“We cannot hold it,” said Alaric bitterly. “Just as we couldn’t hold Egica.”
“Six battles in as many weeks!” said Teudolfo. “You held him longer than any could have expected – and the men love you for it, Alaric.”
But Alaric couldn’t talk. He didn’t want to. He spurred his horse forward, his mind dull and blank, the faces of those he had lost running through his head. He thought of Rekiberga with the fierce bolt of longing that had both haunted and comforted him through the cold nights in the mud, the hard days of sword and tension. The memory of her blue eyes and auburn hair, the soft feel of her body and touch, ran through him like a lick of flame amidst the freezing dark of winter.
I must get her to safety, he thought. I must go to her as soon as I can. But then he thought of Toletum and of his father waiting for him, trying to hold the weakened capital with a force both unwilling and incapable of doing so. He turned to Teudolfo.
“As soon as we arrive,” he said, “I want five of our most trusted men mounted on the best horseflesh we can find to ride for Hispalis. They must take Rekiberga south.”
“We can ride ourselves,” said Teudolfo, glancing sideways at him. “Are you sure this is a task you can entrust to another?”
“There is Toletum first,” said Alaric grimly. “And then Illiberis. I cannot be in all three places. Two of them I am sworn to defend. One to my king, and the other to my brother.”
“Lælia,” Teudolfo guessed. Alaric nodded. “She defends Illiberis alone,” he said. “And if – when – Toletum falls, holding Illiberis is our only chance if we are to escape to Septem. We knew it might come to this. I will not wait for it to be too late.”
Toletum came into view through the grey cloud of rain, and they clattered beneath the horseshoe entrance, up the winding street to the palace on top of the hill. The wide, bronze-studded doors were thrown open and Alaric strode inside, trembling and weak legged.
Sunifred was there, his gardingi standing by him, their faces grim.
“Egica is coming,” said Alaric without preamble. “We have no more than days.”
The circus had been fortified to the fullest extent Suinthila and Paulus’s combined efforts could make it so, the men guarding it organised into effective units. “But nothing can disguise the fact that we have four thousand men at best,” Paulus told Sunifred grimly. The once mighty Duke of Hispalis was a shadow of the man Alaric had followed to war months earlier. His face was pinched and florid, his eyes restless, darting around the room uneasily.
“If you had not permitted men to ride south,” Sunifred said fretfully, glaring at Paulus, “we might have had thousands more.”
“I had to give them the choice. Those who left would have been more hindrance than help.” Paulus dismissed Sunifred’s protestations with a contempt that showed Alaric it was a conversation that had been had many times. “They would have run at the first chance they were given. Their lands and wives are in danger.”
“All the more reason for them to stay here and fight in a united front!”
“When the war moves south,” said Paulus coldly, “they will join us again.”
“When!” Sunifred glared at him. “Is it any wonder they left, if their own thiufadi believe the battle lost already?” He turned to Alaric. “Tell me again the size of Egica’s forces.”
“His cavalry alone number over four thousand,” Alaric said flatly. He did not attempt to hide his impatience. His diplomatic skills had fallen with a thousand good men into the dank mud on a rainy day near Vallisoletum, when he had watched them die in a single rush of Egica’s mounted force. “Spear and sword are hard to guess at, but we faced five entire thiufae on the field at Vallisoletum, and that was not the entirety of his force.”
“Were the thiufae at full strength?” asked Paulus.
Alaric nodded. “Every thiufa was the full thousand, trained and armed. Egica’s force is no hurriedly arrayed militia. They have experience fighting on the northern borders against the Franks and the insurgents in the mountains. They are tough and skilled.” An image passed in front of his mind of the southern forces, exhausted and starving, armed with the dull blades and crude weapons they had carried from home, cold and miserable in the freezing mud. “Our men didn’t stand a chance,” he muttered bitterly. His father put a warning hand on his shoulder. Alaric shook it off. “Your daughter,” he said, staring hard at Sunifred. “What precautions have you taken for her safety?”
“I have good men holding Hispalis,” Sunifred blustered. “Some of my best. It will not fall.”
