Nobilissima (19 page)

“I’ve forgotten nothing. But the Goths are our friends now and if Ataulf and I marry, we’ll unite the Goth and Roman nations as one. We’ll live in peace with each other and form a solid front against the other barbarian tribes who threaten us. Rome can’t do it without their support.”

He shook his head sadly. “I have to try to impress upon you the mistake you commit by considering marriage to the Goth, Nobilissima. And I deeply regret that you won’t consider my proposal more seriously.”

“That’s not a proposal, it’s a business proposition. I see it exactly for what it is, Constantius. I’ll return to my tent now, if you could please have your men escort me there.”

He stood and bowed stiffly, and then waved a hand at the guard, who stood aside to let Sylvia and me pass. The air outside the tent was clear and fresh. I took a deep breath and allowed the guards to walk us back to our tent.  The minute we were alone, Sylvia exploded in anger.

“I can’t believe he had the nerve to talk to you like that!” she exclaimed. “He flattered himself to think you would even consider marrying him.”

I sat on a couch and unstrapped my sandals, flinging them into a corner.

“Besides, he’s ugly,” continued Sylvia.

“He’s not ugly, exactly,” I countered. “Just not very attractive.”

Sylvia began to laugh and I joined in, still feeling giddy with shock at the conversation with the general.

“Are you going to share the joke?” asked Aurelia, coming into the tent, and Sylvia jumped in, describing the scene with Constantius.

Aurelia sat next to me. “I’m not sure I see what’s funny,” she said. “From all that I’ve heard of the general, he’s not the kind of man who will give up as easily as he appears to have done. He’s exposed his ambition to you, Placidia, and his heart as well. I fear that he’ll find some way to intervene in your plans to marry Ataulf.”

“Then we’ll marry at once, before Ataulf goes away on the campaign,” I said. “Once the marriage is made, there’s nothing my brother or Constantius can do.”

“Is that a good idea?” Sylvia asked.

“Yes,” I said, standing up to retrieve my sandals. “I’ll go to Ataulf immediately to tell him everything.”

“No need for that,” commented Sylvia when we heard voices outside the entrance. “He’s here.”

“We’ll leave you alone,” said Aurelia, grabbing Sylvia by the hand and leading her out. I straightened my gown and pinched my cheeks. Ataulf entered and strode towards me, taking my hand in his and leaning forward to kiss me.

“I heard what happened,” he said. “In the tent with Constantius.”

I looked at him. “How could you have heard? Were you eavesdropping?”

He looked affronted. “Me? Of course not. Someone else was, on my behalf. I don’t trust the man one bit and it appears that I was right. My first reaction was to run him through with my sword but Taiga said that this would be a bad time to be killing Roman generals.”

“Taiga knows about this too?”I asked.

“Yes, of course. She’s my sister. I had to ask her opinion on what I should do.”

“Does anyone else know? Goodness, Ataulf, that meeting was supposed to be private.”

“No one else,” he said.

“I would have told you everything,” I said. “You didn’t need to spy on me.”

“I wasn’t spying on you. I was confirming my low opinion of Constantius.” He led me to the couch. “Come sit with me and tell me all the details. My informant told me only the gist of the matter.”

“This is no time to be flippant,” I said. “Constantius will waste no time in convincing Honorius to forbid our marriage, I’m sure of it.”

“Then we’ll be married immediately,” said Ataulf. “I still can’t believe that you’re willing to marry me. Let’s do it before you change your mind.”

“I believe that our marriage will be a good thing for both the Romans and the Goths,” I began but stopped as Ataulf kissed me on the mouth.

“You talk too much,” he commented when he stopped kissing me to draw a breath. I felt the touch of his hands on my neck and my back and, without thinking, I pulled him closer, surprised by the hardness of his muscles under the smoothness of his skin. He undid a clasp on my gown, allowing the silky fabric to slide away, and I gasped as he bent to run his tongue over my exposed breast. Desire overcame my modesty and my fear, and I sank down on the couch, savoring the weight of his body on mine.

