Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,37
examined her embroidery ring. “You’ve done a wonderful job. You may play with Marga, sweet child.”
Still grinning, Berga bobbed a curtsey, kissed Placidia on the cheek, and skipped to Marga, her curls merrily bouncing on her back.
“She is so grown up, so beautiful,” Gigi said. “Like her mother.”
“Thank you. She is my delight.”
As Verica resumed her work, it occurred to Gigi that, whether curly or straight, the women all had generally the same length hair — not quite to mid-back. She recalled King Alaric’s funeral, four years earlier, and how the women of his family, even Placidia, had all followed an ancient pagan ritual of shearing their hair to the scalp and tossing the shorn tresses onto the funeral bier. The last time she’d seen any of them was that night, their heads bald and ugly, grief haunting every gaze. Magnus’s kidnapping happened that night, too, as well as her flight to save him … and her last encounter with Randegund.
More than ever, Gigi was convinced the horrible old crow was dead. Sitting straighter, she tried to keep the tone of her voice neutral. “How is your mother, Verica? I haven’t seen her.”
Verica put her work aside and looked at Gigi with an expression that spoke equally of sadness, shame, and uncertainty.
“We lost all three of you the night of Alaric’s funeral,” she said. “Mother had given me a draught for sleeping, so my recollection is hazy. I’m told Athaulf cursed her for what she’d done to Magnus, and sent her from our tent. We never saw her again, never found any trace of her.” Verica shivered. “The wolves were out that night because of the … er, because of the cold, but Athaulf didn’t worry about her, because he never suspected that she would go outside camp.”
Gigi remembered something else about that night, something horrible: the slaughter of the slaves. She shivered, and then glanced at Placidia, who kept her eyes on her work. Apparently no one had told her of Athaulf’s order to murder all the innocents who’d helped to bury King Alaric, thus ensuring his grave would never be found and desecrated by his enemies. She wondered about the wolves, but didn’t remember hearing any that night, only Randegund’s evil cackle. The old witch had drugged Magnus and handed him over to Roman soldiers, then ambushed Gigi on order to steal Magnus’s precious ring.
If the wolves got her, Gigi sure wasn’t going to cry about it.
“But even wolves leave traces,” Verica continued in a faraway voice, “and yet there was nothing. It snowed that night, but there was no sign of struggle, no blood. It is my belief that she could not bear to leave Alaric, her foster son and the one she loved above all others, so she went back to the river and joined him.”
And good riddance! Gigi couldn’t help thinking, wanting desperately to change the subject. Instead, she said, “I’m very sorry, Verica. It was a terrible time.”
Nodding, Verica stood and shook out her skirt. “It was terrible, but things are better now, excepting poor Theo, God rest his soul.” Both she and Placidia crossed themselves, before Verica resumed, “My heart has begun to heal, my children are well, and we have a home for our people, at last.”
“You do look wonderful,” Gigi offered.
Verica laughed at this. “Haven’t you noticed? I am getting gray.”
Gigi had seen silver strands amid the dowager queen’s blond tresses, but to her they looked like gorgeous platinum highlights. “You look even more radiant than before. Is there a secret?”
Placidia looked up at Verica and smiled.
Verica laughed again. “There may be a certain someone, if that’s what you’re trying to pry out of me.”
“Good!” Gigi exclaimed. “Tell me everything.”
Verica flushed like a schoolgirl. “His name is Frideger. He is a distant cousin to Alaric, but has lived mostly in the region of the Danubius. He came with men to help us fight the wars against Jovinus.”
“And he stayed … for you?”
Verica nodded, little crinkles of happiness showing at the corners of her eyes. “He asked Athaulf for my hand, and Athaulf consented. We were to be married after Christmas, but of course it has been delayed.” She glanced at Placidia, who took her hand and nodded to her with a smile.
“Will you stay here, in Barcino?” Gigi asked.
“No. Athaulf has asked that we return to Narbonne, to hold the city for the Visigoths,” Verica replied. “It will be our great honor. Narbonne is a beautiful town, and not too far