Lælia enjoyed the anonymity. She took a cup of water from the water seller in his garish-coloured robes, his body hung in gourds and metal bowls, and shook her head when an old woman tried to push bread into her hand. They rode past a wide square surrounded by wine and food stalls. Men lounged beneath canvas coverings, drinking and eyeing the market. On the far side, the human merchandise sat in dirty pens beside those holding livestock. Looking at the hung heads and blank, beaten expressions of the slaves, Lælia felt a wave of pity.
“We found your Theudemir in a market just like this one, in Carthage.” Startled, Lælia glanced at Dahiya and realised she was serious. She turned back to the pens, revulsion rising in her at the thought of Theo amongst such filth and despondency. “He had been holding an oar for many months by the time we found him,” Dahiya said quietly.
“Did you… buy him?” The words tasted wrong on Lælia’s tongue.
“Apsimar did. It was a delicate matter. Theo had escaped Oppa, and Giscila was searching for him.” Dahiya nodded at the far corner of the market, where horses stood in a pen finer than that of the slaves. “Theudemir was smart. There were Illiberis horses in the market, and he sent word to us to buy them. Then he made some kind of signal, and the horses led us to him. Like this, it seemed unremarkable that he and his men were noticed by Apsimar and bought for the fleet.”
Lælia stared at the pitiful creatures chained together inside the pen, feeling sick inside. “Did he look like that?” she said, nodding at them.
“Much the same.” Dahiya looked at her consideringly. “Do you know why I brought you here, Lælia?”
“I’m certain there is a lesson in it.” The long ride across the sands had given Dahiya much time to instruct her young charge, and not a moment of it had been wasted. However much the hours of training with sword and bow may have hurt her body over the past year, the last few months of talking of strategy and negotiation had hurt Lælia’s mind even more.
“I brought you here as a reminder that the lessons you truly need cannot be taught.” Indifferent to Lælia’s sarcasm, Dahiya nodded at the slave pens. “Your Theo did not escape slavery through dumb luck. He escaped it because he saw an opportunity and took it. He combined instinct with opportunity and action – against seemingly insurmountable odds.” She turned to Lælia. “You are going to enter Ilyan’s palace alone. I have brought you to Septem. Because of who you are, Ilyan will see you. Beyond that, Lælia, only you might create what happens.” She took the reins of Lælia’s horse. “Dismount,” she said. “From here, you are on your own.”
Ilyan, governor of Septem, had his back turned to the door and was staring out of an arched window when Lælia was shown into his council chamber. He stood with his hands twisted in his robes behind his back, motionless as a statue.
“Lælia of Illiberis,” announced the guard. Lælia found herself standing uncertainly in the vast chamber, the only sound the faint trickle of the fountain at the centre, two guards immobile and impassive at either side of the door.
“I trust your time in the desert was instructive.” Ilyan spoke without turning around, his tone no more than mildly interested.
“Very.” Lælia took a hesitant step forward. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Surely Dahiya taught you better than that.” The face Ilyan turned to her was remote and disinterested, with none of the warmth and courtesy she recalled from her time in his palace. “Only a beggar gives thanks for admittance. If you come here to beg, heiress of Illiberis, you should know I am not charitably inclined.”
“I do not come to beg.”
“Your second mistake.” Ilyan crossed the floor with unsettling swiftness and mounted the dais, leaving Lælia standing awkwardly below. “Protest is a weak alternative to action.”
Lælia swallowed. “You need eyes in the Toletum court.”
The corners of Ilyan’s mouth twitched. “Ah.” He tilted his chin at Lælia and indicated the cushions opposite him on the dais. “You have earned a moment of my company. Use it wisely.”
“You have many daughters,” Lælia said. “It is said that many of them are rare beauties, and also that you employ the best tutors to instruct them.”
Ilyan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “My daughters will marry men from every port in the Circle of Lands. Such alliances are useful to me. Men in foreign lands expect their wives to speak their language and be of use. I ensure my daughters are useful.”
