“But what will you do?”
“Oh, let me think of something. In the extreme, if I receive no further instructions from Research, I will send monks to Odo where he lies in wait, and have it said that Abdul Rahman has brought the Duke’s Daughter with him to this place, she who was given in marriage to Manuza. We will whisper that she is kept in a harem, with other slaves, violated and shamed in the Saracen camp. If that doesn’t light a fire under the man, and compel him to initiate his raid, then nothing will.”
“Good idea,” said the professor. “And we still have the Arch running, at least I hope we do. We have the computers to sift the history as well. Can you give me the exact space-time coordinates of this place—of that box, for example. And we will do what we can back home. Perhaps we can send through a message that could be of further assistance.”
“You are too kind,” said the Abbot. “But you already have the coordinates—it’s what brought you here, my good man. That spot will do nicely should you discover anything more. In the meantime, I must warn you as well. Be wary! Be stealthy! The enemy is everywhere. Their agents and assassins stalk all the Meridians of Time as well—even in your day. Once safe in a Nexus, you have little to fear, but absent that, you are at grave risk as well.”
“I see,” said Nordhausen when they had returned to the reception hall. He looked for his place on the carpet, arranging his cassock as before to prepare for the retraction shift.” It was not long in coming.
“Go with God,” he heard the Abbot say and the eerie tingling sensation and feather lightness of being swept over him.
A moment later he was gone.
Part X
Outcomes & Consequences
“Destiny is not a matter of chance, it is a matter of choice; it is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.”
Chapter 28
The Emir reined his gray Arabian, standing beside his master the Wali, where he sat on his mount surveying the long columns of horsemen on the road. “We should not come here,” he said pointing to the lay of the land ahead. “It is a narrow place, where these two rivers meet ahead. We have scouted them and, though they are not wide and may be forded, their banks are steep, and grown over with thicket and wood. When battle is joined our horsemen will not be able to cross in a timely manner.”
He was Abdul Samah, who’s name meant ‘Servant of the Eternal,’ but today he was the servant of the new governor and Wali of all these newly conquered lands, commander of this the vast army that moved now on the road, Abdul Rahman.
The Wali did not seem concerned. “We will not be here long,” he said calmly. “It is only a byway to the city beyond. Thither I am bound, to the abbey the Christians dote over, just as you advise.“
You should have taken it yesterday,” the Emir pointed ahead with his leather riding crop.
“What? With the Berbers? Would I let them make off with such a prize? The heavy horse were not yet formed and ready. It was best that we wait until all my five Khamis have answered the call and I may then make the fist that will smash the infidel here, once and for all. Besides,” he pointed to the woodland ahead. “This forest affords us good cover for our encampment.”
The Wali surveyed his tents from where they covered the rolling fields just off the road. The camp occupied a large clearing, on a low rise, surrounded by dense woods and thickets of heather that should give it good protection. He would post a few skirmishers there to keep eyes on the woodland, but now his gaze was drawn further north where a gray mist still hung over the land on the chilled morning airs.
He was Abdul Rahman Ibn Abd al-Ghafiqi, from the proud tribal federation of the Kalbs, and new governor, and protector of al-Andalus, that land called Hispania by the infidels. The guardianship and authority were given unto him, though he gathered his many Emirs, listening to their wise council, and paid them the respect they were due as lords of their tribes.
Yet the grey one, Abdul Samah, had harried him unduly, he thought. The Emir had chafed in the saddle ever since they came to the abbey the heathen clergy had dedicated to their Saint Hilary to the south, wherein they hid much gold and finery. He had bristled under his charcoal brows and insisted that it be burned, even after his soldiers had long since gutted the place, carrying off everything of value they could find. One such prize they wisely brought to the Wali, a gilded chair embedded with gold and many jewels.
“This must be the seat of power,” he said. “Where the wrongly guided saint held forth in his administrations. Send it back,” the Emir had whispered. “Make it tribute to the Sultan of the African realms, and he will look kindly upon you.”
But Abdul Rahman would not hear this counsel. “No,” he said, drawing his sword. “I will not suffer the Sultan to sit where the heathen once took his repose!”
He struck the chair a hard blow, and then, removing his sword, bid his men to shatter it in many pieces, distributing all the jeweled fragments to the many captains of his army. This seemed only fitting.
The Ansar companions and Sabaha helpers of the Prophet had shown the way in earlier years, and he was a faithful disciple now, one of the elite Tabi’un, a religious aristocracy that guided the vast Umayyad empire that now covered half the known world. And rightly guided he was, for he was fast with the sons of Umar, the second ‘Rightly Guided Caliph.’ But he was not given this post simply because of his heritage, but rather for his piety, skill, fairness, bravery and the great bond he had forged with the soldiers of Islam, who favored him over all other pretenders.
As soon as he had taken the position, he immediately began to plan the campaign he was now pursuing with great valor and energy. The heathen lord, Odo of Aquitaine, had sullied the honor of the tribes by marrying his illegitimate daughter to one of his Emirs, Manuza, the fool and the betrayer. And so Abdul Rahman had gone east to punish Manuza first, satisfied at last when he received news that he had thrown himself from a high cliff and perished. Having his head, and the heathen bitch he had taken as wife, he would send these to the Caliph in Damascus as evidence of his industry here. That matter closed, the governor had traveled to Pamplona to survey the muster of his armies. Berber tribes, Arabs and Bedouins from the desert, stout men of the Atlas mountains, all gathered there, along with the Moors of the Catalan region, and joined by his incomparable horsemen, heavily armored and mounted on fierce Arabian steeds.
In a few short months he had crossed the high western passes into the land of the Basques, with whom he had reached accommodation through careful diplomatic maneuvers the previous year. His engines of war he sent by sea, from Taragona to Narbonne, for these he could not take through the high passes. They would be safe at Narbonne on the coast of the Middle Sea until he called for them later in the year.
His aim now was to scour the land, bleed it of wealth and treasure for his armies, and assure himself that no further opposition could be mounted by the Franks. He had little doubt that they would cower in the few walled cities he might find. In time he would return to savage them all, but for now he swept north like a scouring wind, sweeping all before him.