by L. Sprague de Camp;Frederik Pohl;David Drake;S. M. Stirling;Alexei
“What’s that? Who is being taken against her will? What business is this wedding of yours? Who are you, who dares interrupt—”
Padway laughed his most irritating laugh. “One question at a time, please. I’m Martinus Paduei, quaestor to King Thiudahad. Ravenna is in our hands, and prudent persons will comport themselves accordingly. As for the wedding, it isn’t normally necessary to assign a man to twist the bride’s arm to make sure she gives the right answers. You don’t want to marry this man, do you, my lady?”
Mathaswentha jerked her arm away from the soldier, who had been relaxing his grip. She made a fist and punched him in the nose with enough force to rock his head back on its hinges. Then she swung at Wittigis, who dodged back. “You beast!” she cried. “I’ll claw your eyes—”
The bishop grabbed her arm. “Calm yourself, my daughter! Please! In the house of God—”
King Wittigis had been blinking at Padway, gradually soaking in the news. Mathaswentha’s attack shocked him out of his lethargy. He growled: “You’re trying to tell me that the miserable pen pusher, Thiudahad, has taken the town? My town?”
“That, my lord, is the general idea. I fear you’ll have to give up your idea of becoming an Amaling and ruling the Goths. But we’ll—”
Wittigis’ face had been turning darker and darker red. Now he burst into a shocking roar. “You swine!” he yelled. “You think I’ll hand over my crown and bride peaceably? By Jesus, I’ll see you in the hottest hell first!” As he spoke he whipped out his sword and ran heavily at Padway, his gold-embroidered robe flapping.
Padway was not entirely taken by surprise. He got his own sword out and parried Wittigis’ terrific downward cut easily enough, though the force of the blow almost disarmed him. Then he found himself chest to chest with the Goth, hugging the barrel torso and chewing Wittigis’ pepper-and-salt beard. He tried to shout to his men, but it was like trying to talk with a mouth full of shredded wheat.
He spat out, it seemed, half a bale of the stuff. “Grab…gffth…pffth…grab him, boys! Don’t hurt him!”
That was easier said than done. Wittigis struggled like a captive gorilla, even when five men were hanging onto him, and he bellowed and foamed all the while. The Gothic gentlemen were standing up, some with hands on their sword hilts, but in a hopeless minority, none seemed anxious to die for his king just then. Wittigis began to sob between roars.
“Tie him up until he cools off,” said Padway unfeelingly. “My lord bishop, may I trouble you for pen and paper?”
The bishop looked bleakly at Padway, and called a sexton, who led Padway to a room off the vestibule. Here he sat down and wrote:
Martinus Paduei to Thomasus the Syrian. Greetings:
My dear Thomasus: I am sending you with this letter the person of Wittigis, former King of the Goths and Italians. His escort has orders to deliver him to your house secretly, so forgive me for any alarm they cause you if they get you out of bed.
As I remember, we have a telegraph tower under construction on the Flaminian Way near Helvillum. Please arrange to have a chamber constructed in the earth underneath this tower and fitted up as an apartment forthwith. Incarcerate Wittigis therein with an adequate guard. Have him made as comfortable as possible, as I judge him a man of moody temperament, and I do not wish him to harm himself.
The utmost secrecy is to be observed at all times. That should not be too difficult, as this tower is in a wild stretch of country. It would be advisable to have Wittigis delivered to the tower by guards other than those who take him to Rome, and to have him guarded by men who speak neither Latin nor Gothic. They shall release their prisoner only on my order, delivered either in person or via the telegraph, or without orders in the event of my imprisonment or death.
With best regards,
Martinus Paduei.
Padway said to Wittigis: “I’m sorry to have to treat you so roughly, my lord. I would not have interfered if I hadn’t known it was necessary to save Italy.”
Wittigis had relapsed into morose taciturnity. He glared silently.
Padway continued: “I’m really doing you a favor, you know. If Thiudahad got hold of you, you would die—slowly.”
