by L. Sprague de Camp;Frederik Pohl;David Drake;S. M. Stirling;Alexei
Padway said: “I didn’t come for a vase, my dear sir. I want—”
“No vase? No vase? Ah! Here is the thing.” He picked up another vase. “Look! The shape! Such, purity of line! It reminds you—”
“I said I didn’t want to buy a vase. I want—”
“It reminds you of a beautiful woman! Of love!” Andronicus kissed his fingertips.
“I want some small pieces of glass, made specially—”
“Beads? Of course, gentlemen. Look.” The glass manufacturer scooped up a handful of beads. “Look at the color! Emerald, turquoise, everything!” He picked up another bunch. “See here, the faces of the twelve apostles, one on each bead—”
“Not beads—”
“A beaker, then! Here is one. Look, it has the Holy Family in high relief—”
“Jesus!” yelled Padway. “Will you listen?”
When Andronicus let Padway explain what he wanted, the Neapolitan said: “Of course! Fine! I’ve seen ornaments shaped like that. I’ll rough them out tonight, and have them ready day after tomorrow—”
“That won’t quite do,” said Padway. “These have to have an exactly spherical surface. You grind a concave against a convex with—what’s your word for emery? The stuff you use in rough grinding? Some naxium to true them off…”
Padway and Fritharik went on to Naples and put up at the house of Thomasus’ cousin, Antiochus the Shipper. Their welcome was less than cordial. It transpired that Antiochus was fanatically Orthodox. He loathed his cousin’s Nestorianism. His pointed remarks about heretics made his guests so uncomfortable that they moved out on the third day. They took lodgings at an inn whose lack of sanitation distressed Padway’s cleanly soul.
Each morning they rode out to Puteoli to see how the lenses were coming. Andronicus invariably tried to sell them a ton of glass junk.
When they left for Rome, Padway had a dozen lenses, half plano-convex and half plano-concave. He was skeptical about the possibility of making a telescope by holding a pair of lenses in line with his eye and judging the distances. It worked, though.
The most practical combination proved to be a concave lens for the eyepiece with a convex one about thirty inches in front of it. The glass had bubbles, and the image was somewhat distorted. But Padway’s telescope, crude as it was, would make a two-to-one difference in the number of signal towers required.
About then, the paper ran its first advertisement. Thomasus had had to turn the screw on one of his debtors to make him buy space. The ad read:
DO YOU WANT A GLAMOROUS FUNERAL?
Go to meet your Maker in style! With one of our funerals to look forward to, you will hardly mind dying!
Don’t imperil your chances of salvation with a bungled burial! Our experts have handled some of the noblest corpses in Rome.
Arrangements made with the priesthood of any sect. Special rates for heretics. Appropriately doleful music furnished at slight extra cost.
John the Egyptian, Genteel Undertaker, Near the Viminal Gate
CHAPTER VI
Junianus, construction manager of the Roman Telegraph Co., panted into Padway’s office. He said: “Work”—stopped to get his breath, and started again—”work on the third tower on the Naples line was stopped this morning by a squad of soldiers from the Rome garrison. I asked them what the devil was up, and they said they didn’t know; they just had orders to stop construction. What, most excellent boss, are you going to do about it?”
So the Goths objected? That meant seeing their higher-ups. Padway winced at the idea of getting involved any further in politics. He sighed. “I’ll see Liuderis, I suppose.”
The commander of the Rome garrison was a big, portly Goth with the bushiest white whiskers Padway had ever seen. His Latin was fair. But now and then he cocked a blue eye at the ceiling and moved his lips silently, as if praying; actually he was running through a declension or a conjugation for the right ending.
He said: “My good Martinus, there is a war on. You start erecting these…ah…mysterious towers without asking our permission. Some of your backers are patricians…ah…notorious for their pro-Greek sentiments. What are we to think? You should consider yourself lucky to have escaped arrest.”
Padway protested: “I was hoping the army would find them useful for transmitting military information.”
