The King's Coin: Ambition is the only faith (Visigoths of Spain Book 2)

by Paula Constant

  Theo smiled. “You do what you must,” he said, holding his hand up to order more wine. “I will wait for you here.”

  “Are you afraid, wenkai?” Silas asked quietly. He leaned forward. “Perhaps it is better – at first – to take a woman, not a girl,” he said. “They are less trouble – and more fun.” He grinned, but his voice was kind.

  Theo flushed. “I am not afraid.” He glanced at Elpis, who had finished talking to her sister and was looking in their direction again. “She… I feel sorry for her.” He looked back at Silas, who was frowning as his eyes moved between Theo and Elpis.

  “She is a whore, wenkai.”

  “I know.” Theo watched a group of men come in, already clearly the worse for wine and shouting for more, making lewd comments at the girls within. The tavern was filling up; the girls were disappearing. “But when I look at her,” he said quietly, “all I see is Lælia. All I can imagine is someone like me, paying her for –” He broke off, shaking his head. “I can’t, Silas,” he said, with a finality in his tone that made the other man sit back and regard him with dark eyes.

  “This Lælia of yours,” Silas said thoughtfully. “What is it that makes you so certain she will not have found another? There is a good chance she must think you dead, after all.”

  Theo frowned. “I have sent word that I am not.”

  Silas shrugged. “Word that may or may not reach Spania – and may or may not be believed if it does.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Theo shook his head. “She will know I am not dead. Just as I know she will not find another.”

  “Wenkai.” Silas’s voice was kind, but he looked at Theo with something akin to pity. “Even if you are right and your Lælia waits faithfully for your return, how will she ever know that you took your pleasure with a woman you will never see again, in a tavern far away? Would you deny yourself every pleasure simply to hold to the rules of your priests in brown robes?”

  “It is not for their rules.” Theo struggled for the words. “I just know how I would feel if I thought that she… that someone else…” He closed his eyes briefly, an image crossing them of Oppa, holding a knife to Lælia’s throat. His hand tightened about the wine cup so hard his knuckles turned white. “If I begin to betray what I left behind,” he said quietly, “where does it end, Silas? Which step is it that takes me over a cliff from which I cannot return?”

  Silas turned his wine cup on the table. “What I know,” he said slowly, “is that if the path you walk is too narrow, the risk of falling from it is far greater. Perhaps you might wish to choose places where you can widen the way you walk and thus find yourself on more stable ground.” One great hand briefly gripped Theo’s shoulder. “But I warn you – no man can sit in a room like this all night turning away the girls without causing insult.” He tilted his head to one side and looked about the tavern. “And, I am not sorry to say, I do not intend to keep you company.” As a wide-hipped beauty with skin almost as dark as his own made her way across the room, Silas drained his cup and grinned at Theo. “Enjoy the memories of your girl bride,” he said, standing. “I hope she appreciates it – for I certainly don’t understand it.” Standing, his head nearly reached the low beams of the ceiling, and the dark girl’s eyes widened and her face split in pleasure as he reached her.

  Theo watched them go, annoyed and relieved at once. He settled back into the corner with the wine jug, for now at least content to sit and watch the night unfold before him.

  “It is a pleasure few men understand – that of observing others undetected.”

  Theo started, then he leaped to his feet when he recognised the looming figure as Apsimar. The commander wore a dull cloak that hid the gold of his rank and an old felt hat in place of his helmet; he was quite disguised.

  “Sit.” Apsimar waved him down. “A man does not make the effort to dress so badly only to find himself saluted.” Theo grinned despite himself. He imagined it was not easy for a man such as Apsimar to go undetected. “You are observant.” It was not a question. “It is a trait I noticed back in Africa, during training. A trait I value.” Unsure how to respond to such a compliment, Theo drank his wine and said nothing.

  “Your uncle Laurentius fought under me for many years.” Apsimar’s voice was low enough to go unheard amidst the activity of the night. “With time, I realised he did more in my service than merely fight. But he never allowed his private business to interfere with the business of war, and I never asked what his business was.”

