Bastions
Chapter Forty Six: Loss and Inheritance
Part 2
Prelude:
By 1380 Iberia's Christians were in trouble. Waves of Xenophobia and Christophobia washed over the people and sent them into hysterical fits. This led to witch hunts, pogroms and vigilante justice all over Western Europe. Frandism, despite the teachings of its only recently deceased prophet, had already fallen to the whims of the masses. In lands of Caliph Ramon III Mahoma, Christians were generally safe. A whole state, the León protectorate set up in Galacia, was made so that Christians can live under a Christian ruler as citizens of the Caliphate. But this was no longer working. In the 1370's there were so many converts to Islam and Frandism in León that the Christian ruler was downgraded so that a secular ruler could be installed. The signs pointed to a total take-over by the Caliph. After the death of Peer Txomin of Navarre, the new Peer of Navarre under the influence of the Prince-Bishop of Baiona (the highest spiritual authority in Frandism) demanded the expulsion and persecution of the Christians in Navarre. He accused them of plotting to assassinate his uncle and lead a Christian rebellion. Despite his attempts to keep the Christians safe from indiscriminate persecution, the Caliph had to relent or risk being over thrown. The few remaining Christians in Iberia were rounded up and forced into León's southern territories along the border with Porto. A puppet regime, supposedly lead by a Christian count, would rule over the Christians as a vassal of the Prince of León. Ramon thought it was a suitable compromise and hoped he had spared many people from a gruesome death at the hands of the mob or worse: the inquisition. But it was too little, too late. Frandists already living in the southern provinces of León were not happy with the idea of so many Christians being forced into the area. And Christians were not happy with the idea of being herded onto new homes. The whole thing exploded into a bloody series of revolts and small-scale wars as the Christians called upon their God to protect them in a long and losing series of Crusades.
The plight of the Christians in Iberia.
March 18th, 1380
"I don't think I fully understand these 'Revisionists.'" Peer Fermintxo said. The way he said 'Revisionists' was similar to the way many other people would refer to unwanted guests or a parasite in their intestines. The very word dripped with his ignorance and hatred. The Peer watched as a Revisionist clergy man was hanged for leading a revolt. "Their holy men pick up swords more readily than their military leaders."
"That's because their holy men
are their military leaders, Peer," the Caliph said. "Have you ever heard the phrase 'know thy enemy'? Revisionism preaches that its followers must either die free or die resisting all authority they see as illegitimate. It is a religion literally based around struggle and war. They call themselves The Church of Jesus Christ, Warrior. Their symbol is a cross that comes to a point and pierces a still beating heart. This is a religion and mind set forged in the fires of the Infinite War. I am actually rather scared that I have to explain all of this to you."
Ramon looked away; he did not approve of the killing. All he heard was a cry of "Christ Victorious!" in the Leónese dialect of the Christians and then a thud as a body reached the end of its noose.
"How is it scary?" Fermintxo asked.
"Because a man should at least know why he hates another man," Ramon responded.
"No, I mean why can you not watch a hanging?"
"It is not that I cannot watch it, it is just that I do not want to be thought of as giving my consent to it," Ramon said rather angrily. Fermintxo rolled his eyes and sneered, returning his gaze to where the holy man was being cut down from the gallows.
"Why do you defend them, Caliph?" Fermintxo asked, almost rhetorically, as they led the next Christian to the noose.
"I don't defend them because I feel compassion for them, if that is what you are really asking. I defend them because in doing so I defend myself. I know what the Prince-Bishop is up to. I am not stupid."
"Funny, I didn't think you'd be one of those pesky humans... you know, with flaws and selfishness."
"I do what I can," Ramon answered flatly. "I was blind for a while. Confused by you and Hermann... but I can see clearly now. I know what is going on behind my back. I see you for the weasel you are," there was a slight pause and a significant drop in volume in Ramon's voice, "murder."
Fermintxo tried to hide a smirk, but could not, instead he turned and watch yet another Christian hanged with the cry of "Christ Victorious!"
"They should come up with a more suitable cry... Christ isn't particularly victorious if they are on the wrong end of a noose... forgive my... gallows humor."
"Fuck off," Ramon said. He lowered his head and looked down at his feet.
Back home, sealed away in a chest that only he had the key to, was a passport to freedom. "If the tide were ever to turn," the Lord-Protector had said, "Please except this gift. Show it to any of my merchants and they will get you to safety. You are an ally, and as a friend of Txomin you are a friend of ours." The paper had lied there in the chest for almost two years; Ramon could still remember having it handed to him discreetly by the Prussian heir. He paused to think now, had Txomin considered Fermintxo a friend? Had the Peer trusted his nephew? Had he seen through the mask and saw the evil plotter behind it? All answers beyond his powers now, the Caliph thought.
"So when do you suppose you'll try to depose me?" Ramon asked.
"Why do you ask?"
"I want to keep the date open, wouldn't want you to spoil a party or anything."
Fermintxo smiled and put an arm around Ramon, "To be honest, Caliph, I was going to ask the same question to you. Let us be honest. You don't trust me, you don't trust the Prince-Bishop... the shadows seem to grow darker; who knows who or what lurks in the dark recesses of Barcelona?"
"And what of Biscay, my dear Peer. What of your own capital city? Do you sleep well thinking that Hermann's prayers protect you? Or do you too keep guards to stand watch while you are most vulnerable?"
"Why would I answer such as question, Caliph?"
"O, I already know. I wanted to see if you'd lie." The blood drained from Fermintxo's face. "I know that you sleep with four guards outside your door at any time, one three hour shifts replacing one guard every forty-five minutes. I even know the name of that toy bear your mother gave you before she died and you have beside you every night."
"Alfonzo..." Fermintxo said quietly.
"Yes, that was his name. Now, I told this to Hermann and now I shall repeat it to you. You don't stay Caliph long if you don't sleep with your eyes open and have a spare set in every court in the Caliphate. Fermintxo: I see all, I hear all. I. Know. All. I have spent two years digging through your past: your education, your nannies, your bastards, your claims. I even found out about the maid you fucked and killed for sport."
Fermintxo's face continued to whiten and he took his arm off Ramon, but the Caliph continued, "O yes. You think that no one else knew? You thought the secret of poor little Lorea was safe? What was she? Eight? Nine?" Ramon took a step away from the Vasque and with a knifing look said, "Watch out, little man." And with that the Caliph walked away, his cape swooshing behind him as it tried to keep up.
The Peer swallowed and felt his heart race. What had he gotten himself into? Hermann had said that it would all be easy, that the Caliph would fold like a house of cards and then he would be the sole power in Iberia. This is not at all what he had bargained for. But there was no turning back. He'd just have to keep following the Prince-Bishop's orders and hopefully everything would work out once everything had settled down in Germany.