There was still no reply.
“Oh, well, take him away boys. Wrap him up so the people won’t recognize him, and use the back streets.”
Thiudahad peered moistly at Padway. “Marvelous, marvelous, my dear Martinus. The Royal Council accepted the inevitable. The only trouble is that the evil usurper had my crown altered to fit his big head; I’ll have to alter it back. Now I can devote my time to some real scholarly research. Let’s see—there was something else I wanted to ask you. Oh, yes, what did you do with Wittigis?”
Padway put on a benign smile. “He’s out of your reach, my lord king.”
“You mean you killed him? Now, that’s too bad! Most inconsiderate of you, Martinus. I told you I’d promised myself a nice long session with him in the torture chambers—”
“No, he’s alive. Very much so.”
“What? What? Then produce him, at once!”
Padway shook his head. “He’s where you’ll never find him. You see, I figured it would be foolish to waste a good spare king. If anything happened to you, I might need one in a hurry.”
“You’re insubordinate, young man! I won’t stand for it! You’ll do as your king orders you, or else—”
Padway grinned, shaking his head. “No, my lord. Nobody shall hurt Wittigis. And you’d better not get rough with me, either. His guards have orders to release him if anything happens to me. He doesn’t like you any better than you like him. You can figure the rest out for yourself.”
“You devil!” spat the king venomously. “Why, oh, why did I ever let you save my life? I haven’t had a moment’s peace since. You might have a little consideration for an old man,” he whined. “Let’s see, what was I talking about?”
“Perhaps,” said Padway, “about the new book we’re going to get out in our joint names. It has a perfectly splendid theory, about the mutual attraction of masses. Accounts for the movements of the heavenly bodies, and all sorts of things. It’s called the law of gravitation.”
“Really? Now, that’s most interesting, Martinus, most interesting. It would spread my fame as a philosopher to the ends of the earth, wouldn’t it?”
Padway asked Unilas if Wittigis’ nephew Urias was in Ravenna. Unilas said yes, and sent a man to hunt him up.
Urias was big and dark like his uncle. He arrived scowling defiance. “Well, Mysterious Martinus, now that you’ve overthrown my uncle by trickery, what are you going to do with me?”
“Not a thing,” said Padway. “Unless you force me to.”
“Aren’t you having a purge of my uncle’s family?”
“No. I’m not even purging your uncle. In strict confidence, I’m hiding Wittigis to keep Thiudahad from harming him.”
“Really? Can I believe that?”
“Sure. I’ll even get a letter from him, testifying to the good treatment he’s getting.”
“Letters can be produced by torture.”
“Not with Wittigis. For all your uncle’s faults, I think you will agree that he’s a stubborn chap.”
Urias relaxed visibly. “That’s something. Yes, if that’s true, perhaps you have some decency, after all.”
“Now to get down to business. How do you feel about working for us—that is, nominally for Thiudahad but actually for me?”
Urias stiffened. “Out of the question. I’m resigning my commission, of course. I won’t take any action disloyal to my uncle.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I need a good man to command the reoccupation of Dalmatia.”
Urias shook his head stubbornly. “It’s a question of loyalty. I’ve never gone back on my plighted word yet.”
Padway sighed. “You’re as bad as Belisarius. The few trustworthy and able men in the world won’t work with me because of previous obligations. So I have to struggle along with crooks and dimwits.”
CHAPTER XII
Little by little Ravenna’s nonce population flowed away, like trickles of water from a wet sponge on a tile floor. A big trickle flowed north, as fifty thousand Goths marched back toward Dalmatia. Padway prayed that Asinar, who seemed to have little more glimmering of intelligence than Grippas, would not have another brainstorm and come rushing back to Italy before he’d accomplished anything.
Padway did not dare leave Italy long enough to take command of the campaign himself. He did what he could by sending some of his personal guard along to teach the Goths horse-archery tactics. Asinar might decide to ignore this newfangled nonsense as soon as he was out of sight. Or the cuirassiers might desert to Count Constantianus. Or—but there was no point in anticipating calamities.
