Lest Darkness Fall by L. Sprague de Camp Page A

way I feel. Any man who'd put perfume in his liquor probably
swishes when he walks. I only keep the stuff for my Greek friends, like Leo
Vekkos. Reminds me, I must tell him about your cure for my wheezes by having me
put the dogs out. He'll figure out some fancy theory full of long words to
explain it."
     
                Dagalaif spoke up:
"Say, Martinus, maybe you have inside information on how the war will
go."
     
                Padway shrugged. "All I
know is what everybody else knows. I haven't a private wire — I mean a private
channel of information to heaven. If you want a guess, I'd say that Belisarius
would invade Bruttium this summer and besiege Naples about August. He won't
have a large force, but he'll be infernally hard to beat."
     
                Dagalaif said: "Huh!
We'll let him up all right. A handful of Greeks won't get very far against the
united Gothic nation."
     
                "That's what the
Vandals thought," answered Padway dryly.
     
                " Aiw ," said
Dagalaif. "But we won't make the mistakes the Vandals made."
     
                "I don't know, son,"
said Nevitta. "It seems to me we are making them already — or others just
as bad. This king of ours — all he's good for is hornswoggling his neighbors
out of land and writing Latin poetry. And digging around in libraries. It would
be better if we had an illiterate one, like Theoderik. Of course," he
added apologetically, "I admit I can read and write. My old man came from
Pannonia with Theoderik, and he was always talking about the sacred duty of the
Goths to preserve Roman civilization from savages like the Franks. He was
determined that I would have a Latin education if it killed me. I admit I've
found my education useful. But in the next few months it'll be more important
for our leader to know how to lead a charge than to say amo-amas-amat ."
     
    -
     

CHAPTER V
     
                PADWAY RETURNED TO ROME in
the best of humor. Nevitta was the first person, besides Thomasus the Syrian,
who had asked him to his house. And Padway, despite his somewhat cool exterior,
was a sociable fellow at heart. He was, in fact, so elated that he dismounted
and handed the reins of the borrowed horse to Hermann without noticing the
three tough-looking parties leaning against the new fence in front of the old
house on Long Street.
     
                When he headed for the gate,
the largest of the three, a black-bearded man, stepped in front of him. The man
was holding a sheet of paper — real paper, no doubt from the felter to whom
Padway had taught the art — in front of him and reading out loud to himself: — "medium
height, brown hair and eyes, large nose, short beard. Speaks with an
accent." He looked up sharply. "Are you Martinus Paduei?"
     
                "Sic. Quis est?"
     
                "You're under arrest.
Will you come along quietly?"
     
                "What? Who — What for
—"
     
                "Order of the municipal
prefect. Sorcery."
     
                "But... but — Hey! You can't —"
     
                "I said quietly."
     
                The other two men had moved
up on each side of Padway, and each took an arm and started to walk him along
the street. When he resisted, a short bludgeon appeared in the hand of one.
Padway looked around frantically. Hermann was already out of sight. Fritharik
was not to be seen; no doubt he was snoring as usual. Padway filled his lungs
to shout; the man on his right tightened his grip and raised the bludgeon
threateningly. Padway didn't shout.
     
                They marched him down the Argiletum
to the old jail below the Record Office on the Capitoline. He was still in
somewhat of a daze as the clerk demanded his name, age, and address. All he
could think of was that he had heard somewhere that you were entitled to
telephone your lawyer before