Elliot nodded in agreement. "I brought orders on that. Cap'n wants a test model in a ten-day."
"Can't do it."
"You can try!"
"Sarge, I'll do my goddam best, but nobody is going to sew up that thing in a ten-day! You got any idea how big that sucker is?"
"No-"
"It's big. Take that from me. Uh-Sarge, why are you here?"
"Captain's orders. I'm the new Provost for the University."
"You?"
"Yeah. Show you the written orders tomorrow."
"Shit. And where do I fit in?"
"Hell, Professor, I treat you like a civilian. You're my boss-so long as it's not a military situation. Comes a military situation, you're back in uniform. Like a weekend warrior. It's all in the orders."
"Oh." That's not bad. Not bad at all. Makes good sense. Elliot was Parsons's man. Killed a lot of Drantos soldiers while he was working for Parsons. Must be a ton of nobles who'd like to even the score for their relatives. Blood-feuds and all that. Makes sense to get Sergeant Major Elliot out of Drantos, and God knows the University's important enough.
"I'm also supposed to help you with the bookkeeping," Elliot said. "For the travellin' medicine shows." He frowned heavily. "Do those things do any good, Professor?"
"Sure. Look, we send out a merc and a couple of local warriors and some junior priests of Yatar. They go out and make maps and get a resource survey. That's worth it all alone-Sarge, the maps here are really something else! Most of 'em have their own country bigger'n the Roman Empire, for chrissake!
"But there's more to it. They go to the towns and teach hygiene. Germ theory of disease. Antiseptic practices."
"Does it work?"
"Yeah, sometimes," Warner said. "And sometimes not, I guess. Sometimes we get the old 'what was good enough for Granny' routine-"
"So you convert Granny," Elliot said.
"Right-o. Or we try to." He drank another glass of wine. "Sarge, I had a thought. The Captain likes you around him. Is he going to base his Roman expedition out of here?"
"He may have to."
"Crap."
"You don't like that?"
"Don't like this place mixed up with war," Warner said. "Yeah, I know how that sounds, coming from me, but it's true."
"Funny, I agree with you," Elliot said. "More to the point, I think the Captain does too. But what else has he got? Anyplace else is controlled by the local lords-Larry, why do the lords hate Captain Galloway so much?"
"I would too," Warner said. "Lord Rick comes in and makes his pikemen and archers more effective than the knights, pretty soon the troops are going to wonder what it is the heavy cavalrymen do that makes them so important. It's a good question, too."
"How bad is it?"
"Bad enough that Captain Galloway had better wear armor any time he's got Tamaerthan lords around," Warner said. "Bad enough that you and I ought to keep lookin' over our shoulders, too."
"Yeah. All right, I'll do just that. Hey, have you got a drink? It's hot work, riding up these hill paths."
"Sure." Warner clapped his hands and a girl about eighteen years old came in. "Sara. Cold beer, please. Thank you-"
"She's a looker."
"Want to borrow her?"
"Hooker?"
"Naw, slave," Warner said. "Yeah, I know, the Captain doesn't approve of slavery. I liberated her, Sarge, but she won't leave. Where would she go? One day a freedman will marry her, I expect, but meanwhile she works here and she likes working for star-men-"
"Well, Larry, I don't have anybody to clean up for me-"
"I'll send her over to help until you get something permanent set up. One thing, be polite to her. I always am-ah. Thank you, Sara."
She set down two large tankards and curtsied. They drank. "Good beer," Elliot said. "Soft duty up here."
"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen me today," Warner said. "Working on fuels for the balloon. Hot air's all right, but I think I can figure a way to make hydrogen for the next one. If I can make a good sizing for the cloth to seal it so it'll hold hydrogen."
"Hydrogen. What's the matter, Professor, afraid you'll run out of hot air after the first one?"
"Ho-ho. Anyway, now that the cloth's here I can really get to work. Have any trouble?"
"I don't ever have trouble, Professor."
