Lest Darkness Fall (38 page)

            Finally, on came the Gepids
and Lombards, roaring like lions. This time there wouldn't be any arrow fire to
slow them up. Bigger and bigger loomed the onrushing mass of longhaired giants
on their huge horses, waving their huge axes.

            Padway felt the way a violin
string must the moment before it snaps.

            There was a violent
commotion in his own ranks right in front of him. The backs of the Goths were
replaced by the brown faces of the peasants. These had dropped their pikes and
clawed their way back through the ranks, sword points or no sword points.
Padway had a glimpse of their popping eyes, their mouths gaping in screams of
terror, and he was bowled over by the wave. They stepped all over him. He
squirmed and kicked like a newt on a hook, wondering when the bare feet of the
Italians would be succeeded by the hoofs of the hostile cavalry. The
Italo-Gothic kingdom was done for, and all his work for nothing.

-

            The pressure and the
pounding let up. A battered Padway untangled himself from those who had tripped
over him. His whole line had begun to give way, but then had been frozen in the
act, staring — all but a Goth in front of him who was killing an Italian.

            The Imperialist heavy
cavalry was not to be seen. The dust was so thick that nothing much could be
seen. From beyond the pall in front of Padway's position came tramplings and
shoutings and clatterings.

            "What's happened?"
yelled Padway. Nobody answered. There was nothing to be seen in front of them
but dust, dust, dust. A couple of riderless horses ran dimly past them through
it, seeming to drift by like fish in a muddy aquarium tank.

            Then a man appeared, running
on foot. As he slowed down and walked up to the line of spears, Padway saw that
he was a Lombard.

            While Padway was wondering
if this was some lunatic out to tackle his army single-handed, the man shouted:
"
Armaio!
Mercy!" The Goths exchanged startled glances.

            Then a couple of more
barbarians appeared, one of them leading a horse. They yelled: "
Armaio,
timrja!
Mercy, comrade!
Armaio, frijond!
Mercy, friend!"

            A plumed Imperial cuirassier
rode up behind them, shouting in Latin: "
Amicus!
" Then
appeared whole companies of Imperialists, horse and foot, German, Slav, Hun,
and Anatolian mixed, bawling, "Mercy, friend!" in a score of
languages.

            A solid group of horsemen
with a Gothic standard in their midst rode through the Imperialists. Padway
recognized a tall, brown-bearded figure in their midst. He croaked:
"Belisarius!"

            The Thracian came up, leaned
over, and shook hands. "Martinus! I didn't know you with all that dust on
your face. I was afraid I'd be too late. We've been riding hard since dawn. We
hit them in the rear, and that was all there was to it. We've got Bloody John,
and your King Urias is safe. What shall we do with all these prisoners? There
must be twenty or thirty thousand of them at least."

            Padway rocked a little on
his feet. "Oh, round them up and put them in a camp or something. I don't
really care. I'm going to sleep on my feet in another minute."

-

            BACK IN ROME, Urias said
slowly: "Yes, I see your point. Men won't fight for a government they have
no stake in. But do you think we can afford to compensate all the loyal
landlords whose serfs you propose to free?"

            "We'll manage,"
said Padway. "It'll be over a period of years. And this new tax on slaves
will help." Padway did not explain that he hoped, by gradually boosting
the tax on slaves, to make slavery an altogether unprofitable institution. Such
an idea would have been too bewilderingly radical for even Urias' flexible
mind.

            Urias continued: "I
don't mind the limitations on the king's power in this new constitution of
yours. For myself, that is. I'm a soldier, and I'm just as glad to leave the
conduct of civil affairs to others. But I don't know about the Royal Council."

            "They'll agree. I have
them more or less eating out of my hand right now. I've shown them how without
the telegraph we could never have kept such good track of Bloody John's
movements, and without the printing press we could never have roused the serfs
so effectively."

            "What else is
there?"

            "We've got to write the
kings of the Franks, explaining politely that it's not our fault if the
Burgunds prefer our rule to theirs, but that we certainly don't propose to give
them back to their Meroving majesties.

            "We've also got to make
arrangements with the king of Vis-goths for fitting out our ships at Lisbon for
their trip to the lands across the Atlantic. He's named you his successor, by
the way, so when he dies the east and west Goths will be united again. Reminds
me, I have to make a trip to Naples. The shipbuilder down there says he never
saw such a crazy design as mine, which is for what we Americans would call a
Grand Banks schooner. Procopius'll have to go with me, to discuss details of his
history course at our new university."

            "Why are you so set on
this Atlantic expedition, Martinus?"

            "I'll tell you. In my
country we amused ourselves by sucking the smoke of a weed called tobacco. It's
a fairly harmless little vice if you don't overdo it. Ever since I arrived here
I've been wishing for some tobacco, and the land across the Atlantic is the
nearest place you can get any."

            Unas laughed his big,
booming laugh. "I've got to be off. I'd like to see the draft of your
letter to Justinian before you send it."

