Theo frowned, trying to assemble his thoughts. He would have sworn Neboulos was an honourable man. But how could he know? Theo thought of all the times he had misplaced his faith, and he questioned his own judgement. “Do you think you have rebels in your midst?” he asked instead, watching Leofric from the corner of one eye as he did.
Neboulos’s face closed over, the rare moment of vulnerability gone. “My people will do what I say,” he said stolidly. He followed the direction of Theo’s eyes, and his own narrowed. “They may harbour little love for this war,” he said. “But the men are loyal.”
Theo turned away before his face could betray him further, wanting only to welcome the mindless task of rowing ahead.
29
Theo
October, AD 691
Sebastopolis, Anatolia
Elauissa Sebaste, Cilicia, Turkey
Theo and his men left the shores that had seen Kyros’s death before dawn, when the water was still and greasy. The sky hung low with cloud, and insects hovered over the shore. Theo pulled away hard, looking up at the mountainous wall where death still lay upon earth soaked with blood he had spilled. He forced a hard pace. Men cast him sullen glances, still covered in gore from the battle, wanting rest and succour, wine to soothe the pain in their minds. Theo rowed uncaring. Wine they would have soon enough. There was a favourable wind for port, and he meant to capture it. They put up sail and moved quickly. Theo felt the weight of Silas’s and Leofric’s eyes, but he could not meet them nor answer the questions he saw there.
They docked late that same evening, doing three days’ journey in less than two. The men stumbled from the dromons onto shore, legs and arms trembling, so grateful to be back in the comfort of their fellows and proximity to wine and women that they hurried to tidy the dromon with newfound eagerness.
Theo doused his torso in a barrel of water on the dock, rearing back from it so water flew through the air and mixed with the blood on his side, shaking off the exhaustion. When he opened his eyes, Pelagia was watching him.
“You are hurt,” she said, her little face grave as she looked at the red rivulets running from his skin onto the dock.
“It is nothing.” Theo knelt down and forced a smile.
Pelagia came closer, beckoning as if she would tell him a childish secret. “There is a man to see you,” she said instead when Theo tilted his head toward her. “Come to the back door and knock twice. Tell no one.” She held out her hand for a coin and ran into the night.
“You will finish here,” said Theo curtly to Silas and Leofric.
He drew his tunic over his still-damp skin then strode through the darkened alleys until he reached the back door of Athanais’s tavern. Pelagia opened it and showed him into a windowless room, which, beside the large bed that was its most prominent feature, had two stools and a table on which stood a jug of wine and a plate of bread and meat. A tall man stood by the fire with his back to the door, a cloak hiding his face. He turned as the door closed behind Theo.
“Apsimar,” Theo said as the other man put back his hood. His voice was thick with more than exhaustion as he looked at the strong features of his old commander. “I began to doubt that my messages had found you.”
“They found me.” Apsimar gestured at the stool. Pouring two cups of wine, he passed one to Theo, taking in the dirt- and blood-covered figure before him without comment. Apsimar was a man who understood war. Theo tasted salty relief at the reassurance of his presence, drinking deeply to disguise his emotion. “I came as soon as I could.” He leaned forward and eyed Theo keenly. “What news of matters regarding our Arab friends?”
Theo reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin, which he flipped into the air. Apsimar caught it neatly and frowned as he held it up to the light. “Arab coin,” he said.
Theo nodded. “And there is plenty more of it to be found in Sebastopolis.” Kyros’s face swam behind his eyes, and he put his wine cup down with more force than necessary. “Particularly in the Slavic camp,” he said tersely.
“Leontios’s reports to Constantinople mention nothing of Slavic unrest.” Apsimar turned the coin slowly in his hand.
“It is more than unrest.” Theo met his eyes. “The Slavs do not like being used as coin collectors for an emperor they despise. I do not doubt Neboulos’s loyalty, but nor am I certain that his men share it.”
Apsimar looked up sharply. “Do you think it might come to rebellion?”
