Free Gallicenae by Poul Anderson Page B

expectations, suddenly he was brought forth. The person in charge was unctuous though uncommunicative. Gratillonius would see the Emperor! First he must needs be bathed, groomed, properly attired….
    This time Maximus sat in a room small and plainly furnished, himself simply clad, behind a table littered with papers and wax writing tablets. Apart from two soldiers at the door and the two that led Gratillonius in, he was unattended. Gratillonius gave him a salute, noticing with faint annoyance how awkward it was in his condition. “Sit down,” the Emperor directed. Gratillonius lowered his weariness onto a stool.
    Maximus observed him closely before saying, “Well, Centurion, how are you today?”
    Something grinned within Gratillonius. Aloud he answered, “All right, thank you, sir.”
    “Good.” Maximus ruffled the beard over his craggy chin, stared into space, and proceeded: “You came through interrogation rather well. We’ve no reason to doubt you were innocent of any criminal intent. Your rescue of Bishop Arator argues in your favor, too. Not being of the Faith, you failed to see the wiles of Satan before you. Meditate on that! But your intentions were patriotic. I expected they’d prove to be. You understand we had to make certain.”
    Gratillonius spared himself a reply. It would have been too much effort, for no clear purpose.
    “Now.” Maximus’s gaze swung back to stab at him. “Let us hear what you have to relate about Ys.”
    Surprised, Gratillonius stammered, “The Augustus… has my dispatches—”
    “If those sufficed, I needn’t have brought you here.” Maximus barked a laugh. “Since time is lacking, and you’re in no shape to take the initiative, I must. Listen well and answer clearly.”
    His questions were shrewd. At the end, he nodded and said, slow-toned: “Aside from your mistakes—and we pray you’ve learned your lesson—aside from those, you’ve done a creditable job. We’re minded to keep you at your post. But.” He raised a finger. “But we set restrictions on you. You will not further abet the practice of sorcery in Ys. Do you hear? You will not. Instead, you, as the prefect of Rome, will do everything in your power to suppress what is diabolical.”
    A smile quirked his lips. “I know that won’t be easy. You’re set among pagans, and they seem to be especially obstinate. I’m not sure any Christian could handle them at all, and certainly I’ve no Christian officer available with anything like your capabilities. He sighed. “I must use whatever God sees fit to send me.”
    He grew stern: “We shall not let witches live. Once the last of this Priscillianist obscenity is behind us—we’ll be sending agents to Hispania to root it out, down to bedrock—once that’s done and the West is secure, look for us to enter Ys and inquire into your stewardship. Therefore be zealous. To drive the lesson home, you’ll be led from here to receive five strong lashes, one for each wound that Our Lord suffered upon the Cross. No more, and with an unweighted whip. We are disposed to be merciful.”
    Gratillonius mustered strength to say, “I thank the Augustus.”
    “Good,” replied Maximus. “Thereafter you may return to your quarters and recuperate. Use the time well. Think about your errors, seek counsel, pray for the grace of the Holy Spirit. Then, whenever you are fit to travel, you may do so.”
    Dull though Gratillonius’s mind was, a flickering went through it. He dared not wonder if he was being wise before he said, “Augustus,”—how weakly his voice resounded in his skull—“you tell me to get advice… from learned men. Well, may I search for it elsewhere than here?”
    “What? Where else?” Maximus scowled. “No, do not linger in Caesarodunum Turonum. They’re devout there, but you might become confused about certain things.”
    “I meant farther south, sir. To Lugdunum, Burdigala, places where … many sages live.”
    “Are you quite right in your