Lest Darkness Fall and Related Stories
Page 18
“Why one in Florence?”
“That’s where our new capital’s going to be.”
“What?”
“Yes. It’s better located than Rome with regard to roads and such, and it has a much better climate than Ravenna. In fact I can’t think of a place that hasn’t a better climate than Ravenna, hell included. I sold the idea to Cassiodorus, and between us we got Thiudahad to agree to move the administrative offices thither. If Thiudahad wants to hold court in the City of Fogs, Bogs and Frogs, that’s his lookout. I’ll be just as glad not to have him in my hair.”
“In your hair? Oh, ho-ho-ho, you are the funniest fellow, Martinus. I wish I could say things the way you do. But all this activity takes my breath away. What else of revolutionary nature are you planning?”
“I’m going to try to start a school. We have a flock of teachers on the public payroll now, but all they know is grammar and rhetoric. I’m going to have things taught that really matter: mathematics, and the sciences, and medicine. I see where I shall have to write all the textbooks myself.”
“Just one question, Martinus. When do you find time to sleep?”
Padway grinned wanly. “Mostly I don’t. But if I can ever get out of all this political and military activity I hope to catch up. I don’t really like it, but it’s a necessary means to an end. The end is things like the telegraph and the presses. My politicking and soldiering may not make any difference a hundred years from now, but the other things will, I hope.”
Padway started to go, then said: “Is Julia from Apulia still working for Ebenezer the Jew?”
“The last I heard she was. Why? Do you want her back?”
“God forbid. She’s got to disappear from Rome.”
“Why?”
“For her own safety. I can’t tell you about it yet.”
“But I thought you disliked her—”
‘That doesn’t mean I want her murdered. And my own hide may be in danger, too, unless we get her out of town.”
“Oh, God, why didst Thou let me get involved with a politician? I don’t know, Martinus; she’s a free citizen…”
“How about your cousin in Naples, Antiochus? I’d made it worth his while to hire her at higher wages.”
“Well, I—”
“Have her go to work for Antiochus under another name. Fix it up quietly, old man. If the news leaks out, we’ll all be in the soup.”
“Soup? Ha, ha. Very funny. I’ll do what I can. Now, about that old six-month note of yours…”
Oh, dear, thought Padway, now it would begin again, Thomasus was easy enough to get on with most of the time. But he could not or would not conduct the simplest financial transactions without three hours of frantic haggling. Perhaps he enjoyed it. Padway did not.
Jogging along the road to Florence again, Padway regretted that he had not seen Dorothea while he was in Rome. He had not dared. That was one more reason for getting Mathaswentha married off quickly. Dorothea would be a much more suitable if less spectacular girl for him. Not that he was in love with her. But he probably would be if he saw enough of her, he thought somewhat cold-bloodedly.
But he had too much else to do now. If he could only get time to relax, to catch up on his sleep, to investigate the things that really interested him, to have a little fun! He liked fun as much as the next man, even if the next man would consider his ideas of fun peculiar.
But his sharp, conscientious mind goaded him on. He knew that his job rested on the unstable foundation of his influence over a senile, unpopular king. As long as Padway pleased them the Goths would not interfere, as they were accustomed to leaving civil administration in the hands of non-Goths. But when Thiudahad went? Padway had lots of hay to gather, and there were plenty of thunderheads sticking up over the barn.
In Florence Padway leased office space in the name of the government, and looked in on his own business. This time there were no irregularities in the accounts. Either there had been no more stealing, or the boys were getting cleverer at concealing it.
Fritharik renewed his plea to be allowed to come along, showing with much pride his jeweled sword, which he had redeemed and had sent up from Rome. The sword disappointed Padway, though he did not say so. The gems were merely polished, not cut; faceting had not been invented. But wearing it seemed to add inches to Fritharik’s already imposing stature. Padway, somewhat against his better judgment, gave in. He appointed the competent and apparently honest Nerva his general manager.
