“The Greeks believe that a conquered people are obedient servants,” Mohammed went on. “In this, they are wrong. They believe that by adding conquered peoples to their own forces, they increase their numbers, their strength.” His eyes had been staring over Yosef’s shoulder into the distance. Now they returned, alight with a dark force. “But war is won not by those with great numbers. It is won by those who know for what they fight. The emperor’s new forces have no homeland to fight for and no pride in victory. Justinian’s Slavs and tame Christians, these savage forces he has bound in the sewer of Sebastopolis, these are people beaten and savaged, torn from their homelands and deprived of their heritage. They owe no allegiance to Constantinople. They have no allegiance that cannot be bought, for all they held dear has already been taken from them. They fight now for coin alone, whilst simultaneously resenting the hand that pays it.”
“And in their resentment you see a fatal weakness?” Polite curiosity in every note of his voice, Yosef let detachment flow with his breath, through the windows of his eyes. He was present but not intrusive. He was no threat to Mohammed; he was a neutral observer, no more.
“Yes,” said Mohammed, at ease on the bland sea of Yosef’s neutrality. “But more than a fatal weakness, I see an opportunity. We will take Sebastopolis after Rabī‘ al-awwal, during Rabī‘ ath-thānī.”
Yosef made rapid mental calculations. The lunar month of Rabī‘ al-awwal had begun a week earlier. It was a sacred month in Islam, the month of the birth of the prophet Mohammed; fighting was not forbidden, as it was in certain other months, but few Muslims would wish to break peace. Rabī‘ ath-thānī, however, was the second spring – and was considered a good time to make war.
Three phases of the moon, thought Yosef. I have twenty-one days to pass Sebastopolis and sail for Constantinople, where I will find those I can trust with what I carry. He raised his cup and bowed deeply to Mohammed. “I salute your insight, and your venture,” he said calmly. “May Allah lend his blessing to your endeavours and ensure the fruit you reap is rich.”
Mohammed returned the salute, and they drank. The cool night air moved through the open sides of the tent. Beyond the rich carpet, the stony desert ground lost its heat beneath the stars. Men moved on the outer periphery of Yosef’s sight, feeding horses penned close to the tents. Donkeys, used here for most of the carrying, made raucous cries from their own pens. It was a neatly ordered camp, one with rigidly maintained discipline.
“You are much changed.” Mohammed spoke abruptly.
“I have been a great deal amongst people not my own.” Yosef returned Mohammed’s gaze evenly. “It would say little for me if I were to pass those ways without any alteration.”
“I have seen travellers before. Merchants, diplomats.” Mohammed nodded to the door of the tent, in the direction Omar had taken after they had finished eating. “Omar has been gone from Damascus longer even than you. Yet he is still the man who left my brother’s palace. His loyalties and ambitions remain unchanged. But you, Yosef, are not the boy who left my company. I believe I no longer know the man you have become.”
“I am Yosef ben Arun, a Jewish merchant tasked with forging a route that may prove the only hope for his people. This I have done, in the name of my father, and of those to whom I owe much. I stand now on the edge of success, needing only passage to Constantinople to make it so. After that I am bound for Spania, and for the completion of the task I was given.” All truth is relative. Speak only that which must be spoken. To a mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders.
“Ah.” Mohammed uncrossed his legs and reclined gracefully on one elbow, one knee hitched up, toying with his cup. “So you have found your God once more, Yosef?”
“I never lost God.” Yosef met his eye and smiled faintly. “I simply needed to know what God wanted of me.”
“And you know this now?” Mohammed looked at him curiously.
“No.” Yosef laughed softly. “But I know what I want of myself. I know what others need me to be. And between those two places, I know my duty.”
“Your duty.” Mohammed nodded slowly. “And if I should let you leave here and pass to Sebastopolis, knowing what we have discussed here tonight, does your duty lie with the Greeks to whom your country is bound or with my army, which is about to attack them?”
