have to win, or else he would be dead. There was no middle ground.
“Be warned, Magnus,” he spoke aloud, “I do not intend to die.”
The Castle, Barcelona, Spain
Sitting on a bench after the evening meal, Eberwolf nursed a cup of wine. The great hall stood empty but for servants cleaning up. The lack of guards surprised him, because he knew he’d been under surveillance since he’d arrived at court.
Someone will surely catch hell,
he thought,
or, mayhap, no one will ever find out his guards had grown lax.
He certainly would not bring it to their attention. His mood lifted at the thought of them off somewhere playing dice or drinking.
He looked down at his
mimi
costume, a necessary evil. After supper, he’d provided the entertainment for the royal court, as he had each evening since his arrival three days before.
Ah, when will it happen?
he wondered. He smiled to himself, knowing he must be patient and let events unfold as they would. After all, things had worked out so far. He and Sergeric were in place, out in the open and right under the noses of their intended targets.
As far as Eberwolf could tell, no one suspected them of any potential wrongdoing, except for that miserable Roman, Quintus Magnus. The man’s constant presence was troublesome, to say the least, but Eberwolf had ignored his suspicious gaze. He continued to play his part, and waited for the right moment to strike, Magnus be damned.
May he be fucked in the ass by Jupiter’s cock!
Eberwolf snorted. The Romans were enemy scum who killed his family when he was a boy. He’d grown up an orphan, lonely and small, an outcast even among his own people, the Visigoths, for they prized warriors and men of strength, something he could never be.
His mood grew sour. He would not have to deal with any of them much longer, for the coin he would earn for this task would provide him an escape. He had heard there were places in the East where all the men were small of stature. There, he would be considered average, a man like any other. He would find a wife, settle down, and raise a family.
But now he had a job to do. With a grunt of displeasure, he surveyed his damnable costume, then pulled off the jewelry he’d been forced to wear for hours on end.
“Idiots,” he muttered, recalling how the courtiers fawned over him after each performance. How he hated the Visigoth upper classes, soft as the debauched Romans, the face-fuckers!
He grabbed his cup and swilled down the rest of his wine. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see a line of women leaving the kitchen carrying buckets and heading for a corridor.
Which, if he was not mistaken, led straight to the royal chambers.
Hmm
. Always alert to Fortuna’s gifts, Eberwolf rose from the bench, settled his
palla
over his head, and moved toward a pair of serving women filling buckets with heated water. Barcino had public baths like any other civilized town, and it intrigued him that someone wanted a private soak. But whom?
In his excitement, he grabbed the handle of one of the buckets, then cursed to himself as the water sloshed onto the floor. The nearest servant turned and scolded him for the mess, which made him realize his disguise was working better than he’d ever imagined. She was still grumbling, so he bobbed his head up and down, apologizing profusely in his high, squeaky, womanish,
mimi
tone.
She huffed, and then turned away, intent on resuming her work.
It was working — and beautifully! Eberwolf grabbed a second bucket and found his place among the shuffling women.
• • •
Troubled, Gigi met Magnus in a rarely used courtyard of the castle, still holding the note he’d sent asking for the meeting.
Glancing around, nervous they might be observed, Gigi was glad for the darkness of night. She spoke to him in English, “I was almost out the door and on my way home when I got your message. Shouldn’t we be talking about private things there?”
“I can’t leave the king. I won’t be going home any time soon,” Magnus replied. “I’m not even comfortable with this time away from him, but I needed to talk to you.”
“It’s almost here, isn’t it?” she whispered in dread.
“Gigi, we have no time left,” Magnus said. “I have used every conceivable argument I could think of with Athaulf, short of telling him the truth, and I cannot dissuade him. I have men watching Sergeric at all times, but I fear history cannot be stopped.”
His tone was grim, shaded with frustration. Gigi realized she felt the same; her stomach hadn’t stopped churning since Sergeric’s return was announced.
“I must remain at Athaulf’s side,” Magnus continued. “Even at night, I’ll sleep outside his door. Other than arresting Sergeric or killing him outright, which the king has expressly forbidden, I’m at a loss regarding what else to do.”
“Magnus, we can’t hold back any longer. We should tell Athaulf what we know … and
why
.”
He shook his head. “Perhaps it would have been the wiser course earlier, and I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you then, but I do not think anything now will change the tide of history. If we told Athaulf what we know, he’d think we’d gone insane. We can’t take the risk.”
She shook her head. “I don’t agree. Maybe I should try.”
“Athaulf will not believe you.”
“Okay, then I’m going to tell Placidia, and we’ll see what happens. She’ll hear me out. She’ll listen to me, I know she will.” Gigi waited a moment, and gauged his silence as uncertainty, rather than resistance. “Magnus, I’m going to do it. I have to.”