  Apsimar poured himself more wine and took a long swallow, his eyes roaming the forum meditatively. “I will not continue with the fleet when it sails,” he said.

  Theo could not hide his shock. “I had hoped to continue under your leadership,” he said.

  “And I hoped to continue leading. But I serve at the emperor’s pleasure, and Justinian II” – Apsimar’s mouth curled – “has other things, I believe, in mind. In Sebastopolis, where your dromons are bound, you will find yourself under the leadership of a man called Leontios.” His eyes continued examining the crowd, and Theo realised Apsimar was not there for pleasure. Nor was he drinking deeply of his wine. He was there for a reason.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Theo asked.

  “Several reasons.” Apsimar spoke without looking at him. “You are a good soldier. More than good. You could rise far in the Karabisianoi. If you do, I can ensure your rise does not stop there. I return now to Constantinople, but you remain here. Sooner than any of you think, you will be at war again. There will be opportunities for your advancement. I am prepared to pass on a recommendation to Leontios that he consider you for higher command. We do not agree on much, Leontios and I” – a wry smile twisted his mouth – “but in matters of war, he will listen, at least a little.”

  “Thank you.” Theo did not know what else to say.

  “You have not heard my other reasons.” Apsimar leaned slightly closer across the table. “Sebastopolis, your destination, is a dangerous place. You speak many languages and have a gift for learning more. You also have the advantage of being Spanish, which means you do not have allegiance to any of the forces you will find there. Like Laurentius, it is possible for you to be both diplomat and warrior.” His eyes cut directly to Theo, piercing blue in the gloom. “Amidst those roles, you might also find time to pursue the interests that brought you here. As with Laurentius, I do not need to know of them. But I say this to you, Aurariola: think hard on what it is you truly aspire to be, now and on the voyage to Sebastopolis. Perhaps you have allegiances, as Laurentius did, that preclude you from remaining in the emperor’s service and giving your life to imperial affairs. Perhaps, too, you have other things that draw you home.” His eyes fell to the amulet about Theo’s neck, which hung still on the plaited cord made of horsehair he and Lælia had woven together. “Do not think I do not understand the pull of such things,” Apsimar said. “I do. Better than you could imagine.”

  Theo remembered the tall woman, Dahiya, who had led her Riders into battle and with whom Yosef had been riding. Theo knew, as did the entire fleet, that Apsimar was her lover. From what he had seen between them, he suspected they shared a depth of emotion not dissimilar to that between him and Lælia.

  “For now,” Apsimar went on, “these are choices that do not matter. You will fight. You will see things in Sebastopolis that other men do not, and you will draw your own conclusions. What you choose to do with them is your choice.” He looked directly at Theo. “When you leave here, a woman will sail with you whom I believe you know. She is known to most as a whore keeper, though I suspect you might know her by another name.”

  “Athanais?” Theo stared at him. “She sails with us?”

  Apsimar raised his eyebrows and smiled. “You are surprised. Do you think all a commander’s information comes from official sources? Men are most unguarded when their loins are bare. Athanais is a valuable resource, one I will continue to rely upon. I tell you this” – he leaned forward – “because Leontios
may not always prove willing to listen. Athanais, however, will. What she hears will reach me. There may be times in the coming months where the balance of loyalty and right are very difficult to discern. It would relieve me to know I have a set of eyes on the ground in Sebastopolis upon which I might rely.”

  “You want me to spy for you,” Theo said flatly.

  “You might call it that.” Apsimar did not shy away from the accusation. “But is it spying when we work for the same force and goal?”

  “It is if I do it without Leontios’s knowledge.”

  “It seems very simple to you.”

  “It is.” Theo regarded his commander with folded arms and a grim face.

  “Then I will ask you this.” Apsimar seemed not at all bothered by Theo’s anger. “If you knew the bastard son of your Spanish king – the same man who, I understand, gave you those scars – was ally to Leontios, would you feel so certain of your commander’s integrity?”

  Theo stared at him. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. “Oppa?”

