Nobilissima (26 page)

“Your Highness, would you please come with me,” he said, his voice expressionless.

I didn’t answer or move. My feet felt planted to the floor.

Felix shifted on his feet, looking uncertain about his next move. “Your Highness, I must ask you to come with me,” he said again.

Sylvia took hold of my hand, took a deep breath and stopped crying.

“We should go,” she whispered.

“No.” I was sure that something terrible would happen if I went with them. I wanted to shut out their intrusion and stay in the sunny library with my books. But, already, fear and dread had drained the room of light and warmth.

Sylvia pulled me by the arm towards the door. Felix swung around to lead the way, we followed and I was aware that other soldiers had fallen in behind us. I couldn’t tell whether they were to protect me or to stop me from turning back. The tiled floors seemed to undulate beneath my feet and I was grateful for Sylvia’s support. With no conception of where we were going, I was still surprised to see Felix turn out of the building and into the grounds. Outside, the sky was blue and cloudless, the sun high overhead. Heat rose from the stone paths and the air was full of the scent of thyme. I felt dizzy but Sylvia kept guiding me forward. We reached the back of the stables and followed the walls towards the entry. As we rounded the building, I saw a crowd of people assembled at the doorway. Soldiers, gardeners and some of the servants stood in silence. Felix slowed down and waited for me to catch up.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Are the horses sick? What is happening?”

Felix began to speak but then clamped his mouth closed and asked me to follow him inside. The crowd parted to give us room and we entered the stable, where the air was thick with the scent of hay and manure. It was cool and shaded, almost dark after the glare outside. We walked past the stalls, watched by curious horses. Ahead was another crowd of people, all soldiers, facing the back of the building. My heart felt as though it would explode from my chest, it was pounding so violently.

One of the soldiers turned when he heard us approach, detached himself from the group and came towards us. I recognized him as a tribune in Ataulf’s unit of personal guards. His features were immobile, lips pressed together.

“Your Highness,” he said finally. “Please come this way.”

We walked through the group of soldiers and on the floor beyond them I saw a body, lying in a puddle of dark blood. As though wading through water I followed the tribune, who walked around the corpse and kept going. Following him, I paused to look at the dead man, but it was no one I recognized. He was lying face up, his mouth contorted in a terrible grimace and his eyes open. A sword protruded from the fatal wound in his chest.

Bewildered, I turned to Felix. “Who is it?”

Felix didn’t answer and his eyes flickered towards the back wall of the building a few yards ahead where bales of hay were piled high against the walls. A small group of soldiers stood in a semicircle as though protecting someone in the center. At a curt word from the tribune, they moved aside.

I saw him partially hidden in the shadows. Ataulf, my Ataulf, on the ground and bathed in blood. I pushed Sylvia away and ran to him. Kneeling, I stroked his face, which was warm. His eyes were closed and he looked as though he could be sleeping, apart from the halo of blood that encircled him and quickly drenched my clothes. A deep gash in his throat still dribbled blood.

I looked up at the tribune. “Do something,” I screamed at him.

He shook his head. “He’s dead, Your Highness. I’m sorry.”

I threw myself over Ataulf’s body, and put a hand softly over the fatal wound. I wanted to lie there forever and never move again but eventually Sylvia touched my arm and said I had to get up.

“They have to move him,” she said.

“No,” I replied. “Just leave us alone.”

Someone pulled me away and helped me to my feet. My knees buckled and I fainted.

When I woke up, I saw Sylvia and two men standing by the side of my bed. Sylvia’s eyes were red and swollen and she knotted a corner of her tunic through her fingers.

One of the men gave me a foul-tasting potion to drink.

“This will help you sleep some more,” he said soothingly.

I fought against the drowsiness that seeped into me but slept again. This was no restful slumber. I dreamed of Ataulf and Theodosius, seeing them together in the distance, but was never able to reach them however hard I tried.

When I awoke again, it was dark and the lamps were lit. Sylvia made me drink some broth and asked if I was well enough to talk to Felix and the tribune. I felt numb but nodded my agreement. My mind cleared slowly and I began to remember every haunting detail of the terrible discovery in the stables.

The two soldiers arrived. The blue twinkle in Felix’s eyes had died and the tribune looked as pale as death. They stood a few feet away from the couch where I lay propped up against cushions. Both murmured their condolences but the words dissipated in the air, useless to comfort me.

“The murderer was an official in the office of Sarus, the Goth chief  Ataulf killed in Arles,” Felix said. “The murderer had planned his revenge since then and followed us here and found his way into employment in the stables. There he seems to have waited for an opportunity to be alone with the king.”

“But Ataulf’s guards were always with him,” I said.

The men looked at each other. Felix continued. “Sometimes Ataulf liked to brush his horse himself and most of the guards waited outside the stables. But there were always two men with him. This morning, they were distracted by an incident with a sick horse and were called over to help. It seems that, as soon as Ataulf was unattended, the murderer fell upon him with a dagger. Ataulf tried to defend himself and thrust his sword into the traitor’s chest, but it was too late. The assassin’s blow was fatal.” His voice broke as he finished and there was a long silence.

“Whose horse was sick?” I asked.

“Sigeric’s,” replied the tribune.

“There is no evidence that he is implicated,’ said Felix. “Possibly it was a coincidence.”

I doubted it but was too exhausted to argue right then.

The tribune spoke again. “I was outside the stables. When we heard the clatter of metal falling to the floor, we ran inside and found the king bleeding on the ground. He was able to say a few words.” He paused. “Your Highness, the desire for revenge runs deep in the Goth heart, but not in the heart of our king. He did not tell me to avenge his death. He said only this. ‘Keep the peace among the generals. Maintain order, and restore Placidia to her home in Ravenna. She will be safest there.’”

