Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,50

is troubled, and I respect your instincts. If there is anything further you think needs doing to ensure my safety, please see to it, including keeping Sergeric and his little friend under constant surveillance. You have my blessing.”

• • •

The stars were bright, the air blessedly cool. Titus Africanus rode into Hispania on a little used pass north of Barcino, leading his men by stealth and darkness of night. When they reached the last hillcrest before the town, he raised his hand, halting his men. He walked his horse forward from the rest and looked out at the vista.

Africanus searched the coastline for twinkling lights, lanterns, or torches, but he could see nothing except the faint and meandering line of pearly waves, snaking the ink-black sea. Just inland, a bank of fog obscured his view, and he guessed Barcino lay there, swathed in mist and waiting.

He thought back to that afternoon, when he’d gotten word Sergeric and Eberwolf had already reached Barcino. He mulled Sergeric’s plans, recalling how the man wanted to take his time, renewing the bonds of friendship with his fellow Visigoths before he seized power.

Africanus doubted Sergeric could wait much longer, or pull off so seamless a transition to power, feeling the Visigoth dramatically underestimated not only the panic that would ensue at the death of Athaulf, but also the king’s personal popularity. Sergeric would find himself in the middle of a debacle, and it would be Africanus’s responsibility to step in and take control. He planned to do just that, he would infiltrate Barcino in disguise, his men following afterward, one at a time, until they were all in position, ready to strike.

He turned his thoughts to Magnus. He no longer had any illusions about what it would take to capture him. Either he’d have to seize the wife first, and thus force Magnus’s hand, or he’d have to kill him outright. Could he beat Magnus one on one? Magnus’s prowess was legendary, and he must assume it would come down to that.

He considered the view a moment longer and swore he caught the barest hint of briny air. Africanus took a deep, appreciative breath, vowing to bathe in the sea as soon as he could, or have his men wash his corpse in the waves if he could not.

He steeled himself against the latter. To question or worry about the outcome between himself and Magnus was useless. Africanus knew he’d have to win, or else he would be dead. There was no middle ground.

“Be warned, Magnus,” he spoke aloud, “I do not intend to die.”

Chapter 15

The Castle, Barcelona, Spain

Sitting on a bench after the evening meal, Eberwolf nursed a cup of wine. The great hall stood empty but for servants cleaning up. The lack of guards surprised him, because he knew he’d been under surveillance since he’d arrived at court. Someone will surely catch hell, he thought, or, mayhap, no one will ever find out his guards had grown lax. He certainly would not bring it to their attention. His mood lifted at the thought of them off somewhere playing dice or drinking.

He looked down at his mimi costume, a necessary evil. After supper, he’d provided the entertainment for the royal court, as he had each evening since his arrival three days before.

Ah, when will it happen? he wondered. He smiled to himself, knowing he must be patient and let events unfold as they would. After all, things had worked out so far. He and Sergeric were in place, out in the open and right under the noses of their intended targets.

As far as Eberwolf could tell, no one suspected them of any potential wrongdoing, except for that miserable Roman, Quintus Magnus. The man’s constant presence was troublesome, to say the least, but Eberwolf had ignored his suspicious gaze. He continued to play his part, and waited for the right moment to strike, Magnus be damned.

May he be fucked in the ass by Jupiter’s cock!

Eberwolf snorted. The Romans were enemy scum who killed his family when he was a boy. He’d grown up an orphan, lonely and small, an outcast even among his own people, the Visigoths, for they prized warriors and men of strength, something he could never be.

His mood grew sour. He would not have to deal with any of them much longer, for the coin he would earn for this task would provide him an escape. He had heard there were places in the East where all the men were small of