"He does kind of sound like a paid voice," Matt said to Saul.
"Yeah, well, it wasn't quite that clear back home," Saul growled. "And we haven't heard his side of the story."
The pope turned a black gaze on the Wizard of Sarcasm. "Must you question everything that is said? Have you no faith of any kind?"
"Yes!" Saul snapped. "I have faith in the ideas that have withstood every test I could put them to! I question everything, and only accept the ideas that have sound answers!"
"Even then, you're ready to revise your opinion on new evidence," Matt pointed out.
"Yeah, well, I admitted that the atrocity stories about the Phoenician religion were true, didn't I?"
"Only when the archaeologists dug up that graveyard of incinerated bodies," Matt retorted.
"Indeed!" The pope looked interested. "You will hearken to Truth, then!"
"Why, yes," Saul shot back. "Do you have any to tell me?"
The pope's face darkened again, and Arouetto interrupted quickly. "The condottieri have sealed off the Vatican. That, at least, is true."
The pope nodded. "And the Church needs the Holy See, just as the Empire of Reme needed its emperor."
"Whoa!" Matt held up a hand. "I thought it had turned into a real republic, with the Etruscans, the Latini, and the Carthaginians all equal partners."
Saul looked up with keen interest. "You know something I don't know?"
"Yes, and I'll fill you in later. When did they hire an emperor, your Holiness?"
"Why, when they had conquered so much territory, and so many peoples, that the senate could not wait for the tedious exchange of messages with the provinces that would decide their policies," the pope answered, frowning. "When decisions needed to be made more quickly than debate would allow. Do you not know of this?"
"We haven't had access to the books."
"Lamentable!" The pope shook his head. "Know, then, that it was Julius Caesar who was first able to find common ground between the views of all three powers, and who was able to make policies that satisfied them all—or persuade them to be satisfied."
"Here, too, huh?" Saul nodded. "He always was as much a politician as a general."
"Or just as good a politician," Matt qualified.
"He also had an excellent sense for commerce," the pope told them. "His trade policies ruled the empire till its closing days."
"Well, that's new," Saul admitted. "Did the Praetorian Guard still get so much of the real power?"
"The... Guard?" The pope frowned. "What were they?"
"Caesar's bodyguard," Matt explained. "Actually, it was Augustus who really built them up, after what had happened to his uncle."
"What did happen to his uncle?"
Matt stared, then said carefully, "The way I heard it, Caesar was assassinated."
"Assassinated? Never! He died in bed, aged but still keen of mind, and honored by all!"
Matt stared, and Saul muttered, "Et tu, Brute."
"Brutus?" The pope looked up. "Aye, he led the Latini in acclaiming Augustus the legitimate heir—who proved just as adroit a diplomat as his uncle. What need would he have had for a bodyguard? The people loved him, the patricians loved him! Oh, there are tales of madmen striking at him in the streets—but the mob bore them down ere they could come near him! The whole city was his bodyguard!"
Saul turned to Matt. "You mind explaining?"
"Change the foundation, you get a different shape of house," Matt explained. "Details at eleven." He turned back to the pope. "So the senate really did choose the emperor, right down to the last days of the empire?"
"They did indeed, and there were always many Caesars to choose from."
"Real Caesars?" Saul demanded. "Not just adopted Claudians? He didn't divorce his first wife and marry Livia?"
"Never! He maintained staunchly that divorce was the bane of the patricians, and did all he could to discourage it!"
"So his children were really his children," Matt said slowly, "and the empire was ruled by a line of diplomats, not a series of sadistic madmen. How about Caligula?"
The pope gave him a blank look, but Arouetto said, "He was a scion of the Claudians—mad, as the Lord Wizard says. When his incest with his sister was discovered, he was sent to the frontier, then executed for commanding a century of legionnaires to charge a thousand Germans. They were slain to a man, though they took five hundred Germans with them."
