Debt of Ages (14 page)

"Augustus," Artorius said slowly, "I've asked you to accept much this night. Now I must ask you to believe one more thing that defies belief. Since my . . . departure from the world, I have been vouchsafed a vision of the future—the future of my world and also of yours." The Restorer crossed himself, while Artorius gathered himself to say that which he knew he himself would once have found unacceptable. "You have achieved all that I once dreamed of—no, more than I ever dared dream of. I swear that my ambitions stopped with making the British High Kingship secure . . ."

"Yes, I swear," whispered the Restorer.

". . . but I can't deny that in my private moments, in my thoughts that I never shared with Gwenhwyvaer or anyone, I saw myself as the world-restorer that all my teachers had held up as the ideal. Well, you
are
that ideal. And now I know that what you have done—what I
would
have done but for one blunder—will blight the future beyond redemption, dooming it to . . ."

"No!" The Restorer drew back, and his sword came up again. "Now I know you for what you are, spirit: a demon, sent to sow the seeds of doubt! But you confound yourself out of your own lying mouth, for you admit that what I've done saved the empire . . ."

"Yes," Artorius said flatly. "You saved it, as I would have in your place. And now you've seen it at its core. Are you certain that it really ought to be saved?"

"More madness," the Restorer said, but unsteadily, not with a roar of full-blooded outrage. "Oh, aye, I've seen the corruption, and the waste, and the way the emperor has been made into a gilded idol served by a fat-gutted priesthood of officials and eunuchs . . . I've seen it all, and tried to change it, only to find that it's like the scaffolding that can't be changed without bringing the whole house crashing down." His voice took on something like a beseeching note. "And it
must
stand! If what you say is true, you saw everything I saw up to the Battle of Bourges. You saw what the barbarians leave of a town they sack. You saw . . ."

"Augustus, I of all people know what you were trying to accomplish. I—you—grew to manhood knowing only empire or chaos. But since my life sundered from yours I've learned that there are other ways. I've also learned a very wise saying: 'Be careful what you wish for—you may get it.' " Artorius drew a deep breath. "In my world, the fall of the empire was so complete that men lost sight of the truth of my life. But that only let them read whatever meaning into my story they wanted or needed. And because I had failed, they didn't have to face the reality of what my victory would have meant . . . what yours
will
mean, as you've come to suspect in the innermost secret places of your heart. Instead, they made me the embodiment of all their aspirations for the unattainable. So I lived on in memory, not as I really was but as men needed to believe I had been. God knows I was unworthy of what my name came to mean . . . but I like to think the legend they made of me helped light their way through the dark years after Rome's fall."

A long time passed before the Restorer spoke. "So, spirit, we both live on—I in history, for I gave Rome back to the world, and you as a fable in a world that will have to do without Rome . . ."

"Aye,
Pan-Tarkan
," Artorius cut in, shifting to the British tongue and to the title of the hereditary commander of that originally Sarmatian cavalry unit which now included the Britons on whose tongues it sounded something like
Pendragon
. "And my empire of woodsmoke and fairy-light, unlike yours of stone and laws, will let that world grow into something Rome could never have allowed."

"Aye, it's in my heart that you've the right of it," the Restorer said in the same tongue, barely above a whisper. "But what was I to do? What
am
I to do? For whatever the future may hold, there are many this night who are sleeping under their whole roofs in the knowledge that they can reap a whole harvest tomorrow. What of them?"

"Leave them in the peace you've given them,
Pan-Tarkan
. Let them raise their children behind your shield. But for the sake of those children, and their children for more generations than you can know, I ask you to do one thing. In the name of all that we share—a sharing beyond ordinary ken—I ask this of you." He made a smooth transition back to Latin. "Reinstate Acacius as Patriarch of Constantinople."

"What?! But it was only three years ago that I sent him packing! I'd never hear the end of it from Sidonius, from all my Western supporters . . ."

"That's precisely the point, Augustus," Tylar cut in. "The West must go its own way. This will make it
want
to do so. And Ecdicius will lead it."

