The Storm of Heaven (39 page)

"Wait." Angantyr's voice carried easily in the cool air. The afternoon sun was westering and the air was growing chill. "Let me see that bow."

The Macedonian turned. "Are you sure? I need a large number. Doubtless more than your shop can make."

Angantyr glowered. "Let me judge that."

"Very well." Alexandros stopped and laid the bowcase on the grass. He wiped both hands on his woolen leggings. It would be an insult to get this weapon dirty. He knelt and opened the case. Inside was a bow covered in soft cloth, with another item bundled below it. Padding made from raw wool filled the case, keeping the objects from rattling. Alexandros stood, unwrapping the bow. As he did so, he watched Angantyr's face, which suffused first with delight and then, just as swiftly, fell back into anger.

"You're a fool," he barked as Alexandros held up the bow for his inspection. "No one can make a bow like that, much less in quantity!"

The bow was a little over five feet long, with a sharp C-shaped curve. The stave itself was made of a wooden core with laminated sinew covering the inside of the C and the outside burnished with horn. In addition, the long, tapering ears ended in square knocks for the string, reinforced by two bone plaques, one on either side of the ear. Three bone plaques also reinforced the handle, where a man would place his hand. The top ear was very long and straight, while the bottom ear was short and curved. Alexandros unwound the horsehair string looped around the long top knock and reversed the bow so the knock rested on the tip of his boot. With a smooth motion, he laid the string along the back of the bow stave and drew it to the short knock. The end of the string threaded into a laminated bone hook on the square knock. As he strung the bow, the C shape reversed, straightening and curving back against the original orientation. The weapon gleamed in the sun, filled with subtle beauty.

"Master?" Alexandros reached down and drew a long flight arrow from the case. He presented the weapon to Angantyr, who was looking at the bow with a sick expression.

The craftsman shook his head and raised a hand. "No, there's no need for me to torture myself."

Alexandros turned to Ermanerich, who was looking back and forth between the two men in puzzlement. "Would you care to take a shot?"

The Gothic youth nodded and took the bow in his hands. With sure fingers he knocked the arrow to the bow and then tried to draw the string back towards him. It resisted him, stiff and solid as a log. Ermanerich grunted, muscles bunching in his shoulder, his fingers, cocked around the string, turning white.

"Lad... not like that. This is a Hunnic bow; you push the stave rather than drawing the string."

Alexandros took the bow back, slotted the arrow to the string and then laid the shaft along his left hand. With a simple pushing motion he pressed the stave away from him, drawing the head of the arrow to his finger. He turned, sighting across the river at a passing barge. It flew a blue flag ornamented with gods and sea serpents. The bargemen were lounging on the deck, watching the shore slide by as the current carried them down the river.

"Careful!" Angantyr barked, but Alexandros had already sighted, lifted the bow and loosed the arrow.

The arrow snapped away. It curved in a high arc, flashing out over the river, and then disappeared in the sky. Instants later, there was a cracking sound and the flagpole on the barge toppled over. The bargemen leapt up, staring about in alarm. Alexandros laughed.

"Gods! What a shot!" Ermanerich stared out at the river. The barge was at least four hundred feet away. "Can you teach me to shoot like that?"

"I can," Alexandros said, while Angantyr blurted out, "He can't!"

Alexandros caught the bowyer's eye. The man flushed.

"You mean," the Macedonian said, "you can't make a bow like this one, for the Prince to shoot. Or, should I say, you don't know
how
to make a bow like this."

Angantyr's lip curled up in a half-snarl, but he was at heart an honest man. After an obvious and almost comical struggle, he said: "This is the truth. I do not know how to make the Hun bow."

Alexandros smiled warmly at the man. Not many craftsmen would have been so honest.

"Why?" Ermanerich stared at the bow in his hands. "It looks like most any bow."

"True enough," Alexandros said, holding the weapon reverently. "In fact, I have in the case a written step-by-step description of how one builds such a weapon. From the selection of the proper woods and bone and horn, down to the mixture necessary to make the laminating glue. A Roman
fabrica
, in fact, could churn out hundreds of these, all looking much alike. But they would not be
this
bow."