They were snowed in by a late storm for two days crossing the mountains, and arrived in Ravenna still shivering. The town with its clammy atmosphere and its currents of intrigue depressed him, and the Mathaswentha problem made him nervous. He called on her and made some insincere love to her, which made him all the more anxious to get away. But there was lots of public business to be handled.
Urias announced that he was ready and willing to enter Padway’s service. “Mathaswentha talked me into it,” he said. “She’s a wonderful woman, isn’t she?”
“Certainly is,” replied Padway. He thought he detected a faintly guilty and furtive air about the straightforward Urias when he spoke of the princess. He smiled to himself. “What I had in mind was setting up a regular military school for the Gothic officers, somewhat on the Byzantine model, with you in charge.”
“What? Oh, my word, I hoped you’d have a command on the frontiers for me.”
So, thought Padway, he wasn’t the only one who disliked Ravenna. “No, my dear sir. This job has to be done for the sake of the kingdom. And I can’t do it myself, because the Goths don’t think any non-Goth knows anything about soldiering. On the other hand I need a literate and intelligent man to run the thing, and you’re the only one in sight.”
“But, most excellent Martinus, have you ever tried to teach a Gothic officer anything? I admit that an academy is needed, but—”
“I know. I know. Most of them can’t read or write and look down on those who do. That’s why I picked you for the job. You’re respected, and if anybody can put sense into their heads you can.” He grinned sympathetically. “I wouldn’t have tried so hard to enlist your services if I’d had just an easy, everyday job in mind.”
“Thanks. I see you know how to get people to do things for you.”
Padway went on to tell Urias some of his ideas. How the Goths’ great weakness was the lack of co-ordination between their mounted lancers and their foot archers; how they needed both reliable foot spearmen and mounted archers to have a well-rounded force. He also described the crossbow, the calthorp, and other military devices.
He said: “It takes five years to make a good long-bowman, whereas a recruit can learn to handle a crossbow in a few weeks.
“And if I can get some good steel workers, I’ll show you a suit of plate armor that weighs only half as much as one of those scale-mail shirts, but gives better protection and allows fully as much freedom of action.” He grinned. “You may expect grumbling at all these newfangled ideas from the more conservative Goths. So you’d better introduce them gradually. And remember, they’re your ideas; I won’t try to deprive you of the credit for them.”
“I understand,” grinned Urias. “So if anybody gets hanged for them, it’ll be me and not you. Like that book on astronomy that came out in Thiudahad’s name. It has every churchman from here to Persia sizzling. Poor old Thiudahad gets the blame, but I know you furnished the ideas and put him up to it. Very well, my mysterious friend, I’m game.”
Padway himself was surprised when Urias appeared with a very respectable crossbow a few days later. Although the device was simple enough, and he’d furnished an adequate set of drawings for it, he knew from sad experience that to get a sixth-century artisan to make something he’d never seen before, you had to stand over him while he botched six attempts, and then make it yourself.
They spent an afternoon in the great pine wood east of the city shooting at marks. Fritharik proved uncannily accurate, though he affected to despise missile weapon
s as unworthy of a noble Vandal knight. “But,” he said, “it is a remarkably easy thing to aim.”
“Yes,” replied Padway. “Among my people there’s a legend about a crossbowman who offended a government official, and was compelled as punishment to shoot an apple off his son’s head. He did so, without harming the boy.”
When he got back, Padway learned that he had an appointment the next day with an envoy from the Franks. The envoy, one Count Hlodovik, was a tall, lantern-jawed man. Like most Franks he was clean-shaven except for the mustache. He was quite gorgeous in a red silk tunic, gold chains and bracelets, and a jeweled baldric. Padway privately thought that the knobby bare legs below his short pants detracted from his impressiveness. Moreover, Hlodovik was rather obviously suffering from a hangover.
