“No. No, no, no.” Hadi replied with a wave of his hand. “We cannot bring in Allvaldr Siegfried or his forces. That turns this from an internal issue into a war that we are not prepared for.” That being said, it was quite possible that this would become a war all the same. Charlemagne was a cunning and opportunistic creature, and there were few opportunities greater than an enemy that was exhausted from fighting itself.
“We cannot accept this inquiry. If you go to Baghdad, you will not return,” Sheba stressed, and Hadi agreed with her wholeheartedly. The entire situation was a mess with no correct course of action, just ones with greater and lesser consequences.
Hadi rubbed his eyes, feeling a sharp headache that had not left him since the news had been delivered. Learning that Harun had been attacked -- stabbed with a poisoned dagger, barely escaping with his life intact had been an unwelcome surprise. Learning that several members within Harun's court had named him as the assassin was even more unwelcome. The only good news he received that day was that Harun had survived, but languished on his sickbed, barely lucid in the brief moments he regained consciousness.
“We cannot afford to have a civil war,” Hadi sighed.
“We can't,” Sheba agreed sweetly. Always a prelude to something he deeply didn't wish to hear. “But our options are limited. Guilt is much easier to prove than innocence. The court has already named you guilty. We gain nothing by meeting with them on their terms. Accepting that means we aren't beholden to proving your innocence in their eyes. Only Harun's, should he still live. Marshall our armies, meet them on the field, and deliver their heads to the Caliph as proof.”
That was the simplest course of action. An appealing course of action. Just not one without consequences.
Charlemagne's forces in Hispania had been bolstered. That in itself wasn't anything out of place. Since Hadi became Emir of Hispania they had raided and attempted to dislodge each other every year since. Charlemagne attempted to bleed him for control over the rest of the landmass while Hadi attempted to push him back to the Pyrenees Mountains. Neither had much in the way of success, beyond a pushed border here or there. The end result being their border had perhaps the most forts for every mile in the entire world.
The timing, however, was suspicious. Even if Charlemagne didn't have a hand in Harun's near assassination, he was well poised to take advantage of it. Hadi had little doubt that the moment his armies left his domain, Charlemagne would strike with as much force as he could muster. Meaning that he would either have to risk losing his domain entirely, or face the lords who named him as the assassin with an army at half strength.
“We must do something, Hadi,” Sheba said, grabbing hold of his wrist, and the action betrayed how worried she was. “We cannot simply wait for this to go away.”
“No,” Hadi agreed, a deep frown tugging at his lips. “No, we cannot.”
The internal workings of the Caliphate were something he never wished to be aware of as a younger man, but such knowledge has been foisted upon him because of his position. A position that gave him the perception of vast influence, but the reality was that he was distant from the inner workings of the court in Baghdad. What he did have was a very large army that Harun could count on.
Something the true assassins knew.
For the past ten years, he had ruled over Hispania. He remained the regent over the Egyptian territories, though that would thankfully end quite soon as Asad would soon be considered a man in the eyes of the law. However, until then, those resources were his to draw upon. As a vassal, he was exceptionally powerful. The titles Harun bestowed upon him only solidified that image.
He served as the cornerstone for Harun's power base. Present but distant. A hammer that loomed overhead, just out of sight. That lessened the other nobility's influence, allowing Harun to push through reforms to avoid unwanted strings in deals. One family in particular felt the loss in influence more keenly than others, even if they hadn't lost any official position.
The Barkmids.
They were the administrative backbone of the Abbasid Dynasty, having served as stewards for generations even before the Abbasids took power. The family was vast, well-connected, well-positioned, but not well-trusted. Not when there were so many voices telling Harun that he shouldn't, even if they hadn't done anything overt to deserve that mistrust.
Hadi had no proof that it was the Barkmids. Only the knowledge that Harun had begun to entertain the thought of removing Jafar from his position as Visier.
“We need decisive action. We cannot afford a half measure,” Sheba continued, and Hadi sank into the pile of cushions he sat on.
“... I hate decisive action…” He muttered, wishing the cushions would just swallow him up. It was almost tempting to convert to Hinduism, because at least then he could blame the rotten luck of this life on his being a bastard in his last one. Blaming Allah didn't exactly seem wise, and even if he did shake his fist to the one above all, Hadi was increasingly convinced that Allah would just laugh at his misfortune. If he didn't have a hand in it.
Despite the tension, Sheba laughed. It was a beautiful sound, and he still wasn't at all comfortable with how much sway it had over him. “I know, my dear husband. But you have risen high. That comes with responsibilities.”
Responsibilities he never asked for. Didn't want, either. He just couldn't refuse without insulting Harun, and Harun was the one reason why the other Emirs hadn't killed him, razed his lands, and did their best to erase him from history.
“Why can't people just… calm down?” He complained, sinking into the cushions further. Why did King Hoffer have to go kidnap the Pope and sack Rome? Why did Charlemagne whip his people up into such a religious frenzy that they started to sate their bloodlust on each other for worshiping God a little differently? Why couldn't Siegfried stop raiding entire countries to the point that he took the nails that held up their houses, and then took the houses as well for good measure? Why couldn't the Emirs see he was perfectly happy doing absolutely nothing on the fringes of the Caliphate? Why couldn't Harun do what every other Caliph before him did and just indulge in luxury and his harem?
