by Tony Roberts
“So, it’s a piece of parchment, gifted by Honorius to Constantine when Honorius recognized Constantine as legitimate briefly two years ago.” Casca looked into the distance thoughtfully. “I was in Ravenna at that time and there was a lot of fuss with Constantine’s envoys arriving. It must have been then that Honorius gifted this artefact,” he tapped the parchment, “and declared both of them consuls for that year.”
“What exactly is the artefact, sir?”
“A piece of the scriptures with, so it says here, the names of the apostles written upon it.” Casca looked carefully at Flavius. He knew Flavius was a committed Christian. “It would appear to be a fairly precious item. We’ll identify it as its inside a small wooden box with a monogram of Rome on it, the she-wolf.”
“And Honorius wants us to rescue this? This is incredible!” Flavius looked overawed.
Casca put the note to the torch flames, and it shriveled and blackened. Now nobody would know what had been written for them. “I would assume it to be in Constantine’s possession. Something this revered wouldn’t be left hanging about unprotected. We’ll have to break into his palace and find it, then take it before the city falls.”
“How, sir? We’re two men against an entire garrison!”
Casca shrugged. “We’re inside the city – that’s one task done. We’re two men who’ve done this before, so let’s not get too worried about what’s up there above us. The only thing I can think of it’s that we may be wearing armor and outfits with different insignia from the defenders, so we’d best get hold of something that identifies us with the garrison pretty damned quick.”
They sat and waited for darkness. The smell was foul and pungent, but they endured it. No doubt they would reek of it when they emerged but there was precious little they could do about that for the moment. They didn’t even have any appetite, the smell was that bad. Finally, the light above began to fade, and not before time.
They stood and looked up at the shaft above them, rising to a grille set in the distance. For the past four hours they had sat in the semi-darkness, as Flavius’ torch had gone out. Now they began their climb, slowly, and silently. Casca went in the lead, feeling his way as he went. He hoped none of the rungs had rusted too much and gave way under his weight. One began to bend so he moved on immediately to the one above it. His foot missed that one out and he indicated to Flavius of the weakness in that one.
The grille was just above him now and he cocked an ear. There were sounds, of course, but he listened hard for any sign of footsteps, voices, or wheels rumbling. There was something in the distance, then nothing. Bracing his feet on two rungs and one hand on the top one, he pushed with his other against the grille. It refused to budge.
Swearing under his breath, he swung one foot to the other side of the shaft and scraped his boot against the stonework, hoping to find some kind of purchase. After two fruitless passes his boot caught in the gap in between two stones where the mortar had rotted and dropped off some time ago.
Pushing hard he nodded in satisfaction, then put both hands against the grille, took a deep breath and pushed. The grille suddenly came free and he nearly fell, but Flavius’ hand held his thigh and it helped sustain him for that second while one hand blindly searched for and found an anchorage.
The grille was slipped onto the roadside and Casca popped his head up, looking round quickly. One moving figure in the distance, moving away. Nothing for the moment, just a street, some lights still shining, and two alleyways. That was their immediate destination. He hauled himself up, waved Flavius up, and then pointed to the alleyway to his left.
Flavius vanished down it while Casca replaced the grille and followed him. They pressed themselves against the wall of the alley, looking up and down it. The smell of refuse competed with theirs. “What now, sir?”
“A place to stay, food, and a wash. How much money have you got?”
“Not a lot, sir. Just last month’s salary. You?”
“Same. We should be able to make do. How to pass ourselves off though? We would be expected to go to the barracks.” Casca looked down the alleyway again. “We’ll have to do something about our appearance. We look too much like the enemy as we are.”
Flavius said nothing. He waited for Casca to decide where to go. Finally he led his companion along the putrid passageway to the far end and out onto another street. The land fell away to the right and clearly the river was down there. Here the street was ill-lit. One occasional flickering lamp set in a holder suspended from a pole was it. Oil was in short supply, clearly, but something not unexpected in a city that was besieged.
Casca led Flavius on, keeping to the darker side of the street, away from the faint light offered by the crescent moon and stars. Vague shapes moved about – rats, probably, or maybe a stray dog or feral cat. They came out by the amphitheatre, a circular edifice with many arches at multiple levels. Casca knew the design by heart, having fought in some and seen others built.
A patrol of vigiles came round the corner and Casca tensed. “Look out, I think they’ve seen us. Might have to take them on.”
Flavius readied himself, sticking close to Casca’s right. Neither had their shields so no insignia could give them away, but they did have colored tags on their sleeves that might do so – although it was night so the colors would be indistinct unless under direct light. The vigile patrol were coming their way, led by a squad leader, and four others marched behind.
“Evening,” Casca said, sat on a low wall, idly cleaning his sword. He thought it good cover just in case he needed to use it quickly. Flavius remained motionless by his side.
“What unit are you and why are you here?” the leader demanded, peering at the two suspiciously. “I’ve not seen you here before – and phew! You smell!”
“Been on latrine duty,” Casca grinned. “Late in getting back to barracks yesterday. Punishment rota.”
“Be that as it may, what unit are you?”
Casca eyed him. “Vigiles eh? Found anyone roaming the streets?”