Liuderis shrugged. “I am merely a simple soldier doing my duty. I do not understand these…ah…devices. Perhaps they will work as you say. But I could not take the…ah…responsibility for permitting them.”
“Then you won’t withdraw your order?”
“No. If you want permission, you will have to see the king.”
“But, my dear sir, I can’t spare the time to go running up to Ravenna—”
Another shrug. “All one to me, my good Martinus. I know my duty.”
Padway tried guile. “You certainly do, it seems. If I were the king, I couldn’t ask for a more faithful soldier.”
“You flatterer!” But Liuderis grinned, pleased. “I regret that I cannot grant your little request.”
“What’s the latest war news?”
Liuderis frowned. “Not very—But then I should be careful what I say. You are a more dangerous person than you look, I am sure.”
“You can trust me. I’m pro-Gothic.”
“Yes?” Liuderis was silent while the wheels turned. Then: “What is your religion?”
Padway was expecting that. “Congregationalist. That’s the nearest thing to Arianism we have in my country.”
“Ah, then perhaps you are as you say. The news is not good, what little there is. There is nobody in Bruttium but a small force under the king’s son-in-law, Evermuth. And our good king—” He shrugged again, this time hopelessly.
“Now look here, most excellent Liuderis, won’t you withdraw that order? I’ll write Thiudahad at once asking his permission.”
“No, my good Martinus, I cannot. You get the permission first. And you had better go in person, if you want action.”
Thus it came about that Padway found himself, quite against his wishes, trotting an elderly saddle horse across the Apennines toward the Adriatic. Fritharik had been delighted at first to get any kind of a horse between his knees. Before they had gone very far his tone changed.
“Boss,” he grumbled, “I’m not an educated man. But I know horseflesh. I always claimed that a good horse was a good investment.” He added darkly: “If we are attacked by brigands, we’ll have no chance with those poor old wrecks. Not that I fear death, or brigands either. But it would be sad for a Vandal knight to end in a nameless grave in one of these lonely valleys. When I was a noble in Africa—”
“We aren’t running a racing stable,” snapped Padway. At Fritharik’s hurt look he was sorry he had spoken sharply. “Never mind, old man, we’ll be able to afford good horses some day. Only right now I feel as if I had a pantsful of ants.”
Brazilian army ants, he added to himself. He had done almost no riding since his arrival in old Rome, and not a great deal in his former life. By the time they reached Spoleto he felt as if he could neither sit nor stand, but would have to spend the rest of his life in a sort of semi-squat, like a rheumatic chimpanzee.
They approached Ravenna at dusk on the fourth day. The City in the Mist sat dimly astride the thirty-mile causeway that divided the Adriatic from the vast marshy lagoons to the west. A faint sunbeam lighted the gilded church domes. The church bells bonged, and the frogs in the lagoons fell silent; then resumed their croaking. Padway thought that anyone who visited this strange city would always be haunted by the bong of the bells, the croak of the frogs, and the thin, merciless song of the mosquitoes.
Padway decided that the chief usher, like Poo-Bah, had been born sneering. “My good man,” said this being, “I couldn’t possibly give you an audience with our lord king for three weeks at least.”
Three weeks! In that time half of Padway’s assorted machines would have broken down, and his men would be running in u
seless circles trying to fix them. Menandrus, who was inclined to be reckless with money, especially other people’s, would have run the paper into bankruptcy. This impasse required thought. Padway straightened his aching legs and started to leave.
The Italian immediately lost some of his top-loftiness. “But,” he cried in honest amazement, “didn’t you bring any money?”
Of course, Padway thought, he should have known that the man hadn’t meant what he’d said. “What’s your schedule of rates?”
The usher, quite seriously, began counting on his fingers. “Well, for twenty solidi I could give you your audience tomorrow. For the day after tomorrow, ten solidi is my usual rate; but that’s Sunday, so I’m offering interviews on Monday at seven and a half. For one week in advance, two solidi. For two weeks—”
Padway interrupted to offer a five-solidi bribe for a Monday interview, and finally got it at that price plus a small bottle of brandy. The usher said: “You’ll be expected to have a present for the king, too, you know.”
