There was a quick, concerted movement among the cuirassiers, who had been sorting themselves into a semicircle in front of the church door. The next instant the guards were looking at a hundred stiff Byzantine bows drawn to the cheek.
"Nu," said Padway in Gothic, "if you boys will put your stickers down and your hands up, we have an appointment—Ah, that's better. Much better." He slid off his horse. "Achilleus, give me a troop. Then surround the church, and keep those in in and those out out until I finish with Wittigis."
He marched into St. Vitalis' Church with a hundred cuirassiers at his heels. The organ music died with a wail, and people turned to look at him. It took his eyes a few seconds to become accustomed to the gloom.
In the center of the huge octagon was a pickle-faced Arian bishop, and three people stood before him. One was a big man in a long, rich robe, with a crown on his dark graying hair: King Wittigis. Another was a tallish girl with a strawberries-and-cream complexion and her hair in thick golden braids: the Princess Mathaswentha. The third was an ordinary Gothic soldier, somewhat cleaned up, who stood beside the bride and held her arm behind her back. The audience was a handful of Gothic nobles and their ladies.
Padway walked very purposefully down the aisle, thump, thump, thump. People squirmed and rustled in their seats and murmured: "The Greeks! The Greeks are in Ravenna!"
The bishop spoke up: "Young man, what is the meaning of this intrusion?"
"You'll soon learn, my lord bishop. Since when has the Arian faith countenanced the taking of a woman to wife against her will?"
"What's that? Who is being taken against her will? What business is this wedding of yours? Who are you, who dares interrupt—"
Padway laughed his most irritating laugh. "One question at a time, please. I'm Martinus Paduei, quaestor to King Thiudahad. Ravenna is in our hands, and prudent persons will comport themselves accordingly. As for the wedding, it isn't normally necessary to assign a man to twist the bride's arm to make sure she gives the right answers. You don't want to marry this man, do you, my lady?"
Mathaswentha jerked her arm away from the soldier, who had been relaxing his grip. She made a fist and punched him in the nose with enough force to rock his head back on its hinges. Then she swung at Wittigis, who dodged hack. "You beast!" she cried. "I'll claw your eyes—"