“I asked – “ the leader persisted, and got a length of steel through his guts as Casca sprang up and ran him through.
Flavius dragged his sword clear and came at the shocked man on the extreme end of the group, while Casca pushed the dying squad leader over onto his back and went for the man on the other end. His attack was against a man trying to bring his spear up to block what he thought would be a downward slash, but Casca was too wily for that. Instead he came up from low, cutting into the man’s abdomen and biting his blade deep into the stomach, exiting just below the ribs.
The spearman twisted and fell to his knees, clutching his guts, and fell onto his side. Casca moved on, sword dripping blood, slashing down at the next man’s head. This man had the reflexes to block with his spear shaft, and even strike Casca on the left shoulder with the butt. Casca cursed and grabbed the spear shaft and ran the man through the heart, holding him close.
Flavius, meanwhile, had cut down the first of his opponents and now was driving the last man back towards the arena entrance, pressing hard. Two, three, four blows and finally he got through, almost removing the man’s head. He fell onto his back, blood splattering the ground.
Casca released his adversary and looked round. Five down, dead or dying. Good. Minimal noise too, but he supposed someone was peering out from a nearby house at the sound. “Come on, let’s drag these men over to the entrance there – they’ll be hidden until daybreak.”
Casca took hold of the squad leader’s ankles and dragged him towards the arched entrance to the stadium. As he neared he heard sounds and stopped, cocking his head. Flavius came close, pulling another corpse. Casca put his finger to his lips and pointed to the dark recesses behind the arches. Flavius stopped and listened, then a broad grin broke out over his face.
Someone was going for it in the darkness. Whoever was receiving it was clearly enjoying the entire thing. Clearly they had been too preoccupied to hear the fight. Casca mimed to Flav
ius to drag the rest over and they would have to deal with the situation thereafter.
It took just a few minutes of effort and the five dead were piled up by the arches. Casca crept through and peered round the corner. A woman was spread-eagled on the ground and a man was fully involved in making her feel great. Their pants and cries echoed around the curved walkway that followed the arena’s shape. Just by where they were enjoying each other one of the entryways up to the seats stood, but it was barred with an iron grilled gate. Clearly people had used this before and the authorities had stopped that. The amphitheatre was mostly disused now, with the emperors forbidding gladiatorial games – Rome hadn’t had one for seven years now. Whether Arelate continued to do so was a moot point, but Casca knew the cost of holding these games – Iudi or Munera – was prohibitive and the shrinking funds available probably meant such spectacles were unnecessary and unaffordable.
Whatever, these two in front of them were engaged in their own version of the games.
“They’ll alert the authorities, sir, once they stop and see these bodies.”
“Then let’s chase them off, shall we?” Casca whispered back, grinning. He took a deep breath and stepped up to them. “Now, now, what do we have here?” he boomed. “You know it’s a state offense to use public building for such activities!”
The couple un-coupled rapidly, he rolling off the squealing woman with a very un-Christian curse.
Casca took advantage of that. “Did I hear you pray to one of the pagan deities just then? Did I?”
“Ah, n-no, sir,” the man stammered knowing the penalties for not sticking to the rigid edicts of the religion that preached tolerance and love. “It-it was a slip of the tongue.”
“If you wish to retain yours I suggest you stop that bad habit then, understand? Lucky I’m in a good mood or I might have had to drag you before the bishop.”
The man was pathetically grateful, hurriedly dressing. “Th-than you, sir, God bless you!”
“He no doubt will,” Casca said dryly. Flavius turned his head for a moment, then returned his attention to the woman who was adjusting her clothing and struggling to her feet. She was quite tall, with long legs. “Now you two, on your way. If you have to do this, then find a room.” Casca slapped the woman on the rump and she gasped, looked at him in the darkness, rubbed her backside, then half-ran, half-stumbled after her companion who was trying to put as much distance between the two men and himself.
“Nice legs, sir,” Flavius said.
“Yes,” Casca commented, then looked at the half-seen outline of one of the dead men. “Come on, let’s finish this and see if they have anything on them that is an insignia or something.”
A quick search revealed a patch on the vigiles’ left shoulder, some kind of identification, so they took one off a couple of the bodies and affixed them. Casca peered at it in the half-light of the stars and it appeared that it was a stylized moniker of a ‘C’ imposed on top of the Chi-Ro of the Christian world. Constantine signaling he was either a full supporter of the new state religion or he was one with God. Casca snorted and let it go.
“Now where, sir?”
Casca straightened himself and looked out onto the streets. “We locate the palace, its on the hill, if memory serves, across the river. We need to cross. So it’ll be a test to see if we pass muster. Then, a place to stay. A tavern. What was that place we stayed? The Black Wolf. Let’s try there. We have coin and the innkeeper seemed the type to let anyone in who paid.”
The river was easy to locate by merely going downhill. They came out close to the bridge and walked along to the unusual construction. Casca marvelled at the engineering, a series of pontoons and a retractable span. He’d never seen another like it anywhere. They were challenged by a couple of guards but after Casca had bullshitted about being on sewer duty, and the fact they reeked, they were let across.
