"Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you!"

Like yelling at a wall. A couple of slaves were helping Hispania carry a few hams and some amphoras of wine and olive oil for Rome when he passed by that grown man's side. He would know later on that he was called, along with his younger brother, the son of the thunder, but it started to show, given the way he preached at the top of the stairs.

"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.

Very few people listened. Most of them shook their head, rolled their eyes and left. A group of four laughed at him.

"Get out of here, you old fool, you bother us!" One of them kicked the man's behind, sending him rolling down the stairs.

No one helped the elder stand up; everyone had places to be, business to attend, and they were not going to be delayed due to some old crazed man getting what he deserved. Hispania watched from the corner of his eye how the man got up with a little bit of difficulty, shaking the dust off his clothes, grunting in pain. Saw him shake his head and mutter something. But he kept on walking and soon forgot about him.

Decades later, he found a very similar loon.

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.

"For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, "Abba, Father." The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children."

What he was saying made little sense to the boy, but, like everyone in the crowd, he kept listening about this god.

Calling a god 'father'! Who could dare take such liberties and live? It was scandalous. Hispania refused to believe it. The gods he believed in punished insolences like those.

"Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory. Present Suffering and Future Glory."

Christ...

That was the first time Hispania ever heard that name.

It was a very strange name...A powerful name...A comforting name...

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us." The man smiled.

The boy kept listening until it was late and missed the animal fight.

Hispania felt like he had a lot of threads tangled up inside of his head. Nothing this old man and the likes of him said made sense to him. He hoped Rome, who knew everything, could be kind enough to untangle the snarled mess. He told him about it the next time he saw him, and regretted doing so almost instantly, because that made Rome's usual smile vanish and a frown appear 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. Can you believe it?"

Hispania tried to take Rome's advice but he found those people so fascinating. That man he saw preaching was, he heard, beheaded in Rome's home, his head put on a pike so everyone understood that, as permissive as Rome was, those ideas of his had no place in his empire. But it seemed that the more they were crushed, the more courage that Jewish sect got.

Hispania witnessed some of the executions taking place in his house. Rome never hid to him what an empire must do to keep peace in his life. He saw young maidens being burnt at stakes, tortured with hooks, their breasts cut off, nails going through their heads; men burnt alive in grills or pyres, decapitated, nailed on crosses; children having their necks cut. That didn't stop those Christians. Like masochists, they always came back for more. Some seemed to be wanting it. All of that for some convict dead on a cross.

The man in the middle of the arena of Mérida's circus was a bishop—kind of like one priest of theirs. He had been given the chance the others were offered: pardon in exchange of apostasy. Like all the others, he refused. He was scared. From where Hispania was sitting, he could see he was trembling. The audience roared when the gates opened and the lions were free to lurk. The man opened his arms and looked at the sky.

"My Lord, I will gladly drink the sour wine you drank! Allow me to partake in your glorious resurrection too, and accept my blood as payment for my executor's pard-!"

Hispania jumped on his seat when the lion pounced on him.

"Bah, they're not even good for a show." Rome contemptuously said while eating grapes, not taking his eyes off the slaughter. "They don't even try to defend themselves."

Hispania was glad to look away from the man being torn apart to glance at Rome, how calmly he watched it all.

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 in such an amusing way the children did the same to his brother, in Gaul's arms, just one or two years older and with whom he shared that peculiar trait. He, on the other hand, screamed and tried to bit Gaul's hand. The provinces' snicker alarmed a nanny, who came to them with a threatening hand.

"You rascals, get out of here! I'm going to tell His Greatness 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 really think he's dying?" Hispania asked.

"Yeah, he's been losing all fights he's been involved in. He may try to hide it, but I've seen he's all bruised and scarred. 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."

"So you're a Christian, Britannia?" Hispania asked.

"I don't know."

"He is! He's a Christian!" Gaul teased him.

"Shut up! You are!"

"What if?"

"So, are you or not?" Hispania insisted.

"I don't know." Britannia shrugged. "I just think that god is kinder than the other gods. A god who impregnates a virgin girl so the world can be saved seems nicer to me than one who shape-shifts so he can sleep with anyone he pleases..."

