In other words, Padway was as thoroughly in love as such a rational and prudent man can ever be.
But how did one go about marrying a Gothic princess? You certainly didn't take her out in an automobile and kiss her lipstick off by way of a starter. Nor did you begin by knowing her in high school, the way he had known Betty. She was an orphan, so you couldn't approach her old man. He supposed that the only thing to do was to bring the subject up a little at a time and see how she reacted.
He asked: "Mathaswentha, my dear, when you spoke of the kind of man you'd like to marry, did you have any other specifications in mind?"
She smiled at him, whereat the room swam slightly. "Curious, Martinus? I didn't have many, aside from those I mentioned. Of course he shouldn't be too much older than I, as Wittigis was."
"You wouldn't mind if he wasn't much taller than you?"
"No, unless he were a mere shrimp."
"You haven't any objections to large noses?"
She laughed a rich, throaty laugh. "Martinus, you are the funniest man. I suppose it's that you and I are different. I go directly for what I want, whether it's love, or revenge, or anything else."
"What do I do?"
"You walk all around it, and peer at it from every angle, and spend a week figuring out whether you want it badly enough to risk taking it." She added quickly. "Don't think I mind. I like you for it."
"I'm glad of that. But about noses—"
"Of course I don't mind! I think yours, for instance, is aristocratic-looking. Nor do I mind little red beards or wavy brown hair or any of the other features of an amazing young man named Martinus Paduei. That's what you were getting at, wasn't it?"
Padway knew a great relief. This marvelous woman went out of her way to ease your difficulties! "As a matter of fact it was, princess."
"You needn't be so frightfully respectful, Martinus. Anybody would know you are a foreigner, the way you meticulously use all the proper titles and epithets."
Padway grinned. "I don't like to take chances, as you know. Well, you see, now, its this way. I—uh—was wondering—uh—if you don't dislike these—uh—characteristics, whether you couldn't learn to—uh-uh—"
"You don't by any chance mean love, do you?"
"Yes!" said Padway loudly.
"With practice I might."
"When!" said Padway mopping his forehead.
"I'd need teaching," said Mathaswentha. "I've lived a sheltered life, and know little of the world."
"I looked up the law," said Padway quickly, "and while there's an ordinance against marriage of Goths to Italians, there's nothing about Americans. So—"
Mathaswentha interrupted: "I could hear you better, dear Martinus, if you came closer."
Padway went over and sat down beside her. He began again: "The Edicts of Theoderik—"
She said softly: "I know the laws, Martinus. That is not what I need instruction in."
Padway suppressed his tendency to talk frantically of impersonal matters to cover emotional turmoil. He said, "My love, your first lesson will be this." He kissed her hand.
Her eyes were half closed, her mouth slightly open, and her breath was quick and shallow. She whispered: "Do the Americans, then, practice the art of kissing as we do?"
He gathered her in and applied the second lesson.
Mathaswentha opened her eyes, blinked, and shook her head. "That was a foolish question, my dear Martinus. The Americans are way ahead of us. What ideas you put in an innocent girl's head!" She laughed joyfully. Padway laughed too.
Padway said: "You've made me very happy, princess."
"You've made me happy, too, my prince. I thought I should never find anyone like you." She swayed into his arms again.
Mathaswentha sat up and straightened her hair. She said in a brisk, businesslike manner: "There are a lot of questions to be settled before we decide anything finally. Wittigis, for instance."
"What about him?" Padway's happiness suddenly wasn't quite so complete.
"He'll have to be killed, naturally."
"Oh?"
"Don't 'oh' me, my dear. I warned you that I am no halfhearted hater. And Thiudahad, too."
"Why him?"
She straightened up, frowning. "He murdered my mother, didn't he? What more reason do you want? And eventually you will want to become king yourself—"
"No, I won't," said Padway.
"Not want to be king? Why, Martinus!"
"Not for me, my dear. Anyhow, I'm not an Amaling."
"As my husband you will be considered one."
"I still don't want—"
"Now, darling, you just think you don't. You will change your mind. While we are about it, there is that former serving-wench of yours, Julia I think her name is—"
"What about—what do you know about her?"
"Enough. We women hear everything sooner or later."
The little cold spot in Padway's stomach spread and spread. "But—but—"
"Now, Martinus, it's a small favor that your betrothed is asking. And don't think that a person like me would be jealous of a mere house-servant. But it would be a humiliation to me if she were living after our marriage. It needn't be a painful death—some quick poison . . ."
Padway's face was as blank as that of a renting agent at the mention of cockroaches. His mind was whirling. There seemed to be no end to Mathaswentha's lethal little plans. His underwear was damp with cold sweat.
He knew now that he was not in the least in love with Mathaswentha. Let some roaring Goth have this fierce blond Valkyr! He preferred a girl with less direct ideas of getting what she wanted. And no insurance man would give a policy on a member of the Amal clan, considering their dark and bloody past.
"Well?" said Mathaswentha.
"I was thinking," replied Padway. He did not say that he was thinking, frantically, how to get out of this fix.
"I just remembered," he said slowly, "I have a wife back in America."
"Oh. This is a fine time to think of that," she answered coldly.
"I haven't seen her for a long time."
"Well, then, there's a divorce, isn't there?"
"Not in my religion. We Congregationalists believe there's a special compartment in hell for frying divorced persons."
"Martinus!" Her eyes were a pair of gray blow-torches. "You're afraid. You're trying to back out. No man shall ever do that to me and live to tell—"
"No, no, not at all!" cried Padway. "Nothing of the sort, my dear! I'd wade through rivers of blood to reach your side."
"Hmmm. A very pretty speech, Martinus Paduei. Do you use it on all the girls?"
"I mean it. I'm mad about you."
"Then why don't you act as if—"
"I'm devoted to you. It was stupid of me not to think of this obstacle sooner."
"Do you really love me?" She softened a little.
"Of course I do! I've never known anyone like you." The last sentence was truthful. "But facts are facts."
Mathaswentha rubbed her forehead, obviously struggling with conflicting emotions. She asked: "If you haven't seen her for so long, how do you know she's alive?"
"I don't. But I don't know that she isn't. You know how strict your laws are about bigamy. Edicts of Athalarik, Paragraph Six. I looked it up."
"You would," she said with some bitterness. "Does anyone else in Italy know about this American bitch of yours?"
"N-no—but—"
"Then aren't you being a bit silly, Martinus? What difference does it make, if she's on the other side of the earth?"
"Religion."
"Oh, the devil fly away with the priests! I'll handle the Arians when we're in power. For the Catholics, you have influence with the Bishop of Bologna, I hear, and that means with the Pope."