by Tony Roberts
“Ave, Imperator,” Flavius answered quickly. He had been the most religious of the group, Casca recalled.
“And you, Optio?” Honorius pressed the scarred mercenary. It seemed to be a very important issue with him.
“Ave Caesar,” Casca nodded. “I was baptized in Mediolanum over a year and a half ago.”
Hmm,” the emperor sat back, a finger to his lips. “And you reject both Satan and the false emperor, Constantine?”
“They are one and the same, surely, Caesar,” Casca said, acting upon a sudden flash of inspiration.
The officials and courtiers looked amused, more so when Honorius clapped in delight. “A splendid answer, Optio. I like that! I shall use that in my next address,” he nodded to a scribe who made the suitable notations on a scroll.
There was little more to be said thereafter, and both men were dismissed. They backed away, bowing low. The flunky led them to a small antechamber where they waited for a short while, then two men entered. They were two of the officials who had been near Honorius. They were attired in long, flowing one-piece toga-style outfits of white, faced with red and yellow motifs, including crosses.
“I am Quintus Decimus, Notary to His Imperial Majesty,” one with a short brown beard introduced himself.
The other then spoke. “I am Corinius Britannicus, Commander of the Fifth Legion. You are hereby transferred to my legion, along with your century.”
Quintus took the stage, flicking a loop of cloth over his sleeve. “What we are to say here is never to pass beyond these walls. If you do divulge anything, rest assured that those you speak to will be executed and you will lose your tongues, along with anything else that is decided at that time. Understood?”
“Perfectly, sir,” Casca replied, deadpan.
“Good. I tire of dealing with idiots who lack the fundamental ability to understand even simple words,” Quintus said with an exaggerated sigh. “So, even you will no doubt have grasped that we are about to move on Arelate. Before I go into deeper detail, I will allow Corinius here to appraise you of the military situation.”
“The usurper Constantine is doomed,” the legion commander said briskly. “His own general, Gerontius, has revolted against him and has marched from Spain with what forces he has and is even now besieging Constantine in his city. We believe it is only a matter of time before Arelate falls.”
Quintus took over again. “So, to our mission. While Corinius and the Magister, Constantius, take the army into Gaul to firstly tackle Gerontius, then secondly Constantine, you are to go to Arelate and retrieve a very special artefact before it is either smashed, stolen or otherwise lost.”
Casca looked at Flavius, then at Quintus. “And what is this artefact, sir?”
“Since you are to retrieve it, it’s folly not to tell you. However, its name and description will not be revealed to either of you until just prior to setting foot in the city. We must be as secretive as possible, I’m sure you understand.” He smiled in an infuriatingly patronizing manner. “Suffice to say at this point his Imperial Majesty desires this artefact at all costs. If anyone tries to stop you, you are to kill them, no matter who they are.”
“Understood, sir,” Casca said. “And how are we to get into Arelate?”
“It will be arranged – at night, naturally. Once inside you will be on your own to plan and carry out your orders. You have been selected because you have both been to the city before and because I am told you are men of intelligence and can adapt to difficult situations – you did perform a covert task last year, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir,” both nodded in response.
“Very good,” Quintus said. “In which case I doubt we could find better suited people as such short notice. Time is of the essence. We want to get there before Gerontius’ forces capture the city, and the chances are that the city would be sacked and the artefact we’re after would be destroyed or lost. You will now return to your unit and act normally, and await further orders. Corinius here will send for you when the time comes.”
The two men returned to the camp, wondering just what it was they were to fetch on behalf of the emperor.
CHAPTER FIVE
The army was encamped east of Arelate. Massilia had fallen without a hitch; the sight of 6,000 men marching on the city had quickly convinced the small garrison to open their gates, and the port once more had fallen to the legal Roman Empire.
A few changes had been quickly made by Constantius, the overall commander. Those running the city on behalf of Constantine had either fled or had been imprisoned, and people loyal to Honorius had been put in their place.
