Lest Darkness Fall (21 page)

            To Padway's questions and
his instructions about taking turns at watching the road, he merely grinned
idiotically and said, "
Ja, ja!
" He had finally gone to sleep
in the middle of a sentence, and no amount of shaking would arouse him.

            Padway walked up and down in
the shade, listening to Hermann's snores and trying to think. He had not slept
since the previous day, and here that whiskery slob was taking the ease that
he, Padway, needed badly. Maybe he should have grabbed a couple of hours at
Nevitta's — but if he'd once gotten to sleep nothing short of an earthquake
would have gotten him up. His stomach was jumpy; he had no appetite; and this
accursed sixth-century world didn't even have coffee to lighten the weights
that dragged down the eyelids.

            Suppose Thiudahad didn't
show up? Or suppose he went roundabout, by the Salarian Way? Or suppose he'd
already passed? Time after time he'd tensed himself as dust appeared down the
road, only to have it materialize as a farmer driving an oxcart, or a trader
slouching along on a mule, or a small half-naked boy driving goats.

            Could his, Padway's,
influence have changed Thiudahad's plans so that his course of action would be
different from what it should have been? Padway saw his influence as a set of
ripples spreading over a pool. By the mere fact of having known him, the lives
of people like Thomasus and Fritharik had already been changed radically from
what they would have been if he'd never appeared in Rome.

            But Thiudahad had only seen
him twice, and nothing very drastic had happened either time. Thiudahad's
course in time and space might have been altered, but only very slightly. The
other higher-up Goths, such as King Wittigis, ought not to have been affected
at all. Some of them might have read his paper. But few of them were literary
and many were plain illiterate.

            Tancredi had been right
about the fact that this was an entirely new branch of the tree of time, as he
called it. The things that Padway had done so far, while only a fraction of
what he hoped to do, couldn't help change history somewhat. Yet he had not
vanished into thin air, as he should have if this was the same history that had
produced him in the year 1908 A.D.

            He glanced at his wrist, and
remembered that his watch was cached in the Wall of Aurelian. He hoped he'd get
a chance to recover it some day, and that it would be in running order when he
did.

            That new bit of dust down
the road was probably another damned cow or flock of sheep. No, it was a man on
a horse. Probably some fat Narnian burgher. He was in a hurry, whoever he was.
Padway's ears caught the blowing of a hard-ridden mount; then he recognized
Thiudahad.

            "Hermann!" he
yelled.

            "
Akhkhkhkhkhkhg
,"
snored Hermann. Padway ran over and poked the Goth with his boot. Hermann said:
"
Akhkhkhkhg. Akhkhkhg. Meina luibs-guhhg. Akhkhkhg
."

            Padway gave up; the ex-king
would be up to them in an instant. He swung aboard his horse and trotted out
into the road with his arm up. "
Hai
, Thiudahad! My lord!"

            Thiudahad kicked his horse
and hauled on the reins at the same time, apparently undecided whether to stop,
try to run past Padway, or turn around the way he had come. The exasperated
animal thereupon put his head down and bucked, The waters of the Nar showed
blue between Thiudahad and his saddle for a second; he came down on the saddle
with a thump and clutched it frantically. His face was white with terror and
brown with dust.

            Padway leaned over and
gathered up the reins. "Calm yourself, my lord," he said.

            "Who ... who ... what —
Oh, it's the publisher. What's your name? Don't tell me; I know it. Why are you
stopping me? I've got to get to Ravenna ... Ravenna —"

            "Calm yourself. You'd
never reach Ravenna alive."

            "What do you mean? Are
you out to murder me, too?"

            "Not at all. But, as
you may have heard, I have some small skill at reading the future."

            "Oh, dear, yes, I've
heard. What's ... what's my future? Don't tell me I'm going to be killed!
Please
don't tell me that, excellent Martinus. I don't want to die. If they'll just
let me live I won't bother anybody again, ever." The little gray-bearded
man fairly gibbered with fright.

            "If you'll keep still
for a few minutes, I'll tell you what I see. Do you remember when, for a
consideration, you swindled a noble Goth out of a beautiful heiress who had
been promised to him in marriage?"

            "Oh, dear me. That
would be Optaris Winithar's son, wouldn't it? Only don't say 'swindled,'
excellent Martinus. I merely ... ah ... exerted my influence on the side of the
better man. But why?"

            "Wittigis gave Optaris
a commission to hunt you down and kill you. He's following you now, riding day
and night. If you continue toward Ravenna, this Optaris will catch up with you
before you get there, pull you off your horse, and cut your throat — like this,
khh!
" Padway clutched his own beard with one hand, tilted up his
chin, and drew a finger across his Adam's apple.

            Thiudahad covered his face
with his hands. "What'll I do, what'll I do? If I could get to Ravenna, I
have friends there —"

            "That's what you think.
I know better."

            "But isn't there
anything? I mean, is Optaris fated to kill me no matter what I do? Can't we
hide?"

            "Perhaps. My prophecy
is good only if you try to carry out your original plan."

            "Well, we'll hide,
then."

            "All right, just as
soon as I get this fellow awake." Padway indicated Hermann.

            "Why wait for him? Why
not just leave him?'"

            "He works for a friend
of mine. He was supposed to take care of me, but it's turned out the other way
around." They dismounted, and Padway resumed his efforts to arouse
Hermann.