"So." Matt steepled his fingers. "The Claudians never took power, and the Etruscans and Carthaginians kept an informal system of checks and balances operating, so the emperor never really was a total despot. Power didn't corrupt the office?"
"Well, somewhat," Arouetto admitted, "but never more than it corrupts any bailiff or reeve."
"No absolute power, so no absolute corruption." Matt nodded. "Come to that, how many countries did the empire actually have to conquer, and how many joined to get better trade advantages?"
"Shrewdly guessed, for one who claims not to have read the books," the pope said with a frown.
But Arouetto smiled. "I doubt not it was a shrewd guess indeed—and I have but to confirm the answer. Yes, Julius Caesar was as clever in commerce as in battle, as I've said, and invented a score of advantages for other nations to federate with Reme. The army conquered only those nations intent on stealing Reme's trade—pirates' nests and bandits' roosts—and those intent on overthrowing Reme herself, or raiding her provinces; it was for that reason we conquered the Germanies."
"Conquered the Germanies?" Matt stared. "On the other side of the Rhine?"
"Even so."
"Just when did the empire fall?" Saul demanded.
"The federated nations had almost all broken away by the year of Our Lord 653," Arouetto said, "but it was not until 704, when the last of the Caesars had died, that the Visigoths attacked Reme herself. The Ostrogoths marched up behind them and made short work of them, so Reme was not sacked—but an Ostrogoth declared himself to be emperor. No federated nation would obey a man who was not a Caesar, nor even a Latrurian, so we may say that is the date at which the empire fell."
Matt frowned. "But Hardishane established his empire only a hundred years later!"
Arouetto nodded. "He rose up among the ruins of the empire, as it were, and forged an empire anew."
"That certainly minimized the Dark Ages." Saul was looking dazzled. "How did the Caesars keep the proletariat from tearing Reme apart?"
"Why, by conscripting them into the army and navy," Arouetto replied.
"Didn't the patricians object?" Matt asked. "What did they do for clients?"
"Oh, there were always a few old soldiers who wished to return to Reme to raise their families, rather than settling down in the provinces they had defended."
"But the sons of the senators?" Matt asked. "How did Caesar prevent them from hanging around Reme and getting into trouble?"
Saul gave a bark of laughter. "Who do you think were the officers?"
Arouetto nodded. "Even so—and the sons of the plebians became centurions, if they did not wish to go on trading voyages."
"Yeah." Saul smiled sourly. "The merchants did as much to spread the empire as the soldiers, didn't they?"
"Oh, more! For first the merchants would begin trading with a country and let them see the benefits of Reman civilization—"
"Which means they got them hooked on Reman goods and gave them a glimpse of central heating and public baths," Matt interpreted.
Saul nodded. "And filled the teenagers' heads with dazzling visions of the wonders of Reme, Carthage, and the cities of the Levant. Sure they'd want to join the empire—especially since the emperor always sent in a legion to protect his merchants. Right?"
Arouetto frowned. "Are you sure you have not read the books?"
"Your Holiness!" A monk broke in, the white showing all around his eyes. "The condottieri attack!"
"To the chapel, quickly!" the pope cried, then turned to his guests. "Come with us, for every prayer is needed, to
beseech the Saints' protection!"
Matt had a vision of an invisible wall of prayer surrounding the Vatican. He could see Saul working himself up to a scathing reply and was just about to try to stop him when the monk burst out, "There are sorcerers with them, your Holiness! They have already thrown fireballs at the Holy City! The Saints protected us, and the fireballs fell back among the condottieri—but Heaven knows what they will try next!"
"Heaven does know, and will forestall them, Brother Athenius," the pope reassured him, then to his guests, "Follow us!"
They hurried after him, Matt catching up and saying, "With all respect, your Holiness, it might be a bit more practical for Wizard Saul and myself to stay here and fight magic with magic."
The pope screeched to a halt and stared. "But there will be danger!"
"We're used to it," Saul snapped, and Matt shrugged. "There will be danger even in the cathedral, your Holiness. We have taken such risks before."