Casca had spoken to Lacano about the villa where he had been recruited the previous year, and had been given permission to investigate it with a squad of men. They had climbed the hill and come to the white-washed building, but it had been abandoned, as he had expected. Scarnio and his staff had fled. He and Flavius had gone to the garden, where the statue of Gretasuntha stood, and gazed at her for a moment.
“Beautiful, isn’t she, sir?”
“That she is, Flavius. I hope she and Mattias have found a life together somewhere.”
During their march into Gaul, Casca and Flavius continued to drill their men. They were still sloppy, but at least they were beginning to act like soldiers. Marcus still tended Casca’s gear, cleaning it and making sure it was in top condition. He could now wield his sword and was beginning to put on muscle. Casca told him that was due to a proper diet provided by the army as opposed to one chiefly of alcohol.
Navina scolded Casca for his treatment of the young man, but that merely provoked Casca into telling her he would never grow into a man otherwise, and did she wish to breast feed him? After that there was tension between the two. That changed two days out of Massilia when Casca returned early from a meeting with Lacano, just as night was falling, and he had heard grunting and gasping from Marcus’ tent. Casca had passed, one eyebrow raised, and had silently slipped into his tent and lay there, sipping on a flask of wine he’d procured, until Navina had returned, adjusting her hair.
She had stopped in surprise at seeing him. “Oh – I thought you were going to be much longer,” she had said.
“No – it turned out to be a quick update. If you’re going to screw Marcus you’d better move in with him. I don’t want any nonsense between the two of you in here. Best you go so you can do whatever you wish to one another in private.”
She had stiffly turned away, the solitary torch failing to completely hide the reddening of her face. Casca had been relieved to have his tent to himself thereafter without the atmosphere being strained. He’d gotten fed up with it. He could now discuss matters with Flavius without having to be secretive in front of her.
So now the army stood before the forces of Gerontius, waiting calmly, quietly. Casca looked along the lines of his men and grunted softly. Poor in comparison to the soldiers of yesterday, but the empire was desperate for anyone willing to pick up a sword. They would have to do.
The terrain was flat, with Arelate rising up a few miles to the enemy rear. The opposition looked outnumbered. They had probably been dragged here from Spain against their will, stripping that region of any defences. Damned civil wars, they only served to hurt the empire, and they always began because someone thought they could do better than the current incumbent.
Casca spat into the dry, dusty soil. It was late spring. Groves of olive trees were scattered here and there, and a farmhouse stood some way off to the right. Other than that, the land was totally flat. Salt pans and small pools of water could be seen to the left, the seaward side.
The main body of the army were the heavy infantry, the Comitanenses, which took up the center. On either flank were spearmen and behind them were the cavalry. It was going to be a basic stand-up-and-fight toe-to-toe battle.
“Alright you lot,” Casca said, turning to his right to speak to his men. Flavius was in the second line, there to ensure discipline was maintained. “This is what you�
��ve been trained for. You are to kill your enemy; I don’t want to see any mercy. On my order the second row will advance to replace the first. Now, stand fast, stand tall, and kill the enemy!”
He turned his attention back to the enemy. He knew another Century stood directly behind his, and there were more to left and right. Fodegast came out casually and surveyed the enemy lines. His unit was center right. They would be part of the anvil, smashing into the opposition head-on while the cavalry would sweep round and hit them in the flanks and rear. Whoever broke first would be slaughtered.
The cohort commander nodded to Lacano and walked his horse back to a safe position behind the first four lines of men. He would be a nice target for some enemy soldier. Lacano came over to Casca and stood next to him. “You are to infiltrate the city the moment we defeat Gerontius. You and Flavius are to go ahead of the rest of the army, locate the sewer drain outlet over by the south gate and get in that way. The confusion over the defeat of one army and the investing of the city by a second will give the two of you a small window of opportunity to get in undetected.”
“I see, sir. What of the men here? Who will take over?”