Why did everyone seem completely determined to start a war none of them were ready to fight?
“We live in an era of greatness, Hadi. Empires are rising, and great men lead them. The world has run out of room, so one must fall.” That was exactly what he was afraid of. He had done some light reading on the fall of empires, and the word that could best summarize them was ‘messy’. If he were generous and used two words, then ‘senseless slaughter’ would also be apt.
“I'd rather live in dull times,” he replied, accepting Sheba's embrace as she pulled his head to her breasts. Having a beautiful wife caused him no end of trouble, but there were times when he didn't mind. Hadi felt her chuckle before he sighed. As much as he would like to continue complaining -- and he deeply wished to complain until the sun set -- action was necessary. “Diplomacy is a dead end. Even if I could reason with them, they know they stand to gain much with my death.”
Sheba nodded, running her hands through his hair.
“However, I need to know if this is a coup or not,” Hadi continued. A curse of being on the fringe of the Caliphate meant news was slow to reach him. As soon as the accusation was delivered alongside the news of Harun's near assassination, Hadi had dispatched spies and messengers to gauge the temperament of Baghdad. To get in contact with Harun's mother. However, it would be weeks before he had an answer and he needed to act before then. “And if it is a coup, I need to know who set it in motion, who supports it, and who is the face.”
“Then we march?” Sheba pressed, clearly wanting direct action. That was no surprise. She was chosen to be his wife because of her strong loyalty to the Abbasid Dynasty as much as she had her own noble lineage.
“If we march, then we will lose Hispania,” Hadi replied. “The eastern coast is weak and Charlemagne knows it. When we are distracted, he will claim the coast down to the southern shore. We will be cleaved in half and isolated.” Their current borders were well fortified, but it took one moment of weakness to change that.
“Will he be able to?” Sheba questioned, knowing how he thought by now. Despite his best efforts. “Siegfried has pillaged Britannia of all that glitters and most that doesn't. Then he went back for everything else. He humiliated Charlemagne by taking his son and giving him to his brother to be a jester. His own lands are in a brewing turmoil with the sack of Rome and the general unrest with the unification with the Eastern Roman Empire. The build up you fear could be a bluff.”
“It could be,” Hadi admitted. “It's likely that it is. But I fear that for all the reasons you listed, it will stop being a bluff. Few things silence detractors such as victory, after all, and I don't wish to serve him one upon a silver platter.”
“That would raise the Wolf-Kissed's ire. We have an alliance,” she pointed out.
“He has an alliance with Harun. Who I am accused of trying to assassinate,” Hadi corrected with a frustrated sigh. “He is not beholden to defend us. Charlemagne knows this.”
“But he could,” Sheba stressed. “Siegfried recognizes you as a man of honor. Charlemagne also knows that. They seek to make war with each other, and Siegfried goads him. He may hesitate in fear that he will trigger a war with Scandinavia.”
That was… possible. It entirely depended on how eager for war Charlemagne thought Siegfried was. And how ready Charlemagne was for that war.
The former, Hadi didn't know. He couldn't. However, he did have suspicions about the latter.
Charlemagne sought to restore the Roman Legions alongside the Roman Empire. Vast professional armies that were well armed, armored, and disciplined. A far cry from the current levies that he used to fight with. Siegfried had well and truly put an end to the days of levy armies. He proved without a shadow of a doubt that smaller but better equipped and trained armies could defeat a significantly larger force.
It was a message Hadi had heard loud and clear. Charlemagne evidently heard it too, alongside Harun. Every empire in the world it seemed was in the middle stages of reforming their military, creating standing professional armies. Which very well could be a contributing factor to the attempt on Harun's life. After all, Harun had been in the early stages of creating an army that answered only to the Caliph when the attempt came.
The Emirs feared the balance of power shifting. Charlemagne worked more slowly, treading carefully to avoid a similar fate. Siegfried, however, could blaze the trail simply because he had already so radically changed the balance of power in Scandinavia that a standing army was just one more thing.
“I suppose… if we gamble and lose, I can stop being Emir,” Hadi mused, setting on a course of action. It would be a shame to waste the efforts he’d spent on keeping everyone happy so they wouldn't assassinate him. A lesson Harun really should have learned. But, Hadi imagined people would have less cause to assassinate him in the first place without the title hanging over his head like a blade.
Sheba laughed, pinching his cheek. “You aren't that lucky, my beloved. If the situation is as dire as I think, there will be plenty of emirs left short of heads and their positions left in need of filling by the end of this.” That certainly made the smile slip from his face.
Still, he lingered in her embrace for a moment longer than he really should. Longer than they could afford. It was with the greatest reluctance he managed to extract himself from her arms and rise to his feet to go about doing what needed to be done. Emerging from his private chambers, he found the two men that he expected to see.
