Nobilissima (17 page)

My own position was ambiguous and most didn’t know what to make of it. I was a member of the imperial family, yet ignored by the Emperor. Occasionally, I met senators, governors and judiciaries but Ataulf made sure that I was never alone with any of them and I guessed none would compromise their position by conspiring to free me when Honorius himself had made no such move.

Whether for convenience or out of some deeper desire to avoid revisiting the scene of conflict, Ataulf routed our journey north along the coastal road, bypassing Rome completely. But our proximity to the city made me sad and anxious. My life seemed to be passing me by. I was achieving nothing, doing nothing for the good of the Empire. My days merged into a gray dullness, one after the other, and then I fell sick with a fever.

My body trembled constantly and I felt terribly cold. Sylvia touched my cheek and said I was burning. My head was pounding and I couldn’t eat or drink. The carriage bounced along, causing shocks of pain to rack my body. On the third day, Sylvia sent a message to Ataulf, who rode back down the long caravan to see me.

“Not another ploy to escape, I hope,” he said with a rueful smile.

Sylvia scolded him.

“Can’t you see that Placidia is deathly ill,” she said. “She can’t travel like this. We must stop and give her time to rest.”

“Many of the men and women and children have been sick, and we can’t stop for everyone,” said Ataulf turning his horse around and riding away.

But within an hour, the horns signaled a stop and the thronging crowds drew off the road into grassy fields and proceeded to set up camp. Ataulf sent men to carry me on a stretcher into a nearby house. It was a simple farmhouse, but its solid walls and roof made it comfortable enough. It was a relief to be out of the cramped, jolting carriage.

It took me four more days to recover sufficiently to sit up and eat. I felt my head clearing and the shivers disappeared. Sylvia was making me drink some broth when Ataulf came to my room one afternoon. His look of concern gave way to smiles when he saw that I was well and eating.

“Thank God,” he said. “You’re better. We can’t afford a delay of another day.”

“I appreciate your concern,” I laughed, light-headed with relief at feeling well again.

“I’m also very glad that you are well and out of danger,” he said. “Perhaps you would care to join me for dinner this evening? Taiga also would welcome the opportunity of talking with you.”

I said yes and realized I was looking forward to it. Digging through the chest in the carriage, I found a clean gown and had Sylvia braid jewels into my hair. She found some rose oil at the bottom of a chest and put a few drops on my ears and in between my breasts.

“What are you doing?” I asked, stepping back out of her reach. “I am dining with Ataulf, not a suitor.”

Sylvia pursed her lips and adopted a serious look, which I always found quite comical. “You must know that Ataulf is in love with you,” she said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said sternly. “What on earth would make you say such a thing?”

“The way he looks at you when he talks to you, for one thing. The fact that he’s already asked you to be his queen for another.”

I looked at her, perplexed. “No one knows about that,” I protested.

She laughed, continuing to brush my hair. “Everyone knows. You can’t live in a camp like this in close quarters and not hear every word of gossip, every rumor. One of the servants overheard your conversation that night and did not stint himself in sharing it with all and sundry.”

Her words made me nauseous. It was bad enough to have quarreled with Ataulf over his imprudent offer, far worse that so many knew of it. I began to lose my enthusiasm for the evening ahead. It was with great nervousness that I joined the dinner table, sitting next to Ataulf as he asked me to. Taiga, still looking pale and thin, sat on his other side and a group of his military commanders filled the rest of the seats. I was glad to see that Sigeric wasn’t there.

I looked at Ataulf as I had never done before. The conversation centered on his plans for Gallia, and his passion for his quest set a fire burning in my heart as well. When he passed me a special dish, I felt elated that he noticed me. When he fell into a long conversation with one of his men, I felt despair that he would never talk to me again. My cheeks felt flushed though I drank sparingly and I noticed that he glanced at me often. At the end of the meal, he stood to take his leave, but I stopped him.

“May we talk in private for a few minutes?” I asked him. I saw Taiga exchange looks with him. A wary expression passed over his face but then he smiled.

“Of course,” he replied. “Come with me to my room, and we can talk there.” He snapped his fingers at one of the servants. “Bring wine and extra lamps,” he said. He offered me his arm and led me from the table. When we reached his room and the servants had left, I stood looking at him, suddenly unsure of what I was doing.

“Was there something in particular you needed to talk about?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as I stood silently. “Please, sit, and be comfortable.”

I took a deep breath and tried to unclench my hands, which were balled up at my sides. Hesitantly, I walked closer to him and stood on tiptoes. Reaching up, I kissed him on the lips, then quickly retreated, horrified at my own behavior.

He seemed transfixed, still as a statue with no expression on his face at all, and I cursed my impulsive nature. I had done it wrong. Groaning inwardly, I pondered how to get myself out of this mess and leave the room with some dignity intact. As I moved slightly to begin my escape, he put out his hand and pulled back towards him, returning the kiss with an enthusiasm that made my knees tremble.

“I love you, Placidia,” he said very softly.

“I love you too, Ataulf, “ I whispered. We kissed again and then he pulled back, holding me lightly in front of him. His eyes were shining and I could see my own face reflected there, joyful and radiant.

“Now, you should go,” he said, and his voice shook slightly. I smiled, knowing that he must feel as I did, an overwhelming desire to be together, a passion that could not be ignored for long. Better to leave quickly. I kissed him one more time.

I felt like a different person when I woke up the next day. The griefs and resentments of the past seemed washed away, all petty thoughts were purged and I felt more free and at peace than I had ever felt in my luxurious palaces in Ravenna and Rome.

However differently I felt, though, the routine was still the same. That morning, we left behind the relative comfort of the farmhouse and climbed back into our carriage. The huge caravan creaked into motion at dawn and the carriage jolted along slowly. We were approaching the Via Domitia and would soon begin the crossing into Gallia.