“I know,” said Padway wearily. He showed the usher a small leather case. “I’ll present it personally.”
Thiudahad Tharasmund’s son, King of the Ostrogoths and Italians; Commander in Chief of the Armies of Italy, Illyria, and Southern Gaul; Premier Prince of the Amal Clan; Count of Tuscany; Illustrious Patrician; ex-officio President of the Circus; et cetera, et cetera, was about Padway’s height, thin to gauntness, and had a small gray beard. He peered at his caller with watery gray eyes, and said in a reedy voice: “Come in, come in, my good man. What’s your business? Oh, yes, Martinus Paduei. You’re the publisher chap aren’t you? Eh?” He spoke upper-class Latin without a trace of accent.
Padway bowed ceremoniously. “I am, my lord king. Before we discuss the business, I have—”
“Great thing, that book-making machine of yours. I’ve heard of it. Great thing for scholarship. You must see my man Cassiodorus. I’m sure he’d like you to publish his Gothic History. Great work. Deserves a wide circulation.”
Padway waited patiently. “I have a small gift for you, my lord. A rather unusual—”
“Eh? Gift? By all means. Let’s see it.”
Padway took out the case and opened it.
Thiudahad piped: “Eh? What the devil is that?”
Padway explained the function of a magnifying glass. He didn’t dwell on Thiudahad’s notorious nearsightedness.
Thiudahad picked up a book and tried the glass on it. He squealed with delight. “Fine, my good Martinus. Shall I be able to read all I want without getting headaches?”
“I hope so, my lord. At least it should help. Now, about my business here—”
“Oh, yes, you want to see me about publishing Cassiodorus. I’ll fetch him for you.”
“No, my lord. It’s about something else.” He went on quickly before Thiudahad could interrupt again, telling him of his difficulty with Liuderis.
“Eh? I never bother my local military commanders. They know their business.”
“But, my lord—” and Padway gave the king a little sales talk on the importance of the telegraph company.
“Eh? A money-making scheme, you say? If it’s as good as all that, why wasn’t I let in on it at the start?”
That rather jarred Padway. He said something vague about there not having been time. King Thiudahad wagged his head. “Still, that wasn’t considerate of you, Martinus. It wasn’t loyal. And if people aren’t loyal to their king, where are we? If you deprive your king of an opportunity to make a little honest profit, I don’t see why I should interfere with Liuderis on your account.”
“Well, ahem, my lord, I did have an idea—”
“Not considerate at all. What were you saying? Come to the point, my good man, come to the point.”
Padway resisted an impulse to strangle this exasperating little man. He beckoned Fritharik, who was standing statuesquely in the background. Fritharik produced a telescope, and Padway explained its functions....
“Yes, Yes? Very interesting, I’m sure. Thank you, Martinus. I will say that you bring your king original presents.”
Padway gasped; he hadn’t intended giving Thiudahad his best telescope. But it was too late now. He said: “I thought that if my lord king saw fit to…ah…ease matters with your excellent Liuderis, I could insure your undying fame in the world of scholarship.”
“Eh? What’s that? What do you know about scholarship? Oh, I forgot; you’re a publisher. Something about Cassiodorus?”
Padway repressed a sigh. “No, my lord. Not Cassiodorus. How would you like the credit for revolutionizing men’s idea about the solar system?”
“I don’t believe in interfering with my local commanders, Martinus. Liuderis is an excellent man. Eh? What were you saying. Something about the solar system? What’s that got to do with Liuderis?”
“Nothing, my lord.” Padway repeated what he had said.
“Well, maybe I’d consider it. What is this theory of yours?”
Little by little Padway wormed from Thiudahad a promise of a free hand for the telegraph company, in return for bits of information about the Copernican hypothesis, instructions for the use of the telescope to see the moons of Jupiter, and a promise to publish a treatise on astronomy in Thiudahad’s name.
