“Nomeric, of course,” the old magnate continued, “no longer serves the Gothic king, having retired from that duty. He is a, well, how to put it… an ambassador without credentials to the Empire.” Nomeric, who had been carefully saying nothing, his face placid, cracked a tiny smile at this.
Gregorius leaned forward on his walking stick. “I cannot expect that you will not pursue the matter of which we spoke earlier. In the course of such an investigation, you may find that you have need of monies that do not come from the Imperial purse. You may find that you need assistance, or help, or even protection. I have spoken with the lady, and with the gentleman, and they-and I-are willing to offer your our assistance, help, protection, and funds, if you will accept them.”
Maxian finished the last of the cheese, putting down in the little paring knife. He wiped his lips on the sleeve of his tunic and cocked his head, saying “And in return, you expect that I will do what? Show you favors? Influence the law? Be the voice of your business concerns, your peoples, in the court? My brothers and I do not look favorably on those who attempt to bribe the officials of the state. Why, in fact, do you think that I will need help beyond that of the state?”
Gregorius stood up, hobbling a little on his ancient legs, and walked quickly to the door. For a long time he stood next to it, listening. Then suddenly he opened it and stepped out into the corridor. He looked both ways, then returned to his seat, shutting the door. Tiny beads of sweat dotted his brow. “My apologies, my lord Caesar, but I am overly cautious. Theode‘, tell him what you think is afoot.”
Theodelinda glanced at Gregorius in concern, then turned back to Maxian. She had deep-blue eyes, almost the color of peat. Maxian struggled to focus his attention on her words father than the thought of what she had looked like when young.
“My lord,” she said, “after the death of my husband Agi-lulph at the battle of Padua, I was among the captives taken by the Emperor. We all expected to be slain out of hand or sold into slavery, but Martius Galen Augustus came among us and made an offer of amnesty to each man and woman that would forswear arms and reprisal against the state. Our gratitude was great, for we had come to your land as invaders and had hoped nothing less than to conquer Italy and make it our own. That the Emperor should show us some mercy made a great effect on me, even with the blood of my husband soaking my dresses. I took myself, along with those of my household who would follow me, and settled, as the venerable Gregorius has said, in the town of Florentia.
“It may surprise you, lord, but Florentia, while small, is a center of trade and manufacture. In particular we are very proud of our textiles and weaving. My people are clever with their hands and I was able to start anew, as the matron of a business rather than the ruler of a people. We have prospered. We are not citizens, but we believe deeply in the just law of the Empire. Our fathers were barbarians, living in wood and forest, but that is not what we want for our children.
“A strange thing has come to my attention, however. When we came to Florentia the textile fabricae there was not overly large, but it was doing well. The town bustled with business. Our settlement there, and our new business, only added to that. In the last years, however, we have attempted to better ourselves again, by adopting new practices suggested by my sons and daughters. All of these efforts have failed. Of my eleven sons and daughters, only two remain alive, and one is crippled by the fall of stones from the construction of the temple of Hephaestus.
“For a long time I was sure that these ‘accidents’ were the work of our rivals in the dyeing and weaving trades. But then I learned that the same kind of accidents had befallen the other families as well. At last, driven to extremes by the calamities, I went into the hills and sought out a wise woman who tends a shrine at Duricum. I spoke to her of our plight and she laughed, saying that I should go home and worship the gods in the manner of the fathers of the city. When I pressed her to explain, she pointed to my garments and said that if I dressed in the manner of the founders of the city, the accidents would stop.”
Theodelinda halted for a moment and reached into a carrying bag that lay at her feet. From it she withdrew a length of cloth and passed it over to Maxian, who took it with interest. It was amazingly supple, with the finest weave that he had ever seen. A delicate pattern of images was worked into it. Unlike the moderately rough woolen gown and robe that the Lombard lady now wore, this was almost like silk.
“What is it?” Maxian asked, laying the cloth out over his knees. The feel of the fabric drew his fingers irresistibly.
“We call it sericanum, it is a weave and a fabric that my daughters devised after I managed to procure, with the help of Gregorius here, several bolts of finished silk. It is mar-velously smooth, is it not? Almost like silk, but not quite. Of course, it is made from wool and flax rather than the dew caught in the leaves of the mulberry tree.”
Maxian glanced up at the jest but saw that Theodelinda’s eyes were filled with pain rather than humor.
“Your daughters are dead, then,” the Prince said. The elderly lady nodded. “If I understand the thrust of this conversation, all of those who participated in the manufacture of this cloth are dead. Leaving you with almost nothing of what you started.”
A great pairi washed over Theodelina’s face, but she said,
“Only gold remains. I am still rich, though my house is empty.”
“Is this all that remains of the cloth?” the Prince asked.
“No,” said the quiet raspy voice of Nomeric. “That is from a new bolt of cloth. It was woven no less than four weeks ago. The weavers, at the last report, are still alive, even hale and hearty.”
Maxian slowly turned, his eyebrow raised in question. The half-completed theory that he had been slowly working on shuddered in his mind, and various bricks threatened to fall out of it. “How, may I ask, did you accomplish that?”
Nomeric smiled and deferred to Gregorius. The old man coughed, then shook his head.
Nomeric steepled his fingers, gazing at the Prince over them. “The manufacture is in a holding of my family in Siscia. In Magna Gothica.”
Maxian turned to Gregorian in puzzlement, saying “I fail to see the connection.”
Gregorius nodded and cleared his throat. “Siscia is the city the Goths built as their capital after the peace of The-odosius. It is a Gothic city, under Gothic rule, with Gothic law. It is, so to say, not a Roman city. There is no… Imperial presence there. Do you see my meaning?”
Maxian leaned back on his couch, rubbing the side of his face. With his other hand, he toyed with the length of cloth. He thought now that he saw what Gregorius was driving at. “By your logic, then, if the investment that our mutual British friend had made had been undertaken outside the borders of the Empire, it would have been… successful.”
Gregorius nodded, tapping his walking stick on the mosaic floor in excitement. “That has been my thought for some time! You see then, my young friend, why you may need help from outside the state?”
Maxian nodded, lost in thought.
Gregorius and his companions left long after midnight. Maxian was even more exhausted than before, and now he sat on the edge of his bed, the room lit only by the light of a solitary wax candle. On the little writing desk next to the bed lay a package of items that he had gathered. He knew that he should wait until the next day, after he had slept, but the curiosity that had been gnawing at him would not let him wait. He unwrapped the cloth of the package; inside were several items-a swatch of the sericanum that Theodelinda had left, the tiny lead slug from the house of the scribes, a boat nail from Dromio’s workshed in Ostia. Each thing he placed on the floor at the foot of the bed in an equal triangle, then he settled himself on a quilted rug from the chest. He considered calling for a servant to summon Aurelian to watch over him while he was meditating, but then put the thought away-his brother was busy enough and Maxian, really, had nothing to tell him yet.