"How about it, George?" asked Padway.
Menandrus finally confessed, though he insisted that the thefts were merely temporary borrowings to tide him over until pay day.
Padway divided the total liability between the two of them. He warned them sternly against recidivism. Then he left a set of plans with the foreman for new machines and metal-working processes, including plans for a machine for spinning copper plate into bowls. The intelligent Nerva caught on immediately.
As Padway was leaving, Fritharik asked him: "Can't I go with you, excellent Martinus? It's very dull here in Florence. And you need somebody to take care of you. I've saved up almost enough to get my jeweled sword back, and if you'll let—"
"No, old man. I'm sorry, but I've got to have one person I can trust here. When this damned war and politics is over, we'll see."
Fritharik sighed gustily. "Oh, very well, if you insist. But I hate to think of your going around unprotected with all these treacherous Greeks and Italians and Goths. You'll end in an unmarked grave yet, I fear."
They shivered and skidded over the icy Apennines to Bologna. Padway resolved to have his men's horses shod if he could ever get a few days to spare-stirrups had been invented but not horseshoes. From Bologna to Padua—still largely in ruins from its destruction by Attila's Huns—the road was no longer the splendid stone-paved affair they had been traveling on, but a track in the mud. However, the weather turned almost springlike, which was something.
At Padua they found they had missed the Dalmatian force by one day. Thiudahad wanted to halt. "Martinus," he whined, "you've dragged my old bones all over northern Italy, and nearly frozen me to death. That's not considerate. You do owe your king some consideration, don't you?"
Padway repressed his irritation with some effort. "My lord, do you or don't you want your crown back?"
So poor Thiudahad had to go along. By hard riding they caught up with the Dalmatian army halfway to Atria. They trotted past thousands and thousands of Goths, afoot and horseback. There must have been well over fifty thousand of them. And these big, tough-looking men had skedaddled at the mere rumor that Count Constantianus was approaching.
The count had had only a small force, but Padway was the only one present who knew that, and his source of information was not strictly kosher. The Goths cheered Thiudahad and Padway's Gothic lancers, and stared and muttered at the five hundred cuirassiers. Padway had made his guard don Gothic helmets and Italian military cloaks in lieu of the spiked steel caps and burnoose-like mantles they had worn. But still their shaven chins, tight pants, and high yellow boots made them sufficiently different to arouse suspicion.
Padway found the two commanders up near the head of the column. Asinar was tall and Grippas was short, but otherwise they were just a couple of middle-aged and bewhiskered barbarians. They respectfully saluted Thiudahad, who seemed to cringe slightly from so much latent force. Thiudahad introduced Padway as his new prefect—no, he meant his new quaestor.
Asinar said to Padway: "In Padua we heard a rumor that a civil war and usurpation had been going on in Italy. Just what is the news, anyway?"
Padway was for once thankful that his telegraph hadn't been operating that far north. He laughed scornfully, "Oh, our brave General Wittigis got a brainstorm a couple of weeks ago, He shut himself up in Ravenna, where the Greeks couldn't get him, and had himself proclaimed king. We've cleaned up the Greeks, and are on our way to settle with Wittigis now. Your boys will be a help." All of which was rather unjust to Wittigis.
Padway wondered whether there'd be anything left of his character after a few years in this mendacious atmosphere. The two Gothic generals accepted his statement without comment. Padway decided quickly that neither of them could be called exactly bright.
They marched into Ravenna at noon the day after next. The fog was so thick about the northern causeway that a man had to precede the leading horsemen on foot to keep them from blundering off into the marsh.
There was some alarm in Ravenna when the force appeared out of the fog. Padway and Thiudahad prudently kept quiet while Asinar and Grippas identified themselves. As a result, most of the huge force was in the city before somebody noticed the little gray man with Padway. Immediately there were shouts and runnings to and fro.
Presently a Goth in a rich red cloak ran out to the head of the column. He shouted: "What the devil's going on here? Have you captured Thiudahad, or is it the other way around?"
Asinar and Grippas sat on their horses and said: "Uh . . . well . . . that is—"
Padway spurred up front and asked: "Who are you, my dear sir?"
"If it's any of your business, I'm Unilas Wiljarith's son, general of our lord Wittigis, King of the Goths and Italians. Now who are you?"
Padway grinned and replied smoothly: "I'm delighted to know you, General Unilas. I'm Martin Paduei, quaestor to old lord Thiudahad, King of the Goths and Italians. Now that we know each other—"
"But, you fool, there isn't any King Thiudahad! He was deposed! We've got a new king! Or hadn't you heard about it?"
"Oh, I've heard lots of things. But, my excellent Unilas, before you make any more rude remarks, consider that we—that is to say King Thiudahad—have over sixty thousand troops in Ravenna, whereas you have about twelve thousand. You don't want any unnecessary unpleasantness, do you?"
"Why, you impudent . . . you . . . uh . . . did you say sixty thousand?"
"Maybe seventy; I haven't counted them."
"Oh. That's different."
"I thought you'd see it that way."
"What are you going to do?"
"Well, if you can tell where General Wittigis is, I thought we might pay him a call."
"He's getting married today. I think he ought to be on his way to St. Vitalis' Church about now."
"You mean he hasn't married Mathaswentha yet?"
"No. There was some delay in getting his divorce."
"Quick, how do you get to St. Vitalis' Church?"
Padway hadn't hoped to be in time to interfere with Wittigis' attempt to engraft himself on the Amal family tree by his forcible marriage of the late Queen Amalaswentha's daughter. But this was too good an opportunity to let slip.
Unilas pointed out a dome flanked by two towers. Padway shouted to his guard and kicked his horse into a canter. The five hundred men galloped after, spattering unfortunate pedestrians with mud. They thundered across a bridge over one of Ravenna's canals, the stench from which fully lived up to its reputation, and up to the door of St. Vitalis' Church.
There were a score of guards at the door, through which organ music wafted faintly. The guards brought their spears up to "poise."
Padway reined in and turned to the commander of his guard, a Macedonian named Achilleus. "Cover them," he snapped.
There was a quick, concerted movement among the cuirassiers, who had been sorting themselves into a semicircle in front of the church door. The next instant the guards were looking at a hundred stiff Byzantine bows drawn to the cheek.
"Nu," said Padway in Gothic, "if you boys will put your stickers down and your hands up, we have an appointment—Ah, that's better. Much better." He slid off his horse. "Achilleus, give me a troop. Then surround the church, and keep those in in and those out out until I finish with Wittigis."
He marched into St. Vitalis' Church with a hundred cuirassiers at his heels. The organ music died with a wail, and people turned to look at him. It took his eyes a few seconds to become accustomed to the gloom.