"Yeah." Actually, Warner thought, that must have been a hell of an expedition. Mercs, locals, Tamaerthan archers, pack animals for the trade goods, more pack animals for the fodder-taking a zoo like that over muddy roads and through the hills couldn't have been much of a picnic.
"Usual market for this stuff is Rome," Elliot said. "So we got it at a good price."
"Where? Rustengo?"
"Found a whole warehouse full about a hundred klicks north of there. With the roads to Rome closed off they were grateful for the chance to sell."
"Hmm. And the Romans really like the stuff-"
"That's what I hear."
"Maybe a good bargaining point for Miss Gwen. I think we'll send a messenger tomorrow to tell her."
"All right by me. I got a few other items of interest."
"Good. Seriously, did you run into any trouble?"
Elliot grinned. "Nothing I can't handle, Professor. Some bandits in the hills outside Viys. About two hundred."
"That's damned near an army, around here."
"We. unlimbered the H amp;K's," Elliot said. "No sweat." He seemed pleased at the memory. "Didn't have to use too many rounds, either. After that, nobody wanted to give us any gas. Word spread pretty fast."
"Yeah. No sign of Gengrich?"
"No. He could have been trouble."
Larry Warner nodded. "I hear he's set up as a pirate king. One of these days we may have to deal with him. More beer?"
"Sure. And don't forget to tell that girl 1 want to borrow her. You're right about Gengrich, they're scared of him down there. But they're scared of everything. The whole south's talking about the Roman situation. Half of 'em want the Romans to keep on fighting each other. Long as that war goes, the Roman frontier posts aren't manned, and the southerners have a place to send the refugees that keep streaming in.
"Then there's the others, who mutter about the lost trade, and how things are going to hell. And all the priests of Yatar are out soapboxin' about The Time, and how they better store up food against the years of famine-"
"They're right there," Warner said. "One reason for this University. We're as much an agricultural research station as anything else. And there's our travelling road shows-"
"Right. Captain said I was to help you get those organized." Elliot stretched elaborately. "Larry, things look pretty good, considerin' where the Cubans had us."
"Sure," Warner said.
"Relax. Captain Galloway knows what he's doing."
"I hope so," Warner said. "Damn, I hope so."
Rick put down the report from Sergeant Elliot and nodded in satisfaction. Tylara came and took it from the table. She puzzled over each word.
"I'll read it to you if you like," Rick said.
"I'll ask you to do so. Later," she said. She went on reading.
"Your English is getting very good," Rick said. "I'm proud of you."
"Thank you." She went on poring over the parchment, her finger resting at each word. Finally she looked up. "You have promised mediation in the Roman Wars," she said. "You had Elliot make that promise in our names."
"Yes."
"You did not consult me about this, yet the promise is as Eqeta of Chelm-"
"Dammit, I don't have to consult you! I am the Eqeta of Chelm!"
"So much for your fine promises," she said. "We rule as equals. But you are perhaps more equal than I."
"I am also Captain-General of Drantos, War Chief of Tamaerthon, and Colonel of Mercenaries," Rick said. "Posts I had before I married you. Do you tell me everything you do?"
"The important things. Must we quarrel?"
"That's what I was going to ask."
&nbs
p; "Then let us not. I was going to say that I approve of your strategem in the south. It brought us the cloth at a lower price, and there is no way for them to know if you keep the promise. Soon no one on Tran will be teaching you anything about bargaining."
In spite of Tylara's heart-stopping smile, Rick wasn't entirely sure those words were a compliment. He frowned. "I intend to keep the promise and try to negotiate a peace, if we can't give Marselius a victory."
She stared at him. "That is impossible. How can there be peace in Rome after three seasons of war?"
"Not easily, I admit," said Rick. "But if Marselius issues the proclamation I'm about to suggest, the chances will be better. He should announce that he will punish no man for any act done in obedience to a proclaimed Caesar. I've already proposed to the ambassador that Flaminius do the same. A mutual pardon for everything done during the war." They did that during the Wars of the Roses, when the English Parliament formally legislated that no man could commit treason by obeying a crowned king. If they hadn't, there wouldn't have been a Yorkist or Lancastrian left.