He heaved a frustrated sigh, but then she felt his arms enfold her. They stood like that for a moment, and then she reached up and took his face in her hands.
“Do whatever you can to save Athaulf,” her voice choked with emotion, “but at least let me try in my own way to save him.”
“There is great danger ahead for all of us.”
“I know. I’ll watch out for myself, and you … please, Magnus, you must be careful. If you die — ”
He stopped her words with a deep, impassioned kiss, and then pressed her to the wall.
She could feel him, every inch of him, and her surprise at his ardor quickly turned to desperate desire.
“Gigi, let me love you,” he whispered.
Swept up in his need, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with wild abandon. Nothing mattered beyond this moment, nothing.
Tugging at her clothes, freeing himself, he lifted her onto his hips. With a groan, he thrust into her as far as he could go, filling her completely, body and soul.
His mouth closed over hers, his kiss savage, demanding and relentless. She held on as he pounded her, taking her to a raw, surging precipice, the point of no return. Her body arched with an explosion of pleasure unlike anything she’d ever known.
Limp and liquid, she fell against him, just as he stiffened and groaned at his finish.
Breathing heavily, they clung to each other. A beautiful warmth surrounded Gigi, and she felt her heartbeat slow, in shared measure to his. She didn’t want to let him go.
Tears filled her eyes.
This wasn’t the last time. No!
“My sweet, sweet wife,” he finally said, kissing her brow. He gently let her down and smoothed her hair.
Gigi settled her shift, then rested her head against his chest, his next words a soft rumble against her ear.
“We know better than most, that history is a vicious master. We may dare to play with it, but it will force its way toward an inevitable end. We have tried. We shall continue to try, but if we cannot change history, we must still survive it.”
She drew back and looked up at him. “Then you promise, whatever else happens, you will save yourself?”
Magnus’s face shifted away, but Gigi drew him back, demanding an answer.
“I am in no history books, so it follows that I had no lasting impact on history. I think that if I should perish in trying to save my friend, then you could come back again and — ”
“No, no! You cannot count on that!” Gigi insisted, tears falling freely. “We have no control of when we arrive, but we’ve never gone to an earlier time. You must save yourself, Magnus. You have to. I could not manage … ” She let her emotions run free and started sobbing.
Magnus rocked her, allowing her to cry. Then, as she regained control, he spoke softly, “I will come back to you, and together we will save the children. At the very least, we’ll save them.”
“I know.” She swiped at her tears. “Keep me informed as to what’s going on. Use the walkie-talkies. We’ve had these things with us for so long, we can’t forget to use them. Please, Magnus, send me a beep once in a while, just to let me know you’re all right. Two beeps if you need to tell me something. If anyone hears it, they’ll think it’s a bird … a mouse … whatever. I can always break away and find a place to talk, or find you.”
“Yes, my sweet. Promise you’ll do that, promise you’ll find me.” He pulled her close, his kisses feather soft. “I love you,” he whispered as he released her.
Before she could respond, he walked off, disappearing into deeper shadows. She heard the squeak of a door and briefly saw him backlit in the patch of light coming from the hall, but then the door shut and blackness again shrouded the courtyard — and her world.
He was gone. She leaned against the wall, the cold stone as much a shock to her senses as the wild heat she’d experienced in his arms. She could still feel the depth of his passion, his power upon her: the aching pleasure between her legs, the chafed skin on her chin. She touched her lips and felt tenderness there as well. He had taken her so completely.
This wasn’t the last time …
Tears threatened once more, a lump rising in her throat, but she forced everything back.
Gigi frowned into the darkness. No more self-pity. No more weeping and worrying. The time had come, and she had a job to do.
She headed off to find Placidia.
Moving slowly to avoid unwanted attention, Eberwolf followed the bucket brigade as they reached the end of the great hall and started into a corridor. Bringing up the rear, he followed as they walked single file past the guards posted at the entrance to the royal chambers.
He kept his gaze down as he crossed over the threshold, walked through the antechamber, and into the king’s bedroom, the guards letting him pass without so much as a second glance. The women had begun taking turns pouring water into a copper bathtub. He glanced around, assuring himself no one was watching, and then assessed the room. There were floor-length curtains in the alcove near the balcony.
Go!
He took several steps backward and slid behind the heavy fabric. To his relief, there was enough room to stash his buckets. After carefully lowering them to the floor, he pushed the
palla
off his head, removed the knife hidden in his right boot, and waited.
• • •
After using the latrine, Magnus set off for Athaulf’s chambers on the other side of the palace. He was determined to save his friend no matter what ill fortune came his way, and braced himself for the long night ahead. Touching the hilt of his sword, he reminded himself the corridor was too narrow for swordplay, and withdrew his Bowie knife instead.