Nobilissima (25 page)

Just after midnight, he gave up the fight and took his last breath. I caught him up in my arms, almost shaking him to make him wake up but I knew that it was too late. Ataulf cried his name once and began to stride around the room. He kicked the legs of the bed on which his son had died and shoved a couch out of the way.
 
A multitude of guards rushed into the room, swords at the ready to deal with the disturbance. They fell silent when they saw the boy’s body in my arms and fell back, closing the doors behind them.

A week later, Ataulf and I
 
laid our precious child in a coffin made of solid silver. An Arian priest led prayers that I barely heard and later I remembered little of the procession from the house to the cathedral. Huge crowds, already inured to loss and death, turned out to salute the young son of their king. In a fog of grief and pain, I sat through the service and watched four of Ataulf’s most trusted commanders carry the tiny coffin to the burial site under the floor of the church.
 

Later, passing through the church doors, I caught sight of a woman dressed in white. Her long dark hair hung loose and her lips were red against her pale skin. She reminded me of my cousin Serena on the day of her execution and, at once, those words came back to me. The awful words my cousin had shouted before being led to the executioner’s platform. “Great sorrow will come to anyone who loves or trusts you. I curse you and your offspring. I curse you!”
 

Chapter 24

A dark cloud obscured everything. I could not eat or sleep, and prayer brought no consolation. Every day, I knelt by my bed and thought of my infant son lying cold and alone in his silver coffin. I prayed for help in surviving the grief that pressed on my shoulders like a solid mass of iron. But I prayed into a void, knowing that God was punishing me for being happy and selfish and that my prayers to Him would go unanswered.

Sylvia was angry when I talked of God’s punishment.

“You always tell me that your God is merciful,” she said. “You’ve done nothing wrong and a good deal of things right. It’s just a cruel twist of fate that seems incomprehensible to us. Your baby caught a fever and died. You did nothing to deserve this.”

But her words couldn’t penetrate the black shroud that was suffocating me. There seemed to be no hope of ever feeling better. When I saw an infant in another woman’s arms I felt dizzy and faint. I knew that Ataulf had told the servants to keep their children close so that I would not see them skipping through the hallways. The days passed and stretched into weeks. All the dreams I had nurtured for my golden child had shattered, leaving only crystalline barbs that tore at my heart.

Ataulf was busy and I didn’t understand how he could continue with his duties, hold his audiences and attend his meetings. If he felt as I did, he could not breathe, much less think or talk or plan. It seemed so unfair. Yet, gradually, with the constant encouragement of Sylvia, I began to feel the sharp pain receding.

“A distraction is a good thing, Placidia,” Sylvia said, sitting on the edge of my bed one morning. “You shouldn’t take on too much, but your presence at the court would be helpful to your husband. He’s working so hard to build the government and is negotiating with the Vandal chiefs to leave Barcino in peace. He would be grateful for your assistance, I know.”

I held Sylvia’s hand, recognizing for the first time the burden of grief she carried as well. She had cared for Theodosius as her own and she had cried every day since his death. I knew too that I had been shutting out Ataulf and felt sorry for it. His despair was no less than mine, although he showed it differently.

Sighing, I agreed and put on the gown that Sylvia gave me. In the mirror I saw pale skin gone sallow, shadowed eyes and lifeless features. It didn’t matter. If my baby could not stare into my eyes or touch my cheeks with his chubby fingers, I didn’t care. Taking several deep breaths, I made my way to the audience chamber.

“My dearest.” Ataulf almost managed to hide his surprise at seeing me there and hurried across the room to take my hand. The people in the room bowed and curtsied, looking at me with curiosity and I tried hard to smile at them although I felt light-headed and distracted. Ataulf led me to a couch and helped me sit.

“I’d like you to meet Felix, my new general,” said Ataulf.