            Thiudahad sat down on the
grass and moaned: "Such ingratitude! And I was such a good king —"

            "Sure," said
Padway acidly, "except for breaking your oath to Amalaswentha not to
interfere in public affairs, and then having her murdered —"

            "But you don't
understand, excellent Martinus. She had our noblest patriot, Count Tulum,
murdered, along with those other two friends of her son Athalarik —"

            "— and intervening — for
a consideration, again — in the last Papal election; offering to sell Italy to
Justinian in return for an estate near Constantinople and an annuity —"

            "
What
? How did
you know — I mean it's a lie!"

            "I know lots of things.
To continue: neglecting the defense of Italy; failing to relieve Naples —"

            "Oh, dear me. You don't
understand, I tell you. I hate all this military business. I admit I'm no
soldier; I'm a scholar. So I leave it to my generals. That's only sensible,
isn't it?"

            "As events have proved
— no."

            "Oh, dear. Nobody
understands me," moaned Thiudahad. "I'll tell you, Martinus, why I
did nothing about Naples. I knew it was no use. I had gone to a Jewish
magician, Jeconias of Naples, who has a great reputation for successful
prophecy. Everybody knows the Jews are good at that. This man took thirty hogs,
and put ten in each of three pens. One pen was labeled 'Goths,' one 'Italians,'
and one 'Imperialists.' He starved them for some weeks. We found that all the
'Goths' had died; that the 'Italians' were some of them dead, and the rest had
lost their hair; but the 'Imperialists' were doing fine. So we knew the Goths
were bound to lose. In that case, why sacrifice a lot of brave boys' lives to
no effect?"

            "Bunk," said
Padway. "My prophecies are as good as that fat faker's any day. Ask my
friends. But any prophecy is good only as long as you follow your original
plans. If you follow yours, you'll get your throat cut like one of your magical
hogs. If you want to live, you'll do as I say and like it."

            "What? Now, look here,
Martinus, even if I'm not king anymore, I'm of noble birth, and I won't be
dictated to —"

            "Suit yourself."
Padway rose and walked toward his horse. "I'll ride down the road a way.
When I meet Optaris, I'll tell him where to find you."

            "Eek! Don't do that!
I'll do what you say! I'll do anything, only don't let that awful man catch
me!"

            "All right. If you obey
orders, I may even be able to get you back your kingship. But it'll be purely
nominal this time, understand." Padway didn't miss the crafty gleam in
Thiudahad's eyes. Then the eyes shifted past Padway.

            "Here he comes! It's
the murderer, Optaris!" he squealed.

-

            Padway spun around. Sure
enough, a burly Goth was smoking up the road toward them. This was a fine state
of affairs, thought Padway. He'd wasted so much time talking that the pursuer
had caught up with them. He should have had a few hours' leeway still; but
there the man was. What to do; what to do?

            He had no weapon but a knife
designed for cutting steaks rather than human throats. Thiudahad had no sword,
either. To Padway, brought up in a world of Thompson submachine-guns, swords
seemed silly weapons, always catching you between the knees. So it had never
occurred to him to form the habit of toting one. He realized his error as his
eye caught the flash of Optaris' blade. The Goth leaned forward and kicked his
horse straight at them.

            Thiudahad stood rooted to
the spot, trembling violently and making little meowing sounds of terror. He
wet his dry lips and squealed one word over and over: "Armaio!
Mercy!" Optaris grinned through his beard and swung his right arm up.

            At the last instant Padway
dived at the ex-king and tackled him, rolling him out of the way of Optaris'
horse. He scrambled up as Optaris reined in furiously, the animal's hoofs
kicking dust forward as they braked. Thiudahad got up, too, and bolted for the
shelter of the trees. With a yell of rage Optaris jumped to the ground and took
after him. Meantime, Padway had had a rush of brains to the head. He bent over
Hermann, who was beginning to revive, tore Hermann's sword out of the scabbard,
and sprinted to cut off Optaris. It wasn't necessary. Optaris saw him coming
and started for him, evidently preferring to settle with Padway before the
latter could take him in flank.

            Now Padway cursed himself
for all kinds of a fool. He had only the crudest theoretical knowledge of
fencing, and no practical experience whatever. The heavy Gothic broadsword was
unfamiliar and uncomfortable in his sweaty hand. He could see the whites of
Optaris' eyes as the Goth trotted up to him, took his measure, shifted his
weight, and whipped his sword arm up for a back-hand slash.

            Padway's parry was more
instinctive than designed. The blades met with a great clang, and Padway's
borrowed sword went sailing away, end over end, into the woods. Quick as a
flash Optaris struck again, but met only air and swung himself halfway around.
If Padway was an incompetent fencer, there was nothing the matter with his
legs. He sprinted after his sword, found it, and kept right on running with
Optaris panting heavily after him. He'd been a minor quarter-mile star in
college; if he could run the legs off Optaris maybe the odds would be nearer
even when they finally —
umph!
He tripped over a root and sprawled on
his face.

            Somehow he rolled over and
got to his feet before Optaris came up to him. And, somehow, he got himself
between Optaris and a pair of big oaks that grew too close together to be
squeezed between. So there was nothing for him to do but stand and take it. As
the Goth chumped forward and swung his sword over his head, Padway, in a last
despairing gesture, thrust as far as he could at Optaris' exposed chest, more
with the idea of keeping the man off than of hurting him.