Lest Darkness Fall (35 page)

            Padway told Urias
immediately, and urged: "Don't say anything for a few hours. This election
is in the bag — I mean it's certain — and we don't want to disturb it."

            But rumors began to
circulate. Telegraph systems are run by human beings, and few groups of more than
a dozen human beings have kept a secret for long. By the time Urias' election
by a two-to-one majority was announced, the Goths were staging an impromptu
demonstration in the streets of Florence, demanding to be led against the
invader.

            Then more details came in.
The Imperialists army was commanded by Bloody John, and numbered a good fifty
thousand men. Evidently Justinian, furious about Padway's letter, had been
shipping adequate force into Sicily in relays.

            Padway and Urias figured
that they could, without recalling troops from Provence and Dalmatia, assemble
perhaps half again as many troops as Bloody John had. But further news soon
reduced this estimate. That able, ferocious, and unprincipled soldier sent a
detachment across the Sila Mountains by a secondary road from Vibo to
Scyllacium, while he advanced with his main body down the Popilian Way to
Reggio. The Reggio garrison of fifteen thousand men, trapped at the end of the
toe of the boot, struck a few blows for the sake of their honor and surrendered.
Bloody John reunited his forces and started north toward the ankle.

            Padway saw Urias off in Rome
with many misgivings. The army looked impressive, surely, with its new corps of
horse archers and its batteries of mobile catapults. But Padway knew that the
new units were inexperienced in their novel ways of fighting, and that the
organization was likely to prove brittle in practice.

            Once Urias and the army had
left, there was no more point in worrying. Padway resumed his experiments with
gunpowder. Perhaps he should try charcoal from different woods. But this meant
time, a commodity of which Padway had precious little. He soon learned that he
had none at all.

            By piecing together the
contradictory information that came in by telegraph, Padway figured out that
this had happened: Thiudegiskel had reached his force in Calabria without
interference. He had refused to recognize the telegraphic order depriving him
of his command, and had talked his men into doing likewise. Padway guessed that
the words of an able and self-confident speaker like Thiudegiskel would carry
more weight with the mostly illiterate Goths than a brief, cold message
arriving over the mysterious contraption.

            Bloody John had moved
cautiously; he had only reached Consentia when Urias arrived to face him. That
might have been arranged beforehand with Thiudegiskel, to draw Urias far enough
south to trap him.

            But, while Urias and Bloody
John sparred for openings along the river Crathis, Thiudegiskel arrived in
Urias' rear- on the Imperialist side. Though he had only five thousand lancers,
their unexpected charge broke the main Gothic army's morale. In fifteen minutes
the Crathis Valley was full of thousands of Goths — lancers, horse archers,
foot archers, and pike-men — streaming off in every direction. Thousands were
ridden down by Bloody John's cuirassiers and the large force of Gepid and
Lombard horse he had with him. Other thousands surrendered. The rest ran off
into the hills, where the rapidly gathering dusk hid them.

            Urias managed to hold his
lifeguard regiment together, and attacked Thiudegiskel's force of deserters.
The story was that Urias had personally killed Thiudegiskel. Padway, knowing
the fondness of soldiers for myths of this sort, had his doubts. But it was agreed
that Thiudegiskel had been killed, and that Urias and his men had disappeared
into the Imperial host in one final, desperate charge, and had been seen no
more by those on the Gothic side who escaped from the field.

            For hours Padway sat at his
desk, staring at the pile of telegraph messages and at a large and painfully
inaccurate map of Italy.

            "Can I get you
anything, excellent boss?" asked Fritharik.

            Padway shook his head.

            Junianus shook his head.
"I fear that our Martinus' mind has become unhinged by disaster."

            Fritharik snorted.
"That just shows you don't know him. He gets that way when he's planning
something. Just wait. He'll have a devilish clever scheme for upsetting the
Greeks yet."

            Junianus put his head in the
door. "Some more messages, my lord."

            "What are they?"

            "Bloody John is halfway
to Salerno. The natives are welcoming him. Belisarius reports he has defeated a
large force of Franks."

            "Come here, Junianus.
Would you two boys mind stepping out for a minute? Now, Junianus, you're a
native of Lucania, aren't you?"

            "Yes, my lord."

            "You were a serf,
weren't you?"

            "Well... uh ... my lord
... you see —" The husky young man suddenly looked fearful.

            "Don't worry; I
wouldn't let you be dragged back to your landlord's estate for anything."

            "Well — yes, my
lord."

            "When the messages
speak of the 'natives' welcoming the Imperialists, doesn't that mean the
Italian landlords more than anybody else?"

            "Yes, my lord. The
serfs don't care one way or the other. One landlord is as oppressive as the
next, so why should they get themselves killed fighting for any set of masters,
Greek or Italian or Gothic as the case may be?"

            "If they were offered
their holdings as free proprietors, with no landlords to worry about, do you
think they'd fight for that?"

            "Why" — Junianus
took a deep breath — "I think they would. Yes. Only it's such an
extraordinary idea, if you don't mind my saying so."