“I am a Jew.” Yosef did not flinch. “I owe nothing to the Goths who rule Spania, nor the emperor to whom they claim allegiance. My duty is nothing to do with their ambitions.” The eyes that met Mohammed’s were clear. “And nor,” said Yosef quietly, “does my duty have anything to do with you. The only thing I have of value to you is information about the imperial court in Serica. And that, I am happy to share – though I warn you, it will prove of little use.”
Mohammed looked searchingly at him. “Omar has already shared information,” he said.
Yosef inclined his head. “With respect, I may be able to add to that,” he said. “The people with whom I passed time in Serica have spies at the heart of Shengshen Huangdi’s court.”
“And in exchange for these insights, you would leave my camp in order to pass to the port?” Yosef gave the eloquent shrug mastered during long days watching Fei Hong. Mohammed’s mouth twitched. “Yes, you are changed indeed, young one,” he said, but he was smiling. “You will stay a day or two and speak to me of what you learned of the pagan monsters’ court. You will also be pleased to learn that your old friends remain in my lands, though they are not at present in camp.”
“Bagay and Khanchla?” Yosef’s delight was unfeigned, even as behind the mask of his eyes, new opportunities revealed themselves, showing him the way he might take. “They are well?”
Mohammed nodded. “They are. Though I hope never to face either of them on the field.” He gave Yosef a crooked smile. “They will wish to see you.” He looked away for a moment. “Then you may leave and carry out your ‘duty’,” he said quietly. “Though only Allah himself knows what lies in your heart now, Jew.”
39
Theo
May, AD 692
Sebastopolis, Anatolia
Elauissa Sebaste, Cilicia, Turkey
On a close May night, Theo sat on a hillside far above Sebastopolis, tossing stones futilely down the hill. He knew he should be at his dromon. At least, he should be with his men. But since his meeting with Oppa, and Leofric’s departure for the company of the Slavic barracks, Theo had found little solace in the company of his men. He fought harder and more desperately than ever before, seeking his escape in the fierce wielding of steel and, afterward, in wine and Elpis’s skilled caress. He spent his spare hours in the closed walls of Athanais’s tavern where he had, despite the Persian woman’s visible disapproval, installed Elpis, taking the girl over and over in search of an oblivion that remained stubbornly elusive.
He missed Leofric’s gruff company like a lost limb. It had taken time for him to realise that Leofric was not coming back from the closed ranks of his Slavic brothers. Theo could have ordered his return. But in the chaos that was Sebastopolis’s preparation for war, none noticed that one Slav fought now amongst his countrymen rather than for his commander, and Theo did not have the heart to issue the order. Theo had relived the moment over and over when Leofric had realised Theo knew of his guilt. All he recalled clearly, though, was the devastation of watching Leofric walk away. Silas had said nothing of Leofric’s departure, but his silence had been reproach enough. Theo avoided being alone with him. If Silas ever learned of the parchment he had signed in Oppa’s presence, Theo knew silence would be the least of his concerns.
Theo hurled a stone viciously down the hill. The mere thought of his hand on the parchment sent cold ice through Theo’s veins, just as it haunted his dreams every night. He knew that signing it was a sin so deep it could never be expiated. He knew, too, that faced with the same decision, he would sign it again. Somewhere between those two truths lay the dark abyss in which Theo now found himself, a place absent of every moral touchstone th
at had guided him since he left Spania.
Theo knew himself lost in the darkness. He had been lost before, he knew. The difference now was that Theo knew the abyss was of his own creation and that he did not deserve to be pulled from it. And so he ignored Oppa’s messages, turned from Silas’s scrutiny, and tried to drink away the memory of Leofric’s stiff back as he walked away.
Four months after Leofric’s departure, Theo still waited for his caustic comment every time he issued an order. In every battle, he turned to his flank expecting to find the burly Slav’s reassuring presence. Each time, when he met only silence and empty space, the loss of his old companion stung like an open wound.
When Silas’s dark bulk rose before him, Theo threw another stone with unnecessary force and glared into the purpling night.
“When a man climbs so far,” he said curtly, “it is generally an indication he seeks peace.”
Silas looked at him gravely. “If it is peace you seek, wenkai, no amount of solitary stone throwing is like to help.”