“I can place one of your daughters in the court at Toletum, at the side of the king’s legitimate heir.” Lælia met his eyes steadily. “Ensure she is accepted into the king’s own chambers and has access to those who govern Spania.”
Ilyan clapped his hands and a slave appeared. “Bring wine,” Ilyan ordered. There was a sparkle in the eyes he turned back to Lælia. “And tell me,” he murmured, “why would I be better served sending my daughter to the Toletum court in the company of a traitor’s granddaughter than simply sending her myself, as a guest of the king?”
“Because the daughter of Ilyan, governor of Septum, would be highly visible, and as such would be no more than a pawn in Egica’s games. But a lady in service to the wife of a duke will be both protected and invisible.” Lælia took the cup the slave offered. “My aunt Riccilo is married to Theodefred, the Duke of Corduba, and, next to the king himself, the most prominent man in all of Spania. Riccilo, however, is of Illiberis, as I am. Her son, Roderic, is of an age with Wittiza, Egica’s own, and is kept at court to ensure Theodefred’s ongoing support. Riccilo stays close to her son. I can ensure your daughter stays close to Riccilo. She, in turn, will ensure your daughter goes wherever the king’s son does.”
“I have eyes in the Toletum court.”
“No. You rely on second-hand sources and foreigners with limited access. I am offering you the chance to place your own blood at the heart of the Spanish court.”
Ilyan sat back and regarded her over his wine cup. “Interesting,” he murmured. One finger tapped the rim of his cup slowly. Lælia waited. The silence drew out. She sipped her wine, willing her hand to remain steady, aware of Ilyan’s eyes taking in her every movement. When next he moved, it was with such swiftness she was startled despite herself, and Ilyan was right in front of her, his face only inches from her own, staring at her with a stark scrutiny that was as disconcerting as it was penetrating. “And what is it,” he said softly, “that you think you might ask in return for such favour?”
“The Karabisianoi have left a detachment in Septem. As allies of Spania, they dock in our ports with impunity.” Ilyan inclined his head but did not answer. “In the coming months, I may need men brought from Africa’s shores to Illiberis.”
Ilyan raised his eyebrows. “The Karabisianoi are here to patrol the seas west of Carthage, not to fight petty wars amongst the Spanish nobility.”
“I do not ask them to fight. Only to carry those who will, should I send word they are needed.”
Now Ilyan’s eyebrows shot so high they disappeared beneath his hair. “Those who will? Do I take that to mean you have gathered yourself an army, Lælia of Illiberis?”
“Not gathered. Paid.” Lælia met his eyes steadily. “I will send a shipment of horse to the port of Sexi upon my return to Spania, where they will be held in lieu for one year, so long as two hundred of Dahiya’s Riders remain within easy sailing distance of Spania for the duration. If, by next spring, I have sent no message, I will make a gift of the horses to Dahiya, and her men may take them and ride where they choose.”
“And if you do send a message?”
“You will ask the fleet to transport the two hundred Riders to the port of Sexi, in Spania, from whence it is but one day’s hard ride to Illiberis. I will send men from the tribes to meet them and show them the way.”
“There is much speculation in this proposition, and little certainty.” Ilyan shrugged. “If you send for men, you are by definition a traitor. How then can you aid my daughter?”
“If you send her back with m
e now, I will ensure she is deeply enough entrenched at court that war will not shake her place.” Lælia did not flinch from his nearness. “I can offer the opportunity,” she said quietly. “But to paraphrase the recent words of a wise friend – beyond that, only she can create what happens.”
Ilyan watched her for a long moment, and then his face stretched into a smile. Lælia took a deep swallow of her wine and tried to still the beating of her heart.
“Very well,” he said simply. “I believe we have an agreement, Lælia of Illiberis. I shall introduce you to my daughter at meat this evening.”
He sat back on his cushions. “Dahiya,” he said genially. “You may join us, if you like.”
The doors opened and Dahiya strode through, looking neither right nor left as she mounted the dais. “Ilyan,” she said, accepting a cup of wine and sinking cross legged to the cushions.
Ilyan raised his wine cup and tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I see you wasted no time with our young friend,” he said mildly, sipping his wine.
