Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,28
own sofa. “I am in your debt for bringing Gigi here. Her presence is a blessing for my wife just now.”
“I am very sorry for your loss,” Magnus replied.
Athaulf’s gaze wavered, and silence rose between them. Magnus covered this by sipping his beer. It was good and hearty, tasting of rye, with a thick consistency reminiscent of Egyptian brews.
He glanced around the room. Having noted the rich, Romanized trappings of the castellum, and knowing Athaulf well, he was amazed the king hadn’t pitched it all out the door for more rustic furnishings.
“I can read your thoughts, Magnus. And I am still as uncomfortable lying here in this vulgar setting as I would be in kissing Honorius’s perfumed ass.”
Magnus raised his cup. “A king must rule strong and true, yet once in a while he must also bend to the will of courtly fashion, even to the point of reclining on a sofa to share beer with an old Roman friend.”
The king smiled, but sadly. “It is good to have you here, good beyond all hope that you and Gigi are alive. You must have many questions.”
Magnus nodded, knowing exactly where to start. “Tell me — for I wish hear it from you directly — why did you order the death of General Sarus?”
“It was in retaliation for what I believed he had done to you and Gigi. Placidia agreed to it, also, by the way. An eye for an eye. My wife is a gentle young woman, but she is a queen, nonetheless, and, as such, she can be determined, even ruthless, if it be deemed necessary. When we heard Sarus had hunted you down and burned you alive, then crucified you before Honorius as trophies, there was no dissuading Placidia from any other course of action. She would do anything to protect her own, and you and Gigi were like … are like family to her. To both of us.”
“As are you and she to us,” Magnus replied, remembering exactly why he and Gigi had risked everything in coming back to the fifth century.
Chapter 8
The Royal Palace, Ravenna, Italy
There was no sound in the great hall; even the chickens had fallen silent.
Frightened, Honorius sat on his throne and stared at the hag. His courtiers looked just as afraid. Many made signs against the evil eye, and several ladies looked as if they were near to swooning, for the woman was hideous: humpbacked; her skin painted with whirling streaks of blue woad; her hands gnarled, with long, twisting, yellow fingernails.
She had been found at the city gates, wailing like a demon and demanding an audience with the emperor. Of course, no one would ever have considered granting her such an honor, until it was reported she claimed her name was Dipsas.
Curious, Rutilius Namatianus, poet and Master of the Royal Offices, had offered to question her, explaining that the great poet, Ovid, had once written about an old witch he had known, one who possessed the same unusual name.
Afterward, Namatianus had raced to Honorius’s side, beseeching him to grant her request, for her tale was far too compelling to ignore.
Honorius studied the woman’s eyes, trying to see past the glaze of rheumy-blue. He fell back in shock when he discerned two pupils in her left eye.
Ovid’s words thundered to mind: Et fama est oculis quoque pupula duplex fulminat … in her eyes shines a double pupil …
But … it must be a coincidence. Ovid and Dipsas lived hundreds of years ago!
“O Great One,” she cackled, “I would recite a poem for you.”
Honorius summoned his courage and nodded his assent.
“Est quaedam nomine Dipsas anus … there exists an old hag named Dipsas learned in magic. She hath power to turn the swiftest rivers and make them flow backwards toward their sources. Skilled is she in the virtues of herbs. She need but to wish, and lo, the heavens grow dark with heavy clouds; to wish again, and lo, the heavens shine in purest splendor. I have seen, wouldst thou believe, blood drip from the stars. I have seen blood overspread the face of the moon — ”
Gasps erupted from the crowd. The hag grinned at Honorius, what few teeth she had as ugly and yellow as her nails. “My lord,” she crowed, “Master Ovid’s words speak of truths beyond your ken, a well of knowledge as deep and old as time, and known to but a few.”
Honorius gripped the arms of his throne and strove for calm. “Explain yourself,” he said, “in