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As the massage resumed, he realized he was feeling quite tired. He bade the girls cease and started to rise.
    “Forgive the intrusion, O most excellent Honorius.”
    He turned as the captain of his guards ushered in a stranger carrying a wooden box. The man went down on one knee.
    “My lord,” the captain said, “this courier has a gift for you, sent by a citizen of Rome.”
    Honorius’s pulse quickened. Those were code words, meaning it was over, done. “Open the box,” he ordered eagerly.
    The man looked at the women and hesitated.
    Honorius tapped his foot. “Open it!”
    “As you wish, Your Majesty.” He pulled off the lid, reached inside, and brought forth a small head, that of a child.
    Honorius ignored the sound of the chisel clattering to the floor, the screams of the girls, the horrified gasp of Rutilius Namatianus. He bent closer, unmoved by the stench of decay, fascinated by what had happened to Eucherius’s face.
    The boy looked strange, wizened, like an old monkey. Ah, what to do with such a dreadfully wonderful thing?
    Rubbing his chin, Honorius recalled an old saying, If I cannot bend Heaven, I shall move Hell.
    Clapping his hands, he said, “Pickle it! If Alaric the Uncouth dares to cause any more trouble, we shall send this to him, reminding him of our power.”
    • • •
    Placidia gazed at the leaden morning sky, its gloomy promise matching the feel of her heart. She turned to Gigi. “I miss you already. I wish you could stay longer,” she said, hugging her. “Magnus, take good care of her.”
    They bowed and moved off, and Athaulf approached. Placidia looked into his eyes and trembled at his masculine beauty.
    “My lady,” he spoke quietly, “it was my greatest pleasure to meet you, for you have opened my eyes to what is good and fine about Rome. Would that I could stay longer.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Would that I could stay forever.”
    He released her and sighed.
    Her skin still tingled with the memory of his touch. “Athaulf,” she whispered, realizing his name was already precious to her. “Athaulf, we cannot leave it here. We must meet again.”
    He looked startled and then gazed at her eyes, her lips. Placidia felt the rush of her blood, a deep surge of desire. Her hand moved toward him. She wanted to touch his face, but he checked her move with his eyes and pulled back.
    “We shall meet again, if God wills it. Farewell, sweet Placidia.”
    She watched him leave with the others, her throat tight with emotion. It was the first time he had spoken her name. She prayed to all the saints in Heaven it would not be the last.

Chapter 5
    Accompanied by her maid, Persis, and her few remaining bodyguards, Placidia trudged back up the Scalae Caci leading to her palace, pushing at dripping curls escaping from beneath her palla. It had been raining for days, and the weather was unseasonably cold. What were they going to do? When was Honorius going to pay the city’s ransom? She wrapped the sodden cloak closer about her shoulders and shook her head, miserable. She was a fool! Her brother hadn’t even bothered to respond to her pleas, other than to say it was none of his doing, and Rome would have to find her own way out of this disaster.
    Between the two of them, she and Attalus had managed to browbeat the Senate into gradually doling out what was left of the grain supply. Alaric had cut off all deliveries into Rome, rationing the food allowance by half, then by two-thirds when he learned some amount of grain was still to be found within the walls. Every Friday for the past month, Placidia had gone to different storage facilities, begging the people there to share what they were given, share what little they had stashed away with their families, their neighbors, those most vulnerable. And Placidia was adamant her household should receive no more food or fuel for heating and cooking than any other.
    But despite careful planning, strict rationing, and city-wide cooperation,