Dahiya shrugged. “The ideas are hers, not mine. And she pays well.”
“I see.” Ilyan looked between them. “Though of course, you have no interest in whether Illiberis survives this war or not.”
Dahiya looked at him squarely. “Just as you have no interest in what happens in the Spanish court, Ilyan.”
“Ah.” Ilyan’s mouth curved into a small smile. “We are a veritable oasis of disinterest, Dahiya, are we not?” He raised his cup. “To disinterest,” he said softly.
“To disinterest.” Lælia met each pair of eyes in turn. “May it ensure the survival of us all.”
Dahiya’s lips twitched.
They drank.
25
Theo
April, AD 691
Sebastopolis, Anatolia
Elauissa Sebaste, Cilicia, Turkey
On a spring night after their return from a recent mission inland, Theo avoided the tavern, unwilling to face the scrutiny of either Athanais or his men. He knew sleep would not come easily. It never did now, his dreams haunted by the elusive figure of Lælia, tugging at his body and soul in a sweet torture he simply couldn’t bear. She was far away, so far it seemed sometimes to Theo that she may never be real to him again. Now Elpis, too, was gone, bought for a fee as if she were no more than an animal, disappeared somewhere into the cesspit that was Sebastopolis. Theo was uncertain whether this was a blessing or a curse. He did not miss the turmoil Elpis had roused in him. Deep within he knew himself afraid that if he committed that final act, he would lose the sweet agony of Lælia’s presence in his dreams and break the invisible connection he felt every time he touched the amulet and coin at his throat. His promise had been to return to her. By remaining in the fleet when he could have returned, Theo felt he had taken the first step into betrayal. To take Elpis had seemed tantamount to casting himself into the abyss. No, he told himself, it was good that she was gone. And Pelagia remained under Athanais’s protection. That, at least, was something good and innocent he could still protect.
Now he strode through the darkened streets, his body restless and his mind in turmoil, seeking the tedium of work to ease his irritation. He was nearing the docks when a shadow slid from the darkness and a voice from the past said his name: “Theo.”
Theo had a knife at the man’s throat in an instant. “Speak,” he said tersely.
“Not here.” Oppa met his eyes. “I know a place we can talk. You can kill me afterward, if you so choose.” His half smile was disconcerting. Theo lowered his knife and Oppa slipped back into the shadows, turning into a narrow alley without looking back. Theo hesitated, then followed the narrow figure up the hill, cursing himself for a fool as he did so. Oppa led him out of the town to an abandoned ruin beyond earshot of any lingering on the fringes. Inside the crumbling walls Oppa turned to face him, his eyes unreadable in the pale moonlight. Theo felt his heart trip in his chest.
“Give me one reason not to kill you,” he said tightly.
“I have news of your betrothed. That is one reason.” Oppa’s smooth tone set every alarm tingling in Theo’s body. “And second – I have news of Spania.”
“What news?” said Theo grimly. He kept his sword trained on Oppa, his body half crouched and only a breath away from attack.
“She can speak now,” said Oppa. “Lælia.” The sound of her name on Oppa’s tongue made something vicious leap in Theo’s chest. “She spoke in court, in front of the entire council. Argued that she was betrothed to you, despite my efforts to prove otherwise. Successfully, I might add.” He said the words blandly, as if they mattered no more than the weather. Theo stared at him.
“Why would you tell me this?”
“Because I need you to trust me.” Oppa stepped forward. The moonlight gleamed on his face, showing his eyes clearly, but Theo still could not read them. “It seems we may have more in common than I had previously thought.”
“We have nothing in common.” Theo’s voice was like a whiplash. “And Lælia would rather die than find herself married to you.”
“Yes. She made that abundantly clear.” Oppa’s tone remained calm, but something flickered behind his eyes, there and then gone. “The heiress of Illiberis is not what should concern us, however.”
“Then what?”
