Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,70
greet him with a curtsy.
“Queen Placidia,” Wallia said, kissing her outstretched hand.
She shook her head. “I thank you for the words, but I am no longer queen.”
He looked at her squarely and his grip tightened. “You will always carry that title, my lady. Always. And you shall forever be honored by the Visigoth people, never to be forgotten or put aside. You have given and sacrificed too much for our cause, for our gratitude to be otherwise.”
She inclined her head. “My sacrifices are precisely the reason why I asked to speak with you. We have spoken of this before, but it is becoming urgent.”
Wallia let go of her hands. “I will never barter you for food. Never! It is repugnant, and however noble your offer, I deem it to be distasteful and utterly incomprehensible. I do not want to go over this again. The subject is closed.”
Placida reached out and put her hand on his arm, trying to catch his gaze, but he would not look at her. “I fear I have done a poor job explaining myself. Hear me out once more. As I live and breathe, I am certain my future, a brighter future, lies in Ravenna. Take a knee before Constantius. Let me go with him.”
Wallia grumbled and turned toward the window, arms crossed.
“My lord, Constantius will allow you to rule as a vassal king, and then you will no longer be bothered by Roman threats. I am all he wants from you, so the longer you keep me here, the hungrier your people become. He will not let the food supplies flow in until he has me, so I beg you, please, trade me for grain! I know your people would think it barter and despise you for it, so let me speak to them from the balcony. I will address them, tell them goodbye, and tell them the truth — that I ask it of you. They may never understand, but they will accept my words and you will not be held to blame. Let me go.” She reached out again and touched his arm. “Wallia, your own son lies abed, without the strength good food would provide to fight his illness. For his sake, for mine, and for all your people, let me go.”
Heaving a sigh, Wallia turned and looked at her with sad eyes. “You know I never coveted this crown, but I wear it to honor and carry on the legacy of a man I loved and served my whole life. Your husband. King Athaulf. How then can I turn you out, you, his greatest love, his widow?”
“Because my life here is done,” she said earnestly. “I know you would not turn me out, but think politically. As his widow, as both Queen of the Visigoths and Royal Princess of Rome, I can do more for you in Ravenna what I could ever do remaining here. I can fight for you, Athaulf’s people. I can advance your cause. I can make sure your future becomes yours to determine. No more Roman meddling. No more Roman lies and misbehavior. My brother will be so pleased to have gotten me back, he will do anything I ask, and that is how I, how both of us, can still serve Athaulf’s great vision.”
Wallia looked at her, and she could tell she’d finally struck a chord. Something deep within his gaze told her she’d found her way around his protective, honor-bound heart. Her path, the one Gigi and Magnus had described to her, was finally open to her. All she had left to do was take that first, difficult step.
• • •
The soaring peaks and deep crags of the Pyrenees mountains were breathtaking, the air blessedly cooler in the mountain pass, than the stifling lowlands they had left nearer the coast.
Regally gowned, a thin, golden coronet on her short curls, her pearl necklace at her throat, Placidia stood alone, head held high. Before her stood General Constantius and his legion of Roman soldiers, all battle hardened and grim, their spears and blades polished and glinting in the sun. Behind her, King Wallia and his Visigoths.
As was so often the case, soldiers, women, and children stood shoulder to shoulder. Placidia felt pride in their number, for so many had accompanied her on this difficult journey, to honor her and her dead husband, their greatest king.
She had addressed them from the balcony of the castellum, explaining why she must go, and absolving Wallia of all blame. Weeping, they