The Wanderer and the Way 10
The King’s Commission
This is Chapter 10 of The Wanderer and the Way
“What is your opinion on how Christ acquired his divinity?” Alphonso the Chaste asked as he and Theodemir walked by the river the next morning. Their conversation had begun with the king remarking on the pleasantness of the spot, its advantages for trade, its potential vulnerabilities to attack from the sea, all of which, Theodemir had been aware, were but preliminary to the matter which had caused the king to single him out for this interview. This question, he felt, belonged to the next phase of the interview, though it was not obvious how or why.
“He was begotten of the Father before all worlds,” Theodemir said, quoting the formula of Constantinople.
“What say you then to the doctrine of Elipandus of Toledo that the man Jesus Christ became divine by adoption?”
Theodemir bowed his head, wishing he had paid greater attention to his tutors and, more particularly, that he had made himself aware of which side his King took in this controversy which had occupied his own mind not at all. Choosing the frank confession of ignorance over guessing and looking a fool, he said, “I confess, highness, that the matter is beyond my intellect. I have listened to my tutors speak of it, but I soon became confused by the arguments and lost the ability to comprehend.”
“It is a subtle argument, certainly,” the king replied. “I spent some hours with Quendulf yesterday trying to make sure that I had the orthodox position clear in my head and that I fully understood the objections to Elipandus given by our own Beatus of Liébana. I confess I am not sure that Quendulf himself understands them fully. However, I am satisfied that the position of Rome and of Aachen, which agrees with the position of Beatus, is to be preferred over the position of Toledo. Do you agree?”
“Where your highness leads, and where Rome and Aachen agree, what can I do but follow?” Theodemir said.
“You can convince yourself by studying the arguments of both parties. Not because you should allow yourself to be persuaded by the teaching of Elipandus, but because you should be secure in your mind of the reasons for rejecting them. You should beg Quendulf to lend you the copy of the letter of Beatus which is in his possession. It would be well to instruct yourself on the matter.”
“As you say, highness,” Theodemir replied. He did not feel it his place to ask why the king should think it necessary for him to inform himself on what seemed to be an obscure point of theology. But the king clearly did think it important, for he continued, “Hispania, as you must know, has a history of breeding heresy. It is but two hundred years ago that we gave up the heresy of Arias that denied the divinity of Christ. Now we have the theory of adoption, which seems to me a seedling of that old dead tree. Does the name Alcuin of York mean anything to you?”
“I’m sure I must have heard the name, highness,” Theodemir said, not because he had any recollection of hearing it but because he hoped that some indication of having heard it would make him sound less stupid.
“The greatest scholar of the age, some say,” the king said. “Which seems to me astonishing, for who would think a man of such reputation could come from such a wild and distant kingdom as Northumbria?”
“It is my belief that Northumbria gives birth to many wonders, highness,” Theodemir said.
“Ah, the young woman,” Alphonso said. “Yes, we will speak of her in her turn. But Alcuin is our first concern.”
“Yes, highness.” The notion that Alphonso wished to speak to him of Agnes, or of Elswyth, was both exhilarating and terrifying, but he stove to betray neither of these feelings and to give due attention to the matter which the king wished to discuss first.
“Alcuin had also written on this question of adoption,” the king continued.
“In favor of it or against, highness?” Theodemir asked, trying to seem interested.
“Against, naturally,” the king replied, frowning slightly at his companion’s inattention.
“Of course, highness,” Theodemir said.
“And Alcuin has the ear of Charles, King of the Franks, who is emperor of the West in all but name.”
“Yes, highness.”
“So if we wish to please Charles, we must first please Alcuin. And also, of course, if we wish to please God, we must protect the orthodoxy of his church. So, you see, it is important that we are correct on this matter of adoption and that we show ourselves to be correct.”
Theodemir did not ask why Alphonso should be keen to please Alcuin of York or Charles, King of the Franks. He was beginning to perceive that Alphonso spelled out his thought in measured cadences, with slight pauses between them which were as much a form of punctuation as an invitation to comment, and he decided to comment no further unless he had more of substance to say than, “Yes, highness.”
“You will recall,” the king continued, “that in the time of my father, when I was younger than you are now, Charles crossed the Pyrenees at the request of Sulayman al-Arabi, a Moor who wished to break from Cordoba and bring Barcelona into the Frankish fold, since he would not be able to hold out against Cordoba alone. But the Frankish army was stopped at Zaragosa, and when the siege failed, and Charles began to withdraw, he was attacked by the Basques. This, I think, did not predispose him to think kindly of Hispania, and ever since his attention has been elsewhere.”
