“There are villages now with doors still standing and no one left inside them.”
Silence falls.
Sir Philipp nods once. “Thank you,” he says. “You have done your duty.”
The knuckles rap again—stronger now. Not applause, but a vow that what has been spoken of will not be dismissed.
I feel the tears before I notice them falling. The guilt and shame inside of me are bubbling up in my chest to the point of pain.
I do not wipe the tears away.
My chest aches.
When I look up, my gaze finds Ashford.
He stands near one of the pillars, half in shadow. His eyesare on me, full of intent.
There is no judgment there, only a sort of recognition, as if he too knows the burden of shame.
Finally, I turn away and scrub my cheeks with the edge of my sleeve, ashamed of nothing and everything all at once.
The discussion turns sharp.
Charles must be stopped. The South is bending to him, slowly but surely. His current campaign against the Avars will bring gold, prestige, and renewed fervor. Someone says he will return worse than before. Another voice answers that not all the South has yielded.
“Tassilo has not.”
The voice that follows is tired—and unmistakable.
“I am here.”
Tassilo steps forward.
Relief flashes through me. I haven’t seen him since the day in the woods. His face is drawn, eyes rimmed with exhaustion.
“I am holding,” he says. “Barely. Morale is fragile, and the dukes doubt the cause. They whisper that resistance is pointless.”
He exhales slowly.
“Charles has turned the Pope against me,” Tassilo continues. “He claims I failed to protect him during the Lombard incursions. That I neglected my duty to Rome.”
A murmur stirs the room, and the bishop steps forward.
“It is true,” he says quietly. The authority in his voice stills the murmurs at once. “Charles has written often, yet carefully. He has made certain the Holy Father believes Tassilo withheld aid—failed to shield Rome when the Lombards pressed closest.”
Tassilo closes his eyes for a brief moment, then opens themagain.
“This is how he works,” the bishop adds. “He isolates. He poisons trust. He makes sure a man stands alone before he moves against him.”
Silence spreads.
“If I lose Rome,” Tassilo says at last, his voice hoarse, “I lose everything. The dukes will kneel. The South will fall without a fight.”
The room turns, slowly, toward me and like my father predicted, the questions begin.
They thank me for what I have already given—routes, patterns, places Charles favors when he travels. Then the questions narrow.
Verden.