            "Okay, as we say in
America. I'll have it for you tomorrow, and also the appointment of Thomasus
the Syrian as minister of finance for you to sign. He arranged to get those
skilled ironworkers from Damascus through his private business connections, so
I shan't have to ask Justinian for them."

            Urias asked: "Are you
sure your friend Thomasus is honest?"

            "Sure he's honest. You
just have to watch him. Give my regards to Mathaswentha. How is she?"

            "She's fine. She's
calmed down a lot since all the people she most feared have died or gone mad.
We're expecting a little Amaling, you know."

            "I didn't know!
Congratulations."

            "Thanks. When are you
going to find a girl, Martinus?"

            Padway stretched and
grinned. "Oh, just as soon as I catch up on my sleep."

            Padway watched Urias go with
a twinge of envy. He was at the age when bachelors get wistful about their
friends' family life. Not that he wanted a repetition of his fiasco with Betty,
or a stick of female dynamite like Mathaswentha. He hoped Urias would keep his
queen pregnant practically from now on. It might keep her out of mischief.

            Padway wrote:

-

Urias,
King of the Goths and Italians, to his Radiant Clemency Flavius Anicius
Justinian, Emperor of the Romans, Greetings.

            Now
that the army sent by your Serene Highness to Italy, under John, the nephew of
Vitalianus, better known as Bloody John, is no longer an obstacle to our
reconciliation, we resume discussion for terms for the honorable termination of
the cruel and unprofitable war between us.

            The
terms proposed in our previous letter stand, with this exception: Our
previously asked indemnity of a hundred thousand solidi is doubled, to
compensate our citizens for damages caused by Bloody John's invasion.

            There
remains the question of the disposal of your general, Bloody John. Though we
have never seriously contemplated the collection of Imperial generals as a
hobby, your Serenity's actions have forced us into a policy that looks much
like it. As we do not wish to cause the Empire a serious loss, we shall release
the said John on payment of a modest ransom of fifty thousand solidi.

            We
earnestly urge your Serenity to consider this course favorably. As you know,
the Kingdom of Persia is ruled by Ring Khusrau, a young man of great force and
ability. We have reason to believe that Khusrau will soon attempt another
invasion of Syria. You will then need the ablest generals you can find.

            Further,
our slight ability to foresee the future informs us that in about thirty years
there will be born in Arabia a man named Mohammed, who, preaching a heretical
religion, will, unless stopped, instigate a great wave of barbarian conquest,
subverting the rule both of the Persian Kingdom and the East Roman Empire. We
respectfully urge the desirability of securing control of the Arabian Peninsula
forthwith, that this calamity shall be stopped at the source.

            Please
accept this warning as evidence of our friendliest sentiments. We await the
gracious favor of an early reply.

by MARTINUS PADUEI, Quaestor.

-

            Padway leaned back and
looked at the letter. There were other things to attend to: the threat of
invasion of Noricum by the Bavarians, and the offer by the Khan of the Avars of
an alliance to exterminate the Bulgarian Huns. The alliance would be
courteously refused. The Avars would make no pleasanter neighbors than the
Bulgars.

            Let's see: There was a
wandering fanatical monk who was kicking up another row about sorcery. Should
he try to smother the man in cream, as by giving him a job? Better see the
Bishop of Bologna first; if he had influence in that direction, Padway knew how
to make use of it. And it was time he cottoned up to that old rascal Silverius
...

            And should he go on with his
gunpowder experiments? Padway was not sure that this was desirable. The world
had enough means of inflicting death and destruction already. On the other hand
his own interests were tied up with those on the Italo-Gothic State, which must
therefore be saved at all costs To hell with it, thought Padway. He swept all
the papers into a drawer in his desk, took his hat off the peg, and got his
horse. He set out for Anicius' house. How could he expect to cut any ice with
Dorothea if he didn't even look her up for days after his return to Rome?

            Dorothea came out to meet
him. He thought how pretty she was.

            But there was nothing of
hail-the-conquering-hero about her manner. Before he could get a word out, she
began: "You beast! You slimy thing! We befriended you, and you ruin us! My
poor old father's heart is broken! And now you've come around to gloat, I
suppose!"

            "What?"

            "Don't pretend you
don't know! I know all about that illegal order you issued, freeing the serfs
on our estates in Campania. They burned our house, and stole the things I've kept
since I was a little girl —" She began to weep.

            Padway tried to say
something sympathetic, but she flared up again. "Get out! I never want to
see you again! It'll take a squad of your barbarian soldiers to get you into
our house.
Get out!
"

            Padway got, slowly and
dispiritedly. It was a complex world. Almost anything big you did was bound to
hurt somebody.

            Then his back straightened.
It was nothing to feel sorry for oneself about. Dorothea was a nice girl, yes,
pretty, and reasonably bright. But she was not extraordinary in these respects;
there were plenty of others equally attractive. To be frank, Dorothea was a
pretty average young woman. And being Italian, she'd probably be fat at
thirty-five.

            Government compensation for
their losses would do a lot to mend the broken hearts of the Anicii. If they
tried to apologize for treating him roughly, he'd be polite and all, but he
didn't think he'd go back.