"Ecdicius!" The Restorers eyes shone. "I have no son, but he makes me feel . . ." He stopped. "But you say he's to lead the West into rebellion?"

"He won't see it that way, Augustus. He'll be barred from succeeding you by conspirators. He'll simply be doing the only possible thing—as you did for all those years following the Battle of Bourges."

"Yes." The Restorer nodded slowly. "Yes. Well, spirit," he addressed Artorius with the famous grin, "if I can't trust
you
, who can I trust? But it can't be at once. What about the current Patriarch, who I appointed to replace him?"

"The world knows that the old man was just a transitional appointment, Augustus. He'll not live to see another summer. Wait until he's gone and then call Acacius back."

"Well, I suppose I can come up with some kind of reasonable pretext to do it. And I suppose you'll want me to give him the same kind of support I would a Patriarch of my own choice?"

"Just so, Augustus." Artorius's grin was like a mirror of the other's. "It shouldn't be too hard. We both know how much you
really
care about doctrinal disputes!" He gestured at the unconscious Scholarians. "When we leave, summon more guards and tell them that your cry for help frightened off the intruders who fought these. I fear the palace will be turned upside down for a few days' searching."

"Very well." The Restorer looked at him long and hard, one more time, and then said, simply, "Farewell." Then he turned to Tylar and Sarnac. "Tertullian and Bedwyr! I never knew what became of you two. No one could find you at the time of the Battle of Bourges. But yes, Bedwyr, I do remember talking to you shortly before that . . ." He seemed about to say more, but Tylar forestalled him.

"Don't brood overmuch about what has passed before this night, Augustus. Just remember that your place in history, and in the hearts of the people for whom you won a time of peace, is secure. And now we must go. In fact, we must leave Constantinople. But our companion Andronicus will remain in the city." He indicated Andreas, who had been gaping. "He will be in contact with you from time to time over the next few years—after which we may well see you again."

"Will you be going far?" the Restorer asked. "I can give you a pass to use the imperial post."

"It is better if we travel in our own way, Augustus, though we must indeed journey far. All the way to Britain, in fact."

"Britain!" The imperial face wore a look as far-off as that misty island. "It's been so many years . . . Will you, perhaps, see the Regent?"

"It is entirely possible that we will see the lady Gwenhwyvaer, Augustus," Tylar said smoothly. "Is there any message you would like us to convey?"

"Tell her . . ." The glow went out of the Restorer's eyes, and he gave Artorius an odd look. "Tell her only that . . . I wish it had been better with us."

Artorius returned the look gravely. Tiraena regarded them both with an expression Sarnac could not read.

"Are you sure Andreas will be all right?"

"Oh, quite." Tylar responded to Sarnac's anxious question in an abstracted manner, standing in the field beside the old Roman road beside the derelict shrine of Hermes and guiding his ship in by mental command. "He'll stay at Koreel's house and get regular reports on developments over the next six years. It won't be a tedious wait for him; Koreel has a stasis chamber which will allow him to skip the intervening periods. By the time we see him again, in 491, only a month or so of subjective time will have passed for him—and, hopefully, even less for us. Ah!"

"Hopefully?" Tiraena's worried query was cut short by the breeze from the descending spacecraft. Dawn was breaking over the Sea of Marmara, and even without their light-gathering optics they could see the grass being pressed flat over a wide expanse of meadow.

"Well," Tylar remarked offhandedly, "one can never be absolutely sure about these things, however carefully one tries to plan them." An portal appeared, with the ship's interior visible beyond it. They hurried aboard. The portal vanished, a sudden breeze caused the grasses to sway, and the abandoned shrine of Hermes was left to its decay.

* * *

They proceeded at moderate altitude and leisurely velocity—no need to spread rumors of Judgement Day with a sonic boom—on a west-northwest heading, keeping pace with the dawn. The land unfurled beneath them, growing more and more corrugated as they passed over the Balkan Mountains and what would, for a little while in their reality, be called Yugoslavia. Then they were over the titanic masses of the Dinaric Alps. On they went, over mightier and mightier snow-capped ranges that held nary a ski chalet, until somewhere below were the headwaters of the Rhine. Then they were over the middle reaches of that river on both of whose banks Rome's writ now ran, for the Restorer had incorporated the Franks and fulfilled the dream of the first Augustus by advancing the imperial frontier to the Elbe.