"Marselius might agree. He might even keep such an agreement. Not Flaminius. The man is a fool. Otherwise he wouldn't have pushed Marselius into rebellion at all."
"Perhaps Flaminius wouldn't agree, by himself. But can he go against all of his commanders? They're losing soldiers, sons, estates. Some of them must be wiser than he is about what needs to be done to prepare for The Time. If they no longer need fear for their lives, who knows what advice they might give? I don't."
"It is still a pardon for treason. Do we want anyone to make the lot of the rebel so much easier?"
"There are different kinds of rebels, it seems to me. Marselius with his legions is not the same as a mountain bandit with a dozen ragged followers."
"Not in your eyes, at least. I hope that this does not mean that all starmen take their oaths as lightly as Colonel Parsons did."
Rick sighed. When she got this sharp-tongued, he could either change the subject or be sure of a fight. It wasn't worth having a fight now. He would have to lead her gradually if at all toward his own position on how to treat rebels. There were going to be many of them, as The Time approached. The Time itself would kill enough people on Tran. If being generous with pardons could reduce the toll of life and property from the rebellions, wasn't it at least worth trying?
It wouldn't be Tylara's way, of course. For her or any other Tran dynast, the rule for rebels had been, whenever possible, "Hang first and ask questions afterward." One more thing to be changed. If possible.
The charts on his office wall grew more detailed, and he collected chests of papers.
Item. It had been the warmest spring in living memory. Some farmers, heeding the priests of Yatar, planted early, and found their crops growing high. Others waited. All chanced heavy rains and hail. The entire pattern of Tran agriculture was changing.
Rick's survey teams went through the land, teaching and gathering data.
According to the reports, they did more data gathering than teaching; but they had accomplished the first agricultural survey in Tran history. What crops here? What last year? Are you using the new plows introduced by the University? What fertilizers?
Those using the new plows were able to get their seeds in so fast they were heard to talk of being able to get a second crop before winter. Those who'd used the new plows the year before talked even louder. With more fodder during the winter, their draft animals were stronger than usual.
Rick gathered all the information and reduced it to statistics. The raw data sheets went up to the University. Slowly his data base grew.
He also dictated letters. One went to Gwen; that one he wrote himself. Except for Tylara no Tran native could read English, so that for sending messages to Gwen and the mercs it was better than code. That was worth the inconvenience of writing for yourself.
Find out if Marselius can send us a dozen or so trained clerks and scribes who can write well and teach things like basic filing procedures. It may be, of course, that the Roman civil service of the time of Septimius Severus has vanished, but I rather think something very like it must have survived. Else how could they have kept even this much of an Empire together for so long? And I am told the Roman "scribes" are said to know magic. Probably simple scientific training. Whatever it is, we can use it.
Which would set Gwen hunting bureaucrats among the Roman rebels. The priesthood of Yatar would bean-other problem. If Rick could forge a Roman alliance, would the priests cooperate? The Romans were Christians who persecuted Yatar and Vothan One-eye as pagan gods. Lord, Rick thought. What must I do? I need the hierarchy of Yatar, to spread science through the land. And will the Christians cooperate?
The priests of Yatar were the key to survival. They must have a strong organization, or the temples couldn't have survived the Rogue Star and the nuclear bombardments, not once but at least three times. With the cooperation of Yanulf and the priesthood much could be accomplished; without it, Rick was in trouble.
It was ironic, his going to all this trouble to re-invent bureaucracy. However, the whole idea looked different here on Tran, where information that could save thousands of lives might be lost because there wasn't a policy of writing up three copies of everything.
Rick put down the pen and held his head in his hands. More than ever he felt the pressure. "Every time I want to do anything, I first have to do two other things, one of which is impossible," he shouted. "Tiger by the tail, hell! I've got two tigers, and I've got to get them together so I can ride them. One foot on each!"
