Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,43

to make, two more people who must suffer for the death of Randegund, but they could wait until the next blood moon appeared in September.

Chapter 12

Summer, A.D. 415, Near Arles, Southern France

The air was thick with dust, the sky hazy from a hot, dirty breeze that had been torturing the encampment for days. Constantius considered taking a quick dip in the smaller fork of the Rhodanos, where the shallows lessened the current, but pushed the thought away. He was too busy, and, besides, his men and horses were already there, bathing away the grit in shifts. He would let them take their ease without a general in their midst. Nevertheless, he looked forward to a cool swim before bed.

But would he be able to sleep after that? Deep, untroubled sleep had eluded him for days, such were his burdens. It seemed the entire Roman Empire teetered on the brink of disaster.

He untied his filthy neck cloth and slapped it against his knee. A puff of dust rose, and then dissipated. He dunked the cloth into a jug of water, wiped his face, and then dunked it again, before retying it around his neck. The cooling sensation was a relief, enabling him to focus on the map before him. He’d brought his men to this place for a few days’ rest, and he would be loath to leave it, but they needed to push on toward Hispania in the morning, where the Visigoth king lurked, thinking himself safe.

Taking a deep breath, then blowing out hard, Constantius tried to control the sense of urgency that dogged his every waking moment, and plagued what few dreams he’d managed to have.

Placidia.

She had been taken captive and forced to marry his great enemy, the oaf-king, Athaulf.

Constantius slammed his hand down on the table in frustration. He had been promised her hand by Honorius. All the years of tender devotion he’d nursed in his heart for her, and for what? A sullied woman!

He noticed several men casting glances his way, and headed for the banks of the river to be alone with his thoughts. Watching the ebb and flow would ease his tension.

It must be faced, he told himself. Placidia is no longer a virgin. He had lost that honor. But he still cherished her, would do anything for her. It was his greatest pleasure to have been given the command that would see her brought home, once and for all, after the Visigoths were defeated and Athaulf killed. And then, at long last, she would be his.

Constantius straightened and smiled. How he loved her! He would do everything possible to make her happy.

Shouts and commotion in camp caught his attention and he turned to look. A legatus bearing the emperor’s standard approached his tent. A message or command of some sort from Honorius, no doubt. Constantius went to greet him.

“Titus Africanus!” he exclaimed, surprised to see him. They saluted and grasped each other’s forearms. “I thought you were still in Ravenna. Are you come to tell me of your achievements in that regard, I hope? From the look of it,” he indicated Africanus’s new uniform with a nod, “your visit pleased the emperor very much.”

“Alas, only partially. The functions of most of the objects recovered from Magnus’s gear continue to puzzle Honorius’s magicians,” Africanus admitted.

“Ah,” Constantius said, nodding.

“As to my new status,” Africanus went on, “I am most grateful to Honorius for his beneficence.”

Constantius smiled. “As are we all. And what of Magnus and his wife? Have they been captured?”

“No. As you know, they stole a skiff in Vada Sabatia and were able to elude the blockade. It has been confirmed Magnus and his wife have joined Athaulf and Placidia in Barcino.”

“Damn him to Hades!” Constantius blurted. “I swear that man has the goddess Fortuna in his pocket! Any idea where he has kept himself all these years?”

Africanus shrugged. “Britannia, perhaps? I know not, but anywhere else, and we’d have gotten wind of it, you may be sure.”

“Does Honorius send any messages? Directives? Is that why you are here?”

A smile flickered across Africanus’s face. “Only that I and my men are to join up with you, and aid in any way possible on the mission you pursue, for our goals are now the same. But there is a bit more news. Have you heard of the death of the Visigoth princeling?”

“Indeed, I have.” Constantius nodded in self-satisfaction, again savoring the momentous news. When his own plans came to fruition and he married Placidia, it meant