Andrew Offutt: The Tower of Death

“ And the Frisians,” Count Guntram snarled, “ and the Heruls, the Danes-that whole damned boiling sea of North Sea robbers! Not to speak of the Scoti who sometimes take the notion that our coasts are the very place for a happy little junket, and Vandals up from the south to try their luck! Hooves of the Devil! I live here too, merchant! Their numbers are greater than rats!” The count’s big hand, which bore heavy gold rings and dirty nails in almost equal numbers, lifted to stroke his pepper-and-salt beard. His face softened to an almost ludicrous contrast; his little bright blue eyes glittered.

“Nay,” he said almost softly, “with pirates on the water in such numbers, I know not why you are not ruined. I’d like to know how you manage.”

Philip’s eyes, dark as garnets, flickered and went suddenly as hard. His brocaded tunic and soft Cordoban shoes, no less than the shining gems scintillant on his person, did indeed suggest that he was managing very well indeed. The other merchant, Desiderius Crispus, in a simple dress-tunic long out of date and a wholly false air of patrician hauteur, looked more austere. And the count was too well informed to credit that sham.

Philip said, “If I may speak for us both, my colleague? I believe, my lord Comes , that it is because the bulk of our trade goes by land or river. For myself, what goods I ship are brought from the east to Narbo Martius, and then hither. I should not dream of trusting my wealth on the western seas at matters ar now.”

“ You slimy, lying serpent! ”

Guntram gripped the underside of his much-abused table and heaved it over. Ink, reports, quills and fine blotting sand were scattered like trash. The secretary, who had been seated at one end, rolled backward and betook himself out of the way. A corner of the table had banged Proculus on the knees; the phrases he hissed between his teeth as he rubbed were hardly in keeping with the dignity of his position. He stared silently at the count as if wishing the big soldier were small enough to stamp.

The Count of Burdigala was amove; he seized Philip by the throat and choked him until his bulging eyes saw the stark face of Death. Then Guntram flung him down among the papers and ink to get his breath.

“D’you think I’m a fool?” Guntram roared. “Or that my spies waste their time? From Narbo is it, with tolls and levies each mile of the way? Pah! And you,” he snarled, rounding on Desiderius. “ Traitor! I’ll not bore ye with all I know. It was full eighty swords of Spanish forging, the best there is this side of Damascus, that found their way into Hengist’s grasping hands-not so? Not so? And paid for in gold from a looted church! Ahhh! And you, Philip of Syria. Captain Ticilo may not be your man for speaking publicly of, but I know what he did in Massilia last year, and what Vandal galley gave him escort the length of the Spanish coast. And raided Lusitania on its way home, to such profit that it must have had advance information to guide him. What last I heard, Lusitania is part of our Gothic realms as much as this city-which means, Syrian, that these dealings were no common sharp practice or thieving. They rank as treason! ” He looked at Proculus. “Be that not so, sir?”

“Beyond doubt, if there is proof,” the municipal prefect said, with stiffness. “It would merit the severest death the law can award.”

Philip had not risen from his knees; Desiderius now joined him there.

Both merchants wailed for mercy. They had been moved, they avowed nigh fearfully, to do what they did out of desperation for the losses these same pirates had inflicted upon them. If the menace could be abated, the seas cleared or rendered so that a merchantman had so much as even odds, would be their dearest wish come true. Let the Count of Burdigala but state his desires. And so forth.

Guntram was not listening. Proculus had his ear at the moment, and Proculus was waxing condemnatory. He straightened, lean in his robes through with a growing pot. His thin-lipped mouth was twisted. Pain from his smitten knee and disgust at the exhibition he’d been forced to watch were in equal measure the cause of it.

“My lord Count,” he snapped, “this disgraces me! Here is neither a court of law nor a wharfside grog-shop-though just now, one might well take the one for the latter. Let these men be arraigned for their crimes in due form, and let the civic questioner be the one to lay hands on them. I give you good day.”

“ Hold! ”

Guntram’s crisp order stopped Proculus in his tracks. He gazed at the bleak-faced count, frozen in motion.

“My sons are beyond that door,” Guntram of Burdigala said, all in one deadly tone. “They have swords, and will cut to pieces any one who leaves afore I have told him he may. Anybody , sir. An ye have complaints, you can make them later, in that due form you love so well-but by God you’ll stomach it for now! This is urgent business, should it chance that ye’ve not yet grasped it!”

The prefect looked stricken. No fleshy, high-coloured, wine-loving old Visigoth he faced now, baffled by law and literacy and intent only on secure comfort in his declining years. Nay, this was Guntram the war-man who had reddened his sword on a score of battlefields in doing his part to turn back Attila’s Huns and conquer Hispania. The cheerful ruthlessness on the old soldier’s face was warrant that the threatened murders would be performed.

Proculus gathered what dignity he could, and returned to his place in that temper-littered room.

“Better; tha-at’s better,” Guntram said, nigh purring. “Now attend, all of you. I spoke of an inland raid. The report is amid this litter somewhere…” Guntram looked hopelessly round himself. “Well, the gist of it is that a pack-train carrying oil, white salt and fine glassware from Italy, was ambushed and robbed on a forest road … full twenty mile from the coast! The robbers were Danish pirates; their leader was recognized. There cannot be two men of that size, accoutred so, and with beards so red and axes so huge. For that it was on me the king’s anger fell. The stolen goods, y’see, were meant for the royal court. An I cannot deal a sharp blow to these pirates within the year, there may be a new Count of Burdigala… and a new commander of the fleet.” Guntram’s eyes wandered to Athanagild; Guntram glowered about at them all before he went on:

“Certain it is that there will be two less merchants in this city! And the new man, whoever he may be, will have words whispered to him about the municipal curia… bribes and such, you know; the king cheated of his taxes and the like. Think on it. Given our king’s the sort who’s apt to dismiss an old soldier who served his father thirty years and feels his wounds every night-to dismiss such a one over the matter of the royal table salt, what can you expect? Eh? And it’s written proof I have, and witnesses, mark me! Your fates depend on mine, all of you. You had better be convinced of that.”

Guntram had gone to purring again; was worse and more menacing, those men thought, than his shout and bluster.

“I’m with you, my lord Count,” Proculus assured him. “A loyal subject should do all he can to put down pirates. But how can I be of aid to you? I am no sailor or fighting man.”

“You can help with counsel,” he was told, “and ere we’re done there may well be a few little legal matters that need smoothing over. The Syrian was not merely gabbling when he said pirates are too many, but we have no need of sinking them by the dozens. Athanagild! Say that you knew where to find them, just where to find them, man, and what their movements would be?”

The younger Goth’s eyes sparkled. “My lord! I’d lay a couple of the greatest among them by the heels. We’d set some examples to give pause to the rest.”