Honestly, this was the best road Arnold could have taken.
The thought of asking a loan from his own vassals was laughable, worse than laughable, suicidal. What kind of lord went to his sworn men, cap in hand, begging coin? Word would spread before the ink dried on the ledger, and whatever respect they held for him would vanish by morning.
After all, would a boss ask for money from his employer?
Approaching a fellow lord was no better. They'd swarm like gulls to a carcass, interest rates sharp enough to bleed him dry, if they didn't simply refuse outright.
But the prince? That was different. Asking one's overlord for aid carried far less stain than groveling before equals or underlings.
Alpheo had just finished gutting a princedom; the spoils of conquest were surely heavy in his coffers. And then there were the whispers—, onnections with the Romelian court, trade flowing in from across the sea. If anyone could part with a sum to allow Arnold to bribe the High Priest, it was him.
