Lest Darkness Fall (36 page)

            Padway hoped to come down on
his rear in the neighborhood of Capua, while Belisarius, if he got his orders
straight, would come directly from Rome and attack the Imperialists in front.

            Somewhere between Padway and
the Adriatic was Gudareths, profanely shepherding a train of wagons full of
pikes and of handbills bearing Padway's emancipation proclamation. The pikes
had been dug out of attics and improvised out of fence palings and such things.
The Gothic arsenals at Pavia, Verona, and other northern cities had been too
far away to be of help in time.

            The news of the emancipation
had spread like a gasoline fire. The peasants had risen all over southern
Italy. But they seemed more interested in sacking and burning their landlords'
villas than in joining the army.

            A small fraction of them had
joined up; this meant several thousand men. Padway, when he rode back to the
rear of his column and watched this great disorderly rabble swarming along the
road, chattering like magpies and taking time out to snooze when they felt like
it, wondered how much of an asset they would be. Here and there one wore
great-grandfather's legionary helmet and loricated cuirass, which had been
hanging on the wall of his cottage for most of a century.

            Benevento is on a small hill
at the confluence of the Calore and Sabbato Rivers. As they plodded into the
town, Padway saw several Goths sitting against one of the houses. One of these
looked familiar. Padway rode up to him, and cried: "Dagalaif!"

            The marshal looked up.
"Hails," he said in a toneless, weary voice. There was a bandage
around his head, stained with black blood where his left ear should have been.
"We heard you were coming this way, so we waited."

            "Where's Nevitta?"

            "My father is
dead."

            "What? Oh." Padway
was silent for seconds. Then he said: "Oh, hell. He was one of the few
real friends I had."

            "I know. He died like a
true Goth."

            Padway sighed and went about
his business of getting his force settled. Dagalaif continued sitting against
the wall, looking at nothing in particular.

            They lay in Benevento for a
day. Padway learned that Bloody John had almost passed the road junction at
Calatia on his way north. There was no news from Belisarius, so that the best
Padway could hope for was to fight a delaying action, and hold John in southern
Italy until more forces arrived.

            Padway left his infantry in
Benevento and rode down to Calatia with his cavalry. By this time he had a
fairly respectable force of mounted archers. They were not as good as the
Imperialist cuirassiers, but they would have to do.

            Fritharik, riding beside
him, said: "Aren't the flowers pretty, excellent boss? They remind me of
the gardens in my beautiful estate in Carthage. Ah, that was something to see
—"

            Padway turned a haggard
face. He could still grin, though it hurt. "Getting poetical,
Fritharik?"

            "
Me
a poet?
Honh!
Just because I like to have some pleasant memories for my last earthly ride
—"

            "What do you mean, your
last?"

            "I mean my last, and
you can't tell me anything different. Bloody John outnumbers us three to one,
they say. It won't be a nameless grave for us, because they won't bother to
bury us. Last night I had a prophetic dream ..."

            As they approached Calatia,
where Trajan's Way athwart Italy joined the Latin Way from Salerno to Rome, their
scouts reported that the tail of Bloody John's army had just pulled out of
town. Padway snapped his orders. A squadron of lancers trotted out in front,
and a force of mounted archers followed them. They disappeared down the road.
Padway rode up to the top of a knoll to watch them. They got smaller and
smaller, disappearing and reappearing over humps in the road. He could hear the
faint murmur of John's army, out of sight over the olive groves.

            Then there was shouting and
clattering, tiny with distance, like a battle between gnats and mosquitoes.
Padway fretted with impatience. His telescope was no help, not being able to
see around corners. The little sounds went on, and on, and on. Faint columns of
smoke began to rise over the olive trees. Good; that meant that his men had set
fire to Bloody John's wagon train. His first worry had been that they'd insist
on plundering it in spite of orders.

            Then a little dark cluster,
toppled by rested lances that looked as thin as hairs, appeared on the road.
Padway squinted through his telescope to make sure they were his men. He
trotted down the knoll and gave some more orders. Half his horse archers spread
themselves out in a long crescent on either side of the road, and a body of
lancers grouped themselves behind it.

            Time passed, and the men
sweated in their scale-mail shirts. Then the advance guard appeared, riding
hard. They were grinning, and some waved bits of forbidden plunder. They
clattered down the road between the waiting bowmen.

            Their commander rode up to
Padway. "Worked like a charm!" he shouted. "We came down on
their wagons, chased off the wagon guards, and set them on fire. Then they came
back at us. We did like you said; spread the bowmen out and filled them full of
quills as they charged; then hit them with the lance when they were all nice
and confused. They came back for more, twice. Then John himself came down on us
with his whole damned army. So we cleared out. They'll be along any
minute."

            "Fine," replied
Padway. "You know your orders. Wait for us at Mt. Tifata pass."

            So they departed, and Padway
waited. But not for long. A column of Imperial cuirassiers appeared, riding
hell-for-leather. Padway knew this meant Bloody John was sacrificing order to
speed in his pursuit, as troops couldn't travel through the fields and groves
alongside the road at any such rate. Even if he'd deployed it would take his
wings some time to come up.

