"He's not eligible to vote. Well, the town watch is too scared of the Goths to keep order, and I don't dare use my own guards for fear of rousing all the Goths against the 'foreigners.' I blackmailed the city fathers into hiring Dagalaif to deputize the other marshals who are not electors as election police. As Nevitta is on our side, I don't know how impartial my friend Dagalaif will be. But it'll save us from a pitched battle, I hope."
"Wonderful, wonderful, Martinus. Don't over-reach yourself; some of the Goths call your electioneering methods newfangled and undignified. I'll ask God to keep a special watch over you and your candidate."
The day before the election, Thiudegiskel showed his political astuteness by throwing a barbecue even bigger than Padway's. Padway, having some mercy on Urias' modest purse, had limited his party to the electors. Thiudegiskel, with the wealth of Thiudahad's immense Tuscan estates to draw upon, shot the works. He invited all the electors and their families and friends also.
Padway and Urias and Thomasus, with the former's ward-heelers, the latter's family, and a sizable guard, arrived at the field outside Florence after the festivities had begun. The field was covered with thousands of Goths of all ages, sizes, and sexes, and was noisy with East-German gutturals, the clank of scabbards, and the flop-flop of leather pants.
A Goth bustled up to them with beer suds in his whiskers. "Here, here, what are you people doing? You weren't invited."
"Ni ogs, frijond," said Padway.
"What? You're telling me not to be afraid?" The Goth bristled.
"We aren't even trying to come to your party. We're just having a little picnic of our own. There's no law against picnics, is there?"
"Well—then why all the armament? Looks to me as though you were planning a kidnapping."
"There, there," soothed Padway. "You're wearing a sword, aren't you?"