“Yes,” said Alaric simply, holding his eyes, “it will.”
“Then we will send more men!” Sunifred’s eyes darted restlessly around the room. “We cannot lose Hispalis. My wife is there. My daughter.”
“Your daughter will not be much longer there,” said Alaric brutally. “I am sending my best men to Hispalis. They will take Rekiberga to Illiberis.”
“You would make such decisions without consulting me!” Sunifred leaped to his feet, eyes flashing. “Do you forget who sits on the throne, boy?”
“Sitting on a throne,” said Alaric evenly, “is not the same as ruling from one.” A tense silence fell across the room. Alaric’s hand hovered at his side, and he saw Sunifred’s eyes slide to it. He is scared, he realised with contempt. He speaks of men dying as if it is nothing – and yet he is scared. He stared at Sunifred, then he turned away, looking at his father. “Abba,” he said quietly. “Perhaps you might tell me news of our family.”
He left the council with Paulus and Suinthila in a grim silence, feeling Sunifred’s eyes at his back. They rode toward the circus where their men were encamped.
“Where are Elsuith and Egilona?” he asked his father, referring to his stepmother and sister.
Suinthila’s mouth tightened. “Egica took Egilona. She is in Tuy, where Egica has his own son, Wittiza, along with Theodefred’s son, Roderic, and Pelayo, the son of Favila. He leaves nothing to chance.” His mouth tightened. “Elsuith is with child.” Alaric started, but his father’s face was grim enough to preclude any comment he might make. “It is too close to her time for Elsuith to leave Aurariola. And besides, she still hopes Egilona might be returned to her. I have left instructions that she leave by dromon should it come to it.” The tired light in his eyes said all his brief words did not.
“I fear it will come to it,” said Alaric heavily. “Egica was waiting for this moment. He has gathered men from the north and paid mercenaries from Frankia. He will not lose.” He smiled a tired greeting at Laurentius, who rode in as they dismounted.
“Alaric.” Laurentius’s face was as grave as the rest. “Shukra and five men rode to Sunifred’s villa half a moon hence. Shukra saw Rekiberga safely south before he returned here.”
Alaric felt a wave of profound gratitude sweep over him. “I was about to send men of my own,” he said, almost swaying with relief.
“It is not me you should thank, but your brother.” Laurentius’s face stretched into a grave smile. “He was most insistent that we make her safe,” he said quietly. Alaric found, for a moment, that he had difficulty speaking.
“Is Athanagild safe?” he managed finally.
Laurentius’s smile faded. “He remains with Sisebut,” he said stiffly. “Who is increasingly worried he may have to stand beside Sunifred and answer to Egica.”
Alaric frowned and glanced at his father. “If Toletum falls and Athanagild is found in the palace,” he said, “he will be condemned as a traitor with Sisebut. He should ride now.” He looked at Laurentius. “You both should,” he said, slightly awkwardly.
Laurentius met his eyes evenly. “Liuvgoto and Cixilo remain at the monastery north of Toletum. So far, no less than three attempts have been made on their lives. They were not all done by Sunifred and the Church, which means Egica, too, would rather see her dead. I have mounted a permanent guard on their room. Athanagild brings news when he can. If it comes to it, we will both go to the monastery. W
e will not allow them to fall into Egica’s hands, even if it means a fight.”
“I thought you were set on maintaining neutrality?”
Laurentius smiled wryly. “I was.” He saw the exhaustion in Alaric’s face and put a hand on his shoulder. “You did all you could, Alaric. More. As much as any man could have done.”
“It wasn’t enough,” said Alaric dully. “All those men – good men, men with families and homes – they followed me out of loyalty. To my father, to the memory of Geila. And I led them to a dismal death, and defeat.” He shook his head. “You were right,” he said, looking around at Paulus’s and Suinthila’s grim faces, “all of you. If I had listened to you from the beginning, Sunifred might never have ridden to war. Those men would live still. I was a fool,” he said bitterly, staring at the hard ground. “An arrogant, ignorant fool who thought my voice could make a difference to a man who will listen to none but his own. That arrogance has cost lives. Lives I had no right to take.”