            The Imperialists grew bigger
and bigger, and their hoofs made a great pounding on the stone-paved road. They
looked very splendid, with their cloaks and plumes on their officers' helmets
streaming out behind. Their commander, in gilded armor, saw what he was coming
to and gave an order. Lances were slung over shoulders and bows were strung. By
that time they were well within range of the crescent, and the Goths opened
fire. The quick, flat snap of the bowstrings and the whiz of the arrows added
themselves to the clamor of the Byzantines' approach. The commander's horse, a
splendid white animal, reared up and was bowled over by another horse that
charged into it. The head of the Imperialist column crumpled up into a mass of
milling horses and men.

            Padway looked at the
commander of his body of lancers; swung his arm around his head twice and
pointed at the Imperialists. The line of horse archers opened up, and the
Gothic knights charged through. As usual they went slowly at first, but by the
time they reached the Imperialists their heavy horses had picked up
irresistible momentum. Back went the cuirassiers with a great clatter,
defending themselves desperately at close quarters, but pulling out and getting
their bows into action as soon as they could.

            Out of the corner of his
eye, Padway saw a group of horsemen ride over a nearby hilltop. That meant that
Bloody John's wings were coming up. He had his trumpeter signal the retreat.
But the knights kept on pressing the Imperialist column back. They had the
advantage in weight of men and horses, and they knew it. Padway kicked his
horse into a gallop down the road after them. If he didn't stop the damned
fools they'd be swallowed up by the Imperialist army.

            An arrow went by Padway
uncomfortably close. He found the peculiar screech that it made much harder on
the nerves than he'd expected. He caught up with his Goths, dragged their
commander out of the press by main force, and shouted in his ear that it was
time to withdraw.

            The men yelled back at him:
"
Ni! Nist!
Good fighting!" and tore out of Padway's grip to
plunge back in.

            While Padway wondered what
to do, an Imperialist broke through the Goths and rode straight at him. Padway
had not thought to get his sword out. He drew it now, then had to throw himself
to one side to avoid the other's lance point. He lost a stirrup, lost his
reins, and almost lost his sword and his horse. By the time he had pulled
himself back upright, the Imperialist was out of sight. Padway in his haste had
nicked his own horse with his sword. The animal began to dance around angrily.
Padway dug his left fingers into its mane and hung on.

            The Goths now began to
stream back down the road. In a few seconds they were all galloping off except
a few surrounded by the Imperialists. Padway wondered miserably if he'd be left
on this uncontrollable nag to face the Byzantines alone, when the horse of its
own accord set off after its fellows.

            In theory it was a strategic
retreat. But from the look of the Gothic knights, Padway wondered if it would
be possible to stop them this side of the Alps.

            Padway's horse tossed its
reins up to where Padway could grab them. Padway had just begun to get the
animal under control when he sighted a man on foot, bareheaded but gaudy in
gilded armor. It was the commander of the Imperialist column. Padway rode at
him. The man started to run. Padway started to swing his sword, then realized
that he had no sword to swing. He had no recollection of dropping it, but he
must have done so when he grabbed the reins. He leaned over and grabbed a
fistful of hair. The man yelled, and came along in great bucking jumps.

            A glance back showed that
the Imperialists had disposed of the Goths who had not been able to extricate
themselves, and were getting their pursuit under way.

            Padway handed his prisoner
over to a Goth. The Goth leaned and pulled the Imperialist officer up over his
pommel, face down, so that half of him hung on each side. Padway saw him ride
off, happily spanking the unfortunate Easterner with the flat of his sword.

            According to plan, the horse
archers fell in behind the lancers and galloped after them, the rearmost ones
shooting backward.

            It was nine miles to the
pass, most of it uphill. Padway hoped never to have such a ride again. He was
sure that at the next jounce his guts would burst from his abdomen and spill
abroad. By the time they were within sight of the pass, the horses of both the
pursued and the pursuers were so blown that both were walking. Some men had
even dismounted to lead their horses. Padway remembered the story of the day in
Texas that was so hot that a coyote was seen chasing a jackrabbit with both
walking. He translated the story into Gothic, making a coyote a fox, and told
it to the nearest soldier. It ran slowly down the line.

            The bluffs were yellow in a
late afternoon sun when the Gothic column finally stumbled through the pass.
They had lost few men, but any really vigorous pursuer could have ridden them
down and rolled them out of their saddles with ease. Fortunately the
Imperialists were just about as tired. But they came on nevertheless.

            Padway heard one officer's
shout, echoing up the walls of the pass: "You'll rest when I tell you to,
you lazy swine!"

            Padway looked around, and
saw with satisfaction that the force he had sent up ahead were waiting quietly
in their places. These were the men who had not been used at all yet. The gang
who had burned the wagons were drawn up behind them, and those who had just
fled sprawled on the ground still farther up the pass.

            On came the Imperialists.
Padway could see men's heads turn as they looked nervously up the slopes. But
Bloody John had apparently not yet admitted that his foe might be conducting an
intelligent campaign. The Imperialist column clattered echoing into the
narrowest part of the pass, the slanting rays of the sun shooting after them.

            Then there was a great
thumping roar as boulders and tree trunks came bounding down the slopes. A
horse shrieked quite horribly, and the Imperialists scuttled around like ants
whose nest had been disturbed. Padway signaled a squadron of lancers to charge.