Lest Darkness Fall (33 page)

            Padway told the king's house
physician: "Take care of him, and don't let him out. The rest of you, go
back to work as if nothing had happened. Somebody take charge of the body.
Replace this rug, and make the preparations for a dignified but modest funeral.
Urias, maybe you'd better tend to that." Urias was weeping. "Come on,
old man, you can do your grieving later. I sympathize, but we've got things to
do." He whispered something to him, whereat Urias cheered up.

-

            THE MEMBERS of the Gothic
Royal Council appeared at Padway's office with a variety of scowls. They were
men of substance and leisure, and did not like being dragged practically away
from their breakfast tables, especially by a mere civil functionary.

            Padway acquainted them with
the circumstances. His news shocked them to temporary silence. He continued:
"As you know, my lords, under the unwritten constitution of the Gothic
nation, an insane king must be replaced as soon as possible. Permit me to
suggest that present circumstances make the replacement of the unfortunate
Thiudahad an urgent matter."

            Wakkis growled: "That's
partly
your
doing, young man. We could have bought off the Franks
—"

            "Yes, my lord. I know
all that. The trouble is that the Franks won't stay bought, as you very well
know. In any event, what's done is done. Neither the Franks nor Justinian have
moved against us yet. If we can run the election of a new king off quickly, we
shall not be any worse off than we are."

            Wakkis replied: "We
shall have to call another convention of the electors, I suppose."

            Another councilor,
Mannfrith, spoke up: "Apparently our young friend is right, much as I hate
to take advice from outsiders. When and where shall the convention be?"

            There were a lot of
uncertain throaty noises from the Goths. Padway said: "If my lords please,
I have a suggestion. Our new civil capital is to be at Florence, and what more
fitting way of inaugurating it is there than holding our election there?"

            There was more growling, but
nobody produced a better idea. Padway knew perfectly well that they didn't like
following his directions, but that, on the other hand, they were glad to shirk
thought and responsibility themselves.

            Wakkis said: "We shall
have to give time for the messages to go out, and for the electors to reach
Florence —"

            Just then Urias came in.
Padway took him aside and whispered: "What did she say?"

            "She says she
will."

            "When?"

            "Oh, in about ten days,
I think. It don't look very nice so soon after my uncle's death."

            "Never mind that. It's
now or never."

            Mannfrith asked. "Who
shall the candidates be? I'd like to run myself, only my rheumatism has been
bothering me so."

            Somebody said:
"Thiudegiskel will be one. He's Thiudahad's logical successor."

            Padway said: "I think
you'll be pleased to hear that our esteemed General Urias will be a
candidate."

            "What?" cried
Wakkis. "He's a fine young man, I admit, but he's ineligible. He's not an
Amaling."

            Padway broke into a
triumphant grin. "Not now, my lords, but he will be by the time the
election is called." The Goths looked startled. "And, my lords, I
hope you'll all give us the pleasure of your company at the wedding."

            During the wedding
rehearsal, Mathaswentha got Padway aside. She said: "Really, Martinus,
you've been most noble about this. I hope you won't grieve too much."

            Padway tried his best to
look noble. "My dear, your happiness is mine. And if you love this young
man, I think you're doing just the right thing."

            "I
do
love
him," replied Mathaswentha. "Promise me you won't sit around and
mope, but will go out and find some nice girl who is suited to you."

            Padway sighed convincingly.
"It'll be hard to forget, my dear. But since you ask it, I'll promise.
Now, now, don't cry. What will Urias think? You want to make
him
happy,
don't you? There, that's a sensible girl."

            The wedding itself was quite
a gorgeous affair in a semi-barbaric way. Padway discovered an unsuspected
taste for stage management, and introduced a wrinkle he'd seen in pictures of
United States Military Academy weddings: that of having Urias' friends make an
arch of swords under which the bride and groom walked on their way down the
church steps. Padway himself looked as dignified as his moderate stature and
nondescript features permitted. Inwardly he was holding on tight to repress a
snicker. It had just occurred to him that Urias' long robe looked amazingly
like a bathrobe he, Padway, had once owned, except that Padway's robe hadn't
had pictures of saints embroidered on it in gold thread.

            As the happy couple
departed, Padway ducked out of sight around a pillar. Mathaswentha, if she saw
him out of the tail of her eye, may have thought that he was shedding a final
tear. But actually he was allowing himself the luxury of a long-drawn
'Whew!" of relief.

            Before he reappeared, he
heard a couple of Goths talking on the other side of the pillar:

            "He'd make a good king,
eh, Albehrts?"

            "Maybe.
He
would, by himself. But I fear he'll be under the influence of this Martinus
person. Not that I have anything specifically against Mysterious Martin, you
understand. But — you know how it is."

            "
Ja, ja
. Oh,
well, one can always flip a sesterce to decide which to vote for."

-

            Padway had every intention
of keeping Urias under his influence. It seemed possible. Urias disliked and
was impatient with matters of civil administration. He was a competent soldier,
and at the same time was receptive to Padway's ideas. Padway thought somberly
that if anything happened to this king he'd hunt a long time before finding
another as satisfactory.