“Alaric.” Suinthila gripped his son by the upper arms. “Look at me,” he commanded.
Alaric raised his eyes knowing that he must at last face his shame, accept responsibility for what his hubris had wrought. To his surprise, however, he found no censure in his father’s face. Suinthila’s expression was grim and worn, but his eyes were soft with an understanding that hurt Alaric’s heart. “You followed a cause you believed in, and no man will ever fault you for that. It is Sunifred who is the fool, not you. And when such fools play politics,” said Suinthila roughly, “good men die. Men who fight not for what they might gain, but for what is right. You were right, Alaric, in believing your brother alive and in suspecting Oppa’s murderous intent. You, Athanagild, Lælia – you suspected the truth of it from the beginning.” He glanced at Paulus. “You had faith where we faltered. Had we listened, acted earlier, we might perhaps have undone Egica’s rule without any blood being spilt. Your cause was right.” He met his son’s eyes. “It is not your fault you did not have a better man to lead it.” He lowered his head. Suinthila, Alaric realised with a shock, was ashamed of himself.
When Alaric would have spoken, his father gripped his arms with renewed force and shook his head. “You did not create this war, Alaric. It was made by men of my age, who forgot that a nation lives only so long as the men who walk its earth believe in it. I will die in this war, yes, and Paulus too. No – do not look at me like that; I have wielded my sword on too many fields not to know a killing ground when I see one. Ours will be a battle men will sing of down the ages, but it will be lost still, and all here know it.” Alaric looked around at the gathered faces, saw Paulus nodding in grim agreement and Laurentius’s face, grave and dark. None argued.
Alaric stared at his father, unable to speak. Suinthila released him. “You will ride from here long before Egica reaches the gates.” Alaric would have objected, but there was that in his father’s voice that forbade argument. “Ride for Illiberis,” said Suinthila. “Hold it if you can. We will give you as much time as we can. With enough men and careful planning, it can perhaps be held, and the southern ports with it. If not, Alaric, go to Septem with Lælia. Find Theo again. But you must not die,” said Suinthila roughly. “And I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself for an idea that I taught you to believe in, for a duty that was never yours, or your brothers’, to uphold. You, Athanagild, Lælia – you can and will endure beyond this disaster. Live to see Theo once more. And when you do” – his voice cracked slightly and he gathered himself, going on – “tell him that I never lost faith in him. That I know him to be the best of men, as are all my sons. All of them.” He glanced at Laurentius on the last words and the other man nodded.
“Either way, Alaric, the only thing I can truly ask of you all now is that you live, my son, according to your own moral ground, for it is a strong and unerring one. Leave the dream of Spania, and this farce of a war, to the old men who created it.” His face tightened, a note of steel entering his voice. “If he must do it with my sword at his back, I will ensure that it is Sunifred who leads those he has condemned to death onto the field.” He turned to look over the ground, the killer Alaric had never seen written in hard and unforgiving lines on his face. “And if God knows anything of justice,” he murmured, “he will ensure Sunifred lives to watch every one of us die, and to suffer Egica’s punishment.”
54
Oppa
January, AD 693
Aurariola, Spania
Orihuela, Spain
“But I wish to see Spania.”
Elpis’s expression was petulant. Oppa’s hand stroked his whip handle longingly. He regretted, not for the first time since sailing from Sebastopolis, the need to keep Elpis in perfect condition. Never had he longed to whip a whore more.
“And you will, my pet, I promise you. In time, you will not only see Spania. You will walk the corridors of its palace, in the finest gowns coin can buy.” The gleam in Oppa’s eye had nothing to do with the vision his words invoked and everything to do with the savage delight he would take in parading Theudemir’s whore before the cowed figure of Lælia of Illiberis. “But, for now, you must stay aboard the dromon and out of sight. Once I know the villa ashore is safe, you may remain there until I return for you.”
“Will you return?” Elpis clung to his arm, her expression suddenly fearful. “You will not abandon me as you did Pel–” She swallowed the rest of her sister’s name, dropping her eyes from his suddenly hard face.