Sarnac knew better than to look for engineering works visible from this altitude. There was an occasional glimpse of a line too straight to be anything but a Roman road, but there was nothing like the artificial environment that clothed his Earth. For all he could see, this might as well have been the year 485 a.d. of his own history, with West Rome nine years fallen. But he fancied that he could sense something of the quickening imperial life in the regions below him, over which dawn continuously broke as they flew west.

"How did he do it?" he asked Tylar. "Oh sure, he put down the barbarians. But that wasn't what was fundamentally wrong with the empire."

"Don't underestimate the importance of stopping the constant depredations," the time traveller told him. "But you're right; what's really been causing civilization in the West to collapse into feudalism is a tax system that shortsightedly treated the Western cities as revenue sources, killing a fragile yearling by trying to use it as a beast of burden. Under such circumstances, the cities died and their inhabitants attached themselves to some powerful landlord or other, who could protect them from the state's taxgatherers. In our reality, the process continued, with the Roman landowning class being replaced by a Teutonic one. The Restorer's fiscal reforms have been far more important than the battles the chroniclers will record."

Tylar gazed at the sunrise for a moment and then continued. "Also, there's the matter of timing. The Huns have withdrawn to the steppes, where their clans bicker over the sorry remnants of Attila's empire. And the Avars won't arrive in Europe for another generation or two. So Europe is getting a respite from central Asian invaders while the imperial structure is still just barely salvageable. That's why this period is so uniquely crucial—why the fabric of reality is so very weak."

They swept on over the Flemish lowlands and out over the channel. The sun had caught up with them, and far below gleamed the white cliffs of Dover.

* * *

"Silence! In the name of God and of the Augustus, I will have order here!"

The shouting and fist-brandishing halted, and in the sudden silence the two groups of men on opposite sides of the long table turned to the woman at its head. She had risen from her high seat to shout them down, and now she stood glaring at them, silently defying anyone to disobey her. None did.

Gwenhwyvaer, wife (albeit long-separated) of Artorius Augustus and his regent here in Britain, was still magnificent in her fiftieth year. She still stood regally erect to the full stature that had, in her youth, reminded old men of her great-grandfather Magnus Maximus. The red-gold blaze of her hair had been damped down by the invasion of gray. But her eyes were still the same vivid blue which now flashed dangerously at the Britons to her right and the Saxons to her left. Seeing her, these men saw the visible presence of the empire.

The visible presence of the empire! What a colossal irony! Ambrosius, I hope you're watching now from whatever corner of Hell is reserved for censorious prigs—you, who always saw me as a separatist enemy of the Rome you worshipped, and hated me for it.
Gwenhwyvaer's features stiffened as usual at the thought of the general who had been Artorius' regent until his death; but then they relaxed just a bit, and a slight smile crept out.
And yet, you old bastard, the greatest irony of all is that now that I sit in this seat I almost wish I had you back. Not quite . . . but almost.

She shook her head to clear it of old memories. Ambrosius' victories over the rebelling Saxon
foederatii
had laid the groundwork for Artorius to restore the High Kingship that Ambrosius himself had refused to accept. But marrying a descendant of Maximus had given the young High King legitimacy, in this land with its matrilinear traditions that the Romans called "Celtic" but which dated back to forgotten peoples before the coming of the Celts. So, to the Britons at least, she represented not just the Augustus of Rome but the High King as well. As for the Saxons . . . well, they had only recently settled into the role of imperial subjects, and the British High Kingship meant nothing to them. But the name of Artorius did. And they knew her for an ally.

More irony,
she thought.
By trying to smooth the Saxons' assimilation into Britain, I've alienated my own natural supporters, the British diehards.
She turned to those diehards' leader.

"Cador, I see that I was wise to order all weapons turned over to my guards at the start of these conferences. I know it's folly to expect young hotheads to hold their tempers—but you? At your age?"