Khalid and Zafir. The former had shot up like a weed, growing from a boy to a man. He looked the part of a conquering hero. Enough so that when Khalid met dignitaries with him, it wasn't uncommon for them to mistake him for the Emir. Tall, well built, handsome, with a well groomed beard.
“Our men are ready to march,” Khalid started, already knowing what decision they had come to. He probably asked the walls or something. All these years later, Hadi still didn't quite grasp how Khalid's ability worked. Just that it did, and he had an uncanny talent for knowing things he had no right to know.
Hadi nodded, the pair walking with him. “We'll gather on the eastern coast. A fleet will be gathered to transport us directly into the heartlands.”
Zafir offered a sharp glance, “During winter?” It was a dangerous move, but one undercut by their ally's ability in the Mediterranean.
“King Hoffer can read the weather like no other man,” Hadi replied as they walked. “And he is licking his wounds after his lost territory. He needs a victory to cement his place amongst his pirate kingdom. We are in a position to provide him one.” He only knew of the Norse king’s ability because of Khalid's. That, and that it was apparently bestowed upon him by Siegfried.
The implications of that were a headache that Hadi didn't want to think about, so he didn't. While ignorance could be bliss, so too could willful blindness.
“You would trust him with our lives?” Zafir questioned, sounding doubtful of the decision. However, it was Khalid who answered.
“They expect us to march,” Khalid said. “It is safer that way, but longer. It gives the culprits in the capital a chance to solidify their support.” Exactly right. It would also narrow the window of opportunity for Charlemagne to act with his departure. The Roman Empire was vast. Just as it took weeks or months for a message to reach Hadi's ears, so too would it take to reach Charlemagne.
Ideally, by the time Charlemagne was willing to act on his departure, he would already be on his way back home.
‘Four months,’ Hadi thought to himself. Winter was their shield, but come Spring, his enemies would be able to act with impunity. “It'll take a month alone to gather the troops. A week to sail to the heartlands. From there, we'll know who is a friend and who is a foe. And who is simply too cowardly to act.”
Zafir nodded, accepting the reasoning with a nod of his head. “And who shall rule in your stead if you mean to answer these accusations personally?”
If the people would accept it, Hadi would place Sheba in charge. She had the mind for it. More than he ever did. “You will,” Hadi answered instead, feeling a flash of amusement when Zafir nearly tripped over his own feet. “You are my right hand in all things. Respected by the army and our courtiers. Should Rome stir trouble while we are away, then there is no one I trust more to secure our backs.”
“I am a maimed man,” Zafir felt compelled to argue. Hadi was envious of his ability to deny a promotion. However, if he was forbidden from denying one, then Zafir had to suffer alongside him.
“An arm you lost fighting against Siegfried the Wolf-Kissed.” There were some days that he still woke up in cold sweats from his brief encounters with the man. The older he grew, the more absurd it seemed that he survived their clashes. Especially with everything he said and did since their squabble on Crete.
“Take heart, Zafir. Our lord paid good money to ensure the stories of your heroism spread. None see a maimed man when they look at you. They saw a man who survived the Wolf-Kissed.” Khalid seconded, making Zafir narrow his eyes into a glare.
“That was you?” Zafir muttered, annoyed but with acceptance. Which was good enough for Hadi. His lips pressed into a thin line once they arrived at their destination. A war room. One complete with maps and models of the city that served as his capital. Madrid was located near the center of Hispania and close to the border they shared with Rome. It was something of a gamble, but it gave him an advantage over Charlemagne when it came to reacting to incursions.
Avoiding the question, Hadi began to grab maps to plot the campaign. “Luckily, we’re facing a temperate winter. It shouldn’t impact the length of the journey; for the sake of time, we shouldn’t pull from our fringes.”
“We need to muddle the message before it has a chance to take root. The men will be hesitant to fight for a man who tried to assassinate their Caliph.” Most likely untrue. Given how eager the people of his domain raided what had been their neighbors a decade ago, Hadi was convinced he led a nation exclusively filled with bloodthirsty warmongers.
Still, Hadi saw his point. As did Khalid, “Then let the message spread that we fight for the safety of the Caliph, and that he has made no accusation. It comes from the mouths of jealous Emirs, who muster their armies without his blessing. Even if they are honestly misled, many still overreach.” A fine enough message. One that would suit their ends… and if they were particularly unlucky, it could very well be the truth.
Such an approach would naturally lend to a messy aftermath. You couldn’t exactly roll back on an accusation of coup, particularly if half of the upper nobility were backing it. No matter what, the aftermath was going to be messy. Politically inconvenient at best, and a disaster in the making at worst. The Eastern Roman Empire was probing to expand, the Khazars were sorting out their succession -- a lengthy civil war could very well be the death of the Caliphate.
“We name Jafar, the Vizier, as the culprit,” Hadi continued. “Every story needs a villain, and better him than one of the powerful Emirs.” Harun would be displeased if Jafar wasn’t truly the mastermind behind the supposed coup, but his mother would approve wholeheartedly. And Hadi was far more afraid of that woman than he was of Harun.
“He will serve,” Zafir agreed, bringing stacks of parchment. Supplies, troops, equipment…
Hadi truly hated this room, but he was once more off to war.