“Bah.” Malconi stood and moved to the railing. “You know nothing of what you speak.”
“I know a fool when I see one. And any pope who would allow Emperor Lucius to declare war on Arthur of the Britons is worse even than that.”
“A fool? When Simplicius has stage-managed this whole affair?” Malconi dabbed more sweat from his brow. “Think about it, Zalmyra — how can he lose? If Lucius defeats Arthur, all is well and good. He will be away from Italy for many months, maybe years, as he tries to settle the seething pot of discontent that will be Britain. The papacy will be left with the free hand in Italy it enjoyed before. But if Arthur wins, that also is good — Emperor Lucius, a rival at the heart of Christendom, will have been removed.”
“And Arthur will have taken his place,” she said.
“Arthur is not interested in dominating Christendom. He wants only to govern his own kingdom. He might plunder the capital and sever a few heads, but he won’t lay hands on His Holiness. In due course he will return north.”
“I see… and once again our pontiff will reign unchallenged.”
“Of course.” Malconi took a sip of water. “All Simplicius needed was an excuse for the war, something that would absolve him of guilt when he gave his permission for the fighting to commence. We were sent to find one, and it was not difficult. Arthur has some hot-headed counsellors at his command.”
“And my son is in the midst of this papally-approved hornets’ nest.”
“He is a soldier. That was his career choice. He’s exactly where he should be.”
“You must pluck him out.”
“He’s a soldier, Zalmyra. Were we not fighting the Britons, we’d be fighting someone else. We have an entire world to re-civilise.”
“Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table are not just ‘someone else,’ Severin. What of this Black Wolf of the North who I hear my son has particularly antagonised?”
Malconi was surprised that she knew about this, though he supposed he ought not to be. Zalmyra had powers at her beck and call that he didn’t like to contemplate.
“Earl Lucan is of a belligerent nature,” he admitted. “I’ve seen that for myself. I also hear that he is a feared warrior.”
“A feared warrior? So even in that esteemed company he stands out? It appears that while you’ve served your two masters, the Pope and the Emperor, with your usual guile, you have failed to discharge your duty as an uncle.”
“I advised against it, but Felix is head over heels in love. He’s a grown man, Zalmyra — presumably you want him weaned away from your tit at some point.”
She slapped his face — with such force that Bishop Malconi was left dazed; he almost toppled over the railing. At the other end of the terrace, male servants whispered together and snickered.
“How… how dare you?” he stammered. “You are in no position to disrespect me.”
“I can do more than disrespect you, brother,” she snarled. “As well you know.”
“You worry unnecessarily… I’ve told you. A savage war is under way. In a very short time, many of these men you fear will be dead.”
“You’d better hope and pray that Felix is not among them.”
“I cannot change the tides of politics.”
“You blind imbecile, Severin! This is not some game! You sun yourself here while black wolves gather at our door?”
“Emperor Lucius will stop them.”
Her voice lowered, became scathing. “You may trust everything to that cream-faced boy, but I won’t. If nothing else, I’ll ensure that what’s mine is safe.” She turned and strode away.
“Whatever you wish,” he called after her. “But I warn you, sister — don’t use sorcery. The Church forbids it.”
Her laugh was like a whip-crack. “The Church also forbids catamites, yet your house is full of them.”
Seventeen
The main reason King Arthur chose the Vale of Sessoine as the ground on which he and Emperor Lucius would finally meet in battle was because it was narrow; no more than half a mile in breadth. Its western and eastern slopes were steep, wooded and rocky, and rose to high sharp ridges, so there was no possibility of New Rome’s vast army outflanking the smaller British host.
The vale also sloped upward from south to north — only gently, but this meant that whichever army claimed the northern end had a slight advantage. Arthur’s scouts had reported this to him less than a week after his capture of Mont St. Michel, and he had sent cavalry contingents riding hard to secure the position. Emperor Lucius was unconcerned when he learned about this; though he had divided his forces, he still had just short of two hundred thousand men at his immediate command, while King Arthur had no more than forty thousand. With such a discrepancy in numbers, Lucius did not expect that an uphill battle would prove troublesome for him.
It was a hot, dry morning in the middle of July when the two armies confronted each other. From the British perspective, the sight of the Romans pouring into the southern end of the vale, multitudinous as ants, was nerve-wracking, and yet only half the enemy was visible, thanks to the veils of dust kicked up by their tramping feet and the hooves of their animals. From the Roman perspective, the sight of the Britons arrayed in tight formation at the northern end, but on much higher ground, caused some of their more experienced officers a twinge of unease.
Many factors contributed to the outcomes of battles. Sheer weight of numbers could easily decide a victory, but there’d been several occasions in the past, well known to the officer corps in New Rome — Alexander at Gaugamala, the Spartans at Plataea — when greater forces had been defeated by the skilled tactics and manoeuvring of the opposition. Granted, in the Vale of Sessoine there was little room for Arthur to manoeuvre, but the British deployment, which was already complete when the armies of New Rome arrived on the field, appeared at first glance to be sound and, with their elevated position, had the air of immovability.
Some of these views were expressed to Emperor Lucius in his command pavilion while he was assigning duties, not least by Tribune Maximion.
The Emperor replied coldly: “You expect me to run away when I outnumber them five to one, simply because we don’t like the ground?”
“Caesar will not appreciate this constant doubting of his wisdom,” Rufio said as he and Maximion left the tent side by side, having been given their positions in the line.
“The Caesars rarely did,” Maximion replied. “Perhaps that’s why they aren’t with us anymore.”
Rufio turned to face him, stiff-shouldered. “That kind of talk is verging on treason.”
“Treason? I thought we were discussing history.”
“The Caesars are with us now. Embodied in our sovereign lord, Lucius Julio Bizerta.”
Maximion pursed his lips. “You idolise him, Rufio?”
“How could I not? One so young and yet so brilliant. One who in such a short time has achieved so much.”
“I hate to say this… but it’s not impossible that he could lose it all in considerably less time. In a single day, perhaps? Today?”
Rufio’s eyebrows arched. Shocking though it was to hear such disloyalty, it was also sobering to suddenly realise that everything they’d achieved in the last few years — all the Emperor’s diplomatic offensives, the army’s military gains, all the money they’d spent, the treaties they’d agreed, the new governorships they’d set up, the consuls they’d appointed, the roads they’d repaired, the bridges they’d built, the cities they’d walled, the new sense of power and security that had come to run through all their lives — it could all be for naught if this one day went against them.
But of course it wouldn’t.
Arthur’s force was so small that its arms barely glinted through the clouds of dust created by the rivers of Roman troops flowing past him.
“Prudence is important for a commander,” Rufio said loftily. “But there is a fine line between prudence and cowardice. Take care yours doesn’t vanish altogether, Maximion.”