            "Even on the side of
Arian heretics?"

            "I don't think that
would matter. The curials and the city folk may take their Orthodoxy seriously.
But a lot of the peasants are half pagan anyway. And they worship their land
more than any alleged heavenly powers."

            "That's about what I
thought," said Padway. "Here are some messages to send out. The first
is an edict, issued by me in Urias' name, emancipating the serfs of Bruttium,
Lucania, Calabria, Apulia, Campania, and Samnium. The second is an order to
General Belisarius to leave screening force in Provence to fight a delaying
action in case the Franks attack again and return south with his main body at
once. Oh, Fritharik! Will you get Gudareths for me? And I want to see the
foreman of the printshop."

            When Gudareths arrived,
Padway explained his plans to him. The little Gothic officer whistled.
"My, my, that is a desperate measure, respectable Martinus. I'm not sure
the Royal Council will approve. If you free all these low-born peasants, how
shall we get them back into serfdom again?"

            "We won't,"
snapped Padway. "As for the Royal Council, most of them were with
Urias."

            "But, Martinus, you
can't make a fighting force out of them in a week or two. Take the word of an
old soldier who has killed hundreds of foes with his own right arm. Yes,
thousands, by God!"

            "I know all that,"
said Padway wearily.

            "What then? These
Italians are no good for fighting. No spirit. You'd better rely on what Gothic
forces we can scrape together. Real fighters, like me."

            Padway said: "I don't
expect to lick Bloody John with raw recruits. But we can give him a hostile
country to advance through. You tend to those pikes, and dig up some more
retired officers."

            Padway got his army together
and set out from Rome on a bright spring morning. It was not much of an army to
look at: elderly Goths who had supposed themselves retired from active service,
and young sprigs whose voices had not finished changing.

            As they cluttered down
Patrician Street from the Pretorian Camp, Padway had an idea. He told his staff
to keep on; he'd catch up with them. And off he cantered, poddle-op, poddle-op,
up the Suburban Slope toward the Esquiline.

            Dorothea came out of
Anicius' house. "Martinus!" she cried. "Are you off somewhere
again?"

            "That's right."

            "You haven't paid us a
real call in months! Every time I see you, you have only a minute before you
must jump on your horse and gallop off somewhere."

            Padway made a helpless
gesture. "It'll be different when I've retired from all this damned war
and politics. Is your excellent father in?"

            "No; he's at the library.
He'll be disappointed not to have seen you."

            "Give him my
best."

            "Is there going to be
more war? I've heard Bloody John is in Italy."

            "It looks that
way."

            "Will you be in the
fighting?"

            "Probably."

            "Oh, Martinus. Wait
just a moment." She ran into the house.

            She returned with a little
leather bag on a loop of string. "This will keep you safe if anything
will."

            "What is it?"

            "A fragment of St.
Polycarp's skull."

            Padway's eyebrows went up.
"Do you believe in its effectiveness?"

            "Oh, certainly. My
mother paid enough for it, there's no doubt that it's genuine." She
slipped the loop over his head and tucked the bag through the neck opening in
his cloak.

            It had not occurred to
Padway that a well-educated girl would accept the superstitions of her age. At
the same time he was touched. He said: "Thank you, Dorothea, from the
bottom of my heart. But there's something that I think will be a more effective
charm yet."

            "What?"

            "This." He kissed
her mouth lightly, and threw himself aboard his horse. Dorothea stood with a
surprised but not displeased look. Padway swung the animal around and sent it
back down the avenue
, poddle-op, poddle-op
. He turned in the saddle to
wave back — and was almost pitched off. The horse plunged and skidded into the
nigh ox of a team that had just pulled a wagon out of a side street.

            The driver shouted: "
Carus-dominus,
Jesus-Christus, Maria-mater-Dei
, why don't you look where you're going?
San'tus-Petrus-Paulusque-Joannesque-Lucasque
..."

            By the time the driver had
run out of apostles Padway had ascertained that there was no damage. Dorothea
was not in sight. He hoped that she had not witnessed the ruin of his pretty
gesture.

-

            IT WAS THE LATTER part of
May, 537, when Padway entered Benevento with his army. Little by little the
force had grown as the remnants of Urias' army trickled north. Only that
morning a forage-cutting party had found three of these Goths who had settled
down comfortably in a local farmhouse over the owner's protests, and prepared
to sit out the rest of the war in comfort. These joined up, too, though not
willingly.

            Instead of coming straight
down the Tyrrhenian or western coast to Naples, Padway had marched across Italy
to the Adriatic, and had come down that coast to Teate. Then he had cut inland
to Lucera and Benevento. As there was no telegraph line yet on the east coast,
Padway kept in touch with Bloody John's movements by sending messengers across
the Apennines to the telegraph stations that were still out of the enemy's
hands. He timed his movements to reach Benevento after John had captured
Salerno on the other side of the peninsula, had left a detachment masking
Naples, and had started for Rome by the Latin Way.