Theo remembered how Leofric had turned away when Theo had asked him about Neboulos, the way his face had closed over. He felt again the sting of betrayal. “I have a Slavic fighter amongst my men,” he said, trying to keep the anger from his voice. “He once said that the Slavs like Neboulos and will do as he instructs. But one man cannot hold thirty thousand, if it comes to it, not even Neboulos.”
“I remember your Slav. Do you trust him?” Theo was aware of Apsimar watching him closely.
“I did,” he said shortly. “But now –” He broke off and shook his head. “He recently paid for wine using that coin.”
“Does he know you suspect him?”
“No.” Theo stared bleakly into the fire. “I thought it wiser to keep such knowledge to myself, for now, at least.” His mouth tightened.
“No man can go easily into battle unsure if the man at his side is ally or enemy.” Apsimar looked at him soberly. “Who else knows of your suspicions?”
Theo turned the wine cup in his hands. “The man who told me was in the employ of the Spanish bastard.”
“Oppa.” Apsimar nodded thoughtfully. “And he is close to Leontios, I think.”
“They are rarely seen apart. But I am not certain what game he plays.” Briefly he told Apsimar about his conversation with Oppa some months earlier. “Oppa understands the Arab threat,” he said. “I may loathe him, but that much I do not doubt. He has no reason to undermine our position here.”
Apsimar sat back and stared at the fire. “Whispers have reached Constantinople,” he said. He glanced sideways at Theo. “It is a city of whispers, make no mistake, a cesspool of politics and games no man of honour has any place in. But these whispers persist, and Emperor Justinian II begins to heed them. They say that Leontios has not been as careful as he should be to ensure that the terms of the treaty negotiated four years ago with the Arabs are adhered to. The Arabs, it is said, complain that they are being cheated of the taxes to which they are entitled. If both the whispers and the Arab discontent are true, there is a real danger that the peace might break.” He looked grimly at Theo. “And I do not need to explain to you, of all men, how precarious our position here is. That treaty cannot fail, do you understand? If it does, Armenia is lost to us.”
Theo nodded. “What would you have me do?” He felt a rush of relief as he asked the question and waited for a command. He had not realised until he spoke how heavy a burden it had been, trying to decide what he should do alone with no other voice to consult.
“If Leontios indeed plays a double game, then we must discover what it is and put a stop to it before everything we have achieved here is lost.” Apsimar’s eyes were dark as he looked at Theo. “Let your Slav continue as he will. Do not alert him to your suspicions. Watch him, see what you might learn.”
Theo stiffened. “Spy on him? On my friend?”
Apsimar shrugged. “I did not say you would like it. But it is what must be done.”
“And Oppa?”
Apsimar hesitated a long while before answering, and when he did, his voice was quiet. “It is one thing to ask you to watch your friend. It is another to make an ally of an enemy. I will not tell you how to proceed with the Spanish bastard, Theo. That is a choice you must make yourself.”
“I cannot make an ally of Oppa.” The words tasted foul in Theo’s mouth. “And nor can I fight beside a man I thought was my friend and who may instead be plotting to betray me.” His relief of a moment ago was gone as fast as it had come, disappeared into a dark pit of loneliness in which he could see no gli
mmer of light. “This is not a war I want any part of.”
“But it is war.” Apsimar’s voice was harsh. “We none of us may like it, but wars are fought by men, Aurariola, just as they are fought over coin. If we are to have any hope of winning this one, we must understand the men who fight it, what drives them, and who might betray us.”
“And if I discover that the whispers are true, that Leontios betrays the emperor himself – what, then, am I to do?” Exhaustion rose like a tide inside Theo as he spoke.
Apsimar’s eyes were not without sympathy when he answered. “If there is time, I will send men to aid you. But I must warn you, Theo – Constantinople is a clumsy ship that takes much time to change its direction. And war, as we both know, is a fickle wench that turns in a moment. Send word as soon as you can, and I will do what I might in Constantinople. But we both know Sebastopolis cannot be defended.” He looked soberly at Theo. “If it comes to open battle here, Theo, there will be little to do other than run.”
