Yosef reached out a hand to her. Then he remembered Fei Hong, and the many forgotten faces along the miles he had travelled. He stepped away, the cloak of anonymity he had practised so long falling about him. “I am not the man you knew,” he said quietly. “I am not Yosef anymore, Sarah. I have seen things, been things, you cannot imagine.”
“And I?” She stepped closer, the defiant look back in her eyes, breaching the space he had placed between them. “My parents cast me from their house. I bore a child of rape, Yosef. I moved to a foreign land and made a life beyond everything I knew. Do you not think I, too, am changed?”
“I took a woman.” Yosef forced himself to say the words. “More than one, Sarah.”
“Do you think I care about that?” Reaching out, she touched his face. “I know my child is not yours,” she whispered, “and that I am not the girl you left, nor perhaps as beautiful as the women you may have loved since. I do not expect you to feel for me what you once did, Yosef –”
But she did not get a chance to finish her sentence, for Yosef closed the last space between them and took her face in his hands. “I love you,” he said fiercely. “I’ve loved you from the day I saw you and every day I have walked since. I loved you through countries where I forgot my God, and wars when I thought I would die. Through it all, Sarah.” He stroked her face. “I do not care who fathered Arun,” he said roughly. “He is mine, as are you, Sarah – and I will never let you go. Not ever again.”
It was a long time later when Sarah stepped back from him, her eyes misty. “Yosef,” she said. “I know you will come back to me. But now you must go with Theo. To Garnata.”
“No.” Yosef drew her close to him. “Theo will understand. I will not go, Sarah. Not now.”
“Yes, Yosef.” Her face was quietly determined. “You must. Not only for Theo and Lælia.” Her hands closed on his shoulders. “Our people are waiting for you,” she said softly. “They are ready, Yosef. As are the Jews of Septem. You will go not only to help the defence of Illiberis. Go to tell them that Ilyan will help them rise up.”
Yosef felt his stomach tighten. “What do you mean, rise up?”
Sarah’s eyes were intent and serious on his. “The time has come, Yosef. Our people will not suffer Egica’s oppression any longer. We have swords, and the money to buy more. Garnata was ours long before the Goths came to Spania. It is time for us to take it back. We are ready, Yosef, and Spania is weak.” Her face became animated, lit by an inner fire that Yosef had seen before in the faces of men who fought for a cause. Yosef had watched those men fight. He had watched them die.
“Sarah,” he began.
“No, Yosef.” She put a finger over his lips. “You think you are not ready to lead us, but you do not know what you mean to our people, what you represent. I have waited for you. We all have.” Her face came up to his and her lips touched his own so Yosef groaned against her, wanting only to hold her close, to lose himself in the sweet comfort of her presence. She pulled away from him and held his face in her hands. “You are hope, Yosef,” she said softly. “You are the hope we have held on to, and the leader we need.”
Yosef felt the conviction in her eyes turn to dread in his soul. “Sarah,” he began again, and again she cut him off.
“Do not say no yet,” she whispered, her hands entwined about his neck. “Go with Theo. Meet with our people in Garnata. Let them see you. Then return and hear what we have to say. Will you do that, Yosef? Will you at least hear us?”
Yosef wanted to say no. Wanted to tell her he had seen enough of war, had learned all he needed to know of men and their causes. But then her arms came about him and his mouth found hers and he was lost in the scent and taste of her.
“Yes, Sarah,” he found himself murmuring. “I will go, and I will listen.” Yosef buried his face in her neck, trying to ignore the sound of Fei Hong’s voice in his mind: When we believe ourselves invincible, we become vulnerable.
Beyond the window, the shore of Spania rose in a jagged line, and Yosef, looking at it, felt dread and anticipation war in his soul.
59
Lælia
February, AD 693
Illiberis, Spania
Granada, Spain
Jadis’s low growl alerted Lælia a moment before Tosius’s silent figure appeared before her. “We have visitors,” he said.
“How many?” Jadis was on her feet now, tail swinging low behind her.
