“Fráuja.” When there was no response, Alaric took a deep breath. “Sunifred.” The king gave him a look that would have dissuaded most men. Alaric coloured but met it, his face grim. “This is no time for coins and priests,” he said bluntly. “If we do not devise the proper defences, Egica will be in the city within weeks. I ask that you allow me to lead the men of Emerita north, win us at least some time to send south for aid. We have not the men to hold Toletum nor the forces to face them on the plains. The lords to whom you have sent word have not replied. We must assume they are, for now, loyal to Egica, whether out of fear or allegiance. If I go in person, we may sway them. But if we do nothing, Toletum is as good as lost.”
Sunifred stood abruptly, his fists clenched, and had opened his mouth to make reply when another voice cut in.
“He is right.”
Alaric swung around, his heart skipping unsteadily. His father stood in the doorway, surrounded by his gardingi. Suinthila strode into the high, airy palace forum, waving away Sunifred’s guard with an impatient hand. Despite the pale face and gaunt figure that betrayed his long years of illness, it was a measure of his authority that none dared challenge him.
Alaric willed his rush of passionate relief not to show on his face. It was all he could do to quell a childish impulse to rush at his father, seeking his rough embrace as he had not done since infancy.
Sunifred’s fists clenched. “Were you here when we took Toletum?” he growled, offering no formal greeting. “When we fought our way from Hispalis to the Tagus? Where were you then, Suinthila?”
“I was minding my own lands, hoping you would discover the sense to desist from this folly of a rebellion.” Unmoved by Sunifred’s glowering rage, Suinthila faced him calmly. “Sadly my hopes were in vain. Now, here we are. But unless you cease this ridiculous posturing, Sunifred, Toletum will be besieged and the crops from here to Vallisoletum razed to the ground. Even if by some miracle we retain the city, we will starve come the winter.”
“We hold the south!” Sunifred was red faced and choleric, his eyes shifting uneasily beneath Suinthila’s steady gaze.
Suinthila made a dismissive gesture. “The war is in the north. If there is a south to be held at this time, then it is Paulus who holds it.” Suinthila shook his head. “And he holds it by the grace of Theodefred, who risks everything to allow his men to fight beneath your banner.”
“As he should!”
“No,” said Suinthila wearily, shaking his head. “He shouldn’t. You have forced Theodefred to show his hand when it would have been better for us all if he could have remained neutral. Now he must play a dangerous game, riding at Egica’s side and pretending loyalty to the king even as his own thiufae gather in opposition. This foolhardy rebellion of yours has left coastal fortresses unguarded, a harvest to bring in, and men far from their homes fighting a war few understand. Your actions left neither Paulus nor Theodefred a choice. The south must fight or die. The men from Theodefred’s lands north of Corduba ride beside him and Egica. Those from his southern estates gather under Paulus, and ostensibly against their own lord. Their faith is tenuous, their resources even more frail. Every one of them has left women and children alone, with barely any protection should your forces fall.”
“And have I not left my own daughter and wife thus?” Sunifred demanded in a tone of wounded injury.
Alaric stepped forward. “I have asked before,” he said, emboldened by his father’s presence, “that you allow me to send men to escort Rekiberga and your wife south to Illiberis.” He did not look at Suinthila, but he felt the warmth of his father’s eyes and drew strength from his calm authority.
Sunifred waved his arm in dismissal of Alaric’s words. “Send my own blood to be protected by Paulus, who, like your father, did not deign to raise a finger in support of our cause when help was needed? Who sits in judgement upon me whilst he trains his own granddaughter to be thiufadis if he should fall? Tyr! What man delegates war to a girl? That grandchild of his is little better than a savage, by all accounts. I would not allow Rekiberga a hundred miles near Illiberis.”
“This achieves nothing.” Suinthila stepped forward, his jaw working in frustration. Men looked at each other warily, hands drifting toward sword hilts. The tension was broken when the heavy doors opened and Paulus strode through them.
“Háuheins Gud,” muttered Alaric, his hand relaxing. Praise God.