“Surely this is a welcome thing, highness,” Theodemir said. “It is not in the character of the Visigoths to bend the knee to the Franks.”
“Half of Europe now bends the knee to the Franks,” the king replied. “But the greater danger to the Visigoths is that we will be forced to bend the knee to the Moors. If I must bend the knee to the Franks, I may perhaps lose some of my pride. If I bend the knee to the Moors, I shall assuredly lose my soul.”
“I understand, highness,” Theodemir said.
“The truth, young man, is that I would gladly bend my knee to Charles if by doing so I could gain Frankish help against the Moors. The difficulty is that Charles does not at present think me a vassal worth having, nor my wars a fight worth contesting. While Asturias remains, the Moors are focused on us, and not inclined to venture the passes of the Pyrenees to extend their caliphate into Frankish lands. This means that Charles’s mind is not engaged with the Moors, feeling that he has many years yet before he or his sons must reckon with them. He is content to sacrifice Asturias to buy time to complete his conquest of Europe.”
“I see, highness,” Theodemir said, for here the king’s silence extended longer than in his previous speeches. This longer silence, however, seemed mainly to mark a larger change of theme.
“That was a remarkable young woman who served as your uncle’s lady of the feast,” he said. “But she is not his wife, as I understand it.”
“She is not, highness.”
“She is the other wonder of Northumbria that you spoke of, yes? I noted that her Latin was not native to her tongue, and her tone had much of the Germanic in it. Yet she is not Germanic in her features or stature.”
“The child of a Welisc mother and an Anglish father, she tells me, highness. But taking after the mother in her features.”
“Ah,” the king said. “Each people is proud of the superior character of its own blood, but look what prodigies are bred when the blood is mixed! I have found it so of dogs and horses also. But who is this Welisc people you speak of?”
“A people of the west of Britain, highness. Ancient kin to the Iberian people, she believes.”
“She is much in your thoughts, this woman.”
“I have made her acquaintance since my return from Rome, highness.”
“I observed you last night. Your eyes never left her.”
“I think that is true of every man in the hall, highness.”
This was not entirely true. Alponso’s eyes had been watching the faces of his vassals all through the feast. He was not a man who ever rested from his office. But it had been true of every other man present for the feast and of every woman as well. Agnes had been weeping in despair on the flagstones of the courtyard scant hours before the feast, but Elswyth had been merry and gracious and attentive, a creature of laughter rather than tears. She had performed the duties of the lady of the feast impeccably, and when it had come time for song, she had astonished and enthralled them all, and all the while, as Theodemir had gazed at her, enraptured, he had looked for any part of Agnes, for any hint of Anges’s diffidence and despair, and had not seen it.
“It is true that she held every man’s eye,” Alfonso continued. “I watched to see how each man looked at her, for one can often find the measure of a man in how he looks at a woman. The younger men looked at her with desire, as you would expect. The older men could not content themselves whether to look at her with the same desire or whether to look on her as a daughter. But one man looked on her with love. And that man was you.”
“She is my vocation, highness,” he replied.
Without his characteristic pause, the king turned to another subject.
“Witteric is a callous and lascivious man,” he said, “but a gifted soldier who commands the loyalty of many men.”
Theodemir did not reply to this. It was one thing for the king to speak this judgment. It was another for himself to confirm it.
“If this judgment reached his ears,” the king continued, “I do not think it would much perturb him.”
“I don’t suppose it would, highness,” Theodemir said, “But he will not hear it from me.”
“He does not enjoy your confidence?”
“The wonder, highness, is that he makes me his heir since he holds me in contempt. I do not understand why he does not set me aside and choose another.”
“Do you consider yourself unworthy to succeed him?”
“I confess, highness, that I have run from the prospect. I have trained as a soldier, yes. And I was in something of a fight once. And yet I chose to go to Rome and be a student.”
“To what end did you go to Rome?”
“I thought to be a scholar, highness, but I have not the mind for it. I find I have a scholar’s vices but not a scholar’s passions. The long hours of study were never joyous to me, as they were to more gifted men.”
“I, too, would have wished to be a scholar,” the king said. “But another road opened before me.”
“I fear I do not give a good account of myself, highness,” Theodemir confessed.
The king gave a short laugh and said, “If I wished to hear men boasting, young man, there are many here who would give me satisfaction.”
“Alas, I have nothing to boast of, highness.”
“You walked from Rome with nothing but a pilgrim’s robe, a pair of sandals, and a staff. Something to boast of, perhaps?”
“I was duped by a duplicitous monk and fell out of love with God long before I got home.”
“But you completed the journey, nonetheless.”
“I had little choice, highness. I had neither name nor purse until I reached Asturias again.”