The candles had died and the early pink light of dawn filled the room when I awoke. Ataulf lay beside me, naked and face down, and I wondered how he hadn’t fallen off the narrow couch during the night.

I nudged him awake. “You have to go,” I said.

“That’s unfriendly, considering how nice I was to you last night,” he said, running his fingers across my thigh. I pushed him off the couch and grabbed my gown from the floor.

“Go,” I said. “We can meet later to plan our nuptials. I know a priest, Alanus, who can conduct the service for us. We’ll marry tomorrow, before you leave to fight.”

Chapter 17

The next day, Ataulf and I stood together in front of Alanus with just a few guests as witnesses to the marriage. The tent was hot, the glare of the sun barely muted by the goat hide walls. Flowers gathered by Aurelia and Sylvia for the occasion wilted in their pots and I felt perspiration trickling down my neck and back. Only Ataulf seemed impervious to the heat and showed no sign of nervousness about the step we were taking.

In front of us, Alanus fussed with a goblet of wine he was about to bless. His face was white and slick, and I knew that it was more than the stifling heat that made him sweat. He had, at first, refused to conduct the wedding ceremony and then later apologized and declared it a great honor. It seemed that, although he was afraid of the Emperor’s reaction when he learned of the marriage, he was even more afraid of angering me. But, even now, I wondered if he planned to dawdle and delay forever as he murmured some prayer to himself.

“Proceed,” I whispered to him. “It is time.”

Alanus intoned more prayers, out loud this time, and everyone echoed “Amen.” Finally, he took my hand, placed it on Ataulf’s, and said, “It is done. You are man and wife.”

With relief, everyone filed out and we made our way to the vast tent where dinner was to be served. The women were subdued, the men on edge with anticipation and excitement. Earlier in the afternoon, messengers had brought news that a great contingent of Frank soldiers was on the way south to Valentia to join forces with Jovinus and his rebel troops. There could be no delay; Ataulf planned to leave before dawn the next morning.

“We will hold a real wedding feast as soon as I return,” he told me.

I squeezed his hand and smiled. “I don’t care about ceremonies. We’re married, and that’s all that matters.”

Just hours later, I shivered in the night air, watching Ataulf and his generals assemble at the front of the camp. Sigeric was there, surrounded by his despicable entourage. The hairs prickled on my arms when I saw him swaggering around, laughing at something one of his men said. He caught my eye and smiled, a bare-toothed, predatory grin that chilled my blood.

Ataulf stood with Marcus, finalizing details for the campaign ahead. In his Roman uniform, my husband was serious and intent, transformed from the tender lover with whom I had shared the short night. His iron cuirass gleamed in the flickering torchlight and he grasped the hilt of his favorite sword. When he issued orders to his men, his voice was strong and firm. I pulled my cloak more tightly around me. I was used to the long absences of the men in my life as they fought on distant battlefields, but this was different. Ataulf was leaving so soon after our marriage that the prospect of his absence made me feel lonely and vulnerable. I was hundreds of miles from Rome or Ravenna, queen of a nation I had only barely come to know. How was I to learn to rule without Ataulf at my side?

My thoughts were interrupted by the soft footsteps of Aurelia, who took my hand without a word; together we watched the ongoing preparations of the men. A single star hung above us, its radiance fading as the first rays of the sun suffused the sky with the soft golden light that I had come to love since arriving in Nizza.

And then the men were gone, with a clamor of shouts, hoof beats and jangling reins. Marcus and his aide stood alone, maps in hand, Marcus rapping his cane against his bad leg. We all watched until the final horseman had disappeared over the crest of a hill in the distance and then we turned towards the tents, prepared for the coming weeks of waiting.

To my surprise, the days passed more quickly than I could have imagined. I threw myself into the duties of acting sovereign of the Goths with enthusiasm, learning more of the language and culture from Taiga each day. Together, with help from Sylvia and Aurelia, we reorganized the civilian part of the camp, set up a rudimentary hospital to care for the sick, and arranged for work parties to repair tents, cooking equipment and clothes. Each night, I retired to bed exhausted, but feeling that at last I was doing something useful.