Theo threw another stone. “Say what it is you came to say.”
“I have much to say, wenkai.” Silas settled his bulk on the hillside some feet away. “None of it pleasant.”
Theo grunted. “Speak, then, and have it done. I have wine and a woman waiting for me.”
“The girl Elpis,” said Silas without preamble. “She is not for you.”
“You climbed a mountain to tell me this?”
Silas shrugged. “Amongst other things.”
Theo’s eyes flashed. “After years of urging me to take a whore, when I finally heed your advice, you find fault with my choice?” The tone of his voice was one that his men knew well to tread cautiously about.
Silas, however, was not so easily cowed. “Those years of abstinence are exactly why I speak now. You know nothing of whores and their ways, so it lies with others who do to warn you when you make stupid decisions.”
“Stupid decisions?” Theo’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, wenkai,” said Silas, unmoved. “Stupid decisions. Adept you may be in matters of battle. Clever with a sword, fast-thinking on your feet. But when it comes to women, you know nothing. And when it comes to duty, and loyalty, you are blind. Elpis is not the innocent you imagine her to be. Leofric is not your enemy. And making an ally of Oppa is a mistake.” He cast Theo a hard glance. “You are not the only one who spies, wenkai. I know about your meetings with the bastard.”
“You know nothing!” Theo spat the words out and turned away from Silas. “Do not think I forget what Oppa is, what he did to you and Leofric, as well as to me. But we are at war, Silas, and allies are scarce. How are any of us to judge what is right in such circumstances?” He sent a stone careening down the hill. “I do not judge Leofric for his betrayal. But he betrayed us, nonetheless.”
“We will discuss Leofric in a moment. First, your whore.”
“Do not call her that.” Theo turned smouldering eyes to Silas. “I do not pay Elpis coin. The choice to lie with me is hers alone. Elpis is not a whore. Not anymore.”
“Elpis is not your whore. That does not change what she is. I would trust her more if she asked for your coin. I do not judge any woman for such, and nor, I think, do you.”
“Then what?”
“Elpis is a gift on a string that the bastard may pull when he chooses. She does not look to give you solace from the goodness of her heart. She takes Oppa’s coin and does his bidding. Such a nature has no allegiance. You are a powerful man in Sebastopolis, wenkai, whether you see it or no. Such a man must be careful of those he surrounds himself with. Even the whores he chooses. Perhaps especially the whores he chooses. Elpis may yet become a dangerous burden.”
“Whether she was once Oppa’s tool or not, Elpis is my responsibility now, and I will not see her hurt. She is a victim of this war just as any other. You do not know her as I do.”
“I know her better than you do,” Silas said bluntly. “Her, and a thousand girls like her. You credit her with honour she does not deserve – whilst turning your back on those who possess it.”
Theo stiffened. “What are you saying, Silas? That Elpis is traitor, and Leofric innocent?”
Silas looked up at the indigo sky, his eyes tracking a colony of bats as they rushed overhead in a dark cloud. “I am saying that not only have you made alliance with the one man we know has committed evil, but you have, on no more than his word, also condemned another who has shown you only loyalty.”
“It was not only Oppa who accused Leofric –”
“I do not care who it was, wenkai.” Silas’s voice held a hard note that silenced Theo. “Leofric of all men deserved more from you than your assumption of his guilt based on no more than the word of Oppa the bastard.” The contempt in his voice caused heat to rise up Theo’s neck and shame to coil in his stomach. “And I thought you were an educated man who knew the stories of Greeks who come bearing gifts. In one foul night, Oppa ensured you lost one of your greatest allies, sent his spy into your bed disguised as a gift, and forced you to sign away your allegiance.”
At Theo’s startled look, Silas nodded curtly. “I know you fixed your hand to a parchment of Oppa’s creation. The Persian woman has eyes everywhere, even amongst the bastard’s girls. Unlike you, however, Athanais does not judge before asking. So here I am, asking.” The dark eyes stared implacably at Theo in the dirty light cast by the town below. “In your heart, do you truly believe Leofric to be guilty? And do you truly believe Oppa will not use that parchment against you?”