“Mother of God, I’m thirsty,” he said. “Will you please do something about that, friend quaestor, before we discuss business?” So Padway had some wine sent in. Hlodovik drank in deep gulps, “Ah! That’s better. Now, friend quaestor, I may say that I don’t think I’ve been very well treated here. The king would only see me for a wink of the eye; said you handle the business. Is that the proper reception for the envoy of King Theudebert, King Hildebert, and King Hlotokar? Not just one king, mind you; three.”
“That’s a lot of kings,” said Padway, smiling pleasantly. “I am greatly impressed. But you mustn’t take offense, my lord count. Our king is an old man, and he finds the press of public business hard to bear.”
“So, hrrmp. We’ll forget about it, then. But we shall not find the reason for my coming hither so easy to forget. Briefly, what became of that hundred and fifty thousand solidi that Wittigis promised my masters, King Theudebert, King Hildebert, and King Hlotokar if they wouldn’t attack him while he was involved with the Greeks? Moreover, he ceded Provence to my masters, King Theudebert, King Hildebert, and King Hlotokar. Yet your general Sisigis has not evacuated Provence. When my masters sent a force to occupy it a few weeks ago, they were driven back and several were killed. You should know that the Franks, who are the bravest and proudest people on earth, will never submit to such treatment. What are you going to do about it?”
Padway answered: “You, my lord Hlodovik, should know that the acts of an unsuccessful usurper cannot bind the legitimate government. We intend to hold what we have. So you may inform your masters, King Theudebert, King Hildebert, and King Hlotokar, that there will be no payment and no evacuation.”
“Do you really mean that?” Hlodovik seemed astonished. “Don’t you know, young man, that the armies of the Franks could sweep the length of Italy, burning and ravaging, any time they wished? My masters, King Theudebert, King Hildebert, and King Hlotokar, are showing great forbearance and humanity by offering you a way out. Think carefully before you invite disaster.”
“I have thought, my lord,” replied Padway. “And I respectfully suggest that you and your masters do the same. Especially about a little military device that we are introducing. Would you like to see it demonstrated? The parade ground is only a step from here.”
Padway had made the proper preparations in advance. When they arrived at the parade ground, Hlodovik weaving slightly all the way, they found Urias, Fritharik, the crossbow, and a supply of bolts. Padway’s idea was to have Fritharik take a few demonstration shots at a target. But Fritharik and Urias had other ideas. The latter walked off fifty feet, turned, and placed an apple on his head. Fritharik cocked the crossbow, put a bolt in the groove, and raised the bow to his shoulder.
Padway was frozen speechless with horror. He didn’t dare shout at the two idiots to desist for fear of losing face before the Frank. And if Urias was killed, he hated to think of the damage that would be done to his plans.
The crossbow snapped. There was a short splush, and fragments of apple flew about. Urias, grinning, picked pieces of apple out of his hair and walked back.
“Do you find the demonstration impressive, my lord?” Padway asked.
“Yes, quite,” said Hlodovik. “Let’s see that device. Hm-m-m. Of course, the brave Franks don’t believe that any battle was ever won by a lot of silly arrows. But for hunting, now, this mightn’t be bad. How does it work? I see; you pull the string back to here—”
While Fritharik was demonstrating the crossbow, Padway took Urias aside and told him, in a low tone, just what he thought of such a fool stunt. Urias tried to look serious, but couldn’t help a faint, small-boy grin. Then there was another snap, and something whizzed between them, not a foot from Padway’s face. They jumped and spun around. Hlodovik was holding the crossbow, a foolish look on his long face. “I didn’t know it went off so easily,” he said.
Fritharik lost his temper. “What are you trying to do, you drunken fool? Kill somebody—”
“What’s that? You call me a fool? Why—” and the Frank’s sword came halfway out of the scabbard.
Fritharik jumped back and grabbed his own sword hilt. Padway and Urias pounced on the two and grabbed their elbows.
“Calm yourself, my lord!” cried Padway. “It’s nothing to start a fight over. I’ll apologize personally.”