Felix saluted me. He was an imposing man, tall, barrel-chested and heavily muscled. I was immediately inclined to dismiss him as a career soldier. But his graying hair sprang out in wild curls and blue eyes twinkled in his sunburnt face. He reminded me of my old tutor, Tertius, back in Ravenna and I smiled at him.

“Felix has been giving us a report on our expeditions to locate minerals and metals,” Ataulf said. “This region was once given imperial approval to mint coins, so we know that there are metal deposits to be found. If we are successful, we can create our own coinage to give us a degree of independence from Rome.”

I nodded, barely listening, but I paid attention when Felix mentioned the name of Sigeric.

“The general and his unit were seen riding far out of the area assigned to them,” he told Ataulf. “So I had a few of my men follow them but we lost track of them near a Vandal encampment. Three days later, Sigeric returned here with no reports on any metal findings and not much of an explanation of where he had been spending his time.”

Ataulf, looking serious, asked Felix if he had any more information. “We’re watching him closely,” he replied. “And we’ve doubled the watch on the city walls and added more guards to your own personal escort.”

Alarm displaced my apathy. “General Felix, is my husband in danger?”

“Not at all, Your Highness,” he replied. “The added security’s a sensible measure to take, given the lack of information about Sigeric’s possible dealings with the Vandals, nothing more.”

“Well, find out all you can and please keep me informed,” I said, surprised to hear a hint of my former strength in my voice. Felix bowed his head in acknowledgement.

After another hour of reports on various aspects of the city’s economy and infrastructure, the meeting came to a close. With a wave of his hand, Ataulf dismissed everyone and they slowly filed out. Then he came at once to me and held me tightly.

“Placidia,” he said. “I know the pain you are feeling. I hope you know I feel it too. But I cannot pray on my knees for hours or lock myself into a darkened room. That would drive me mad. It’s better that I continue to attend to my duties – God knows that there are many of them. But I love you deeply and I want you to feel better. We’ll never forget our beautiful son, I promise.”

I stroked his cheek with my finger and let him hold me for the first time since our loss. I was surprised to feel soothed by his words, and comforted by his arms. I felt, or imagined I did, a slight lifting of the weight that had crushed me so pitilessly. Gently, I kissed him.

Returning to my rooms, I told Sylvia that I wanted to go to the cathedral. “I need to be near my son for a while,” I said.

“It will be good for you to go out in the sunshine,” said Sylvia, “and for the people of the city to see you.”

Sylvia summoned some of the women and a contingent of Ataulf’s most trusted guards to accompany us. The sight of the armed unit emerging from the palace brought many citizens on to the streets. Some cheered and waved as we passed. An old woman stood at the edge of the road near the steps of the cathedral.

“Have another baby, Your Highness,” she called. “There’s nothing that will help you more.”

I thought of her words as I knelt in the dark, cool church and felt a flicker of anticipation. No child could ever replace my beloved Theodosius but I knew that holding an infant in my arms again would take away some of the pain. There was still a chance for me to have a son who could unite the Goths and the Romans in the way Ataulf and I had dreamed of.

I decided to talk to Ataulf about it when we dined that evening. I knew he would be content. All he wanted was for me to be happy. We were both young and could start afresh.

Standing, I stared for a while at the crucifix on the altar, hoping for some sign that my wish would be granted. The candles guttered in a draught and I shivered, feeling disheartened. Perhaps I couldn’t have another child. I knew many who had been unable to conceive after their firstborn. One of the candles flickered and died, its bright warmth suddenly usurped by a dark shadow that made me shiver again more violently.

Sylvia noticed and took my arm. “Come,” she said. “This is enough for one day. You must rest when we return to the palace.”

“I prayed, Sylvia, for God to grant us another child. Another son to carry our dream forward. But I feel so cold and I could not hear God talking to me. I fear that I may never have more children.”

Sylvia squeezed my arm. “Have no doubts,” I said. “ You are young and another baby will soon come. Then you and Ataulf can be the family you want to be.”

“A family,” I echoed. “I would like that so much.”