            Padway had the news of the
impending election sent out over the telegraph, thereby saving the week that
would normally be necessary for messengers to travel the length and breadth of
Italy, and incidentally convincing some of the Goths of the value of his
contraptions. Padway also sent out another message, ordering all the higher
military commanders to remain at their posts. He sold Urias the idea by arguing
military necessity. His real reason was a determination to keep Thiudegiskel in
Calabria during the election. Knowing Urias, he didn't dare explain this plan
to him, for fear Urias would have an attack of knightly honor and, as ranking
general, countermand the order.

            The Goths had never seen an
election conducted on time-honored American principles. Padway showed them. The
electors arrived in Florence to find the town covered with enormous banners and
posters reading:

-

VOTE FOR URIAS,
THE

PEOPLE'S CHOICE!

Lower taxes!
Bigger public works! Security for the aged!

Efficient
government!

-

            And so forth. They also found
a complete system of ward-heelers to take them in tow, show them the town — not
that Florence was much to see in those days — and butter them up generally.

            Three days before the
election was due, Padway held a barbecue. He threw himself into debt for the
fixings. Well, not exactly; he threw poor Urias into debt, being much too
prudent to acquire any more liabilities in his own name than he could help.

            While he kept modestly in
the background, Urias made a speech. Padway later heard comments to the effect
that nobody had known Urias could make such good speeches. He grinned to
himself. He had written the speech and had spent all his evenings for a week
teaching Urias to deliver it. Privately Padway thought that his candidate's
delivery still stank. But if the electors didn't mind, there was no reason why
he should.

            Padway and Urias relaxed
afterward over a bottle of brandy. Padway said that the election looked like a
pushover, and then had to explain what a pushover was. Of the two opposing
candidates, one had withdrawn, and the other, Harjis Austrowald's son, was an
elderly man with only the remotest connection with the Amal family.

            Then one of the ward-healers
came in breathless. It seemed to Padway that people were always coming in to
see him breathless.

            The man barked:
"Thiudegiskel's here!"

            Padway wasted no time. He
found where Thiudegiskel was staying, rounded up a few Gothic soldiers, and set
out to arrest the young man. He found that Thiudegiskel had, with a gang of his
own friends, taken over one of the better inns in town, pitching the previous
guests and their belongings out in the street.

            The gang were gorging
themselves downstairs in plain sight. They hadn't yet changed their traveling
clothes, and they looked tired but tough. Padway marched in. Thiudegiskel
looked up. "Oh, it's you again. What do you want?"

            Padway announced: "I
have a warrant for your arrest on grounds of insubordination and deserting your
post, signed by Ur —"

            The high-pitched voice
interrupted: "
Ja, ja
, I know all about that, my dear
Sineigs
.
Maybe you thought I'd stay away from Florence while you ran off an election
without me, eh? But I'm not like that, Martinus. Not one little bit. I'm here,
I'm a candidate, and anything you try now I'll remember when I'm king. That's
one thing about me; I've got an infernally long memory."

            Padway turned to his
soldiers: "Arrest him!"

            There was a great scraping
of chairs as the gang rose to its collective feet and felt for its collective
sword hilts. Padway looked for his soldiers; they hadn't moved.

            "Well?" he
snapped.

            The oldest of them, a kind
of sergeant, cleared his throat. "Well, sir, it's this way. Now we know
you're our superior and all that. But things are kind of uncertain, with this
election and all, and we don't know whom we'll be taking orders from in a
couple of days. Suppose we arrest this young man, and then he gets elected
king? That wouldn't be so good for us, now would it, sir?"

            "Why — you —"
raged Padway.

            But the only effect was that
the soldiers began to slide out the door. The young Gothic noble named Willimer
was whispering to Thiudegiskel, sliding his sword a few inches out of the
scabbard and back.

            Thiudegiskel shook his head
and said to Padway: "My friend here doesn't seem to like you, Martinus. He
swears he'll pay you a visit as soon as the election is over. So it might be
healthier if you left Italy for a little trip. In fact, it's all I can do to
keep him from paying his visit right now."

            The soldiers were mostly
gone now. Padway realized that he'd better go too, if he didn't want these
well-born thugs to make hamburger of him.

            He mustered what dignity he
could. "You know the law against duelling."

            Thiudegiskel's invincibly
good-natured arrogance wasn't even dented. "Sure, I know it. But remember.
I'll
be the one enforcing it. I'm just giving you fair warning,
Martinus. That's one thing about —"

            But Padway didn't wait to
hear Thiudegiskel's next contribution to the inexhaustible subject of himself.
He went, full of rage and humiliation. By the time he finished cursing his own
stupidity and thought to round up his eastern troops — the few who weren't up
north with Belisarius — and make a second attempt, it was too late.
Thiudegiskel had collected a large crowd of partisans in and around the hotel,
and it would take a battle to dislodge them. The ex-Imperialists seemed far
from enthusiastic over the prospect, and Urias muttered something about its
being only honorable to let the late king's son have a fair try for the crown.