"Do you really mean that?" Hlodovik seemed astonished. "Don't you know, young man, that the armies of the Franks could sweep the length of Italy, burning and ravaging, any time they wished? My masters, King Theudebert, King Hildebert, and King Hlotokar, are showing great forbearance and humanity by offering you a way out. Think carefully before you invite disaster."
"I have thought, my lord," replied Padway. "And I respectfully suggest that you and your masters do the same. Especially about a little military device that we are introducing. Would you like to see it demonstrated? The parade ground is only a step from here."
Padway had made the proper preparations in advance. When they arrived at the parade ground, Hlodovik weaving slightly all the way, they found Urias, Fritharik, the crossbow, and a supply of bolts. Padway's idea was to have Fritharik take a few demonstration shots at a target. But Fritharik and Urias had other ideas. The latter walked off fifty feet, turned, and placed an apple on his head. Fritharik cocked the crossbow, put a bolt in the groove, and raised the bow to his shoulder.
Padway was frozen speechless with horror. He didn't dare shout at the two idiots to desist for fear of losing face before the Frank. And if Urias was killed, he hated to think of the damage that would be done to his plans.
The crossbow snapped. There was a short splush, and fragments of apple flew about. Urias, grinning, picked pieces of apple out of his hair and walked back.
"Do you find the demonstration impressive, my lord?" Padway asked.
"Yes, quite," said Hlodovik. "Let's see that device. Hm-m-m. Of course, the brave Franks don't believe that any battle was ever won by a lot of silly arrows. But for hunting, now, this mightn't be bad. How does it work? I see; you pull the string back to here—"
While Fritharik was demonstrating the crossbow, Padway took Urias aside and told him, in a low tone, just what he thought of such a fool stunt. Urias tried to look serious, but couldn't help a faint, small-boy grin. Then there was another snap, and something whizzed between them, not a foot from Padway's face. They jumped and spun around. Hlodovik was holding the crossbow, a foolish look on his long face. "I didn't know it went off so easily," he said.
Fritharik lost his temper. "What are you trying to do, you drunken fool? Kill somebody—"
"What's that? You call me a fool? Why—" and the Frank's sword came halfway out of the scabbard.
Fritharik jumped back and grabbed his own sword hilt. Padway and Urias pounced on the two and grabbed their elbows.
"Calm yourself, my lord!" cried Padway. "It's nothing to start a fight over. I'll apologize personally."
The Frank merely got madder and tried to shake off Padway. "I'll teach that low-born bastard! My honor is insulted!"—he shouted. Several Gothic soldiers loafing around the field looked up and trotted over. Hlodovik saw them coming and put his sword back, growling: "This is fine treatment for the representative of King Theudebert, King Hildebert, and King Hlotokar. Just wait till they hear of this."
Padway tried to mollify him, but Hlodovik merely grumped, and soon left Ravenna. Padway dispatched a warning to Sisigis to be on the lookout for a Frankish attack. His conscience bothered him a good deal. In a way he thought he ought to have tried to appease the Franks, as he hated the idea of being responsible for war. But he knew that that fierce and treacherous tribe would only take each concession as a sign of weakness. The time to stop the Franks was the first time.
Then another envoy arrived, this time from the Kutrigurs or Bulgarian Huns. The usher told Padway: "He's very dignified; doesn't speak any Latin or Gothic, so he uses an interpreter. Says he's a boyar, whatever that is."
"Show him in."
The Bulgarian envoy was a stocky, bowlegged man with high cheek bones, a fiercely upswept mustache, and a nose even bigger than Padway's. He wore a handsome furlined coat, baggy trousers, and a silk turban wound about his shaven skull, from the rear of which two black pigtails jutted absurdly. Despite the finery, Padway found reason to suspect that the man had never had a bath in his life. The interpreter was a small, nervous Thracian who hovered a pace to the Bulgar's left and rear.
The Bulgar clumped in, bowed stiffly, and did not offer to shake hands. Probably not done among the Huns, thought Padway. He bowed back and indicated a chair. He regretted having done so a moment later, when the Bulgar hiked his boots up on the upholstery and sat cross-legged. Then he began to speak, in a strangely musical tongue which Padway surmised was related to Turkish. He stopped every three or four words for the interpreter to translate. It ran something like this:
Envoy: (Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter: I am the Boyar Karojan—
Envoy: ( Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter: The son of Chakir—
Envoy: (Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter. Who was the son of Tardu—
Envoy: (Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter: Envoy of Kardam—
Envoy: (Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter: The son of Kapagan—
Envoy: (Twitter, twitter.)
Interpreter: And Great Khan of the Kutrigurs.
It was distracting to listen to, but not without a certain poetic grandeur. The Bulgar paused impassively at that point. Padway identified himself, and the duo began again:
"My master, the Great Khan—"
"Has received an offer from Justinian, Emperor of the Romans—"
"Of fifty thousand solidi—"
"To refrain from invading his dominions."
"If Thiudahad, King of the Goths—"
"Will make us a better offer—"
"We will ravage Thrace—"
"And leave the Gothic realm alone."
"If he does not—"
"We will take Justinian's gold—"
"And invade the Gothic territories—"
"Of Pannonia and Noricum."
Padway cleared his throat and began his reply, pausing for translation. This method had its advantages, he found. It gave him time to think.
"My master, Thiudahad, King of the Goths and Italians—"
"Authorizes me to say—"
"That he has better use for his money—"
"Than to bribe people not to attack him—"
"And that if the Kutrigurs think—"
"That they can invade our territory—"
"They are welcome to try—"
"But that we cannot guarantee them—"
"A very hospitable reception."
The envoy replied:
"Think man, on what you say."
"For the armies of the Kutrigurs—"
"Cover the Sarmatian steppe like locusts."
"The hoofbeats of their horses—"
"Are a mighty thunder."
"The flight of their arrows—"
"Darkens the sun."
"Where they have passed—"
"Not even grass will grow."
Padway replied:
"Most excellent Karojan—"
"What you say may be true."
"But in spite of their thundering and sun-darkening—"
"The last time the Kutrigurs—"
"Assailed our land, a few years ago—"
"They got the pants beat off them."
As this was translated, the Bulgar looked puzzled for a moment. Then he turned red. Padway thought he was angry, but it soon appeared that he was trying to keep from laughing. He said between sputters:
"This time, man, it will be different."
"If any pants are lost—"
"They will be yours."
"How would this be?"
"You pay us sixty thousand—"
"In three installments—"
"Of twenty thousand each?"
But Padway was immovable. The Bulgar finished:
"I shall inform my master—"
"Kardam, the Great Khan of the Kutrigurs—"
"Of your obduracy."
"For a reasonable bribe—"