“Many.” There was an odd note in Tosius’s voice. He was smiling, which in itself was incongruous. There had been no word from Toletum. Despite the fact that Ipocobulcola, the small town to the north of Illiberis, was well fortified and held by allies, small parties had been testing their defences for days now. Every day they fought them off. It was not open battle. Not yet.
I will not run. It was a mental refrain Lælia repeated a hundred times a day, every time she heard the clash of steel or saw another man bleed and remembered that the decisions she made now would cost men their lives. It was not, she had long realised, the fear of losing her own that haunted her nights. It was the fear of watching those she had sworn to protect lose theirs.
“Many?” As she spoke, Lælia heard a faint rumble. Jadis was very still, quivering with tension, yellow eyes on her mistress. The rumble became more distinct. Hoofs clattered in the courtyard and Lælia sprang up, the arrow she had been sharpening falling to the floor as Jadis flew from her side in a swift, silent streak of gold. Lælia called out to her as she hurried along the colonnade and out to the portico. Mounted men milled about, covered in dirt, their faces drawn with exhaustion in the late afternoon light. It was only as one swung down from his horse to find himself almost knocked over by Jadis’s flying form that Lælia tasted acid relief, sharp and sudden and untrustworthy.
“Alaric!” Jadis gambolled delightedly around his tall form. Lælia would have embraced him, but there was that in his face which gave her pause. Jadis, sensing his mood, dropped low and eyed him, tail swinging. He moved forward and gripped Lælia’s arms, his mouth working.
“Rekiberga,” he said urgently, eyes searching her face. “Shukra sent men to bring her here, but we found two of them dead on the road and no trace of her. Did she arrive?” Lælia felt a hollow ache in her stomach. She shook her head silently.
“Has there been word from Hispalis?” Alaric’s question was directed at Gratimo. The older man grimaced and looked down, shaking his head. “We have not had word from Hispalis in more than a week,” he said quietly.
“A week!” The last vestiges of colour drained from Alaric’s face. “Shukra sent men a month ago. They should have long arrived here, or at least sent word.”
Lælia felt her heart catch. “Hispalis is lost,” she said. “That is all I know, and that only because a lone tribesman brought word to Tosius. The city is in flames, hundreds dead.”
Alaric stared at her for a moment, then he strode to his horse and swung himself into the saddle. Behind him his men muttered uneasily. Teudolfo shook his head. “We cannot ride back that way,” he said hoarsely. “Your men will die, and so will you. You’re exhausted, Alaric. We all are.”
“And Rekiberga is in danger,” Alaric said tightly, shaking off the older man’s hand. “I do not ask any to go with me. But I must go.” His eyes were hollow and desperate. “I must, Lælia – do you understand?”
“I do,” Lælia said quietly, aching with sympathy. “Better than you might think. But you will change horses here and take food. You can be gone by midday tomorrow, and I will send men with you.” Her hand on the reins stilled his horse. She held his eyes until he slid reluctantly off his horse, his legs trembling. Jadis butted his leg and Alaric put an unconscious hand on her head. Teudolfo shot Lælia a grateful glance and turned to give orders to the others. “How long has it been since you slept?” Lælia asked, leading Alaric inside.
“Days. I don’t know.” He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face, eyes red rimmed and exhausted. She poured him wine and he drank it i
n a long swallow.
“Toletum?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Gone.” Lælia felt a long-forgotten hollowness within, the horrible awareness of loss. She reached out instinctively and Jadis was at her side, the sleek body warm and solid under her hand. She realised Acantha was standing nearby. She had not heard her grandmother enter.
“Paulus?” Acantha asked, her voice uncharacteristically rough.
“When I left, he and my father were leading the final defence.” Alaric shook his head and dropped his eyes.
“But they lived still,” said Lælia. “That is something.”
“You are not a child, Lælia.” There was a hard, desolate light in Acantha’s eyes. “Even if they survived the battle,” she said quietly, “they are still dead men.”