"Then I shall accept your kind offer, and gratefully! But at least climb to the top of St. Peter's steeple! You can see all of the enemy from there, and the power of prayer may assist you!"
"The power of prayer!" Saul grumbled as they climbed the steeple. "What good is that going to be?"
"More than you know, here," Matt said. They came out into a small cupola above the belfry and looked out over the city of Reme. For a few moments both men stood speechless. Then Saul said, "Looks just like Rome to me, man. I can see the Colosseum, and the Forum, or what's left of it."
"No Trevi Fountain yet," Matt noted, "but it looks like the Aqueduct is still working."
"Give the bandits time, they'll get to it." Saul shivered. "Never thought I'd see the Eternal City in the Middle Ages!"
"Never thought I'd be standing on top of St. Peter's." Matt looked down a bit and saw a troop of horsemen riding up the slope toward the cathedral. "No wall, not even a fence! This place is wide open! What's been keeping them out?"
"If you dare say 'the power of prayer...' "
Matt shrugged. "Why should I say it? Just try a verse that stops them, and see what happens."
Saul grinned. "Why not?
"Whoopi-ti-yi-yo! Get along, little horsies!
It's your misfortune, and none of my own!
Whoopi-ti-yi-yo, get along, little horsies!
You know that you all long to be safe back home!"
He broke off, staring. "What the hey is that?"
Matt had felt it, too—a sudden surge of energy that left him almost giddy with a feeling of power, as if he could pick up the world and use it for a racquetball. "What do you think it is?"
As one, the horses turned and started back down the hill. The horsemen swore and yanked at the reins, and horses tossed their heads and whinnied protest, but they kept on going—and not just the ones on the road, either. As far and wide as they could see, a countercurrent struck the ranks of the condottieri cavalry. The horses had all turned and started back.
Saul ran over to the other side of the cupola and stared down. "They're doing it over here, too!"
"Never knew 'Whoopi-ti-yi-yo' qualified as magic words," Matt said conversationally.
Saul turned to glare at him. "I hate it when you're right."
"Only this time. Look! The sorcerers are fighting back!"
"If you can call this fighting," Saul grumbled, but he came to look. There was a blue glow in the middle of the condottieri army, and greenish smoke trailed up. The horses suddenly answered to the bit, turning and heading back uphill again.
"So. They know they've got some resistance." Saul nodded. "Why do I get the feeling we're not even needed here?"
"Maybe because those fireballs curved back on the army that threw them," Matt said. "On the other hand, those riders are halfway to the cathedral, and no one's stopping them. Do you suppose the Saints are waiting for us to do the job?"
"You mean we shouldn't have volunteered?"
"No, I mean that Heaven helps those who help themselves."
Saul grunted. "Those condottieri are helping themselves. They're all set to help themselves to everything that's not nailed down."
"So we have to help the clergy in a way they haven't been able to do," Matt summarized, "although it does seem kind of strange that they don't have even one clerical wizard on hand."
"In corporate headquarters?" Saul challenged. "All they'd have here are bureaucrats!"
"You might have a point. Okay, what do we do to push the bandits back out of here?"
"Well," Saul said slowly, "they're presumably all working for Evil, and I've heard a lot about the Aroma of Sanctity..."
With a soft burping sound, something exploded in the center of the cupola.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Greasy smoke poured outward and upward, enveloping the whole top of the steeple.
"Gas attack!" Saul managed before he broke off into a bout of coughing that racked his lungs. He stumbled to the side and leaned over the railing, trying to get away from the smoke—but it followed him.
Matt stumbled toward the opposite railing, and the smoke tried to follow him, but there was just enough of a breeze to blow it back. A few tendrils did reach him, and the stench was only the precursor—he could feel his innards heaving. He suddenly realized that a person could actually die just from a bad smell—if it was vile enough...
He stuck his head over the rail as far as he could and chanted,
"So blow, ye winds, heigh-ho!