"It's the tuning," Angantyr muttered, staring at the ground and grinding his teeth. "A delicate matter. It takes months to make the bow shoot properly. And the glue..." He eyed Alexandros with suspicion. "How did you get the formula for the glue?"

Alexandros grinned and wrapped the bow back up.

"Rome is filled with all manner of people and foreigners. It's been that way for centuries. Master Angantyr, with what I have in this case, you can make these bows yourself—the same materials, the same design. But you are right, it will take months to tune each bow for optimum performance, for the longest flight, the straightest shot. That will take endless trial and error."

Angantyr shook his head violently. "It's impossible! How would I make a living, if all my time were spent fiddling with these damned Hun bows? What about my other commissions?" He paused, squinting at Alexandros. "What do you want these bows for, anyway?"

Alexandros smiled again and nodded to Ermanerich. "The Prince and his friends are going to use them, mounted, from horses."

"What?" Both Ermanerich and Angantyr exclaimed at the same time.

"Goths don't fight like slaves or brigands!" Ermanerich said.

"No one can draw a bow and fire with accuracy from a running horse!" Angantyr seemed outraged at the very thought.

"The Huns do," Alexandros said with equanimity.

"Nonsense!" Angantyr expressed himself violently. His eyes bulged with the force of his emotions. "The Huns are born and bred in the saddle! It's in their blood!"

"That
is
nonsense," Alexandros said quietly. He looked around and saw the sun was close to setting. A deep purple gloaming settled over the river. A huge flock of wading birds rose and flapped past overhead, black-and-white wings flashing with the last rays of sunlight. Night crept out of the east, covering the far hills and valleys. It was peaceful, listening to the soft murmur of the river. "Let's go in, it's getting dark."

The feasting in Theodoric's hall lasted late into the night, but the Macedonian watched considerable business being done at the
reik's
table. Of course, once the singing started, it was impossible to hear anything more than a foot away. Despite this, Alexandros observed the manner and custom of the men and women around him, taking note of their speech and deportment. After two hours he felt he roughly understood most of the politics in the kingdom. Or at least the portion which had been under way here, tonight, in the feasting hall.

A skald was summoned and instructed by Theodoric to recite one of the ancient lays. This was a sign, for the few remaining men and women at the lower tables now rose, paid their respects to the
reik
and departed. Theodoric motioned to Alexandros, indicating a seat now vacant at his side. There were four other men, each richly dressed, sitting beneath the high seat. Theodelinda and Geofric remained as well.

"Honored guest," Theodoric rumbled, "I have discussed this matter with my close advisers. We are blessed by
Caesar
Maxian's friendship. We are flattered by his offer of assistance. The honor of the Goths is well known—how can we refuse such a request? Our strong arm has always been the bulwark of the Empire. We thrive under the Emperor's guidance."

Alexandros nodded, catching an undertone of bitter respect.

"I am sure," continued the
reik
, "many loyal Goths will be eager to join you. However, my advisers express concern over this business. We too have towns and cities to protect. Our own people cannot be left defenseless by this levy. Therefore I put upon you these strictures: no man may join you who holds land in our name; no man may join you who is married; no man may join you who owes a debt of blood or coin; and no man may join you who already serves as the
huscarl
of a lord. Within these strictures, you have my permission to undertake the
Caesar's
task."

Alexandros rose from the chair, feeling the weight of these men's eyes upon him. He felt a little giddy, for he could not have asked for a better outcome. He bowed to the
reik
.

"You are a generous king," he said, "and your renowned wisdom is shown in full. May I ask whom you will entrust with the execution of the letters I placed in your hand today?"

Theodoric smiled, eyes wrinkling in amusement. He was a king. Where coin lay, there was power.

"I am minded," Theodoric mused to himself, "that my youngest son, Ermanerich, should learn such business. It will do him good to grasp this thistle and hold it tight. He will see to the execution of these letters." The
reik
reached into his cloak and handed them to Alexandros. The Macedonian kept his composure, for two letters of credit were returned where three had been given.