“We will take care of that. The word will be that the two of you have been killed. You will never return to this unit again, do you understand?”
Casca gave his centurion a long, level look. “I see. So to whom do we report to once we complete our mission?”
Lacano looked round slowly. Nobody was within earshot. “Go to the church of St. Paul. When the city falls one of the emperor’s agents will meet you in the central aisle at the first midnight after the taking of the city. Now, here is a document you are to read and destroy once you do so. It tells you what you’re looking for. I do not know, I have been told in no uncertain terms never to ask or look. Good luck, Optio.”
Casca slipped the thin sheets under his belt. “Thank you, sir. We’ll do our best.”
Lacano grunted and moved off, sending Flavius forward to join Casca, taking the rear position himself.
“What is it, sir?” Flavius asked.
“Our mission. We’re to get in the minute this battle ends. Follow me.”
Casca stood out front watching as the lines of the army readied themselves. The ends of Constantius’ army overlapped Gerontius’, and unless the enemy had some remarkable tactic up their sleeves, the outcome was not in doubt.
The men clashed their shields and roared out their defiance, and on command began to advance. Casca nudged Flavius. “Keep close, watch out for missiles.”
As they closed the distance, the air became full of javelins, arrows and darts. Casca held his shield high and grimaced as objects struck it hard, shaking his arm to the core. Then he ordered a halt, twenty paces from the enemy. “Javelins!” he roared.
The century poised, then each man hurled both their javelins at the bracing opposition. No sooner had they done that then the order came to charge, and Casca led the first line into the fray. The sound of hundreds of men coming together in combat set teeth on edge. Cries, curses, grunts, and the sound of steel on steel filled the air. Casca kept Flavius to one side and stepped forward at a heavy infantryman from Spain facing him. The man gritted his teeth and kept his shield forward, as he should do.
Casca smashed down at the shield, splintering the edge. The counter came at him as he expected, and his own shield met it. He thrust forward hard, passing the rim of the man’s shield and punching the razor sharp point of his sword through the chainmail links of his enemy’s armored shirt. The man gasped and grimaced in pain, then slid backwards, turning to his left as his legs gave way.
Bodies littered the ground, many already there through the hail of missiles. Casca battered away at the next man in the line, roaring at the top of his lungs. One slash took the man across the neck, almost severing his head. The gap created was exploited by Flavius and one of his men, and it widened, peeling apart the wavering line. Another came at him, desperation written across his face, his blade rising and falling. Casca slapped the attack aside and rammed his elbow into the man’s face, breaking his nose. Without pausing, he cut down across the injured man’s shoulder and upper chest, sending him crumpling into the churned-up bloodied soil.
Flavius watched Casca’s back, and this allowed the eternal mercenary to wade in deeper, carving out a space before him. The enemy centurion, seeing the danger, came at him, his face fixed in a steely determined manner. His sword was shiny and spotless. Pretty boy officer, Casca thought, and slashed hard for the man’s face. The centurion met the first blow but it sent a jarring shock down his arm and he took a step back in surprise. This was much harder than he’d expected. Casca’s shield smashed into the soldier’s face, knocking him back two more steps, and he nudged into the last line of men. One huge down blow opened up the centurion’s chainmail down the chest and the man half-turned and fell at Casca’s feet.
The last line watched in horror at the disintegration of the ones before them, and now they heard the unmistakable sound of horses to their rear. Constantius’ cavalry had swept round, routed Gerontius’ and now were coming for the infantry. Gerontius’ cavalry had in fact fled, realizing the battle was lost already. Gerontius himself saw the inevitable and turned to flee, leaving his infantry to their fate.
The infantry dissolved into small groups, all trying to run for their lives. Casca swung about and grabbed Flavius. “Come on, chase that lot over there!” he pointed to the knot of soldiers running for the distant city. Clearly they thought salvation lay there, even though they had been up to that morning trying to starve it into surrender.
