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sorcerer or saint, devil or angel some pagans thought him a god and next to
Urias II, the most powerful man in the world.
Possibly more powerful. Emperors came and went, but the man from Padua had
been making things happen since Tharasamund's grandfather was a stripling
riding to his first war, when the Greeks invaded
Italy in Thiudahad's day.
Tharasamund saluted and made a deep bow. "My apologies, my lord. I am at your
disposal." He managed a smile, a gentleman's refusal to be disconcerted by
events. "And at yours, my lady."
"Jorith Hermansdaughter, noble Captain," she said, a little faintly but with
courtly politeness. A princess, then, and the old man's granddaughter.
This definitely took precedence over his own troubles. . . .
* * *
Ouch
, Padway thought, pushing his glasses back up his nose and giving thanks, for
once, for the increasing short-sightedness of old age. He'd seen worse, but
not very often.
"Captain, pleased to see you," he said. "What happened here?"
"My lord," the young man said crisply. He looked suitably heroic in a battered
way, but it was a pleasure to hear the firm intelligence in his voice. "A
detachment of my company was ordered by General
Winnithar of the Capital City garrison command to suppress rioters in aid to
the civil power. We were doing so when a bomb thrower dropped a grenade into
the ammunition limber. I suspect the man was a foreign agent the whole thing
was too smooth for accident."
As he spoke, another explosion echoed over the city. Padway nodded, looking
like an ancient and highly intelligent owl.
"Doubtless you're right, Captain. Do you think the Equinoctal Way will be
clear?"
Tharasamund made a visible effort. "It's as good a chance as any, my lord," he
said. "It's broad rioters generally stick to the old town. And it's the best
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way to get to the garrison barracks quickly."
Broad and open to light, air and artillery
, Padway thought a joke about the way Napoleon III had rebuilt Paris, and part
of his own thoughts over the years planning the expansion of Florence.
"Let's go that way," he said. "Hengist, head us out."
* * *
"I never wanted to have adventures," Padway grumbled. "Even when I was a young
man.
Certainly not now."
Jorith looked at him and gave a smile; not a very convincing one, but he
acknowledged the effort.
"This is an adventure?" she said. "I've always wanted adventures but this just
feels like I was walking along the street and stepped into a sewer full of big
rats."
"That's what adventures are like," Padway said, wincing slightly as the coach
lurched slowly over
something that went crunch under the wheel and trying not to think of
what formerly who it was, "while you're having them. They sound much better in
retrospect."
The young guardsman Tharasamund Hrothegisson, Padway forced himself to
remember chuckled harshly.
"Oh, yes," he said, in extremely good Latin with only the faintest tinge of a
Gothic accent, then added:
"Your pardon, my lord."
Jorith looked at him oddly, while Padway nodded. He might not have been a
fighting man himself, but he'd met a fair sample over the years, and this was
one who'd seen the elephant. For a moment youth and age shared a knowledge
uncommunicable to anyone unacquainted with that particular animal. Then a
memory tickled at Padway's mind; he'd always had a rook's habit of stashing
away bits and pieces, valuable for an archaeologist and invaluable for a
politician.
"Hrothegisson . . . not a relation of Thiudegiskel?"
The young man stiffened. Officially, there had been an amnesty but nobody had
forgotten that
Thiudegiskel son of Thiudahad had tried to get elected King of the Goths and
Italians instead of Urias I, Padway's candidate; or that he'd gone over to the
Byzantines during the invasion that followed and nearly wrecked the nascent
Empire of the West.
"My mother was the daughter of his mother's sister," he said stiffly. "My
lord."
That didn't make him an Amaling, but . . .
"Ancient history, young fellow. Like me," he added with a wry grin. "What are
you doing, by the way?"
The young Goth had gotten up and was examining the fastenings of the
rubberized-canvas hood that covered the carriage.
"I thought I'd peel this back a bit at the front, my lord "
"You can call me boss or Quaestor or even sir, if you must," Padway said. He
still wasn't entirely comfortable being my-lorded.
" sir. I'd be of some use, if I could see out."
"Not all the way?"
"Oh, that would never do," Tharasamund said. "You're far too noticeable . . .
sir."
Tharasamund finished looking at the fastenings, made a few economical slashes
with his dagger, and peeled the soft material back from its struts, just
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