A-roving let it go!
We'll smell no more of this septic sore,
So blow it all away!
"To the olfactory membrane
Of the one who sent this pain,
Stink bomb, return to your sender! Burn
His nose, and not our nez!"
He wasn't sure if throwing a French word in there would work, but nez did rhyme with "away," at least in its native pronunciation. But work it did; the smoke boiled backward as if it were a genie returning to its lamp, then disappeared with a soft crunching sound. There was only a charred spot in the center of the cupola floor, to show where it had been...
And Saul, hanging over the railing, groaning in reverse as he tried to hold his stomach down.
Matt called,
"Let upheavals pass!
One Bromo in your gas-
-trointestinal tract
Will settle your stomach back!"
Saul straightened up, looking surprised, then turned to Matt with a sigh of relief. "Never thought I'd be glad to hear that jingle."
"Singing commercials have to rank as one of the curses of civilization," Matt agreed, "but they work—presumably increasing sales in our home universe, and settling stomachs in this one."
"Funny, they had just the opposite effect back home," Saul said. He turned to look out over the condottieri army with a very vengeful look. "Chemical warfare. Full-scale."
"I can't say no," Matt sighed, "since they did it to us. After all, ours won't be lethal."
"I've smelled enough incense during my time to testify to that," Saul agreed, "though I will say St. Basil's nearly smoked me out of my apartment, the one time I tried it."
"Never trust anything that needs charcoal to keep it going," Matt agreed, "but we're out in the open, so the smoke shouldn't matter—and under the circumstances, I think St. Basil's is what the doctor ordered."
Saul snorted. "What doctor?"
"The Doctor of Divinity."
"Wish we could feed them back their own medicine," Saul growled. "Sweets to the sweet, after all."
Matt was watching a small upheaval in the center of the army, right below the main avenue. "We just did, and it didn't do much. These boys are used to bad smells, and know how to damp them out."
"Where'd you get that from?"
"They're Satanists—they must be used to the smell of brimstone by now. Okay, St. Basil's incense, it is."
"What else, in the Vatican?" Saul said.
"O bandits bending under Evil's yoke,
Feel
the steady heat of flame, and taste
Good strong thick stupefying incense smoke!
Then flee, or die by slow degrees,
In vapors wrapped, as if they clasped a crook!"
Smoke billowed up everywhere—from the roads right in front of the riders, all along the bottom of the hill, drifting out over the army. Matt could hear the hacking and coughing all the way up to the top of the dome—but the shrieks of agony and cries of disgust took him by surprise. "We're hurting them!" He raised his hands to start a counterspell, but felt Saul's hand on his shoulder. "What do you think they were planning to do to us? Don't worry, they'll get away from it very fast."
Sure enough, the whole army was on the move—away from the smoke. Half a dozen horses carrying robed figures burst out of the far side, riding hard.
"There go your sorcerers," Saul said. "Nothing fatal, worse luck."
"The rest of the army isn't hanging around, either," Matt said. "Somehow, though, I wouldn't call this a rout."
"No, not when they're just going home for the night, and home's only a few blocks away. I can almost hear some of those footmen saying, 'All in a day's work.' "
"Yeah, and talking about how the officers messed it up again," Matt agreed.
"Don't enlisted men always? Look at 'em go!"
They watched as the army boiled, moving steadily outward, away from the Vatican. Already, the leading edge was breaking up into units and going into long, low houses that had a very temporary look. Several of them were inside the Colosseum, which explained why the bandits were making it look like a crowd charging into a football stadium with only ten minutes left until game time.
There was a huffing and a wheezing, and Arouetto hauled himself into view.
"Arouetto!" Matt stepped over to catch his elbow, giving support. "What are you doing here? You're in no shape for that climb!"
"I had need to tell you," the scholar panted, "what you no doubt already know—the condottieri are in retreat! The pope sends his thanks!"
The Secular Wizard Page 37