Padway finally found time to pay his respects to Mathaswentha. He told himself that he was merely being polite and making a useful contact. But he knew that actually he didn’t want to leave Ravenna without another look at the luscious wench.
The Gothic princess received him graciously. She spoke excellent Latin, in a rich contralto vibrant with good health. “I thank you, excellent Martinus, for saving me from that beast. I shall never be able to repay you properly.”
They walked into her living room. Padway found that it was no effort at all to keep in step with her. But then; she was almost as tall as he was.
“It was very little, my lady,” he said. “We just happened to arrive at an opportune time.”
“Don’t deprecate yourself, Martinus. I know a lot about you. It takes a real man to accomplish all you have. Especially when one considers that you arrived in Italy, a stranger, only a little over a year ago.”
“I do what I must, princess. It may seem impressive to others, but to me it’s more as if I had been forced into each action by circumstances, regardless of my intentions.”
“A fatalistic doctrine, Martinus. I could almost believe that you’re a pagan. Not that I’d mind.”
Padway laughed. “Hardly. I understand that you can still find pagans if you hunt around the Italian hills.”
“No doubt. I should like to visit some of the little villages some day. With a good guide, of course.”
“I ought to be a pretty good guide, after the amount of running around I’ve done in the last couple of months.”
“Would you take me? Be careful; I’ll hold you to it, you know.”
“That doesn’t worry me any, princess. But it would have to be some day. At the present rate, God knows when I’ll get time for anything but war and politics, neither of which is my proper trade.”
“What is, then?”
“I was a gatherer of facts; a kind of historian of periods that had no history. I suppose you could call me a historical philosopher.”
“You’re a fascinating person, Martinus. I can see why they call you Mysterious. But if you don’t like war and politics, why do you engage in them?”
“That would be hard to explain, my lady. In the course of my work in my own country, I had occasion to study the rise and fall of many civilizations. In looking around me here, I see many symptoms of a fall.”
“Really? That’s a strange thing to say. Of course, my own people, and barbarians like the Franks, have occupied most of the Western Empire. But they’re not a danger to civilization. They protect it from the real wild men like the Bulgarian Huns and the Slavs. I can’t think of a time when our western culture was more secure.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion, my lady,” said Padway. “I merely put together such facts as I have, and draw what conclusions I can. Facts such as the decline in the population of Italy, despite the Gothic immigrations. And such things as the volume of shipping.”
“Shipping? I never thought of measuring civilization that way. But in any event, that doesn’t answer my question.”
“Triggws, to use one of your own Gothic words. Well, I want to prevent the darkness of barbarism from falling over western Europe. It sounds conceited, the idea that one man could do anything like that. But I can try. One of the weaknesses of our present set-up is slow communication. So I promote the telegraph company. And because my backers are Roman patricians suspected of Graecophile leanings, I find myself in politics up to my neck. One thing leads to another, until today I’m practically running Italy.”
Mathaswentha looked thoughtful. “I suppose the trouble with slow communication is that a general can revolt or an invader overrun the border weeks before the central government hears about it.”
“Right. I can see you’re your mother’s daughter. If I wanted to patronize you, I should say that you had a man’s mind.”
She smiled. “On the contrary, I should be very much pleased. At least, if you mean a man like yourself. Most of the men around here—bah! Squalling infants, without one idea among them. When I marry, it must be to a man—shall we say both of thought and action?”
Padway met her eyes, and was aware that his heart had stepped up several beats per minute. “I hope you find him, princess.”
“I may yet.” She sat up straight and looked at him directly, almost defiantly, quite unconcerned with the inner confusion she was causing him. He noticed that sitting up straight didn’t make her look any less desirable. On the contrary.
She continued: “That’s one reason I’m so grateful to you for saving me from the beast. Of all these thick-headed ninnies he had the thickest head. What became of him, by the way? Don’t pretend innocence, Martinus. Everybody knows your guards took him into the vestibule of the church, and then he apparently vanished.”