Paulus approached the throne without asking permission, looking neither right nor left. “Egica’s men have ridden for Vallisoletum,” he said bluntly. “Why do your forces remain here?”
Sunifred glared at him. “This is how you address your king?”
Paulus gave him a look of withering contempt. “When Egica’s sword rests in your hand and your men hold every fortress currently flying that ridiculous eagle standard he affects, I may call you king. Until then, I would suggest your time is better spent in determining how you intend to bring that end about rather than dallying with that damned coin cutter I saw leaving on my way in.”
Alaric felt his heart begin to thud with a savage excitement. He caught Teudolfo’s eye and saw the same exultation and passionate relief. The combination of Suinthila and Paulus in the same room changed the atmosphere, gave a sense of purpose and focus. Alaric no longer felt alone.
Sunifred’s face had reddened, his mouth working uncomfortably. Paulus gave him a scathing glare and turned to Suinthila. “What is our strategy?”
Suinthila, stifling a smile, said: “We were just discussing that.”
Paulus looked at Sunifred. “Well?”
“I have sent messages to the lords between here and Vallisoletum,” said Sunifred resentfully. “There are those amongst them who have indicated they will provide a defence, should it come to it.”
“It has already come to it.” Paulus stared darkly at Sunifred. “Do you mean to tell me,” he said softly, “that you have no forces arrayed between here and Vallisoletum? That you have left those lords to make their own defence?”
“We must hold Toletum,” said Sunifred, attempting to regain the ascendancy. “It is vital the capital stands.”
“Three moons from now,” said Paulus brutally, “Toletum will starve. We cannot hold the city from every direction, and even if we could, we do not have the men to hold a supply line open for grain to be delivered. The south cannot feed you if they cannot reach you.”
Sunifred coloured and looked away. He lowered his voice. “The men from Hispalis are not eager to move into the northern provinces,” he said tightly.
Paulus made an impatient gesture. “Of course they are not,” he said. “They are sworn to protect the south, their homes and families. But there are northern lords in your alliance; send them.”
“And do what?” said Sunifred angrily.
“Withdraw to the south.” Paulus stepped forward and looked at Sunifred intently. “Move our forces back behind the mountain lines into Old Bætica where we know every pass and have the loyalty of every household. The north is lost. Toletum is a figurehead, a symbol of kingship that means nothing unless the king who sits on the throne here controls every lord in the country. And you, Sunifred, do not.”
“I will not relinquish it!” Sunifred stood and paced agitatedly across the broad marble floor, his hand on one of the wide columns, stroking it as if to reassure himself it was real. “No king has ruled Spania in a hundred years or more who has not held Toletum. Sisebut is archbishop here, prime amongst all the bishops in Spain. He alone can anoint a man king.”
“Then take Sisebut with you and make Hispalis the primary archdiocese!” Paulus waved his hand dismissively. “Have yourself crowned there, surrounded by lords who will cheer you as their saviour, if you choose. Not here, amongst a resentful populace terrified of starvation and men who wish only to return to their homes.”
“We won Toletum!” Sunifred was red faced, his finger stabbing the carved wood of his throne. Alaric looked away, uncomfortable at such a loss of control. Sudde
nly Sunifred seemed no older than the men Alaric himself commanded. His face had a petulant cast, an uncertainty, and Alaric felt himself withdraw from the weakness he saw there. He thought of Teudolfo’s long-ago words: You cannot split the heart of a man from his cause. How right, he thought, his friend had been.
Paulus snorted in contempt. “You did not win Toletum,” he said to Sunifred. “Egica allowed you to take it. And if you remain here now, if you spread our forces so thinly, he will have achieved the very outcome he foresaw when he rode north. Toletum will fall, and our forces will scatter.” He gripped Sunifred’s arm hard. “Ride south,” he said. “Mount your defence from behind the mountains, and I guarantee that every lord from Malaca to Emerita will stand fast behind you.”
Sunifred stared at him resentfully. “But not unless you command them to do so. Is that what you imply, Fráuja Paulus?”