Alphonso nodded. “It can be hard to stay in love with God when he seems distant from us,” he said, “Still, I do not think a callous and lascivious man could have carried on as you did when the road grew hard and God seemed distant. I think such a man would have turned robber or offered his service to some local lord.”
“I think it was only stubbornness that would not let me turn aside, highness.”
“You seem to be determined to convince me of your unworthiness, young man,” the king said. “Do you fear the task I mean to lay on you? Would it not be wise to hear what I will ask before you declare yourself unworthy of it?”
“Whatever you ask of me, highness, I will attempt to perform,” Theodemir said, wondering if Alphonso would be contemptuous or admiring of the equivocation in the word “attempt.”
“Still, your humility puzzles me,” the king said. “It is not what I expect of a young man of a family such as yours.”
“To tell the truth, highness,” Theodemir said, lowering his eyes to the ground, “I have recently been shown that I have committed sins unguessed at, and this has humbled me.”
“And who showed you this?” the king asked.
“Agnes,” he replied.
“Agnes who keeps the gate, who is also the lady Elswyth who enchants the hall? Is that a riddle you can solve for me?”
“Not without betraying her confidence, highness.”
“Then I must content myself with the mystery. But tell me, who protects her?”
“I have sworn myself to her service, highness.”
“Is she yours to protect by right? Where is her father? And do you mean to marry her?”
“She has a husband, highness. A Northman in my uncle’s employment.”
“Then by right she is not yours to protect.”
“Not by right, highness, but by vocation.”
“A second riddle, then,” the king said, stroking his beard. “Would you fear to leave her in your uncle’s company?”
It was clear to Theodemir that the king wished to send him on some mission, probably of some great distance, since his perseverance on the road was a topic of Alphonso’s admiration. It would be a hard road, then, and Alphonso was testing his willingness to go. Or, rather, he was discovering and disposing of any potential objections before declaring the mission itself. Could he say that he feared that Witteric would rape Agnes if he were not there to protect her? Few men would have considered that an objection of any merit since Agnes was not of his kin, but Alphonso might be convinced by it. But was this true? Was Agnes in danger from Witteric?
“She has been in his company three years, highness, and he has not molested her. He finds her husband useful to him, and I am sure that he fears him as well, for the Northman is a fearsome man.”
“Then it is unclear to me why you should have chosen her cause in particular,” the king said. “Surely she is well protected.”
“She hates her husband, highness,” she said.
“That is unfortunate,” the king replied. “But it is no responsibility of yours. Unless, that is, you have led her astray and are the cause of strife between her and her husband.”
“Oh, not at all, highness. The truth is, she holds me in contempt. She has shown me my sins.”
“Then I think it is well that you should quit her company,” the king said. “If a man is to have a woman for his conscience, then she must be his wife. Otherwise, no good can come of it, I think.”
Theodemir looked out across the river to the far bank, covered in fair trees with gentle hills rising behind. What answer was there to give to the king but that Agnes was a virgin, bound to the Northman only by an oath that had never been fulfilled, and that he, Theodemir, was bound to her by a vision from God, but that the vision was incomplete and lacking any specific direction or instruction? Such a declaration, he was certain, would not sway the king from his purpose.
“The Bishop tells me that he believes that the tomb of St. James could be found and that he has attempted without success to employ you in this cause.” Alphonso continued, “What is your objection to his project?”
“Highness, I think that if the tomb were ever here, that when the Moors came and occupied this place, any who knew where the bones of the apostle lay would have covered the place to keep it from theft or desecration by the heathens. And by the time that these lands were recovered, that man, and any to whom he might have revealed the place, were long dead, and the place was forgotten. And if that is the case, highness, only a miracle now could reveal the place to us.” This was the view that had been expressed to him by a grandee of the district who had a daughter of marriageable age and pleasing aspect and who therefore had every reason to discourage Theodemir from an enterprise of this sort. But it was, for all that, a reasonable theory.
“You despair of miracles, young man?” the king asked.
“I am not worthy of them, highness,” he replied.
“Are you not? I would think your odyssey and its pains and sufferings might have made you worthy of a small miracle or two.”
“Is this the task you wish to set me on, highness?” he asked, for it had occurred to him that for such a quest it would be reasonable to make his uncle’s villa his base of operations and that therefore he would not be separated from Agnes, nor could he be banished by his uncle, since he would be about the king’s business.
“Do you understand the importance of this to the kingdom?” Alphonso asked.
“It would please God and the apostle, I suppose, to have the place known and venerated.”
“It would,” the king replied. “But it would also give us a claim on the attention and the aid of Europe. Charles may consider Asturias expendable, but I think it would touch his conscience to leave the tomb of an apostle undefended against those who would desecrate it in the name of their false god.”
