Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,60

not only the king’s blood on his hands, but that of seven innocent children as well. He is despicable. You must get the people to stand with you, in case he tries to seize power. In the meantime, we must protect the queen.”

Wallia stepped forward. “We plan to take King Athaulf’s body into the mountains, to keep him safe from his enemies.” He turned to the queen. “My lady, it is my wish that you accompany us. We can keep you safe.”

Gigi grasped Magnus’s arm. “Maybe we should go with them. We can explain everything to Placidia … ”

Magnus nodded and Wallia said, “As you wish.”

The darkness of this night still weighed on Gigi, and she deeply mourned Athaulf, but now she saw glimmers of hope. The children were alive and safe with Lucius and Vana. She and Magnus had survived, and, with Wallia’s help, they would protect Placidia for as long as possible.

Dawn’s pale light touched the chapel windows. Events seemed to be turning in their favor.

She could feel it in her bones.

• • •

“Shit!” Sergeric muttered as he strode the corridors of the castle, sword drawn, looking for signs of the assassin. What in hell happened? There were rumors of Roman legionnaires having infiltrated Barcino, but he hadn’t seen anyone matching that description, let alone captured one. No one claimed to know anything, and most were accusing him of murdering Athaulf! Would that it were so! But Christ Almighty, someone had beaten him to the punch. Who was it? Had Constantius double-crossed him? If not him, who?

And where was Eberwolf?

It was just past dawn, and chaos reigned. He’d managed to gather some of the castle guard to his side, and together they did what they could to bring calm. Despite the turmoil, Sergeric was cautiously hopeful. Had there been a coup? Was this the moment he’d most sought?

Finding no sign of resistance, Sergeric and those who followed him went to the king’s chambers to see for themselves what had happened.

He halted in the doorway to the bedchamber and stared. Several serving women knelt, weeping and scrubbing the floor. There was a vast amount of blood.

“Where is the king?” Sergeric demanded.

The women looked up, startled. “We do not know,” one answered, her voice thick with grief. “We were ordered to clean up, but, God rest his soul, the king was already gone.”

Speechless, Sergeric turned to his men.

“He’ll be laid out in the chapel,” one of the men offered.

Sergeric nodded and headed for the chapel. When he got there, he found the door hanging open, blood everywhere, and the bishop lying prostrate at the foot of the altar.

“Christ! They’ve killed him, too?” Sergeric exclaimed.

Suddenly, the bishop was on his feet. “May God strike you dead!” he shouted, shaking a finger at Sergeric. “Strike off his head for the evil he has done this day! The murder of innocents can have no other outcome. Send him to hell — now!”

“Quiet, old man!” Sergeric shouted back. “What the hell are you talking about? The king is dead, but not by my hand, as you seem to think. And he was no innocent, either.”

Enraged, Bishop Sigesar launched himself at Sergeric, but the soldiers stopped him, although he continued to claw and rail. “The children! Your man butchered the king’s children! Right here, before the very eyes of God, you had them butchered! How can the world breed such evil, and yet survive?”

Sergeric’s mouth dropped open, and he looked again at the blood covering the floor. Could it be true? He dragged his gaze back to the bishop and considered his injury. Certainly head wounds tended to bleed profusely, but there was more here than a single wound would produce.

The Visigoths holding the bishop started to glare at Sergeric, and he realized they would not tolerate a child-killer. His hold over them was slim and temporary, at best, and now they looked as though they were about to turn. He had to regain the moment.

“Calm down and speak plain,” he ordered the bishop. “I am responsible for none of this night’s events, but you say the children — Athaulf’s? — were all murdered? Here? Where are their bodies?”

Bishop Sigesar stopped struggling and dropped his arms, so the men loosened their hold. “The queen herself was witness to the slaughter on this very spot, forced to watch as each of the children was struck down. They were under my protection, all of them, and they were ripped from our very arms and butchered. You had