Marcus continued to monitor the campaign from his tent, receiving messengers who brought updates on the fighting and sending briefs to Ataulf and his generals. Finally, the news came that Ataulf had captured the usurper, Jovinus, and had sent him under heavy guard for trial in Ravenna. Jovinus’s co-conspirator, Sarus, had been killed by Ataulf himself when he refused to surrender.

“Everyone else ran away after Jovinus was captured,” Marcus told us over dinner that evening. “The uprising is over.”

“Does that mean Ataulf will be coming back soon?” I asked.

Marcus worked a kink out of his neck and nodded.

“You don’t need to be on the battlefield to claim victory, you know,” I said softly. “Without your plans and strategic strikes, we could never have succeeded so quickly.”

“That’s kind of you,” he said. “But the battle is what counts. Being there. Not this.” He tapped his leg.

“You should be proud,” Aurelia said, standing at his shoulder and massaging his neck.

I raised my goblet of wine to him. “To your success, Marcus. And to Ataulf for a campaign well fought.”

“We were lucky this time,” said Marcus. “But Honorius will lose control of his Empire for good if he does not take firmer action. There will be more uprisings against him if he’s so careless in the running of the government.” He sipped at his wine while he seemed to consider the shortcomings of his Emperor. “Constantius is in Ravenna,” he added. “He can deal with Jovinus when he gets there.”

I stiffened at the mention of Constantius’s name. I hadn’t seen him since the evening of his unwanted proposal. He had decamped early the following morning.

“What in the name of the gods is that noise?” Marcus demanded, slamming his goblet down on the table. Outside, shouting accompanied the sound of horses’ hooves. “Go quickly,” he ordered one of the guards. “Find out who it is.”

Within minutes, the guard had returned with a bedraggled messenger, who was wet through with sweat and wore the grime of several days’ travel on his face and clothes.

“News from Ravenna, Magister,” he said, holding out a folded and sealed parchment.

Marcus tore off the imperial seal and read through the message. “Hmm,” he grunted.

“Hmm? Is that all you can say? What is it? What is the news?” demanded Aurelia.

“Olympius is dead,” said Marcus with no emotion in his voice.

“Dead?” I echoed, trying to suppress a surge of joy that almost took my breath away.

“Clubbed to death by unknown assassins apparently,” he responded, still looking at the document. “He left the palace to attend a meeting and was waylaid by a gang of men. They cut off his ears and then beat him. His body was recognizable only by the clothes he wore.”

“The attackers were citizens?” I asked.

Marcus nodded. “Yes, but they didn’t act alone, I’ll guarantee it. Someone higher up organized this.”

I remembered the conversation I’d had with Constantius, suddenly sure that the general was behind the assassination.

“So now what?” I asked.

“We wait and see,” said Marcus. “Someone will take his place, perhaps not as Provost in name, but certainly as Honorius’s right hand man. Let us pray it is someone with the best interests of the Empire at heart.”

Constantius
. In spite of his unappealing character, his whole career had been spent in the defense of the Empire. He had risked his life numerous times in battles at its borders and beyond. He had recognized the malicious influence of the former Provost and – it appeared – was the first to dare to act on his feelings.

But, undoubtedly, he was ambitious and selfish, and by killing Olympius, he opened up immense possibilities for advancement at the court of the Emperor. I remembered his contempt for Ataulf and his unexpected marriage proposal. All I could hope for was that it would take time for him to achieve any real power within the imperial palace.

“No one will mourn the death of Olympius,” Marcus was saying when I turned my attention back to him.

“Except for my brother,” I said.

Several weeks later, Ataulf returned to the camp, triumphant and showered with flower petals from the exultant Goths. Marcus crowned him with a laurel wreath in a ceremony reminiscent of the great days of the Empire, when the soldier-emperors returned from their conquests.