  “I have it on good authority that, even now, his dromons are drawn up on these same shores. Laden with Illiberis horse and a gift of coin from the Spanish king.” Apsimar’s mouth twisted wryly. “Such gifts do not pass ports without men speaking of them. Word of gold crosses the seas faster than any dromon could, passed from one mouth to another.”

  “Oppa is evil.” Theo’s hand tightened on the wine cup. “If he sails for the fleet, it is to find me, and for no other reason.”

  “Perhaps.” The smile had fled Apsimar’s face. “But it is my experience that such men, bearing such gifts, have ambitions beyond doing the bidding of their masters. Leontios is not the type of man to turn away such gifts, nor the alliances that accompany them. Leontios, too, is ambitious. He is also Emperor Justinian II’s creature.” He leaned across the table. “And Justinian II is a greedy fool.”

  “Those are dangerous words.”

  Apsimar eyed Theo grimly. “Not nearly so dangerous as Justinian II’s contempt for an enemy he does not understand and Leontios’s willingness to indulge it. I fear pressure might be placed on Leontios to take foolish actions. The Spanish king’s bastard offers a convenient resource that Leontios might use to aid him in carrying out those actions.” He searched Theo’s face. “Now, perhaps,” he said in a low voice, “you understand why I wish to be kept apprised of developments in Sebastopolis.”

  “I will not do anything to betray the fleet.” Theo’s own eyes were hard. “Or to put my men in danger.”

  “I would not wish you to.” Apsimar sat back. “I ask this of you,” he said quietly, “because you are precisely the man who would not do either of those things.” His mouth twisted. “You are that rarest of things, Aurariola,” he said. “A man of honour. Sadly, you are about to find yourself fighting beneath a man who has none, for a cause nobody clearly understands.”

  Theo frowned. “What manner of war is that?”

  Apsimar stood, drawing on his cloak so it hid his face.

  “The same one we always fight,” he said, turning to go. “A war for coin we will never touch, won for men who never bleed.”

  The following morning, Theo was polishing his armour when his companions returned.

  “You are quiet for a man who did not drink his own weight in wine last night,” Silas grunted, attempting a smile despite his own obvious suffering.

  “What is it that happen to the girl you talk with, hm?” Leofric looked at him beadily through red-rimmed eyes, his accent thick, as it always was after he drank. “You don’t reeve this one, Theo? And if not, then why? Do you have cock, man, or willow stick?”

  Theo grinned and had opened his mouth to answer when he was interrupted by a cool voice from beside them. “It is fortunate that Theo has such friends to ensure my ladies do not feel neglected.” The men swung around in astonishment, for the voice that had addressed them was a feminine one.

  “Athanais.” Theo took her hand with genuine pleasure. In such squalid surroundings, the Persian woman’s beauty seemed even more pronounced, her mellow ivory skin and rich eyes turning every head on the dock.

  “This is no place for woman,” said Leofric, with admirable dignity. He frowned fiercely from beneath dark, lowered brows. His forbidding countenance failed to move his opponent, who simply watched him with a look of faint amusement tugging the corners of her mouth.

  “Indeed, Master Leofric, I am agreeing with your assessment. The ladies who are sharing your beds last night are telling me you and your friend are generous gentlemen who, I am hoping, will forgive my intrusion.”

  Leofric frowned at her in confusion. “The ladies what shared our… but you, I think, was not one of these ladies – and how are you here? You were in Barca…” His voice trailed off.

  Theo bit back his laughter and saw Athanais do the same. “How may I help you, my lady?” he asked politely. “I had thought you gone to Spania until Apsimar told me differently.”

  “Spania?” Leofric regarded them in confusion. “Apsimar?”

  “Stop talking,” said Silas wearily, pulling him away.

  “But –”

  “Stop. Talking.” Rolling his eyes at Theo, Silas drew a still protesting Leofric away to a diplomatic distance.

  “I am pleased to see your friends remain vigilant as ever.” Athanais smiled. “I sent a messenger to Spania in my stead.” She touched his face briefly. “Do not fear. Your coin, and your promise, were delivered.”

  “Lælia?” Theo searched her face eagerly, but Athanais shook her head, not unsympathetically.