"You can't be a Christian. You do witchcraft." Gaul said.

"It's white magic, you ignorant. It's not incompatible."

"Rome's going to whoop your ass for letting yourself be convinced by the Christians." Lusitania said.

"I don't care if he's angry. As I said, he's dying. I'm sure I can win him in a fight now."

"I would just love to see you try..." Gaul smirked. "If anyone, that would be me, who can kill Rome and take his place."

"You?" Britannia chuckled. "You're a sissy, you only know how to comb your hair and dress like a girl."

"This sissy could kill you anytime he wanted."

"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. By God, did he look like a dreamy little girl at that moment. "You think you've got what it takes to defeat Rome and become an empire yourself? Don't look at me like that, like you were above all this: I know you want it too, and I haven't forgotten you swore to kill Rome."

"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. Traveling the world, spreading the truth, dying for it and inspiring others...

It just seemed reasonable. Rome was angry that there was someone who didn't venerate him as the god he was. Hispania was starting to see that they had been crafted by human hands, just like a simple clay bowl, and could be smashed by them any time they pleased. But the humans who created them were also creatures...There had to be a creator who had not been created by anyone else...An origin to everything...

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

What authority did he have left to prevent him from walking that path?

380 a.D.

Hispania had no idea Rome was paying him a visit. Else, he would have hidden the material he was reading, a codex whose content was evident due to the symbol of the fish engraved on the cover.

The boy tried to hide it behind his back, fully aware that Rome had already seen it. He could only expect a good slapping now.

Rome looked at him for long, then sighed.

"A god who gives hope...A god who is not a satyr or a drunk...Yes, I think I get it now..."

He extended his hand towards him. "Can I borrow that?"

Hispania hesitated but eventually gave it to him.

"Where did you get it?" Rome asked.

Hispania didn't betray the man who composed the codex just for him. Rome didn't insist. He just took it and left. Next time he saw him, he came with a much bigger book, which he gave to him.

The Vulgata. It seemed Rome had finally understood and wanted his provinces to read the words right off that god's mouth in a language they could understand.

That was the first way of telling them they were allowed to believe in God. Then, he made himself and his grandchildren be baptized and all the things he used to do to Christians, he did to those who were heretic against the faith or believed in what he believed in the past.

It seemed...he was trying to ingratiate with that god who favored his children in battle.

But perhaps he had committed too many sins or his faith wasn't all that sincere, because God didn't listen to him.

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, destroyed every temple they encountered, slit pregnant women open to grab their child and eat it. Hispania saw these men come to his home, had to hide so they didn't find him and did to him what rumors said. He prayed to that good God who punished the evil and protected the weak, the ghost of that preacher who did miracles, for Rome, someone, to come help him. They had already put their hands on Gaul, separating him from Rome.

There was nothing Rome could do about it but to ask for help himself. Mercenaries. Barbarians from rival tribes. They had no land of their own and were looking for theirs. Rome wanted their help and promised them to keep what they liked.

The Goths, commanded by King Alaric, expelled the Alans, Vandals and Suebi and decided they liked Hispania and his house, so they claimed him.

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 Toulouse, 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.

The Goths owned Gaul too, so at least Spania could see one of his old friends. From the moment he was under their rule, he didn't see Britannia 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.

"They say they come in Rome's name to take care of us in his absence." Hispania commented to Gaul, while they were looking for toads in the river.

"I don't think so." Gaul frowned with a grimace.

Hispania guessed Gaul just found the newcomers rude and dirty, but it turned out his suspicions were accurate. King Euric declared himself independent from Rome and claimed Spania and Gaul for himself.

Hispania expected Rome to come along with his powerful troops to stop this nonsense and claim what was his, but he never came. Spania never saw Rome again.

589

Spania was suddenly woken up one night, practically dragged out of bed and mounted on a horse. It wasn't until one day later that they told him that Toulouse had fallen in the hands of the Franc king Clovis and the Goths had to retreat. That meant Gaul and him were not in the same house or under the same ruler anymore. Spania regretted not having had the time to say goodbye. He only knew from him because their kings were always at fight, and sometimes they tried to steal or murder the other's nation.

