"Scripture says: "God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble." Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you."

There was a fight between a bull and a tiger, but nobody seemed to be interested about it. Hispania approached to see what all this crowd was listening to with such interest. It seemed some rhapsodist was reciting some really good epic poem.

He made his way to see a man with a white beard, who looked like he had walked much and eaten poorly, who only had a tunic to cover his nakedness and his sandals.

"Whoever turns a sinner from the error of their way will save them from death and cover over a multitude of sins." The man continued to say.

What he was saying made little sense to the boy, but, like everyone in the crowd, he kept listening about this god, who stood above all the rest, and was called Father of every living creature. He kept listening until it was late and missed the animal fight.

Hispania told Rome innocently about it next time he saw him, and regretted doing so almost instantly, because that made Rome's usual smile vanish and a frown appeared on his face.

"They are just like rats, they keep multiplying! I can't get rid of them...My troops will find them and get rid of them, Hispania, don't worry, but in the meantime don't listen to them. Theirs is a religion of slaves, who preach about letting enemies hurt and kill them and give away all their riches for the promise of an afterlife paradise."

Hispania tried to take Rome's advice but he found those people so fascinating. That man he saw preaching was, he heard, beheaded, his head put on a pike so everyone understood that his ideas were forbidden in the Roman Empire, but it seemed that only gave them courage to spread the word. They were willing to suffer torture and a really painful death in imitation of that carpenter who claimed to be a god's son, born from a virgin...

Something inside him awoke hearing those words. Where were the times when he fought Rome, when he wanted to escape from his tyranny and protect his lifestyle? Long gone, that was for sure...He had grown comfortable...Rome had become the mirror he looked himself into.

The persecution of the followers of Christ was the first crack on it.

"Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded."

Of course Rome didn't like what they preached. This father of all gods punished those who sinned, and the old man was seeing how his luck and power were running out after a whole bunch of crimes and vice.

"We've got to face the facts: Rome is dying."

No one said anything. Lusitania just glanced at Britannia before stretching his arm into the crib to pull the baby's prominent curl. He started bawling and that amused the children so much that they did the same to his brother, in Gaul's arms, just a year or two older than him and with whom he shared that peculiarity. He, on the other hand, screamed and tried to bit Gaul's hand. The provinces snicker alarmed a nanny, who approached to them with a threatening hand.

"You rascals, get out of here! I'm going to tell Rome what you are doing to his grandchildren!"

They ran out of the room laughing and didn't stop until they were outside. But soon they remembered Britannia's serious statement, lying on the grass to watch the clouds.

"You think he's dying?" Hispania asked.

"Yeah, he's losing all fights he's been involved in. He's tired and wounded. He won't last long." Britannia nodded.

"Nah, Rome can never die. He's a giant. He'll get back on his feet." Lusitania said.

"Or maybe not, because he's been a sinner and God is punishing him for all the orgies, and impiety and greed."

"He's dying, I think Brit is right...And I will be the next empire!" A smile grew on Gaul's face.

"You?" Britannia chuckled. "It won't last long. God won't let you, because you are a sissy, and sissies go to Hell."

"Well, and you are into witchcraft! Technically, we shouldn't let you live!"

"It is white magic, you ignorant! You couldn't kill me if you tried your hardest!"

"So you think you are better than me?"

"I don't think so—I know!"

"Pfft! Sure!"

"Urgh, I can't stand this frog-face!" Britannia stood up and shook the dirt off his clothes. "Come on, Lusitania, let's do something fun."

Lusitania got up and they both left, leaving Gaul and Hispania alone.

"He's a jerk. And his eyebrows make me cringe." Gaul said. "But it's so fun to make him mad."

"I know." Hispania smirked.

"What about you, Hispania?" Gaul turned to lie on his side, smiling at him. After all of this time, his voice had started to crack and certain masculine features started to show, so he couldn't be mistaken for a girl anymore, but he still had this feminine charm, delicacy and beauty into him. "You think you've got what it takes to be an empire? Don't look at me like that, you are as ambitious as we are, don't pretend this whole thing is not for you."

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's in our blood, isn't it?" Hispania shrugged.

The impulse to spread their domains...to be prosperous and powerful...The four of them played war, trading, and sometimes they took it so seriously that it was undeniable they were preparing for real life—it was not just a game.

...But, still, Hispania thought he liked the life of the Christians. Travelling the world, spreading the truth, dying for it and inspiring others...

...There was this emptiness inside that drove him to what Rome had forbidden him...

What authority did he have left?

The barbarians from the North came to steal everything they could. Terrible nations, Hispania was told, who wore helmets with horns, like devils, who stole and raped women, who destroyed every temple they encountered, who slit pregnant women open to grab their child and eat it. Hispania saw these men come to his home, hid for most of the time to try to escape from their wrath. He prayed to that good God who punished the evil and protected the weak, the ghost of that preacher who did miracles, that Rome, someone, came to help.

There was nothing Rome could do about it but to ask for help. Mercenaries. Other barbarians too. Soldiers who, knowing Rome's weakness, conquered everything they could and left Rome the leftovers.

Rome never came to claim what was his. Hispania never saw him again.

410 a.C

Men came and claimed sovereignty over the land, which meant they owned Hispania himself. Like Rome did centuries before, their leader, a man called Alaric, showed up mounted on a horse and offered his hand for Hispania to follow him. He had no choice but to obey, he guessed. He was taken to their capital city in Toledo, so they could take care of him—and control him. He had been given too much freedom under Rome's power, some said. They dressed him with a rich tunic and crafted many jewels for him to wear, to give him, they said, the dignity he deserved, and show him their good intentions. Although they changed little of Rome's legacy, as it was flawless to them, they changed Hispania's name to make it more pronounceable: Spania.