“So, highness, as it was once covered out of fear of the Moors, it must now be uncovered out of fear of the Moors?”
“Ah!” said the king. “At last you are willing to show the subtlety of your mind! I was beginning to despair of bringing it out.”
“My tutors certainly despaired of doing so, highness,” Theodemir replied.
“Young man,” Alphonso said, “It may be the fashion among warriors to pretend that they are idiots. I suppose that they think that if their wisdom were admired, their courage would be doubted. For myself, I believe that if courage is the right arm, wisdom is the left. Do not be afraid to show me the quality of your mind.”
Theodemir laughed at this. “I feel I should reply to this with words of wit, highness, yet none come to my tongue.”
“When a man is king, young man, he grows very tired of men trying to amuse him with their wit. Pray do not add yourself to that tiresome company.”
“I have little fear of doing so, highness. So, is it your will that I should search for the bones of the apostle?”
“In time, perhaps, that task will fall to you. But today I have need of a man of humility, with some skill in speech, and inured to far traveling. I need the friendship of Charles, King of the Franks. He is emperor in all but name, and if we are to hold back the Moors, if we are, in time, to drive them from Hispania entirely, we will need the aid and friendship of the empire. I wish you to lead an embassy to Aachen to seek the recognition of my kingship over Asturias and the friendship and aid of the Franks in my struggle with the Moors.”
Despite the earlier discussions of Charles and Alcuin, this was not a commission that had entered Theodemir’s head as a possibility. “Surely, highness, there are men more suitable for this than I,” he said. “I am a young man still, a failed scholar who has never bloodied his sword. Surely a man of greater experience and renown would be better suited to win the regard of Charles, who is, after all, a man always in the saddle, always with a sword in his hand.”
“Indeed,” the king replied, “I could send a warrior. But I know what will happen if I send a Visigothic captain into the camp of the Franks. He will pick a quarrel to prove his courage. Then he will either be dead or will have killed some favorite of Charles, and either way, my embassy will have come to nothing, or worse than nothing. Besides, as you say, Charles is a man always in the saddle. When you come to Aachen, it is not likely he will be there. The man you will likely meet, and the man who you will really need to persuade, is Alcuin.”
“Then should you not send a priest and a scholar, highness?”
“That would end the same as sending a warrior,” the king replied. “Priests, I have found, are just as quarrelsome as captains and even more proud. If I sent a priest, it would all end in angry letters and anathemas. No. I mean to send a young man of sense and humility. A young man who understands that his part is to make a good impression and beg for friendship. A man who can give a reasonable account of himself on the subject of adoptionism and assure the Franks that the Visigoths have not once again become a nest of heretics. A young man who can represent the nobility of Asturias without displaying its usual vices. A man with a reputation for courage, endurance, and obedience to the will of God.”
“I do not believe I have such a reputation, highness. And if I do, it is undeserved.”
“You have it indeed. Several men have mentioned your pilgrimage to me with admiration. Whether it is deserved is between you and God. That you have it is an asset when dealing with men, particularly men like Alcuin and Charles.”
“If I have such a reputation at all, highness, I doubt it extends much beyond Iria Flavia. It will certainly not be known in Aachen.”
“Perhaps,” the king said, “but somehow it seems a man’s reputation clings to him. He wears it like a cloak, and other men recognize it, though they cannot give a name to it. In any case, it will be mentioned in the letters of commission that I will send with you, so they will learn of it by that means. Can you be ready to depart in a week?”
“But what of Agnes, highness?”
“We have established that she should be no concern of yours. She has a husband, so it is best you be parted from her before infatuation turns to sin. If you complete this embassy successfully and return with a promise of Frankish aid, I shall free you of your uncle’s thrall. I will give you lands of your own and a young woman of my own kinship, a girl of beauty, grace, and good fortune to be your wife. Supposing, of course, that it is then your desire to marry.”
“That is very generous, highness,” Theodemir said, an icy hand grasping the heart in his chest and squeezing so that he almost stumbled and collapsed beside the river bank.
“I do not care for Witteric, and he knows it,” the king said. “He does not care for me. But I need him, and he has no better option at present than to support me. But be cautious of him this next week. He will see that you have found favor with me, and in his wicked mind, he will think that I am conspiring to be rid of him and to put you in his place. He will not come at you directly, but I am not sure that he cares enough for kinship that he would not contrive an accident for you. I will provide retainers to accompany you on your journey, but I suggest you gather all the friends you trust and go about in their company until it is time to depart. And get the letter of Beatus from Quendulf and be ready to demonstrate your understanding of it to Alcuin.”
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