Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,67
His lightning bolt weapon had ceased to function and he needed to hold someone accountable.
Leaving his entourage in the corridor, he stormed into the room, held up the weapon and screamed to the magicians and their apprentices, “Have any of you idiots discovered how to restore its godly power?”
Surprised and terrified, the men gasped and cried out, and Honorius had his answer.
“You craven scum!” Honorius felt a thunderous rage as they cowered before him. He stormed toward the table holding Magnus and Gigiperrin’s things. Throwing the useless lightning bolt weapon to the floor, he stomped on it, and then overturned the table, sending everything crashing down.
He pointed to his magicians, about to pronounce death sentences upon them all.
“Forgive the intrusion, Serenissimus, but I have urgent news.”
Livid, he turned. His Master of Offices, Rutilius Namatianus, stood in the doorway.
Honorius’s blood still roiled. He clenched his jaw and spat out, “What?”
Namatianus bowed. “O most worthy emperor, I have momentous and glad tidings. The Visigoth king, Athaulf, is dead, murdered in his bath last month in Barcino. As you requested, General Constantius has sent the man’s pickled remains. The courier awaits you in the throne room.”
Honorius gaped in astonishment. “And … my sister? Did she survive?”
“Indeed, my lord, she is alive and well, but I heard all of the royal children were killed.”
Honorius clapped his hands, laughing with delight. Athaulf dead! His brats gone! Placidia unharmed, and soon to be returned and once more living under his sway. These were indeed momentous and glad tidings.
He turned back to the magicians. “Thank the stars for the Visigoth king’s murder, because his death just gave you back your lives.”
Then he left, eager to see what had been pickled. Chuckling, he sauntered toward the hall.
• • •
Honorius sat on his balcony as his slaves put the finishing touches on his hair, hands and feet.
Smiling, he gazed at the sea, pondering all that had happened in the past few hours. In addition to Athaulf’s remains, the pickled body of Titus Africanus had also been delivered to the palace, and now a famed embalmer worked on it. Honorius wanted only the best for his favorite and most noble legatus, and the embalmer was a genius, having studied with the few remaining Egyptian priests practicing the ancient art of preserving bodies. Africanus’s corpse would not be mummified, of course, but still, he would look glorious as he lay in state. Honorius planned to celebrate the man’s honorable death with thirty days of games, circuses, and banquets, a fitting tribute for his loyal service.
As the slaves finished his manicure and pedicure, he basked in the delightful remembrance of seeing Athaulf’s pickled remains. The jar was locked in a cabinet in his private study, a mess of tattered flesh and cloudy liquid, but still delicious to behold. He was delighted by the diminutive size of the barbarian’s cock and wished he could show it around, but, despite his glee, he had decided to hide the thing. He did not want Baha to see it, fearing it would cause her much distress, something he could not bear.
Life was good. General Constantius’s plans had worked, and the future of the Western Roman Empire looked bright. There were some disappointments, to be sure, the criminals Quintus Magnus and Gigiperrin had avoided capture once again, but Honorius was certain they would soon be found and made to suffer for their crimes.
One mystery nagged him, however; the witch Dipsas had disappeared from Ravenna. Honorius could not fathom why she had not remained to share in his triumph, for he knew her dark arts had played a major hand in Athaulf’s downfall.
Ah, it mattered not. Honorius shrugged and smiled. Before the public celebrations started, he had private plans, an intimate celebration with his girls. He had called for Baha, along with his former mistresses, Britomartis and Adriadne, to attend him this evening. And Rome, his pretty, pretty chicken. All of his beauties, together again!
The hairdresser finished, gave him a bronze hand mirror, then bowed and left, knowing Honorius preferred to look at himself in private. He glanced at the wavy image, moving the mirror so that he could see his face in the best possible light, and approved his new hairstyle, his face framed with dark curls and … white hairs?
Honorius almost dropped the mirror, such was his shock. He stared hard at his reflection. There were new wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, too, and … his jaw … it sagged!
Oh, God, no! His guts