As Gaius Julius had expected,
Alexandros thought. The honesty of the Goths was like that of other men. A third of the planned funds would be diverted into the pockets of the
reik
.
No matter, no matter... I will take the rest from enemies of the Empire.

"Go about this business, then, Alexandros of the Macedonians. Know that my eye is upon you and with you. My son, in this matter, will speak with my voice. I expect that you will do all honor to the Gutthilda and to Rome."

"I will,
reik
, you have my pledge on it."

Alexandros bowed deeply to the old king and then descended the steps to the lower tables. He needed to void the cold, leaden bread in his stomach, now bloated with wine, and he needed to write Gaius Julius a letter. Some matters had come clear and some remained obscure. Ermanerich was waiting, watching him with hopeful eyes. "Come, my friend, let's get poor Angantyr home to his workshop."

The Gothic prince nodded, glancing over his shoulder at his father. The old king was listening to the skald, seemingly asleep, a thin, blue-veined hand covering his face. Alexandros put a hand on the youth's shoulder, beckoning with his head.

"Leave them; your father has given us what we need. Let him rest. His time is passing swiftly enough."

Together, they went out of the hall and into the night.

"Lord and god,
Caesar
Aurelian has arrived."

Galen, Emperor of the West, nodded to the servant, then returned his attention to the tablets and parchments covering his desk. Absently, he said, "Send him in and see that he gets something to eat and drink."

With summer full upon the city, Galen had moved his office into the cooler palace of Tiberius on the northern side of the Palatine Hill. The summer sun in Rome was strong enough, reflecting off acres of marble, to illuminate the rooms with a clear light. From here, too, the Emperor could look down upon the Forum Romanum. It also took him away from the Circus Maximus, all too visible from the windows of his winter office.

The circus should have been filled each day with boisterous, cheering crowds. Instead, the long racetrack lay quiet and abandoned, filled with drifts of dirty gray ash. Galen chewed on the end of his quill pen, tapping it against his teeth while he considered the documents before him. One of his strongest supporters, senator Gregorius Auricus, had laid before him a well-thought-out plan to resume the public round of tragic plays, chariot races, gladiatorial combats, wild-animal hunts, pantomimes, mocked-up naval battles and performances by tumblers, jugglers, fools and magicians that occupied the idle hours of the city's populace.

For no apparent reason, the Emperor could not bring himself to sign the papers and issue the appropriate edicts. These proposals meant nothing more than the resumption of Rome's daily routine. Yet, his mind was uneasy. Some nagging thought, half-formed, urged him to delay.

His forehead wrinkled in concern, but he set the proposal aside in a clearly labeled hinged wooden folder. Immediately, one of the scribes padded forward and took the book away. The walls were lined with alcoves and slots for storing manuscripts and books. The original contents—Tiberius' personal collection—had been moved to the huge, four-story Imperial library on the southern side of the hill. That left storage space for all of the paperwork generated by Galen's administration. The scribe filed the report away, then resumed his place behind a desk.

Galen, a literate citizen, drafted all of his own edicts and proclamations. However, they had to be duplicated
en masse
and that meant a veritable army of scribes to proof, copy and distribute his words. Six clerks usually worked in the room, heads bent over portable teak writing desks. The
skritch-skritch
of their pens, coupled with the susurration of slow-moving fans built into the ceiling, formed a relaxing background noise.

"Brother, how plays the day?"

The Emperor looked up and gave a wan smile to match the cheery expression on his brother's broad tan face. Aurelian, as usual, was kitted out in Legion cavalry half-armor and a maroon cloak. Coupled with his big red beard, it made him look like a friendly bear in gleaming armor. Heedless of Galen's orderly piles, Aurelian pushed aside the papers and sat down on the corner of the desk. The Emperor waved away two scribes creeping up to try and gather the scattered papers.

"Poorly, as it usually does, with giant lummoxes crashing about, disturbing the peace."

Aurelian grinned, teeth white in the thicket of his beard. "You spend too much time in here, mewed up with these ink-stained automatons."