Alaric tensed. He had seen Sunifred in this mood before. Paulus was backing him into a corner, and once there, Sunifred would become an immovable rock of stubborn pride. Alaric stepped forward. “I have already offered to lead our forces north,” he said, not looking at his father. “The men from Emerita, and others, will ride with me.”
Paulus glared at him. “Then withdraw your offer,” he said bluntly.
Sunifred moved beside Alaric, placing a proprietary hand on his shoulder, eyeing Paulus and Suinthila with satisfaction. Alaric forced himself not to flinch at Sunifred’s touch. “No. I have heard you all, and now the decision is mine.” There was an unsavoury note of triumph in Sunifred’s voice. “Alaric, we have the reinforcements you wished for. Now you will ready the men and ride north in the morning.” He turned calculating eyes to Suinthila. “It would seem men of the south will follow more than only you, Fráuja.”
A muscle worked in his jaw, but Suinthila maintained his composure. Alaric wanted nothing more than to step forward, to lay his sword and responsibility at his father’s door. But it was already too late for that, and as he watched concern and anger war on Suinthila’s face, he realised his father, too, knew it. “If you are thus resolved,” said Suinthila grimly, turning to his son, “then you must go without delay. What is your plan?”
Alaric shot an embarrassed glance at Sunifred.
“We were discussing that,” said Sunifred coldly, “when you entered, my lords.”
“Good.” Ignoring the rebuke, Suinthila looked at Paulus and called forward his gardingi. “Then we have work to do.”
“Theodefred’s men are uneasy.” It was late at night and they ate by firelight, the sound of men and iron in the air. Paulus’s men had joined those of Alaric and Suinthila in the old Roman circus, which had become barracks and fortress. Paulus speared his meat and glared at the flames, speaking in a low voice. “They rode to fight for the south. They will desert if Sunifred asks them to ride north.” He speared more meat, his actions sharp and aggressive. “They may desert anyway. They will not wish to be caught on this side of the mountain passes when the snows come, leaving their lands and families unprotected.”
“How did you come to lead them?” Suinthila asked. “I thought all of Theodefred’s men had ridden under Egica’s command?”
“They are his own household force,” said Paulus. “And others who would normally protect the walls of Corduba, or the towns to the south. Men who would not fight beyond their own lands unless they have good cause.”
Suinthila looked at him curiously. “And do they?”
“Ja.” Paulus sat back on the bench and washed his meat down with wine, his face lined and dark. “They do.” His eyes travelled to Alaric, then slid away. “Lælia,” he said, “met with Giscila during her time across the seas.”
Alaric tensed. He glanced at his father. Suinthila had paled, his face tight and closed, as it always was when mention was made of Alaric’s mother. “Ja?” he said roughly. “What of it?”
“Giscila admitted it was he who launched the attack that killed our children.” Paulus spoke bluntly, but he could not quite disguise the rough edge to his voice. “The men who ride behind me know the truth of those days. They know, too, that it was Oppa who orchestrated the attack that nearly killed Theo.”
“And this was enough to convince men to ride with you?” Suinthila’s tone was hard and sceptical. “Uncommonly altruistic for fighting men, is it not?”
“The southern lords all recall the Summer of Blood.” Paulus’s face was grim. “And they all lost sons in the doomed fleet that Oppa attacked. You know as well as I that the south has never truly bowed to rule from Toletum. They needed little other encouragement.” He gave a half smile. “Besides – it was Acantha who persuaded them, not I.” He waved aside Suinthila’s raised eyebrows. “It is not important. You know as well as I the nature of Illiberis women. They are not easy to gainsay.” He leaned forward with his hands clasped between his knees, grim once more. “But the men will not ride north, Suinthila. They will not give a single life to see Sunifred’s purse increased, nor the wealth of the northern lords protected. They will fight for Toletum, and to protect the mountain passes to the south, but that is all. If Alaric does not turn Egica’s force, it will be a desperate stand. One we are unlikely to win.”
“It was never likely,” said Suinthila quietly, “that we would win.”
Paulus stared at him for a moment. Then he passed a weary hand over his face and sat back. “Ja,” he said. “It is true.”
