Love, Eternally Read Online Free Page A

the same eagerness as the worst of the sycophants.
    Asinus asinum fricat … the ass rubs the ass.
    Magnus suddenly realized everyone had grown deadly quiet. He glanced at several of the emperor’s palatini guards, but the huge, hairy Germani brutes were watching Honorius, not him. To his dismay, the emperor walked toward the knot of people standing by Magnus and then crooked his finger.
    Honorius clapped Namatianus on the shoulder. “Come, my pagan friend, and you, too, Magnus, come. You shall both help. Perhaps you will see the light and convert.”
    O, ye gods!
    Magnus looked beyond the men and women awaiting baptism and saw the angry scowls of the bishop and priests, who stood ready in the marble font. He reminded himself the ceremony had already degenerated into blasphemy for them, not only because Honorius wanted two pagans to participate without first converting, but also because the emperor wished his favorite chickens to be given baptismal rites. Upon learning the plans, the bishop’s face had flushed as purple as Honorius’s robes, while all others cast down their eyes, for none save a fool would question the emperor’s desires.
    The door to the baptistery suddenly opened wide, and four screeching hens were brought inside, wings beating the air, feathers flying.
    The emperor threw out his arms. “Fulvia, Rome, Octavia, Livia! Our dear girls, how we have missed you!”
    • • •
    It was stifling inside the baptistery. Thank the gods the wine was cool and delicious, a ruby-red caecubum . Magnus let it linger on his tongue as he eyed the absurd chickens, strutting about with golden baptismal bows tied around their necks. The emperor’s ceremony had lasted a grueling hour, and now an air of relief and celebration descended on the crowd.
    He spotted the magister utriusque militiae , Flavius Stilicho, and carefully stepped over a hen, wanting to speak with him. The general was the Western Empire’s supreme military commander, the second most powerful man, after Honorius. But now, it seemed, Stilicho was failing physically, and Magnus noticed how much older he seemed since his daughter’s funeral, his beard shot through with gray, his face lined with grief for Maria.
    Magnus intended to express his condolences for the late empress, but a raven-haired beauty moved in and whispered something to Stilicho. Serena seemed not to share her husband’s pain over their daughter’s passing. Spoiled and haughty, she never let anyone forget she was a cousin to the emperor and of imperial lineage in her own right. She and Honorius were ruled by twin hearts: cold, calculating, and evil.
    Magnus turned away, keen to avoid Serena, vowing to express his condolences to Stilicho at another time. He concentrated instead on a flutist standing nearby, playing from the pulpit. The man was small, mean looking, yet he possessed elegant hands. His fingers were long and slender, moving deftly on the silver flute he held, as if the gods had breathed into them a divine fire.
    Magnus took another sip of his wine, then heard, “Greetings, O most excellent Magnus.”
    It was the sweet voice of the emperor’s sister, the princess Galla Placidia. Ah, here was someone to drive away the foul stench wrought by Honorius and Serena.
    “Greetings, O most gracious Placidia,” he said, as he faced her and bowed. She was dressed in emerald-green silk embroidered with golden thread, a hint of powdered malachite on her eyelids — quite the young lady.
    Smiling, Magnus studied her eyes, inky-dark, yet sparkling with life. Her old nurse, Elpidia, nodded to him, then moved off, giving them privacy.
    “Would that I could play like Horace,” Placidia said, glancing at the flute player.
    “Indeed, he is wonderful.”
    “And so pampered for his talents. My brother dotes on him. Tell me, Magnus, when last we met, you said perhaps you might start searching for … er, have you found a wife?”
    He laughed as a blue-black curl escaped from beneath her