Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,61
them butchered!”
Sergeric pondered this news. He did not care that the children were dead, but he had planned to make them quietly “disappear” only after the crown was securely on his head, perhaps by an accident of fate.
He could feel his world spinning out of control and fought to save his future. “Who would butcher the children? Can you identify him, at least? Can you give any pertinent information we can act on, instead of flinging lies and accusations?”
Tears suddenly sprang from the old bishop’s eyes, and his shoulders slumped as he covered his face with his hands. “It was my fault! He had the voice of a woman, begging to be let in for safety’s sake.”
Eberwolf! Sergeric thought, reeling. That little shit did all of this!
“He was dressed as a female servant, and barged in as soon as I opened the door,” the bishop continued. “He slashed at me and knocked me down. I do not recall what happened after that, but when I finally came ’round, the queen was with me, lamenting the loss of her children. She said your mimi had murdered them all, and she did not know where he was, or what he had done with the bodies of her precious babes.”
“Eberwolf,” Sergeric confirmed, facing the obvious head-on. “I met him in Gaul, where he danced and cavorted and told jokes. That fucking mimi. Who would have imagined such evil lurked within such a body?” He looked at the soldiers, one by one. “Honorius,” he exclaimed. “Eberwolf must be Honorius’s man. You all heard the rumors of Romans in the castellum when the king was murdered. How would they have known when to enter if not for a signal from within, from Eberwolf?”
Sergeric could discern a change in the men’s faces; even the bishop’s expression had softened. He took a deep breath and put a gentle hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Do not blame yourself. Great harm has been done to the Visigoths and the people of Barcino this day, but the fault, as ever, belongs to Honorius and his minion, Eberwolf. We must assume he has somehow spirited away the king’s body, as well, but we will track him down and see he pays for his evil.”
There was silence for a moment, and Sergeric was about to move out when the bishop straightened and glared at him once more.
“The murderer does not have the king’s body. The king’s personal guard came after I awoke, and soon after that, Magnus and his wife arrived to comfort the queen. I learned it was she who asked the guards to take the body and hide it, for they feared you would desecrate the remains.”
An angry heat tore through Sergeric at this insult, for he would never stoop so low. Even the corpse of King Alaric — a man whom Sergeric had cursed and hated — had been safe with him. Only the bastard Romans, or the loathsome Huns, were known to do such depraved things to the remains of their enemies.
“Listen well, bishop,” Sergeric spoke through clenched teeth, “I had no hand in any of this. So, what about Magnus and his whore of a wife? They have feigned loyalty to the Visigoths for years, yet, curiously, when they are in our midst, all our plans are continually thwarted. Think on this: I believe they have been feeding Honorius information. How else could the emperor have been so successful? How else could he have found a way to insert an assassin here, in the castle, if not for Magnus? We all know Honorius is not smart enough to achieve such a master-stroke on his own.”
Everyone stood silent, digesting the information, and Sergeric could tell by their nods he had won them over. A smile flitted through his mind, but he did not let it show. How he had managed to sway Athaulf’s men to his side and condemn Magnus with the same breath was beyond his understanding, but he was delighted. God was indeed good.
“Come, we have much to do,” Sergeric said. “We must find the murderer and the bodies, if we can, then take control of the castellum, and see that the people fully understand what has happened. And we must make sure we are in readiness, should the Roman filth try to do more harm.” He started to walk out, the soldiers following dutifully, but he turned at the door. “Bishop, please arrange for a Holy Mass to be held for the king and