The land was firm, flat and perfect for cavalry. The group of enemy soldiers ahead ran as if the hounds of hell were on their tails. They knew to stay was suicide, especially with so many mounted soldiers roaming about.
Casca concentrated on trying to catch the rearmost of the group which numbered some eight men. The cavalry spotted the men fleeing, and three came galloping after them, gleefully raising their swords at the thought of yet another easy kill. “Look out,” Casca snapped to Flavius, “one thinks we’re the enemy, the stupid bastard!”
One veered towards the two, intent on cutting them down. Flavius turned and raised his shield, which was just as well for the blow from the cavalryman sent him off his feet, his shield splintered. Casca jumped to one side and in a reflex smashed the pommel of his sword into the horse’s head as it flashed past. The horse staggered and the front legs buckled, sending the rider plunging off his mount to hit the ground heavily, and he rolled to an untidy halt, arms and legs splayed out.
“Idiot,” Casca breathed, picking Flavius up and the two men set off again in the wake of the enemy soldiers who had scattered at the approach of the two other horsemen. While two men were being slaughtered, the six remaining soldiers were running hard for any cover they could. The land was getting marshy and they were approaching the river, the wide waterway that ran through Arelate, and the same course they had sailed up the previous year. The walls of the city were much closer now and soldiers could be seen standing on top staring out at the battle, or what was left of it.
Their dilemma was what would happen to them now, seeing that the force that had been besieging them had been defeated, but by another opposing army. That would all depend on the dialogue between their emperor and the representative of the one in Ravenna. For now they would keep their gates shut and chase away anyone who approached.
Casca knew to walk up to the gates was folly, but every Roman town or city had sewers, and Arelate’s would empty into the Rhodanus. From his extensive knowledge of Roman towns and cities, he knew their way in would be that way. Two men could sneak in while most of the garrison were occupied watching the dying moments of the battle outside their walls.
The marshy soil was full of tall broad-leaved grasses – sedges – and these helped conceal the two men sneaking towards the white stone block wall where the river met it. The stone was quarried out of nearby hills, Casca knew. It was a big local
industry – or it had been. Probably no longer going, he mused sadly. Down by the river was an outlet, the diameter about as high as a crouching man. A metal grille stood covering the exit, so Casca took told of it, standing in the mud of the river bank, and pulled hard. It gave with a protesting screech and bent down at the top. It remained firmly fixed to the left but Casca bent the metal enough for the two of them to be able to squeeze in.
“What about a light?” Flavius asked in a whisper as he followed Casca in.
Casca picked up a discarded branch, probably thrown in there months ago, and wrapped some spare cloth around it. The two men then set about lighting it, and finally, with the help of a flint and a steel edge of his dagger, they got it going. The army did teach someone useful tricks.
The tunnel was evil smelling but there was not too much water in it, just an inch or two at the bottom, which was where most of the contents congregated. The two tried to walk with their legs wide, treading on the clear areas to either side of the deposits. The passage ran under the walls and pretty soon they came to an air vent that ran straight up, and they peered up and saw daylight above them, about fifteen feet or so, and heard talking and a rumbling as a cart passed by. It must have been by a roadside.
They passed on and soon came to a junction. Two tunnels converged, one running off ahead and to the right, the other ahead and to the left. “Which way?” Flavius whispered.
Casca shrugged. “We need to be somewhere near the church of St. Paul. I think its near the amphitheatre, so we’ll go left.” They squelched on for a short distance, then came to another junction. At this point there was a rusting series of rungs set in the wall leading up to another grille. Again, they heard voices, and Casca looked round. “We’ll go up there after dark. In the meantime, let’s find a place to sit and look at what we’ve come here for.”
The junction consisted of a square chamber with three tunnels meeting at this point, and around the chamber at waist height there was a ledge, so they sat down on this along the wall with no tunnel. While Flavius held the torch high for Casca to examine the parchment Lacano had handed him, the eternal mercenary scanned through the brief instructions.