The new capital was the city of Toledo. Spania was put under the care of tutors and priests who instructed him to respect Rome's culture just with a few corrections, like the new laws the kings had come up with and their own religious points of view, making him understand that Christ was not of divine condition, only superior to the average.

Living with the Goths was...entertaining. It felt like being in an immersive tragedy. Spania barely had the time to learn the kings' name and it was unthinkable that he could grow fond of them, because soon after their crowning, there were noblemen, men of the cloth, even close relatives who didn't like the new ruler, they talked, gold and promises were exchanged, and 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, only to suffer the same fate sooner or later. Out of thirty-two kings, 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.

His father, Liuvigild, was a very harsh man in Spania's opinion. Sure he had to face the Francs trying to take over his house, the barbarians going back to their old ways, Byzantium also trying to get her hands on him in order to reconstruct Rome's old glory. In order to make the noblemen and Spania respect him, he adopted some of her and Rome's emperor's attributes like coins with his face on them, thrones and all kinds of sumptuous symbols so everyone knew he was above them all. Spania was forced to call him His Majesty and ask him for permission to even go to the toilet. Firm believer in Christ's human nature, he prosecuted all those who claimed otherwise. His son, and Reccared's brother Hermenegild, probably influenced by his wife, converted to Catholicism. He declared himself rebel and tried to get Byzantium and the Suebi's help so he could rescue Spania from his father's 'wrong ways'. He was put into jail and Reccared became the only heir possible.

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 nobleman 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 the lower kinds of 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 Hermenegild's death in prison, stabbed by an unknown attacker, seemed to make the boy 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 and end our misery now, don't you think?"

"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. You have never needed my opinion on any matter."

"Well, I want it."

"For a change!"

Still, Spania still hadn't showed his conformity nor his negative.

"What's the matter, Spania?" Reccared stared at him.

Spania tried to avoid his stare. His fingers kept on playing that invisible guitar.

"...And you ask me?" He muttered.

"Yes, I am asking you."

"Do you miss Hermenegild?"

"Sure I do."

"Good. Because I do, too. He told me not to believe all the things I've been told. He told me Jesus was not an ordinary man. He told me...God incarnated Himself into that fragile being so He could save humanity...He loved one particular verse and told me never to forget it: Ecce ego vobiscum sum omnibus diebus usque ad consummationem saeculi..."

«Behold I am with you all days, even to the consummation of the world».

Spania's fingers stopped moving. He stopped talking as well. His throat didn't allow it. Reccared looked at him with compassion as his eyes started filling with tears.

"...Everyone dies...Everyone leaves...One day you will leave me alone too..." Spania sobbed.

"You know there is someone who will never die and will never leave."

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 Jesus Christ went through for me—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 of the cross. Was his conversion to Catholicism sincere? Or did he just realize that Arianism was getting him nowhere and, if he wanted to attract the powerful to his cause, he had to imitate his martyr brother and embrace the majority's faith? Either way, Spania had found what he had always been looking for. He finally understood what those old preachers tried to say. He found sense in all those people willingness to die. When you feel yourself loved to such extremes by someone...you do anything at all for them...you want to talk to everyone about them...you are dying to meet them and be together...

"Thank you."

Reccared embraced the boy and comforted him. Anyone who didn't know what Spania was would have said it was a father comforting a sad son. They stayed like that for long, until Spania broke the hug to run a hand over his hair timidly.

"Well, you win. I can't say no to your pretensions."

"Thank you."

"No, not 'thank you'. I want something in return. Uh..."

"Yes? What do you want?"

"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 was taught the Scriptures and all that, but with all this war and backstabbing issues and the confusion I don't think I've ever been properly baptized. I'm not even sure I've got a soul in the first place…But I want to do things right and...I lose nothing trying..."

The heir to the throne smiled.

"Sure the Lord will appreciate the gesture. I will get everything ready."

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, no matter the circumstances.

Tears ran down his face. He loved God with every fiber of his being.