“If I run from here,” Theo said hoarsely, “it will not be to Constantinople. Not after this.” He met Apsimar’s eyes. “Spania is at war, my family and lands threatened. I cannot stay away forever.”
Apsimar’s mouth tightened. “Keep me informed,” he said curtly. “And hope to Xristus the treaty holds.” He stood and put out his arm. After a moment, Theo took it. Apsimar nodded, then he turned and left without farewell.
Theo sat for a long time, staring at the coals glowing in the hearth, seeing only the dark spaces between them until their light faded and the fire became ash.
30
Letter from Athanagild to Alaric
October, AD 691
Toletum, Spania
Toledo, Spain
Alaric –
The news that Sunifred still withholds his permission for your marriage saddened me. We should all be free to love as we choose. You have not sought my advice, so I will not offer it, other than to say I believe it a vile snare in which Sunifred holds you, one I pray you find the strength to endure.
Teudolfo – it was wise that you sent him, brother, for none suspected him to be anything more than a passing peasant – tells me Sunifred prepares to ride when the winter has passed, and you at his side. You will be pleased, I hope, with the news I send with Teudolfo’s return. I pray it may, perhaps, help you. Our father sends word that he will not order the men at Emerita to hold against Sunifred. He will not guarantee them, mind, but he will not order them to oppose you. You will know what to do with this, I think.
Might I suggest that if Teudolfo comes again, he should adopt Shukra’s disguise and meet me in the pleasure house by the river we both know? It is, surprisingly, the safest place for a man of God to hide his true business. It is also a good place to hear dark whispers from the palace. Egica, the whores whisper, relishes Favila’s rebellion in the north. He takes his revenge by keeping Theodefred’s son at the palace, close enough that Roderic might be called hostage. Theodefred grows dark, and war closer.
I am grateful for your queries as to my wellbeing, but please do not be concerned for me. I find myself well able to navigate the complexities of my situation. At least I am able to aid Laurentius and our father by passing information on Sisebut’s plans, and in this, I believe I can at least be of service, even in a small fashion.
I pray for you, my brother. Every day. In the midst of this darkness it is thoughts of you, and Theo, that light my heart.
–Athanagild
31
Alaric
November, AD 691
Hispalis, Spania
Seville, Spain
Alaric had avoided Rekiberga’s presence since his choice to remain at Sunifred’s side. A thousand times he had questioned that choice. The mere thought of Rekiberga being married to another man made Alaric’s fists clench, his heart thud with fury, and every muscle in his body tense to carry her off there and then, and be done with it. Teudolfo, Alaric knew, believed he should go, and every day that passed proved in a new way that his assessment of Sunifred was well founded. The man was as self-centred as he was impatient with either intelligence or the opinion of others. Alaric, long accustomed to his father’s calm manner of gathering counsel and assessing each man’s opinion, found Sunifred’s fractious dismissal of any counter-argument to his own ideas both frustrating and capricious. Sunifred was a true product of Spania’s privileged aristocracy, raised during a time of relative peace, when the only battles he had fought had been against a weaker foe with the full might of his wealth and privilege behind him. He had complete faith in his own instincts and a remarkably thin skin when it came to criticism of any kind. And yet still Alaric could not stomach grovelling at Egica’s feet and recasting his allegiance to a man who had not only killed his mother but sent his son to kill Alaric’s own brother.
It was an impossible choice, but the third – to run with Rekiberga at his side – seemed to Alaric the least honourable of all, for in so doing he would abrogate all ability to give her a life of honour and pride. To leave her father because he did not live up to the ideals of manhood to which Alaric had been raised seemed to him both childish and unsophisticated. Should a man’s moral character determine his right to rule? It was a question Alaric could not quite reconcile in his mind.
As they walked now into Sunifred’s villa on the outskirts of Hispalis, Alaric wished, as he had every day since the decision had been made, that he could seek his brothers’ counsel. Theudemir, he felt sure, would know exactly the right course he should take. And Athanagild would advise him soberly and wisely. But Theo was all but lost to them, and Alaric could not bring himself to lay his decision upon the younger brother he had always felt bound to protect. Instead, he wrestled alone with his conscience, to no satisfying end.