“Spania will go to war,” Oppa said flatly. “My father will not tolerate the upstart Sunifred. He means to destroy the south – your family included.” He moved across the uneven tiles of the floor to where a window had once been in the crumbling wall, looking down at the port below, lit by lanterns along the water’s edge. “He will succeed,” he said.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“Oh, I’m sure. In such things, my father does not lose.” Oppa turned to meet Theo’s eyes. “In the greater matter of Spania’s future, however, I believe him to be sadly deluded.” Taken aback, Theo stared at him but didn’t answer. “You have seen the Arabic armies.” Oppa gestured to the water beyond. “I, too, have seen their strength. Seen what havoc they can wreak. Do you truly believe Spania capable of standing against such a force?” He shrugged. “I do not. I think that if the Arabic armies should reach Spanish shores, we will be overpowered in an instant. And I believe they will reach Spanish shores.” He met Theo’s eyes steadily. “Would you not agree?”
Theo’s eyes narrowed. “Why speak to me of such things?”
“We are Spaniards, alone in a foreign land. Who else would I speak to?”
Theo shook his head. “You must have spoken to your father. Told him what we face here, what is coming for Spania.” Against his own instincts, he found himself very interested in the answer. Despite everything that had passed between them, despite even Oppa’s admission that he had tried to force Lælia to marry him, Theo couldn’t deny he was intrigued to know what Egica thought of the Arabic armies so close to his shores.
“Oh, I told him.” Oppa’s voice was unusually brittle. “Let’s just say he did not perceive the threat quite as I did.”
Theo stared at him. “You mean he didn’t believe you?”
“My father believes the Arabs pose no threat to Spania.” There was something behind the flat tone and hard face that Theo couldn’t quite read. He had thought he knew Oppa’s moods. But despite the endless days as Oppa’s slave, watching every flicker of the hand on the whip, acutely aware of any shift in tone or eye, still, Theo realised, he did not know the man before him now.
“But you do believe they pose a threat,” Theo said, watching Oppa closely.
“I do.” Oppa nodded. “And this puts me in the curious position of wondering if, perhaps, you and I might find ourselves allies rather than enemies.”
Theo tasted hatred on his tongue like old bile.
“Ah.” Oppa half smiled. “I see that perhaps you do not yet see it. And I cannot blame you. Those scars I left on your face are hard. Although I do not think it will matter to Lælia. She seemed very… determined… to remain betrothed to you.” He wat
ched Theo keenly, but whatever he was expecting, he was disappointed. “Have it your way,” he said, stepping away with a light shrug. He moved toward the door. “But I’m not going anywhere, Aurariola. I do not intend to blind myself to what is coming, nor to find myself powerless when it does. If you wish, also, to survive your return to Spania, then I suggest you begin to consider the future also.”
“What do you mean, survive my return to Spania?” Theo’s voice was hard. “And consider what future? Speak plainly.”
Oppa glanced back at him. “Your brother Alaric is in open rebellion against my father,” he said. “Before long, your father Suinthila will undoubtedly join him, with Illiberis at his side, I imagine. There must be something coming, for Paulus has sent his granddaughter away. Across the seas, in fact.” He studied Theo carefully, gauging the effect of his words. “And still you do not ask! You have learned restraint, Aurariola, I will grant you that. Let me answer what you do not ask, anyway: yes, I know where Lælia is. And I have sent someone to ensure she remains safe. But this is not what should concern you,” he went on, his eyes glinting as he saw Theo’s hand clench around the sword hilt. “What do you think will happen when you return, Theudemir? Do you think my father will welcome to his court the son of a traitor, the man betrothed to the granddaughter of another traitor? Do you think you will still be Theudemir of Aurariola after your brother has been dragged through the streets or blinded as punishment for his treachery and your father lies dead on a battlefield?”
Theo stared at him, unable to find words in the emotion swirling in his chest.
“I would advise you,” said Oppa softly, “to think on what I have said. Ultimately, you may come to the same realisation as me: that you and I are better served by working together than we are as enemies. I know you protect the Jew, Yosef ben Arun. I know you work together on something that you hope will bring gold and power to the south, gold and power I assume you intend to use to build an alliance I suspect you will do anything to protect.
The King's Coin: Ambition is the only faith (Visigoths of Spain Book 2) Page 20