  “I know only that she got the message.”

  Theo looked away, trying to master his disappointment. “I am sorry,” said Athanais softly. “I know what she means to you.”

  “You have a tavern here,” said Theo, changing the subject. He could hear the harsh note in his voice but could do little to change it.

  “Girls. Not a tavern. I was waiting for Apsimar,” said Athanais, giving him a small smile. “Now we sail with the fleet, for Anatolia and the port of Sebastopolis.” Her smile faded, and she lowered her voice. “Did Apsimar tell you there are those sailing in our company who constitute a danger to you, Theo?”

  “I know of whom you speak,” said Theo. “Apsimar told me he would come but that he is not here yet.”

  “Good,” said Athanais, appearing to relax. “Until Sebastopolis, then, you will be safe. Perhaps.” She looked keenly at Theo. “But you must be vigilant, you are understanding me?”

  Theo nodded. “I know.” He looked at her curiously. “But why would you come to warn me of this, my lady? And how do you know what Oppa is to me?”

  Even from a distance, Silas spun around at that, hand at his dagger, his face murderous. “Oppa? That bastard is here?” He looked about as if he expected the dark figure to emerge on deck. “Where is he?” he growled. “I will kill him.”

  “And I,” said Leofric, his eyes glinting as he stared at Theo.

  “Apsimar told me Oppa has made an alliance with the fleet,” said Theo quietly. “With Leontios.”

  Athanais brushed aside their sudden rush of questions and fury with an impatient hand. “Last night,” she said, “you gave bread to a young girl.”

  Theo nodded. “I remember. Pelagia. Her sister works for you.”

  “Just so.” Athanais nodded. “Pelagia was paid coin these last days by that same man. He paid her so well she may have even considered accepting his invitation – had she not realised what he was.”

  “His invitation?” Theo’s eyes narrowed.

  “To sail, with the other children.” Athanais spat the last word in contempt. “The children he ordered Pelagia to gather up. Children from the streets, who have no home and no family. Children too young, yet, to be accepted into a tavern – or a whorehouse.”

  The colour drained from Theo’s face, and he remembered Oppa, standing behind Lælia, fondling the strands of his whip, an expression of unguarded lust ugly on
his face. “He trades in them,” he breathed, his fists clenching at his sides.

  “Just so,” Athanais nodded. “Oppa, it seems, knows well the value of flesh.”

  “Yes.” Theo’s mouth tightened. “It is said he was born in a whorehouse.” His fist spasmed at his side. Athanais nodded.

  “We must be careful,” she said simply. Turning, she made to leave.

  “My lady.” Athanais stopped and looked at him, eyebrows raised in enquiry. “Pelagia – and her sister.” Colour flooded his face, but Theo went on. “Elpis. Can you take them with you?”

  Athanais’s eyes narrowed. “Might I ask why?”

  Theo swallowed. “I would not like to see them… taken advantage of. I am happy to pay their passage.”

  Seeing him reach for his coin, Athanais waved him away. “Why would you do this, Theo?” She looked at him curiously. “Do you desire the girl?”

  Theo looked away from her, unsure how to answer. He didn’t know what drove him, only that he could not bear to imagine them left here, in a port tavern, at the mercy of men such as Oppa. Athanais must have discerned something of his thoughts, for a resigned expression passed over her face. Her tone was nevertheless slightly grim when she answered. “If they are still here, they may sail with me to Sebastopolis where you yourselves are bound. But I have a warning for you, Theo, and I trust it is one you will take as from a friend: your heart is already given. Take Elpis if you wish, but take her with coin, not with promises of something you are not free to give. There is no harm in taking a woman for comfort. But lying to one is cruel.” Her dark eyes resting on his face were gentle. “You cannot save everything that is broken, Theo. Sometimes the harder path is also the kindest.”

  “It seems everyone, of late, has an opinion on which path I should take.” He heard the hard note in his voice, but Athanais seemed unconcerned.

  “That is because we all wish you to choose one that you might survive,” she said gently, “without losing either yourself or those you love.” She touched him on the arm and was gone.