Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,53
floor-length curtains in the alcove near the balcony.
Go! He took several steps backward and slid behind the heavy fabric. To his relief, there was enough room to stash his buckets. After carefully lowering them to the floor, he pushed the palla off his head, removed the knife hidden in his right boot, and waited.
• • •
After using the latrine, Magnus set off for Athaulf’s chambers on the other side of the palace. He was determined to save his friend no matter what ill fortune came his way, and braced himself for the long night ahead. Touching the hilt of his sword, he reminded himself the corridor was too narrow for swordplay, and withdrew his Bowie knife instead.
Despite what he knew, at this moment the future was unwritten.
Fuck the inevitability of history! Magnus glanced at the ceiling, sending his anger skyward, to Victoria and all the gods. I will not let this happen, his mind thundered. About to mutter a curse, he forced himself to cool down. This would not do. He needed to think clearly.
Reassessing Gigi’s plan, he hoped Placidia would understand the significance of what his wife was going to tell her.
Lives depended on it. So many lives.
• • •
It took Gigi several minutes to find out that Placidia was praying with Bishop Sigesar in the palace’s private chapel. At first, the guard at the door had refused her entry, but Gigi insisted she had urgent news for the queen, and he relented.
The door quietly closed behind her, and she stood for a moment, taking in the candlelit scene. The bishop and Placidia knelt before the altar, deep in prayer.
Gigi let her breath out slowly, seeking to relax. It wouldn’t help if she seemed desperate or frantic as she tried to make her case.
“Your Majesty?” she called softly.
Both Placidia and the bishop started at the interruption.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” Gigi apologized with a quick curtsy. “Placidia, I need to speak with you. It’s very important.”
The queen frowned with concern. “What is it?”
As the bishop helped Placidia to her feet, Gigi realized what she was going to say next would probably not go over well with him.
“Bishop, forgive me, but would you leave us alone? I must speak to the queen in private.”
His eyes widened at the affront, but Placidia waved her hand through the air. “No need for you to leave, bishop,” she told him. “Gigi will accompany me to my chambers.”
She watched as Placidia kissed Bishop Sigesar’s ring. He shot Gigi another look, grumbled, and then returned to his knees and his prayers.
As soon as they were in the hallway, the queen drew Gigi to her side. “Tell me what is so important.”
“Placidia,” Gigi began, and then reconsidered how she should to do this. She switched gears and said, “I think the king ought to hear this, too.”
The queen glanced at Gigi with a patient smile. “As you wish. I shall check to see if he is able to receive guests. He was planning to have his weekly bath while I visited the bishop.”
Gigi sucked in her breath. There were two versions of Athaulf’s death in the historical records: one where he was murdered in his stables, the other in his bathtub!
Desperate, Gigi grabbed her walkie-talkie, pressed the button, and shouted in English, “Magnus, where are you?”
• • •
Heart pounding, Magnus grabbed his walkie-talkie.
“Magnus!” Gigi’s urgent shout crackled. “Magnus! Hurry!”
“What is it?” he shouted back.
“Are you with Athaulf?”
“No — ”
“Go to him! Now! Placidia said he’s alone. He’s taking a bath!”
“On my way,” he yelled and broke into a run. Taking out his Bowie knife, he flattened it against his forearm, rounded a corner at full speed, then skidded to a halt.
Before him a tall man stood poised, grinning, the tip of his short sword a mere finger’s length from Magnus’s chest.
“From all accounts I thought I might find you nearer the king’s apartments,” the man said. “But your running into me certainly saves me time. On the floor, Magnus. Face down. You are my captive and you will be returning with me to Ravenna.”
Recognition flashed. The centurion. Vada Sabatia.
“Out of my way,” Magnus growled.
The man laughed. “I am the legatus Titus Africanus,” he said. “And your commands mean nothing, since you are nothing, nothing but meat for Honorius’s beasts in the arena. Get on the floor.”
“Fuck you,” Magnus replied, then flicked out his knife and charged, rending the cloth at Africanus’s belly, but nothing more.
Africanus sprang to one side, swinging his blade at Magnus in