At the end of an hour he grinned and said, “Well, my lord, we seem to be in agreement. There’s just one more thing. This telescope would be a valuable instrument of warfare. If you wanted to equip your officers with them—”
“Eh? Warfare? You’ll have to see Wittigis about that. He’s my head general.”
“Where’s he?”
“Where? Oh, dear me, I don’t know. Somewhere up north, I think. There’s been a little invasion by the Allemans or somebody.”
“When will he be back?”
“How should I know, my good Martinus? When he’s driven out these Allemans or Burgunds or whoever they are.”
“But, most excellent lord, if you’ll pardon me, the war with the Imperialists is definitely on. I think it’s important to get these telescopes into the hands of the army as soon as possible? We’d be prepared to supply them at a reasonable—”
“Now, Martinus,” snapped the king peevishly, “don’t try to tell me how to run my kingdom. You’re as bad as my Royal Council. Always ‘Why don’t you do this?’, ‘Why don’t you do that?’ I trust my commanders; don’t bother myself with details. I say you’ll have to see Wittigis, and that settles it.”
Thiudahad was obviously prepared to be mulish, so Padway said a few polite nothings, bowed, and withdrew.
CHAPTER VII
When Padway got back to Rome, his primary concern was to see how his paper was coming. The first issue that had been put out since his departure was all right. About the second, which had just been printed, Menandrus was mysteriously elated, hinting that he had a splendid surprise for his employer. He had. Padway glanced at a proof sheet, and his heart almost stopped. On the front page was a detailed account of the bribe which the new Pope, Silverius, had paid King Thiudahad to secure his election.
“Hell’s bells!” cried Padway. “Haven’t you any better sense than to print this, George?”
“Why?” asked Menandrus, crestfallen. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Of course, it’s true! But you don’t want us all hanged or burned at the stake, do you? The Church is already suspicious of us. Even if you find that a bishop is keeping twenty concubines, you’re not to print a word of it.”
Menandrus sniffled a little; he wiped away a tear and blew his nose on his tunic. “I’m sorry, excellent boss. I tried to please you; you have no idea how much trouble I went to to get the facts about that bribe. There is a bishop, too—not twenty concubines, but—”
“But we don’t consider that news, for reasons of health. Thank heaven, no copies of this issue have gone out yet.”
“Oh, but they have.”
“What?” Padway’s yell made a couple of workmen from the machine shop look in.
“Why, yes, John the Bookseller took the first hundred copies out just a minute ago.”
John the Bookseller got the scare of his life when Padway, still dirty from days of travel, galloped down the street after him, dove off his horse, and grabbed his arm. Somebody set up a cry of “Thieves! Robbers! Help! Murder!” Padway found himself trying to explain to forty truculent citizens that everything was all right.
A Gothic soldier pushed through the crowd and asked what was going on here. A citizen pointed at Padway and shouted: “It’s the fellow with the boots. I heard him say he’d cut the other man’s throat if he didn’t hand over his money!” So the Goth arrested Padway.
Padway kept his clutch on John the Bookseller, who was too frightened to speak. He went along quietly with the Goth until they were out of earshot of the crowd. Then he asked the soldier into a wineshop, treated him and John, and explained. The Goth was noncommittal, despite John’s corroboration, until Padway tipped him liberally. Padway got his freedom and his precious papers. Then all he had to worry about was the fact that somebody had stolen his horse while he was in the Goth’s custody.
Padway trudged back to his house with the papers under his arm. His household was properly sympathetic about the loss of the horse. Fritharik said: “There, illustrious boss, that piece of crow bait wasn’t worth much anyhow.”
Padway felt much better when he learned that the first leg of the telegraph ought to be completed in a week or ten days. He poured himself a stiff drink before dinner. After his strenuous day it made his head swim a little. He got Fritharik to join him in one of the latter’s barbarian war-songs:
“The black earth shakes
As the heroes ride,
And the ravens blood-
Red sun will hide!
The lances dip
In a glittering wave,
And the coward turns
His gore to save…”
When Julia was late with the food, Padway gave her a playful spank. He was a little surprised at himself.
