Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,17
laughed, and soon Marga was whisked off to play with her older half-siblings, leaving Athaulf and Placidia alone with their newborn.
Athaulf kissed her lips and gazed at her, a smile playing across his mouth. “Through you, precious wife, Rome and the Visigoths are bound together as no treaty could have done.”
A frisson of pleasure coursed through Placidia as she recalled Elpidia using almost the same language. “Pray God our great empires might be stronger for it,” Placidia responded. “Pray God our son will grow wise enough and strong enough to shoulder such a destiny.”
She reached up to caress Athaulf’s cheek. “I will never stop saying this, husband … I love you.”
Athaulf took her hand in his and kissed her palm. “And I, you, sweet Placidia.”
• • •
Nine days after the birth of her son, Placidia sat on a cushioned chair in the great hall of the castellum. Smiling proudly, Athaulf stood beside her, holding their sleeping babe. The rest of their family and friends surrounded them. Having just been given his formal name on this, the dies lustricas, or day of purification, the final ceremony commemorating the child’s birth was about to be performed.
“The bulla ceremony shall commence!” Leontius declared. “Long live the Crown Prince of the Visigoths, Theodosius Germanicus!”
Calm and comforted, Placidia watched as her steward held forth a gold locket and chain for all to see. She’d felt great joy when Athaulf agreed to allow his half-Roman son to wear the bulla, for the magical amulets and charms hidden within the locket would help ward off evil spirits and ill fortune.
She glanced at sweet Marga and then studied the bright faces of Athaulf’s other offspring. In time, she hoped he would relent and allow each of them to wear protective lockets, too: bullae for the boys, lunulas for the girls. For now, only Theo would be so blessed, for he stood to inherit both the Visigoth and Roman crowns. Athaulf, for all of his kind and considerate ways, could be quite stubborn, holding fast to his barbarian roots, especially where his older children, and even Marga, were concerned.
Gently, Athaulf placed the sleeping infant into Placidia’s arms, then took the bulla and settled it around Theo’s neck. It seemed quite large, but Placidia knew time would change this, for their son would wear it until he was deemed a man by his father, usually in his sixteenth or seventeenth year.
“Theodosius Germanicus, son of my loins,” Athaulf intoned, “may you live to see the dawning of your manhood, when this precious bulla shall be stowed away, along with your other childhood things. On that day, you shall wear a toga for the first time.”
Athaulf looked over at Placidia and winked. She knew her husband would rather their son wear the dalmatica favored by his people. She smiled back. Time would tell.
The babe awoke and gave a lusty howl. Placidia felt glad in this and prayed God he would stay strong.
“Our son has a warrior’s cry,” Athaulf said, grinning. “Thank you again, Placidia, for allowing me to share your life and your love.”
Proud to be his wife and the mother of his children, she nodded. “You are most welcome,” she said with a laugh, his joy contagious and wonderful to behold.
Chapter 5
Somewhere on the Northwestern Coast, Italy
As far as Gigi knew, they were the only two people around for miles. They’d found a cave overlooking the azure sea, one large enough to shelter them and their horses. Gigi tended to them, while Magnus built a fire. The heavy layer of stubble on his face reminded her they were almost a week out of Portus, and she was anxious over their slow progress. Rain had bogged them down, but as evening came, the skies cleared, promising a quicker road tomorrow.
Gigi patted her mare goodnight and then sat by the fire. Magnus already had their dinner spread out on a cloth: bread and olive oil for dipping, plus dried figs and cheese.
Her stomach growled. “Are we celebrating?” she asked in English. “This looks lovely after all the muck and rain and eating jerky all week.”
Magnus studied her face. “Your eyes belie the gaiety in your voice. You look troubled, my sweet.”
“I can’t shake the feeling we’re getting further and further behind schedule.”
“I agree. I’ve been thinking we should sail from Vada Sabatia. It can’t be far off now, and there’s sure to be a ship heading to Hispania.”
“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Gigi heaved a sigh of relief and gave him a quick