“We have had this discussion too many times.” Oppa’s voice was cold and clipped. “Your sister was killed in an attack I could not possibly have foreseen. It was an accident, no more.” Tired of talking, he turned to look up at the steep cliffs that were the welcome to any arriving at the lands around Aurariola. “Stay hidden,” he ordered as the cliffs came nearer. “I will send men for you when I know it is safe.”
“This is hard country.” Giscila eyed the cliffs with distaste. “A good place for an ambush.” Thus far, Oppa thought, Giscila had proven himself a rather better travelling companion than expected. He asked few questions, showed little interest in anything other than coin, and did not blanch from even the most delicate of tasks.
“There will be no ambush.” Oppa leaned his elbow on the bow and scrutinised the cliffs. “There will be none left here but old men collecting what harvest they can.”
“You seem very certain.”
“The scouts we sent tell me there is no force of significance.” Oppa clapped Giscila’s shoulder. “Although I do expect that those we sent further inland will bring different news. Here, though, we come for something rather more important than battle.” He did not elaborate but turned to give commands to his men. They landed the horses and rode up over the cliffs, meeting no opposition. The barley grew tall in the fields, rippling beneath the sun.
“Rich, no?” Oppa saw Giscila’s eyes widen as they passed through the endless fields of grain.
“These lands are unfamiliar to me,” said Giscila, frowning. “Who holds them, and where is he?” No Goth was yet born who didn’t covet his own crops, no matter his years an exile at sea.
Oppa’s mouth smiled in a hard line. “These are the lands of Suinthila, Count of Aurariola.”
Understanding dawned on Giscila’s face. He spat to one side. “It seems the father does not possess his son’s talent for survival. He is foolish to leave his coast so vulnerable.”
“I think we may assume Suinthila has joined the rebellion against my father. He would think his lands safe from attack by sea.” Oppa looked around with an assessing eye. “His treachery will mean this land is already forfeit to the Crown. I wish to discover if the women of his family are equally vulnerable. Suinthila, if I recall, has a daughter.” He glanced at Giscila. “It is better to marry land than to take it, or to wait for a king’s gift. Marriages are always more… final.”
“Marriage?” Giscila could not hide his surprise.
“Oh, not mine.” Oppa waved a careless hand. “I have other amb
itions.” He looked over the barley, then back at Giscila. “But you, Uncle – how would you like to plough fields such as these?”
Giscila didn’t respond, but his eyes narrowed in calculation as they rode, widening as they approached the villa, set high on a hill overlooking the harbour, surrounded by thick walls. “It is grand, ne?” Oppa reined in his horse and frowned at the walls. “Shall we see what lies within?”
They rode between the tall, stone gate piles. The gates themselves were propped open in invitation. The trees along the approach were neatly kept, their fruit harvested, yet Oppa and his men rode into the courtyard without opposition. The villa stood silent and dark, and none responded to Oppa’s calls.
Then an old man shuffled around the corner and stood on the portico, eyeing them warily. “Swrs Reiks,” he greeted them formally. Honoured King. It was an old term, one rarely heard in these times.
“Abba,” replied Oppa respectfully. “I am Oppa, son of the king, and I require you to fetch your mistress.”
The man bowed his head. “There are none such here,” he said. “You may check for yourselves. The men of Aurariola have ridden to war, and their women have been taken to safety.”
“Then these lands are forfeit to the Crown,” said Oppa brusquely, “since I assume the men have not ridden to support my father in putting down this rebellion.” The man bent his head in acquiescence but did not reply, staring stolidly at the ground. “Search it,” Oppa ordered, and his men dismounted, weapons ready, and began to comb the villa’s grounds. “Tell me,” said Oppa conversationally. “Do all of Suinthila’s sons ride to war at his side?”
“Alaric, the eldest, leads his father’s men,” replied the old man. “Athanagild, the younger, is a priest in Toletum.”
“I thought,” said Oppa, “that there were three sons?”
“Once, perhaps,” said the old man. “But Theudemir went to sea in the emperor’s fleet, and we have had no news of him these many years now.”
The King's Coin: Ambition is the only faith (Visigoths of Spain Book 2) Page 45