“He’s safe, I hope, both from our point of view and his.”
“You mean you hid him? Death would have been safer yet.”
“I had reasons for not wanting him killed.”
“You did? I give you fair warning that if he ever falls into my hands, I shall not have such reasons.”
“Aren’t you a bit hard on poor old Wittigis? He was merely trying, in his own muddle-headed way, to defend the kingdom.”
“Perhaps. But after that performance in the church I hate him.” The gray eyes were cold as ice. “And when I hate, I don’t do it halfway.”
“So I see,” said Padway dryly, jarred out of the pink fog for the moment. But then Mathaswentha smiled again, all curvesome and desirable woman. “You’ll stay to dinner, of course? There will only be a few people, and they’ll leave early.”
“Why—” There were piles of work to be done that evening. And he needed to catch up on his sleep—a chronic condition with him. “Thank you, my lady, I shall be delighted.”
By the third visit to Mathaswentha, Padway was saying to himself: There’s a real woman. Ravishing good looks, forceful character, keen brain. The man who gets her will have one in a million. Why shouldn’t I be the one? She seems to like me. With her to back me up, there’s nothing I couldn’t accomplish. Of course, she is a bit bloodthirsty. You wouldn’t exactly describe her as a “sweet” girl. But that’s the fault of the times, not of her. She’ll settle down when she has a man of her own to do her fighting for her.
In other words, Padway was as thoroughly in love as such a rational and prudent man can ever be.
But how did one go about marrying a Gothic princess? You certainly didn’t take her out in an automobile and kiss her lipstick off by way of a starter. Nor did you begin by knowing her in high school, the way he had known Betty. She was an orphan, so you couldn’t approach her old man.
He supposed that the only thing to do was to bring the subject up a little at a time and see how she reacted.
He asked: “Mathaswentha, my dear, when you spoke of the kind of man you’d like to marry, did you have any other specifications in mind?”
She smiled at him, whereat the room swam slightly. “Curious, Martinus? I didn’t have many, aside from those I mentioned. Of course he shouldn’t be too much older than I, as Wittigis was.”
“You wouldn’t mind if he
wasn’t much taller than you?”
“No, unless he were a mere shrimp.”
“You haven’t any objections to large noses?”
She laughed a rich, throaty laugh. “Martinus, you are the funniest man. I suppose it’s that you and I are different. I go directly for what I want, whether it’s love, or revenge, or anything else.”
“What do I do?”
“You walk all around it, and peer at it from every angle, and spend a week figuring out whether you want it badly enough to risk taking it.” She added quickly. “Don’t think I mind. I like you for it.”
“I’m glad of that. But about noses—”
“Of course I don’t mind! I think yours, for instance, is aristocratic-looking. Nor do I mind little red beards or wavy brown hair or any of the other features of an amazing young man named Martinus Paduei. That’s what you were getting at, wasn’t it?”
Padway knew a great relief. This marvelous woman went out of her way to ease your difficulties! “As a matter of fact it was, princess.”
“You needn’t be so frightfully respectful, Martinus. Anybody would know you are a foreigner, the way you meticulously use all the proper titles and epithets.”
Padway grinned. “I don’t like to take chances, as you know. Well, you see, now, it’s this way. I—uh—was wondering—uh—if you don’t dislike these—uh—characteristics, whether you couldn’t learn to—uh—uh—”
“You don’t by any chance mean love, do you?”
“Yes!” said Padway loudly.
“With practice I might.”
“Whew!” said Padway mopping his forehead.
“I’d need teaching,” said Mathaswentha, “I’ve lived a sheltered life, and know little of the world.”
“I looked up the law,” said Padway quickly, “and while there’s an ordinance against marriage of Goths to Italians, there’s nothing about Americans. So—”
Mathaswentha interrupted: “I could hear you better, dear Martinus, if you came closer.”
Padway went over and sat down beside her. He began again: “The Edicts of Theoderik—”