Alaric did not answer, for there was no question in her words. He looked around the villa, as if seeing it for the first time. “You must go to Septem,” he said. “Now, Lælia. While there is still time. We saw a significant force on our way here, had to ride across the mountains to avoid them. Clearly Egica has more allies in the south than we knew. There will be those amongst them who know this land well. They will know how to attack it.” He met her eyes. “There are encampments in every direction,” he said quietly. “And they are preparing to attack. You do not have the men for this fight, Lælia.”
Lælia felt cold rage grip her. “I will not run from Egica,” she said tightly, then, seeing Alaric’s face darken, forced herself to smile. “We will hold Illiberis,” she said. “The army you passed does not belong to Egica. It is bought with Oppa’s coin and headed by Giscila – the man who killed our parents, Alaric.” Seeing the blank shock on his face, she went on hurriedly, stumbling over her words in her attempt to explain. “I have been preparing for weeks. I have the men to hold Illiberis. If you did not see them, our ruse is working.” Lælia had not yet shown the skirmishers her Riders. Everything, she knew, rested on the attackers believing she had barely enough men to hold the fortress. The Riders remained in the mountains, learning the secrets of this new land from the tribesmen. Briefly she explained their presence to Alaric. Unlike Gratimo and Zdan, however, who had come to grudging acceptance of her plans over recent weeks, Alaric’s face did not relax into a smile but grew colder and harder as she went on.
“I told Theo I would keep you safe.” Alaric rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. “No amount of men from the desert can protect you, or Illiberis, now, Lælia. You must go. Illiberis will fall. Whether now or when Egica sends the full force of his army, it will fall. You have not seen what I have. You cannot hold Illiberis against him, Lælia. And I will not stand by and watch you try.” Jadis stood between them, tail swinging low. A tense standoff was broken by a movement at the door as Gratimo bent his head to a messenger. When he raised it, his eyes gleamed and he addressed Lælia.
“Oppa left his dromon yesterday,” he said. “He is halfway to Illiberis now. And the messenger says the fortress at Ipocobulcola is under attack.”
“He took the bait,” breathed Lælia, staring at him. Gratimo nodded, his lips twisting in a rare smile.
“Yes,” he said. “He did.”
Alaric glared at Gratimo. “What bait?” he growled. “You were left to protect her, old man. Now is your last chance to do that. Ride south with her, over the mountain tracks where Oppa cannot follow. Get her to Septem before everything is lost. I must ride for Hispalis, try to find Rekiberga, and then I will follow.”
“It is too late for you to ride to Hispalis, Alaric.” Lælia heard the note of command in her voice and saw the moment Alaric, too, recognised it. He took a step back from her, eyeing her warily. “And it is too late for arguments,” she continued. “If Ipocobulcola is under attack, we will face Giscila’s army in a matter of hours. I am riding for the fortress now. You may come with me, if you wish, or stay here.” She held his eyes. “Either way, Alaric,” she said quietly, “I will stand, and so will Illiberis. If you ride with me, I will explain as we go. But I do not have time to stand here and debate it with you.” Walking past him, she mounted her horse.
Alaric looked for a moment as if he might argue. Jadis growled. Acantha looked between her granddaughter and the cat. “We have no time for this, Alaric,” she said brusquely. “My granddaughter has given her orders.”
Swallowing his protests, Alaric mounted his horse and gave Lælia a wry smile. “Then I suppose you had better tell me of these plans of yours,” he said.
She and Alaric rode out together, Acantha ahead and Jadis running at Lælia’s side. Alaric’s men followed at a tired pace, some struggling to stay mounted in their fatigue.
“Tell me what happened in Toletum,” she said. As they crossed the serried fields of olive trees, Alaric described what he had seen of the battle. Acantha, ahead of them, was listening, Lælia knew, but her grandmother’s stiff-backed silence precluded comfort or conversation. Lælia heard Alaric’s words as if from a distance. That Paulus could be dead seemed impossible to her. Her grandfather rode beside her always, his acerbic voice a constant companion in her thoughts. She listened but did not hear until finally Alaric ceased his account. After a short silence he turned to her.