Suinthila looked at Alaric. “We will do what we can to prepare Toletum for what is to come,” he said, “and we will ensure you have men to ride with you. I will not send you across those plains with no more than a single thiufa and the cheers of a fool.”
Alaric looked at Paulus, who nodded. “Ja.” The older man gripped his arm. “We will stand behind you, magula.”
“He is no longer magula. He is not a boy.” All three turned to look at Teudolfo. “Alaric is the only reason Sunifred has a force at all,” said Teudolfo quietly. “And he has proven his worth a hundred times over these months past. He may be many things – but he is no longer magula. He is a man.”
Alaric felt the warm strength of his father’s hand on his shoulder and was grateful for the shadows that hid his face.
There was a movement next to them, and they turned as one to see Laurentius emerge from the darkness. “May I join you?” He sat without waiting for permission. He looked oddly lighter, Alaric thought, as if an invisible weight had lifted. There was something animated in his face, as if he had found hope in the darkness.
“Why are you here?” Paulus asked him. “Hispalis is the wiser place for you, my friend.” But a slight smile touched the edge of his mouth, and his tone was humorous rather than stern.
“Ah,” said Laurentius lightly, “but Hispalis offers none of the entertainment of Toletum in this season, wouldn’t you agree?”
Paulus, Alaric thought, held true affection for few men – but Laurentius seemed to be one of them. Severianus the Elder and Paulus, he knew, had been good friends, allies for thirty years. Paulus’s regard for the father had passed to the son. Seeing the effect of Laurentius’s company on Paulus’s grim countenance was like watching a balmy tide washing over a storm-ravaged coast.
Paulus grinned. “And what entertainment is it that amuses you in our royal capital, then? I do hear your Persian friend has a certain appetite for whores, and war has certainly seen an increase in their numbers.”
“Shukra,” said Laurentius, “could find a whore amidst a sandstorm in Africa. But no,” he went on, as the other men laughed, “that is not why I am here. Felix,” he said, leaning forward, “the bishop of Hispalis, is concerned that the precious books in my father’s library escape the current conflict unscathed. We have not the time to move them to Hispalis, so I am removing them, for safekeeping, to a monastery just outside Toletum.” Paulus raised his eyebrows. “By a happy accident,” said Laurentius, his own mouth curling, “it is the same monastery that harbours the honoured dowager, Liuvgoto, and her daughter, Cixilo.”
> Paulus nodded his approval. “And Shukra?” he said dryly. “What mischief is that little Persian devil making as we speak?”
“Shukra,” said Laurentius, “is turning his attention from whores to bishops.” His tone might have been light, but Alaric, who had become attuned to his moods in the long months of training, heard the ruthless note beneath the urbanity as he went on, “Shukra has always maintained, however, that there is often little to choose between the two.”
The others laughed and turned away, but Alaric, seeing the deadly glint of steel in the grey eyes, thought that he did not envy the unfortunate bishop who found himself the object of Shukra and Laurentius’s combined wrath.
51
Bishop Felix
September, AD 692
Hispalis, Spania
Seville, Spain
Bishop Felix of Hispalis prided himself on moderation. He took seriously the strictures of office and, as befitted an acolyte of Julian, prized humility and learning over ambition and politics.
But even the most humble man, he reflected as he passed through the corridors of the monastery in Hispalis, could not help but find himself excited by the heady contents of the letter he had recently received.
The parchment bearing Athanagild’s mark lay against his chest. He did not dare leave it anywhere it may be found but nor could he bring himself to destroy it. The contents in it were too sensational – and, frankly, too dangerous – to risk discovery. He had found them so controversial he had sent a monk of his own to discern what he might. What little the man had discovered had amply verified Athanagild’s claims, and more. So disturbing were the discoveries that Felix had carried the letter close to his chest like a hair shirt, the familiar edges pricking his skin. He found himself touching his robes occasionally, feeling the shape of the letter beneath, reminding himself that what he read there truly existed.
The King's Coin: Ambition is the only faith (Visigoths of Spain Book 2) Page 43