Up the hill they went, and the inn was still open on the left. They pushed their way in and saw only a few patrons. Money to spend in drinks was getting scarce, clearly. Casca knocked on the counter and the innkeeper arrived, wiping a mug. “Yes? Is there anything wrong?”
Casca shook his head. “Just put us up for a couple of nights.” He shook a few coins out onto the bar. The man snatched them up and examined one. A denarius of Theodosius. Legal tender in both parts of the Roman world.
“So why aren’t you staying in the barracks?”
“We’ve been put on sewer cleaning duty and they don’t want us there.”
The innkeeper wrinkled his nose. “Yeah I can see. Not sure you ought to be here stinking like that. The baths are just round the corner.”
“We’ll go there tomorrow morning. In the meantime get us ale and food. Oh, and maybe someone to scrub our armor. Once we’ve done I want to present myself to the centurion clean and tidy.”
“What is this, a launderette?” the man grumbled, then shut up when a few more coins landed before him.
A room for each of them and Casca lay on his bed, hands behind his head, full of food and a jug of ale by his bed. It was comfortable and for this night at least he would rest. The morrow would bring more work and the need to find out how to get into the palace and find this artefact.
He had more thinking to do before sleep.
CHAPTER SIX
The new day was bright and sunny, and the two men stepped out into the street and enjoyed the warm feeling of the sun. Flavius nudged his companion and pointed to the unmistakable half-circle series of shapes that denoted a baths. The two marched smartly along the street and entered the baths.
An attendant took their armor and clothes, pulling a face at the smell. At least the two would clean up while their clothes would be sorted out when they got back to the inn. A couple of women had been hired and would go to work after the two got back from the baths. They sat in the steam room and allowed their pores to sweat. Flavius lay down on a bench and an attendant went to work with the scraper – the stigil – getting rid of the sweat and muck. Casca would be next.
Another man sat opposite and regarded Casca with interest. The eternal mercenary was used to this, with his collection of scars and huge muscles. This was an older man, with white hair and a distinguished look to him. He came over and sat next to Casca. “An impressive collection of wounds you have there, soldier.”
There was no point in denying what he clearly was. “Badges of honor, sir. Rufio Longus,” he held out a hand.
The man took it. “Aemilius Geto. You are new? I’ve not seen you before.”
“Recent arrivals, came from Massilia. Got out before Honorius’ army took it,” he said. It sounded plausible.
“A bad turn of events, to be sure,” Geto remarked. “Tell me, have you been put on duty on the walls yet?”
“No, sir. We’ve not really been assigned to a unit as yet.”
“I might in that case hire you and your companion. I’m in need of good men to protect myself and my family. I’m a supplier of amphorae to all and sundry, and people are no longer honoring contracts. I’m being pressed by my creditors while my clients aren’t paying me. I need help.”
Casca pondered on this. It would be a distraction, yet it may offer a way to get information. It depended on whom he had contracts with. He asked the man who it was chasing him and who he was owed by.
“Oh, the potteries down by the river amongst others. They want payment tomorrow and are threatening to pay me a visit if I don’t. As to who owes me, its the usual collection of traders along the Rhodanus, but also a group of traders over by the north gate. Since being besieged nobody’s been able to go anywhere, so they have too much time on their hands and everyone is calling in their debts. Everyone agrees we’re going to fall, and the traders are looking forward to re-opening trade with Italia. Constantine is doomed, even though nobody is daring to admit it in high circles.”
“Can’t you appeal to the palace to help you out in this?”
Geto snorted. “They’re not interested in my plight �
� theirs is serious enough.”
Casca stared thoughtfully into the distance. Three more men came in and sat along the benches. “Shall we discuss this in The Black Wolf? We’re staying there.”
So it was agreed. They returned to the inn and their armor and smelly clothing handed over to the two women who had been hired to clean them up. Casca and Flavius sat in the main room, right at the back, in newly bought clothes. Their coins were diminishing fast. Geto appeared and looked around nervously until he caught sight of the two and came over, seating himself gingerly.
“Have you thought on my offer further?” he asked.
They nodded. Casca spoke for them both. “We agree the situation isn’t looking good for Constantine and from the looks of things Honorius’ force is too strong to keep out for much longer. There won’t be any relief, that’s for sure. We’re in need of money, too, so your offer sounds good to us. Best we work for someone like you rather than get caught up in a useless fight on the ramparts.”
“Just what I hoped you’d say. We’ll leave for my house after this drink. The sooner you go there the better. I have the feeling my creditors will be sending round their persuaders very soon.”
Geto’s house was further on towards the western gate. They passed the palace on the way, and both men gave it a good look. It was well guarded as was expected. Flavius gave Casca a worried look, and the eternal mercenary waved his hand quickly, indicating he would talk later about it in private.
The house was a walled villa, with an enclosed garden at the rear. It was modest and not too ostentatious, which the two men were relieved about. If it had been opulent they wouldn’t have been too comfortable being there. Geto’s two children greeted him; one was a twenty-year old young man, lean, tall and dark complexioned. The girl was seventeen or so, shorter, dark haired again, and had two rather large brown eyes that both men found arresting.