Theo swallowed hard and looked down the hill. “Whether I believe Leofric is guilty or not,” he said tiredly, “he made his choice, and now he is gone. As for Oppa and me – what we are will only be known when I return to Spania.” He threw another stone, this one further and harder than any other.
Silas regarded him soberly. “You know what Oppa is. Such a man does not change his nature, wenkai.”
Theo frowned into the distance. “You do not know his past as I do, or what is at stake, for us both.”
Silas made a harsh sound of dismissal. “I do not need to know the contents of that parchment to know that you believe the country you left is at stake, along with the loyalties that tie you to it still. You look at Oppa through the eyes of the boy you were and allegiances upon which you were raised. You touch that coin at your neck and feel the weight of duty. Such duty is admirable, wenkai. Such loyalty is the stuff upon which stories are made and ballads sung.” His deep brown eyes were fathomless in the pitch-black face marked by the three parallel scars of his people. “Your mistake, wenkai, is believing that Oppa, too, acts from such loyalties. He does not.” Despite himself, Theo could not look away, nor find it in himself to argue. So rare was it for Silas to speak his mind that Theo found himself compelled to listen. “In all the time we spent on that dromon,” Silas asked, “did Oppa ever speak of Spania – of his concern for your country?” When Theo did not answer, he shook his head and went on: “And now he is here, close companion to Leontios. Yet did he accompany us on the dangerous missions to the interior? Did he wield steel at your side? No, wenkai. Whilst Leofric risked his life in your company, Oppa skulked in the whorehouses he made to cater to men’s worst nature, bribing the vulnerable to do his bidding. He is a man who pays for his friends and extorts his enemies. Such a man is not an ally, Theo. He never will be.”
Unable to sit any longer, Theo leaped restlessly to his feet. “What is it you want from me?” he flung at Silas. “You know nothing of the choices I face. You will never have to return to your homeland knowing you were offered the power to save everything you love – and threw it away from pride.” His eyes were hot and dry with anger and sorrow. “Our time here is nearly done. We will fight one last battle together. After it, you will go on to fight on foreign shores – but I must return to Spania and the wreckage I will find there. Do not judge choices for which you will never have to pay the price. They are mine alone, and soon enough I will suffer their consequences. It
is time you forgot the responsibility you feel for me. I free you from it, Silas.”
“And it is time for you to forget the boy you were, wenkai, and become the man you must be in order to survive.” Silas faced him, his voice deeper and more commanding than Theo had ever heard it. “If you do not, it may be more than you who pay the price for your blindness.”
Theo kicked the ground in frustration and turned to walk away, only to find his way blocked. “Wenkai!” Silas’s bulk was a wall before Theo. “Will you not at least speak with Leofric?”
“If you see him,” said Theo dully, “tell him I was wrong to judge his guilt without question. In that, at least, you are right.”
Silas nodded over Theo’s shoulder. “You can tell him yourself.”
Theo swung around. Leofric’s swarthy figure stood just beyond hearing distance, solid and silent. “You told him to come,” Theo muttered.
Silas shrugged, his face twisting in the semblance of a smile. “Someone had to. You are a foolish child, and he is stubborn as a mule.”
“You know I can’t make this right.”
Something old and sad crossed Silas’s face. “I do not care if you make it right, wenkai. I care only for right itself.” He nodded to Leofric. “You owe him that, and more.” He turned and walked away, leaving the two figures staring at one another across the bleak hillside.
Leofric remained still, arms folded across his chest, waiting.
Theo walked across the ground until he stood before the silent figure.
Leofric pulled his wine flask from his tunic and swallowed a large mouthful, then threw it to Theo, who unscrewed the cap and drank, holding the other man’s eyes. “Say what you will,” he said. “I deserve it.”
Leofric did not take the flask back when Theo offered it. “I am Slavic,” he said, looking meditatively at Theo. “I was a boy when the emperor’s men tore my home apart and forced me to fight in his army. A man does not forget such a thing. My brothers – they do not forget this thing.
The King's Coin: Ambition is the only faith (Visigoths of Spain Book 2) Page 31