There was no one to hear him but the walls of his office, and they made no answer. Rick sighed and lifted his pen again. He had to write Warner at the University…
7
The chair creaked under the weight of Caius Marius Marselius, onetime Prefect of the Western Marches, now Caesar by right of conquest and proclamation of the legions. It was not a title he had sought, but once the proclamation was made it was one he had to win or be killed for. Not just him. His son as well. All his house. Flaminius would leave none alive.
And when Marselius marched in triumph to Rome? What of the house of Flaminius? Time to think of that when it happened.
Outside they were lighting the street lamps. Marselius could see them go on, one by one, down at the base of the hill where his villa stood. Benevenutum was a large city, third largest in the empire, and in many ways as pleasant as Rome; but it wasn't Rome, and an Emperor who did not hold Rome was only a rebel.
Marselius bent forward to squint at the parchment he held. The late-afternoon light was fast failing. His freedman Lucius wrote with a firm hand, but it seemed harder to read lately.
Well, neither of them was getting any younger. His own eyes were not what they used to be. He summoned a servant to bring lamps, then he waited until the man went out before spreading the letter again. Not that he did not trust his servants, but this was too important. The confidential report on the embassy coming to him from the Lord and Lady of Cheim and the Kingdom of Drantos, written by the one man he trusted entirely…
Drumold, father to the Eqetassa Tylara, would seem a typical barbarian chieftain. However, he is very intelligent and entirely trusted by the Lord Rick. He has made enemies among the clan chiefs of his own land in his loyalty to the Eqeta, which hints of a kind of courage most uncommon among barbarians. They are often brave in battle, but seldom understand and still more seldom show the higher civic virtues.
Lucius, Lucius, my old friend, thought Marselius. You spent too long as tutor to my son Publius. Now you will lecture, whether it is needed or not. Or perhaps you are rambling as old men often do. Well, before the snow comes again we shall both be so high in the world that everyone will listen to us for as long as we want, or else we shall be forever silent.
The Lady Gwen Tremaine is of the star-folk, but knows much history and reads Latin well. She is said to be very intelligent but is certainly young for the place she holds in the embassy. It is said that she o
wes this to having been Lord Rick's mistress, after the death of her husband.
The Guardsmen of Chelm Marselius skimmed the description of the embassy's escort until he found mention of star weapons. Good. They were bringing one which used the fire-powder. Too many of his officers were skeptical about the star weapons and badly needed a demonstration, his own son among them. He himself would not mind learning more about these new war machines, so that if the alliance came about he would be able to plan the battles properly.
Certainly he would not need that many more ordinary soldiers. He had two full good legions of his own and a third which was neither so full or so good, plus enough cohorts of foot archers and pikemen to make up two more legions if that honorable title could ever again be allowed to foot soldiers. Then there were the light horse and foot scouts recruited locally. No lack of men.
Except-if Lord Rick did send a strong force as well as star weapons, it would release more of his own men for local defense. The reservists in the legions whose homes were close to the boundary between the two Caesars would fight better if they knew their own homes were safe. More militiamen would come forward. And there were the borders to the south to be held. He could use what Rick might send-and it was never good to let a man know that he could buy your friendship cheaply. No, Lord Rick would have to be ready to send an army to Rome if he ever wanted an army from Rome.
Marselius got up to pace back and forth in front of the great map on the wall. Mentally he shifted a cohort here, sent a tribune to raise more militia there. Everything would of course be discussed at length in the council of war he must hold before the embassy came, but he wanted his own ideas fully prepared before then. The older he grew, the more necessary it was to appear infallible and the harder it was to do so.
Gwen Tremaine stretched luxuriously and let herself slide down into the hot water until only her face was above the surface. The tiled tank wasn't quite large enough for a swimming pool, but otherwise it was living up to everything the name "Roman bath" implied. It was the first really adequate bath she'd had since Les dumped her on Tran.
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