From the moment he was under their rule, he didn't see Britannia, Gaul or even Lusitania as often as he used to; what brought them together had disappeared, men came to his friends' houses and kept them away too. Spania was left practically alone, because he just couldn't love all the visigoths.

Living with them was...entertaining. It felt like being in an immersive tragedy. Spania barely had the time to learn the king's name because soon after his crowning, after a series of discussions and lots of bribes, an "accident" happened, some mysterious fiend stabbed them in the back or in their sleep, and the next candidate for the throne wore the crown, sometimes his own brother, cousin or relative; only to suffer the same fate. Very few of the thirty-two kings Spania met, only fifteen died of natural causes. Not many reigned for more than seven years.

Reccared also had had it hard to be where he was now.

Had it not been for the legends passing on from generation to generation, Spania would have passed as a simple boy. His servants had dressed him nicely, according to his condition of nation—more than any noble or King—, and tried to convince him to refine his manners, but it was not infrequent to see him in the streets playing with the children, playing music, in short, doing all those things that were not expected from someone like him, things not even noblemen did. He looked like a thirteen year-old boy and acted like one. As if his kings dying in horrible circumstances was something that did not affect him. Not even after Hermenegild's rebellion and eventual death in prison seemed to make the boy even cringe. He was really living in some cloud, far away from the problems around him.

"Life is not a party, young man."

Young man, he said...Spania couldn't help chuckling at that. He was sat by the window of his bedroom, trying to compose a song, but it seemed he had no ideas for the lyrics. He only had the music.

"What is it, then?" He replied, his fingers imitating the position to play an instrument.

"Vallis lacrimarum est."

"Huh. Well, if it's so, we might as well jump off the window, then."

"Spania, you worry me. The way you are acting."

"Look, I know the throne is a very juicy prize worth killing a relative or two...I don't judge you people. I just...don't want to get involved. I prefer to stay out of it."

"But you must get involved. You are the soul of this land."

Reccared sat by his side.

"I am still waiting to receive your blessing."

"You have your bishops to do that. You don't need me. Isn't God a higher authority than I am?"

Reccared stared at him.

"...I am not sure I approve the way you talk about the Lord."

"Why not? It's His fault your brother is dead."

"It was not God's fault. It was my father's. It was his hand the one which turned against his own children."

"You keep talking about God, how merciful he is, how loving, omnipotent, yet I've seen things he could have stopped…"

Spania paused and took deep breath.

"As I said, life is a vale of tears. But so many beautiful things await in the next life…" Reccared said.

"Yeah, alright, but I've seen quite a few generations grow old and die. Someone like me..."

His sobs were so unexpected that Reccared was surprised. He embraced the boy and tried to comfort him like a father to a son.

"You talk about your wars for the power like it mattered to someone who's seen so many people be born and die...What is God's plan to someone like me...? Why did he make me different than everyone else? You talk about the next life as if that was something I can aspire to. Why do I have all these feelings inside? It's...I...I tried to talk to Him…"

"And what did He say to you?"

"Nothing but…"

"But?"

"...I-I don't know...It all feels like some kind of obscure plan...Like I have a role here, but no one gave me instructions...My prince, sometimes I feel so lost…"

"Spania..." Reccared sighed, "I feel like you consider that the Lord is someone who is there to destroy and punish. But he is our Father. He takes care of us. All of us. Even you."

"The people who have cared about me have left me, all of them…"

"God never leaves his children."

Reccared removed the cross inside of his garments and gave it to Spania.

"I always carry this with me. It reminds me of the tribulations of Jesus Christ—and the fact that somebody is watching me always. I want you to have it."

Spania reluctantly took it. It was a small cross, made of gold, with a few decorations and green and red gems.

"I want you to keep it so it reminds you that you never walk alone. You never have and you will never be."

Spania wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and caressed the warm surface fo the cross.

"I...well, I should confess that...every night I pray for my mother and father, my siblings, and...all people that have been nice to me...I also pray for you...I hope...they don't put poison in your drink or stab you 'accidentally'..."

Reccared smiled.

"Thank you."

"Yeah...Uhm...Sure, I'll be in your baptism...Hey, can you…?"

"Yes?"

"Can you ask the bishops if someone like me can get baptized too?"

Spania felt kind of embarrassed by the way Reccared was looking at him.

"I mean...I don't know if my kind has a soul but I guess it's worth trying…"

The heir to the throne smiled.

"Sure the Lord appreciates your efforts."

Spania took deep breath and joined his hands. He was surrounded by all the court, all the priests, and the royal family. But he was also feeling like he was being watched from above, by a greater power, and that made him feel so nervous he noted a knot in his stomach.

"Do you reject Satan? And all his empty show?"

Spania closed his eyes. He pictured that humble carpenter, suffering martyrdom. A freak, like him: a man born from a virgin, God incarnated...Who spent his life on Earth doing good.

"...Yes, I do..." He replied in low voice.

The priest came closer to him with a small bowl full of holy water on his hands.

"Spania, may you come to know God within your heart and throughout your life express your highest potential."

He then poured the water on Spania's head, and he felt a shiver running down his spine. It was not that the water was cold—which it was.

"And, by the authority vested in me by the Universal Life Church, I hereby baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit." The priest continued, doing the sign of the cross.

No, it wasn't the water...It was the feeling that he had found someone who would never leave him.

Christ was inside his heart.