“You have left only a handful of men to hold the villa, all of them old.”
Lælia nodded. “Oppa knows that if we are forced to retreat to the villa, all is lost. It cannot be defended, and it makes no sense to waste men trying to do so. He must believe we throw all our resources at the army to the north.”
“But you do not,” Alaric guessed.
“No.” Lælia did not smile. “Part of our force is hidden in the valleys around Garnata and inside the settlement. Giscila has sent a detachment to attack that approach. He will try to take the walls, which appear sparsely guarded, as they would if I had only the Illiberis thiufa to work with. The men I have left there will easily defeat Giscila’s forces – none will enter Illiberis from the east. From the west, men must first take the fortress, which can only be done from the northern side, and that is where Giscila has focused his forces. Giscila will try to take the fortress.” She looked at Alaric. “We will let Oppa think he has succeeded.”
“Do you plan on sending word to Oppa yourself of this?” Alaric asked, not attempting to hide the derision in his tone.
“Oh,” said Lælia lightly, “I have already done so. Oppa has been masquerading as Giscila, who very recently offered me his help, should I need it, to defend Illiberis. Giscila assured me he wished to make reparation for the murder of my parents.” She met Alaric’s eyes. “I sent a message three days ago holding him to his offer and begging for his assistance. I told him our cause was most likely lost – and that if he could not bring the men to defend Illiberis, I would need his help to escape to Septem.” She smiled grimly. “According to the tribesmen hidden along the road between here and Sexi, Oppa left the same day, with no more than ten men, looking to any curious eyes to be Giscila riding valiantly to my rescue as requested.”
Alaric stared at her. “Oppa is no fool,” he said slowly. “Surely he knows that Giscila is the last person from whom you would seek help.”
Lælia felt her smile fade. “When I met Giscila,” she said, “he told me that Oppa and Theo fought side by side. Were even, perhaps, allied. He suggested that Illiberis might be the price of that alliance.”
Alaric made a furious noise.
“In my message to Giscila,” Lælia said quietly, “I said that I had been traded once – in marriage – but that my time amongst the desert tribes had shown me there was another way. I said that I intended to go to Dahiya and take back Illiberis on my own terms if I must. I said that I did not believe Theo had betrayed me, but that I would not wait helplessly for Oppa to play another of his games, and would seek Theo, and the truth, myself.” She met Alaric’s eyes. “And I told him that I had kept two hundred horses in Sexi for the past year as a gift for Dahiya, to ensure her help, should this moment ever come.”
“Opp
a will check that claim.”
“And when he does, he will discover that for the past year, two hundred Illiberis horse have been grazing on the plains near Sexi. My tribesmen have made very certain they were well observed and that all knew the horses were recently transported, on dromons of the Karabisianoi, to Septem. Dromons Oppa himself saw as he sailed south.”
“You have been planning this.” Alaric was looking at her with an expression of mingled respect and wariness. “How long, exactly, have you been planning this, Lælia?”
Up ahead, the bridge was coming into sight.
“Since the day I realised that even if Theo does come back, I cannot be simply the woman who stands at his side.” Lælia met his gaze steadily. “I am the last heiress of Illiberis, Alaric. This land is my birthright and my responsibility. I will defend it – or I will die doing so.”
Alaric and his men were exhausted; they had barely eaten, let alone slept, during the long ride south. As the afternoon turned to dusk and nothing happened, even Alaric, eyes burning, finally collapsed into noiseless slumber. Lælia watched over him throughout the night, her mind going over every line of the Illiberis boundary. Tosius crept to her side close to dawn. The little tribesman had a face gnarled and lined as old oak, and he arrived unseen even by Lælia’s own men. “My people sent word that Ipocobulcola has fallen,” he said. “Now they approach.” He looked at her, eyes gleaming. “Gratimo sends word that already they come for Garnata. He will not fail you.”
“And Zdan?”
Tosius grinned. “The desert man is ready. He will await your signal.”
The King's Coin: Ambition is the only faith (Visigoths of Spain Book 2) Page 49