They found Sunifred pacing the œca. He gave Alaric an impatient glance but did not pause. Rekiberga, seated at her father’s table, met Alaric’s eyes, her own so fierce they made Alaric’s heart twist under the knife of his own indecision. Gathering himself, he turned to Sunifred. “I have men to offer your cause,” said Alaric bluntly.
Sunifred stopped pacing at that. “What men?”
“I have news from my father.” The words tasted foul in Alaric’s mouth, and he avoided Rekiberga’s piercing gaze. “He will not order the men of Emerita to fight at your side. But he gave his word that he will not stand against me when I do.”
Sunifred’s eyes narrowed greedily. “And you will do this?”
“I led the men of Emerita in all but name for several years. They know me. They knew my brother, Theudemir, also, and they know it was Oppa behind the attack in which he was almost lost to us. They have reason enough to fight even if I were not to order them. But I will command them, Fráuja, and they will open the gates to you.” He nodded at Teudolfo, who stepped forward and bowed.
“I have served in Emerita Augustus under Alaric,” he said. “The men know what manner of man they follow, and they will ride behind the son of Suinthila, no matter whose banner he follows. If Alaric asks, they will follow yours.”
Alaric nodded and turned to Sunifred. “If his men ride,” he said, “my father will not long stand to be left behind. And if Emerita rides, Paulus, also, will. You will have Illiberis.”
Sunifred gave a short bark of laughter. “If you think that, lad,” he said, “then you are even madder than I. Paulus hates treason even more than he hates me. He won’t give so much as a tremissis for our ‘cause’, as you call it.” He looked calculatingly at Alaric. “And what of Theodefred, the Duke of Corduba? It is a son of Chindasuinth I truly need. With Theodefred at my side, none will stand against my rule in Toletum.” When Alaric did not reply, Sunifred’s smile faded. “I made my terms clear,” he said, looking between Rekiberga and Alaric. “And yet you stand before me with nothing more substantial than vague promises.”
“I bring to the marriage the title of Aurariola, my own thiufa – and my loyalty.” Alaric held Sunifred’s eye and kept his resentment under tigh
t control. “I have defied my own father to support your cause,” he said quietly.
“But you have not yet brought him to heel,” Sunifred snapped. “I told you once before that my daughter will marry whom I choose, at a time of my choosing.”
From the corner of his eye, Alaric saw the blood drain from Rekiberga’s face and her mother’s hand close over hers in a silent caution.
“Yes, Fráuja, you did.” Alaric kept his tone calm with an effort. “But war is coming. I have fulfilled the bulk of your conditions. And I would not ride from here without settling the matter.”
Sunifred moved as fast as a serpent strike, pushing Alaric hard against the wall. “I tell you this again, and hear me well, boy, for it is the last time I will say it: bring Paulus and Theodefred to my cause – yes, and your father too – and we will talk about you wedding my daughter. Then, and only then, do you understand?” He stared at Alaric with a hard eye, then stalked from the room, leaving Alaric staring wordlessly at Rekiberga’s pale face. She half rose from her chair, remaining there despite her mother’s forceful tugging at her arm.
“Will you do his bidding, then, my lord?” Rekiberga spoke in a low, hurt voice, her eyes raking Alaric’s with a raw, proud fire that twisted the knife even deeper into his soul.
“Your father is right.” His voice was harsh in the empty œca. “With Corduba and Illiberis behind him, he has a real chance to take Toletum and sway the northern nobles. Without them, his cause is lost.”
“And you would see those men join you.” It was not a question but an accusation, one cast with enough heat to scald Alaric’s blood. It was only when he met Rekiberga’s blazing eyes that he saw the pain behind her contempt and felt the horrible chafe of the bind in which they were caught. “It is not too late,” Rekiberga whispered, her eyes searching his face, seeking the sign that would tear her from her mother’s grasp to flee her father’s house, placing her faith in Alaric and her life in his hands.
The King's Coin: Ambition is the only faith (Visigoths of Spain Book 2) Page 24