My breath seemed to stop. I had hoped that Ataulf did not know that he had been fatally wounded. To think that he survived the blow for those agonizing minutes and knew he was dying was more than I could bear. I cried out in anguish and the doctor standing quietly by my couch asked the soldiers to leave. Although I tried to refuse, the doctor gave me some more of the potion that made me sleep.

Dreaming, breathing, but not really alive.

Chapter 25

I attended Ataulf’s funeral with an eerie sense of detachment, as though floating above the congregation, watching the priests intoning their liturgies before the hundreds of warriors kneeling in prayer. The cathedral was full, as was the great plaza in front of the church. Sunshine fell through the stained glass windows, throwing slabs of bright colors on the marble floor. The choir sang, while young boys in white robes swung heavy gold incensors to and fro, sending tendrils of smoke high into the vaulted arches of the ceiling. Ataulf lay on a bier in front of the altar, dressed in his Roman army uniform, with his sword and dagger crossed on his chest. I wanted to reach out and touch him. I wanted to scream at him for leaving me alone. But I did nothing. I didn’t even pray.

When the service was over, I stood. Silence fell over the congregation and no one moved while I walked the long, lonely aisle to the great front doors, away from my husband. The bishop who had so recently buried my baby could find no words of solace for me on the day of my husband’s funeral.

Returning to the palace, I had never felt so solitary. With my husband and child gone, I felt that my life might as well be over too. I could envisage nothing worse than living alone. Restless, I paced my rooms, clutching the book I had given Ataulf. My solitude was short-lived, however, as the guards soon announced the arrival of Felix and several of Ataulf’s senior advisors.

“We are sorry to impose on you so soon after your husband’s death,” said Felix. “But there are matters of some urgency that we have to discuss, with your permission.”

I nodded my assent.

“I want to assure you that Ataulf’s requests will be fulfilled,” he said. “But we’ll need your guidance on dealing with the Emperor and your return to Ravenna.”

Ravenna. It seemed like a distant, unreal place. I could not think about it now. Instead, I asked him who was to be the next king.

“Wallia,” Felix said. “It was always intended that Wallia would succeed him.”

I nodded. I’d met Wallia, Ataulf’s cousin, many times. He was a great warrior with a good heart.

“He’s negotiating with the Vandals near Taraco and we have sent a unit to inform him of Ataulf’s death. He should be here within the week. During that time, Your Highness, it is our hope that, although Ataulf wanted you to return to Ravenna, you will remain as our queen and ruler.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise and Felix nodded. “It’s a little unorthodox, we know. But we need someone in a position of authority at once. There are many who would try to seize that opportunity for themselves. An empty throne is a dangerous option. As soon as Wallia is here and crowned, I will personally head the escort that will take you to Ravenna.”

I hesitated. I wondered what Ataulf would have wanted me to do. Retreat at once to the safety of Ravenna, or stay to keep things under control until Wallia arrived? But Ataulf was no longer there to advise me and I would have to make my own decision.

“I will do as you ask,” I said.

The men thanked me and waited for me to dismiss them. Instead, I asked them to sit down and told a servant to bring wine.

“I want to know what happened in the stable,” I said. “Have you spoken with Sigeric?”

Felix leaned forward in his chair. “We have, Your Highness. He insists that he had no idea that his horse was sick or was even in the stables at the time. We don’t have any evidence linking him to the murder. The assassin has been identified as a loyal follower of Sarus and his motive appears to have been revenge for Ataulf’s killing Sarus in Gallia last year. As far as we can see, the killer is dead and no one else was involved.”

I sipped my wine, feeling anger wash over me, warming my skin and constricting my breathing.

“Our security was inadequate to protect our king,” I said. “How could a lone killer get so close to him? What of the two guards who were supposed to stay with him at all times? Have they been interviewed?”

Felix glanced at the captain before answering. “They’re dead, Your Highness.”

“What?”

“Sigeric killed them himself, in a fury that they’d left the king alone.”

My head ached. Talking about Ataulf’s death was exhausting and I felt nauseous. Sylvia must have noticed my sudden pallor because she moved to my side and looked pointedly at the general.

The men took the hint, stood and saluted, saying they would return the following day with news of Wallia. Sylvia ordered me back to the couch, talking incessantly about how susceptible people were to illness after experiencing a tragedy. She seemed brittle, ready to crack like a ceramic pot, and I knew that she was holding back a great tide of emotion.

“Can you bring me a pen and parchment?” I asked. “I must write to Aurelia and Marcus and let them know what has happened.”

Sylvia brought what I needed with trembling hands, and then delivered the letter to the guards who promised to take it straight to the messengers. That evening, she refused to leave me and rolled out a mattress on the floor next to the bed.

“We’ll leave the lamps lit,” I said.

I went to sleep without the aid of the doctor’s medicine, falling into a heavy, dreamless sleep from which I woke suddenly, disturbed by an unexpected noise. Startled, I lay peering into the darkness, my heart pounding, and then sat up in bed. Sylvia had heard something too. She quickly lit several lamps, and then came to sit on the bed next to me, gripping my arm tightly.

The sounds became more distinct; boots trampling the floor, a shout of alarm from one of guards, the rising sounds of an argument. Above the clamor, I heard a voice I recognized but, before I could react, the door was flung open, and Sigeric stood there, filling the frame with his massive bulk. His scarred face was lit like a mask by the torch he was carrying. Other soldiers crowded into the room, standing to each side of him, their swords drawn.

“Your Highness, I find you alone at last, without Ataulf to ride to your rescue. Get up and come with me.”

“Guards,” I shouted. “Guards!”

“You can shout all you like, but they’re dead.” Sigeric strode towards the bed, and I jumped out, pulling Sylvia close to me.