Read Online After the Fall by Morgan O'Neill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Morgan O'Neill
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Magnus motioned for Gigi to join him. She took his hand and waited, his skin warm, the little squeeze to her fingers his way of telling her it was going to be okay.
She felt her nerves fall away, a sense of calm enveloping her.
The king stepped toward Attalus. “Senator, the siege is lifted. I have already ordered the storage houses opened, and deliveries of food should be on their way as we speak.”
“ Yes! ” Gigi exclaimed in English, but only Magnus grinned at her response.
Attalus grasped the king’s proffered forearm, tears in his eyes. “May the gods bless you, King Alaric the Wise!”
“May God bless us all,” Alaric said.
Athaulf stepped forward with a small item, wrapped in golden silk. “I would have you return this to Galla Placidia,” he said to Attalus.
Gigi watched as Athaulf pulled back the edges, revealing the emerald necklace, which he pressed into Attalus’s hands.
“No, no,” Attalus protested. “Placidia’s sacrifice was voluntary, and she insisted you have it.”
“But — ”
“No! Placidia told me someday she hoped it would be returned to her, but not now.” Attalus gave the necklace back to Athaulf and lowered his voice, looking awkward. “She told me … ”
Gigi strained to hear the senator’s next words.
“ … she awaits the day when you might return this bauble to her neck. She told me she is ever patient, like Roma aeterna herself, and she will wait for a new future. She will wait.”
• • •
The curtain rose on the final act, and Honorius smiled. He touched his hair, adjusting his new pearl diadem, knowing he looked magnificent, the pride of the Empire. His smile broadened as he peered at the audience, pleased to see their expressions of awe and rapture.
He raised his sword, flexing his bared muscles, wearing but a loincloth and cloak, like the Greeks of old. Behind him, the stage of his theater had been transformed into a seascape; the air howled with a wind conjured by his court magicians, while an ocean appeared to heave and roar with pounding waves. Britomartis was chained to a column, the marble hidden by layers of plaster, making it look like the famous Siren’s Rock off the coast of Sicilia. Honorius gazed at the girl’s windblown tresses, her blond hair already damp and clinging to her white skin, which peeked deliciously through the carefully crafted rips in her golden gown.
“Ahhh,” he sighed as he winked at her. “Perfection is ours to behold, ours to hold.”
She closed her eyes against the great sprays of water now pelting her face. Honorius wished he could rush forward to spread her pale legs in front of everyone and take her there, wet, wild, unrelenting, but he forced himself into a statue pose, for he must play his role, he must be heroic Perseus to her Andromeda enchained.
He threw back his head and began to recite his beloved Ovid:
“Chained to a rock she stood!
Young Perseus stayed his rapid flight,
To view the beauteous maid.
So sweet her frame, so exquisitely fine,
She seemed a statue by a hand divine,
Had not the wind her waving tresses showed,
And down her cheeks the melting sorrows flowed.
Her faultless form the hero’s bosom fires;
The more he looks, the more he still admires …
The beauteous bride moves on, now loosed from chains,
The cause, and sweet reward of all the hero’s pains.”
He rushed across the stage until he reached Britomartis, dramatically breaking her chains with his sword. He swept her into his arms and away from her rocky prison. The drama was nearly over, and he, Perseus, had prevailed.
The audience erupted in applause and shouts of triumph, showering the stage with roses. Honorius grinned, glorying in the adulation.
Then he saw General Sarus out of the corner of his eye, standing just offstage. Damn him to Hades! He sighed and placed Britomartis on her feet. Picking up a rose, Honorius bowed to the audience, then walked over to Sarus.
He breathed in the flower’s sweet
Magnus motioned for Gigi to join him. She took his hand and waited, his skin warm, the little squeeze to her fingers his way of telling her it was going to be okay.
She felt her nerves fall away, a sense of calm enveloping her.
The king stepped toward Attalus. “Senator, the siege is lifted. I have already ordered the storage houses opened, and deliveries of food should be on their way as we speak.”
“ Yes! ” Gigi exclaimed in English, but only Magnus grinned at her response.
Attalus grasped the king’s proffered forearm, tears in his eyes. “May the gods bless you, King Alaric the Wise!”
“May God bless us all,” Alaric said.
Athaulf stepped forward with a small item, wrapped in golden silk. “I would have you return this to Galla Placidia,” he said to Attalus.
Gigi watched as Athaulf pulled back the edges, revealing the emerald necklace, which he pressed into Attalus’s hands.
“No, no,” Attalus protested. “Placidia’s sacrifice was voluntary, and she insisted you have it.”
“But — ”
“No! Placidia told me someday she hoped it would be returned to her, but not now.” Attalus gave the necklace back to Athaulf and lowered his voice, looking awkward. “She told me … ”
Gigi strained to hear the senator’s next words.
“ … she awaits the day when you might return this bauble to her neck. She told me she is ever patient, like Roma aeterna herself, and she will wait for a new future. She will wait.”
• • •
The curtain rose on the final act, and Honorius smiled. He touched his hair, adjusting his new pearl diadem, knowing he looked magnificent, the pride of the Empire. His smile broadened as he peered at the audience, pleased to see their expressions of awe and rapture.
He raised his sword, flexing his bared muscles, wearing but a loincloth and cloak, like the Greeks of old. Behind him, the stage of his theater had been transformed into a seascape; the air howled with a wind conjured by his court magicians, while an ocean appeared to heave and roar with pounding waves. Britomartis was chained to a column, the marble hidden by layers of plaster, making it look like the famous Siren’s Rock off the coast of Sicilia. Honorius gazed at the girl’s windblown tresses, her blond hair already damp and clinging to her white skin, which peeked deliciously through the carefully crafted rips in her golden gown.
“Ahhh,” he sighed as he winked at her. “Perfection is ours to behold, ours to hold.”
She closed her eyes against the great sprays of water now pelting her face. Honorius wished he could rush forward to spread her pale legs in front of everyone and take her there, wet, wild, unrelenting, but he forced himself into a statue pose, for he must play his role, he must be heroic Perseus to her Andromeda enchained.
He threw back his head and began to recite his beloved Ovid:
“Chained to a rock she stood!
Young Perseus stayed his rapid flight,
To view the beauteous maid.
So sweet her frame, so exquisitely fine,
She seemed a statue by a hand divine,
Had not the wind her waving tresses showed,
And down her cheeks the melting sorrows flowed.
Her faultless form the hero’s bosom fires;
The more he looks, the more he still admires …
The beauteous bride moves on, now loosed from chains,
The cause, and sweet reward of all the hero’s pains.”
He rushed across the stage until he reached Britomartis, dramatically breaking her chains with his sword. He swept her into his arms and away from her rocky prison. The drama was nearly over, and he, Perseus, had prevailed.
The audience erupted in applause and shouts of triumph, showering the stage with roses. Honorius grinned, glorying in the adulation.
Then he saw General Sarus out of the corner of his eye, standing just offstage. Damn him to Hades! He sighed and placed Britomartis on her feet. Picking up a rose, Honorius bowed to the audience, then walked over to Sarus.
He breathed in the flower’s sweet
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