I emerged into the sunlit plaza outside the church. The ladies followed, rustling and cooing like a flock of doves, delighted to be free of their rooms for a few hours. I turned to see some of them lifting their faces to the sunshine and smiling at each other. The palace had been a sorrowful and despondent place for too long.

When we reached my rooms, I told the ladies to open the shutters and let the light flow in. They chattered happily, skipping ahead to do as I ordered. Watching them, I forgot the dark feelings I’d had in the cathedral and resolved to concentrate on finding ways to stay busy.

As I’d expected, Ataulf was more than anxious to have another child, and promised that he wouldn’t leave the palace to sleep in the garrison any longer. As though newly married, we spent as much time together as our duties allowed and passed the nights making love and falling asleep at dawn. I felt his love percolate into my bones, chasing away the cold frailty I had felt for the last few months. His gentleness suffused my skin, bringing back the bloom to my cheeks and his passion reignited my own excitement for life. I saw again the azure hues of the sea and the sky, and the iridescence of the surf on the beaches. Grapes tasted sweet on my tongue and I inhaled the perfume of the flowering vines that climbed the walls.

“I feel as though I have come back from death myself,” I told him one night as we lay on the ivory linen sheets. He tightened his arms around my and shivered.

“I can’t bear to think of you dying,” he said. “Promise me that you will stay with my forever. Don’t leave me.”

I smiled and kissed his chin and then his throat and chest. “Don’t be silly. I’ll never leave you,” I said, brushing my lips across his navel.

I took up my tasks at court again, working on the programs I had begun the year before, and in my free time, decided to finish a project I had started during the long winter in the mountains. I had arranged for a scribe to write down stories related by Ataulf, some of his commanders and of their wives. They were written in a looped, elegant hand, on ivory vellum; accounts of life on the plains of Germania, touching stories of beloved elders, anecdotes about the hardships of daily life in the camps, and colorful tales of heroes and battles, losses and victories. I had overseen the writing, editing the stories to flow smoothly and I was pleased with the narrative. Now, I found a young man with artistic skills and hired him to illustrate the pages. I began to look forward to the mornings in a room designated as a library, where we read the text and talked about images that would best represent each story. The artist was adept with color and I loved to watch him grinding the pigments and mixing the shades until they were exactly right.

Finally, the volume was completed and I entrusted it to a leather worker in the city, who bound it as a codex with a tooled leather cover, inscribed with Ataulf’s initials. Ataulf was at a loss for words when I gave it him before dinner one evening. He read a page or two and swallowed hard, the emotion bringing tears to his eyes. The Goth tradition was oral. From laws to folk tales, everything was passed down from one generation to another by word of mouth. Ataulf was working hard to change that, but his focus was on the law and civil administration, not stories and memoirs. He emulated the Roman way of writing and notarizing decrees, rulings and edicts, and his scribe followed him wherever he went. The library was now home to scores of documents. The codex, however, was completely different and his pleasure in it thrilled me.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, I resolved to produce bound volumes of other narratives and of Goth poetry and songs, and spent hours researching suitable subjects. Late one morning, I stood near a window dictating notes to my scribe. His pen scratched quietly and the parchment gave off tiny motes of dust that floated in the sunlight.

Thinking about the words and listening to the rasp of his pen, I barely heard the shouts at first. They seemed distant and I was distracted. The noise grew louder and my assistant stopped writing, looking at me in enquiry. I began to tremble when I heard the sound of running feet in the corridor leading to the library. The doors flew open and Sylvia burst into the room. She ran to me and threw her arms around me, and then pulled back and stared around the room as though looking for something she had lost.

“What is it?” I begged. My knees shook so badly that I moved to the desk and grabbed the edge of it for support. Sylvia just shook her head and began to cry. As I struggled to work out what this meant, I caught sight of Felix marching along the hall towards us. He paused at the open door and entered slowly. A few yards away, he saluted. I shrank away from him, keeping the desk between us.