Several days later, Ataulf came to the carriage. “If it would please you, I have a horse you might like to ride and you could come to the front with me,” he said.

“I’d be honored to ride with you,” I replied, in spite of Aurelia’s objections.

“You can’t ride a horse with him and his generals like a man, Placidia,” she said.

“It isn’t proper and you’ll have the whole camp talking before long,” added Sylvia.

That made me pause for a moment but I decided there was little to be concerned about. “In truth, not many people will know where I am and besides I don’t care. It would be so much more interesting to ride a horse than sit in this carriage.”

“All the more space for Sylvia and me then,” Aurelia said with a smile. “Just come back often and let us know you’re all right.”

The following days were like a dream. I rode at the head of the column with Ataulf and his generals, who didn’t seem very surprised to see me there. One of them told me that Taiga had often ridden with them before Alaric had died. I thought that the Goth women lived freer lives than we Roman matrons were permitted to.

The weather was gentle and our crossing through the lower passes of the Alps was full of wonders as we rode through landscapes I had only read about in books. I marveled at the granite vistas spread before us as we climbed higher. It was hard to imagine that this region too was part of the Empire. However much the Franks and Burgundians wanted to take it from us, we would fight to keep it.

Finally, we descended from the mountains and came within sight of Nizza, where we were to meet with the Roman army. I spent the last few days traveling with Aurelia, who needed constant reassurance that Marcus would be glad to see her. On the shores of the Mare Nostrum, the massive Goth camp was constructed yet again.

“What are our plans?” I asked Ataulf the evening after we arrived there.

“We need to wait for instructions from Ravenna,” he said. “There are messengers on their way to us now, and Magister Gaius Marcus will arrive tomorrow. I know how very glad you’ll be to see him again.” He frowned and pulled at the hem of his cloak.

“Placidia, you are about to be reunited with friends and colleagues from Rome. I fear that you’ll want to throw off everything that is Goth. I wouldn’t blame you if you did, but…” he paused. “You know how I feel about you.”

I nodded, at an unusual loss for words, and my heart thumped against my ribs.

“Will you marry me, Placidia?” he asked.

I held out my arms and held him tight as he came to me.

“Oh, yes,” I whispered.

“We must write to Ravenna of our plans,” he said. “I want your brother’s consent to this marriage.”

“We will invite him to the wedding,” I said with enthusiasm. “Just think, Ataulf, a marriage that will unite the Goths and the Romans forever. How could anyone disapprove of such a union?”

Ataulf looked doubtful but I refused to let his concerns worry me. “Why would my brother prevent me from marrying you when he has been perfectly content to leave me as your hostage for this past year? He clearly has no need of me in Ravenna. I am sure he’ll give his permission. I need to write to him at once.”

I also sent a letter to my dear old tutor, Tertius, telling him of my upcoming marriage and expressing my desire for him to attend. As I wrote. I smiled, enjoying the feeling of the pen on the page, and the pattern of the letters as I formed them.
Marriage. Ataulf.
These were not words I had ever expected to write and they seemed to possess some magical quality.

The following day broke fair and clear and the sun warmed the tents, releasing the familiar scent of goat hide and wool. In the distance the Mare Nostrum sparkled beyond the buildings of the city of Nizza. The memory of the hazards and discomforts of the long journey north were already fading, and I waited with excitement to watch the joining of the Goth forces with the soldiers of Marcus’s own elite battalions.

I ate well at breakfast but Aurelia nibbled on a piece of bread and pushed her plate away. Sylvia took it and finished the cheese and grapes that Aurelia left uneaten. Sylvia had done an excellent job of cleaning and mending a gown for each of us, and Aurelia wore a blue silk gown that matched her eyes.

“How will the day go, then?” asked Sylvia. “When will we see the Commander? I’m so excited I can hardly think straight!”

I had barely time to answer before a guard appeared at the entrance to our tent, requesting permission to enter. Seconds later, Marcus appeared. He stayed close to the entry and saluted us all. I felt my heart constrict when I saw him. He was dressed in formal uniform, with knee height boots and an ornately tooled iron breastplate. There were strands of grey at his temples and a new scar along his cheek, white against his tanned skin.

I jumped to my feet. “Marcus! I am so happy to see you again. Come in, come in. Look, Aurelia is here too.”

As Marcus still hesitated, I ran to embrace him and then pulled him by the hand towards Aurelia. I stopped when I realized that he was limping badly. “Marcus, is your leg seriously hurt? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s getting better every day.”

I let go of his hand and led the way instead to the couch, where I motioned him to sit next to Aurelia, but he remained standing, looking awkward and aloof. This was not the Marcus I had known in Rome and I struggled to work out what to do next. Aurelia sat upright, her face tense.

“Well, how about some nice fruit?” said Sylvia, putting a tray of oranges and grapes on the small table near the couch.

Marcus turned to her. “It’s good to see you again, Sylvia. I hear you have done an outstanding job of caring for these two ladies, and hope that you didn’t suffer too much during that long journey.”

“No, no, I come from sturdy stock, Magister. It takes more than a long walk to do me any harm.”

Marcus laughed and I glimpsed my old friend then, in the creases around his eyes and mouth.

“Marcus, please sit down, and tell us all that has happened since that terrible night in Rome,” I said. I moved over so that he would have to sit next to Aurelia, which he did. But they only smiled at each other and did not touch. He kept his injured leg straight out in front of him, and I saw a wide, jagged scar that emerged from the top of his boot.

He seemed to relax a little as he recounted the details of the Goth attack, the serious injury to his leg from a sword, and the weeks of chaos that followed. He described how he had directed operations to secure the city from a hospital bed in the garrison and told us that more than half his men had been killed or injured in the first few hours of the attack.