The Frank merely got madder and tried to shake off Padway. “I’ll teach that low-born bastard! My honor is insulted!” he shouted. Several Gothic soldiers loafing around the field looked up and trotted over. Hlodovik saw them coming and put his sword back, growling: “This is fine treatment for the representative of King Theudebert, King Hildebert, and King Hlotokar. Just wait till they hear of this.”
Padway tried to mollify him, but Hlodovik merely grumped, and soon left Ravenna. Padway dispatched a warning to Sisigis to be on the lookout for a Frankish attack. His conscience bothered him a good deal. In a way he thought he ought to have tried to appease the Franks, as he hated the idea of being responsible for war. But he knew that that fierce and treacherous tribe would only take each concession as a sign of weakness. The time to stop the Franks was the first time.
Then another envoy arrived, this time from the Kutrigurs or Bulgarian Huns. The usher told Padway: “He’s very dignified; doesn’t speak any Latin or Gothic, so he uses an interpreter. Says he’s a boyar, whatever that is.”
“Show him in.”
The Bulgarian envoy was a stocky, bowlegged man with high cheek bones, a fiercely upswept mustache, and a nose even bigger than Padway’s. He wore a handsome furlined coat, baggy trousers, and a silk turban wound about his shaven skull, from the rear of which two black pigtails jutted absurdly. Despite the finery, Padway found reason to suspect that the man had never had a bath in his life. The interpreter was a small, nervous Thracian who hovered a pace to the Bulgar’s left and rear.
The Bulgar clumped in, bowed stiffly, and did not offer to shake hands. Probably not done among the Huns, thought Padway. He bowed back and indicated a chair. He regretted having done so a moment later, when the Bulgar hiked his boots up on the upholstery and sat cross-legged. Then he began to speak, in a strangely musical tongue which Padway surmised was related to Turkish. He stopped every three or four words for the interpreter to translate. It ran something like this:
Envoy: (Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter: I am the Boyar Karojan—
Envoy: (Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter: The son of Chakir—
Envoy: (Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter. Who was the son of Tardu—
Envoy: (Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter: Envoy of Kardam—
Envoy: (Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter: The son of Kapagan—
Envoy: (Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter: And Great Khan of the Kutrigurs.
It was distracting to listen to, but not without a certain poetic grandeur. The Bulgar paused impassively at that point. Padway identified himself, and the duo began again:
“My master, the Great Khan—”
“Has received an offer from Justinian, Emperor of the Romans—”
“Of fifty thousand solidi—”
“To refrai
n from invading his dominions.”
“If Thiudahad, King of the Goths—”
“Will make us a better offer—”
“We will ravage Thrace—”
“And leave the Gothic realm alone.”
“If he does not—”
“We will take Justinian’s gold—”
“And invade the Gothic territories—”
“Of Pannonia and Noricum.”
Padway cleared this throat and began his reply, pausing for translation. This method had its advantages, he found. It gave him time to think.
“My master, Thiudahad, King of the Goths and Italians—”
“Authorizes me to say—”
‘That he has better use for his money—”
“Than to bribe people not to attack him—”
“And that if the Kutrigurs think—”
“That they can invade our territory—”
“They are welcome to try—”
“But that we cannot guarantee them—”
“A very hospitable reception.”
The envoy replied:
“Think man, on what you say.”
“For the armies of the Kutrigurs—”
“Cover the Sarmatian steppe like locusts.”
“The hoofbeats of their horses—”
“Are a mighty thunder.”
“The flight of their arrows—”
“Darkens the sun.”
“Where they have passed—”
“Not even grass will grow.”
Padway replied:
“Most excellent Karojan—”
“What you say may be true.”
“But in spite of their thundering and sun-darkening—”
“The last time the Kutrigurs—”
“Assailed our land, a few years ago—”
“They got the pants beat off them.”
As this was translated, the Bulgar looked puzzled for a moment. Then he turned red. Padway thought he was angry, but it soon appeared that he was trying to keep from laughing. He said between sputters: