by Tony Roberts
The man laughed. “You? What are you gonna do? We’re gonna teach you a lesson. Come on boys, let’s...”
He didn’t finish as Casca’s fist smashed into his face, sending him back into one of the others, knocking him off balance. Taking advantage of this, Casca rammed his left into the guts of the other man, and then followed up with a blow to the side of his head which stunned him. Casca bent his knees, lifted the man off his feet, swung and with the momentum sent him over the jetty and into the river.
The other rough who have been knocked aside by the first man, came at him now, fists wind-milling. Casca judged him to be an amateur and stepped back one pace, then sent a blow into his jaw, and another into his chest over his heart. The man had never been struck so hard and his knees buckled. His body refused to obey his brain and he slumped bonelessly to the ground.
The first man sat against the side of the boat, blood pouring from his shattered nose. Casca stood over him. “Go back to your shithole of a dive you normally infest; you’re not fit to wipe my ass.” He stepped over onto the boat and picked up a lantern and examined it closely. Geto followed him and called to the owner. The owner came up with alacrity, eyes looking in disbelief at the mess on the jetty. The third man was spluttering on his hands and knees, coughing up river water.
Casca lifted an eyebrow and dropped the lantern to the deck where it shattered into pieces. “Oops,” he said. “Clumsy me.” He now picked up a small statue of a wolf, a symbol of the city of Rome.
Geto tutted. “Now, Retinus, my man is terribly clumsy. Who knows what else might get broken? Now, the matter of the money you owe me? How overdue is it?”
Retinus sobbed and waved at Casca. “I’ll pay, I’ll pay!”
Casca turned the statue over. He fumbled the object but caught it, grinning.
Geto held out a hand. “So, where is it?”
Retinus shrugged. “Um, I-I’ll get the money. It’s just I haven’t got it on me at the moment.”
Casca sucked in his breath. “But you can afford to pay for these useless people. I think I’m going to drop this... can’t hang on to it much longer.”
Retinus held out his hands in horror. “It’s a valuable statue – Roman! Please...”
Geto eyed it. “Well in that case I’ll take it as payment. It looks valuable enough.” He took it from Casca and the two left, leaving Retinus holding his head and moaning to himself.
“One left?” Casca asked.
“Yes, the one with the yellow painted deck. He’s a particularly untrustworthy type – wouldn’t trust him further than I could throw him. Owes me two shipments. Notorious for not paying in fact.”
“So why deal with him?”
“It was before I knew of his reputation. He’s Spanish. Word is he’s off to Nova Cartagena once the blockade is lifted and we’ll probably not see him again.”
Casca shook his head. He led Geto to the ship. Five men sat on deck or on the roof of the cabin. The eternal mercenary stood before them, fists on hips. They looked like typical port hired hands. One had a sword and this one stepped towards him, the sword loosely swinging from his hand.
“You – go away before I slice you in two,” he warned.
“Huh, you know how to handle that thing? You’re holding it wrong,” Casca noted. The old school in Rome he’d trained in would have had a fit.
“Who are you to tell me?” the man spat. “You know nothing!”
“I know one thing,” Casca said.
“And what’s that?”
“I’m going to kill you in a couple of moments.”
“Fuck off, you’re out of your mind!” the man responded, laughing.
Casca lunged, then stepped back. The henchman slashed at him, taken in by the feint. Over-extended, he had to take an involuntary step forward and Casca’s left foot hooked round his ankle and pulled hard. The man lost balance and fell, legs apart, landing neatly on the ship’s rail. He screamed in agony. Casca relieved him of the sword just as the others came for him.
The first, wielding a steel bar, got the blade across his throat. The second, swinging a wooden club, received the length of steel through his guts. Casca stepped past him, twisting the sword blade free, and met the desperate down-blow of the next man who had a spike. The man yelled in horror and stared stupidly as his arm struck the deck with a soggy thump, then he sank to his knees, spurting blood. The last, the one who had been on the cabin roof, took one look at the carnage, and jumped overboard.
The first man, coddling his crushed family jewels, tried to limp to safety but Casca wasn’t in the mood to be lenient. He threw the sword to the deck and picked the man up. Standing with the writhing man above his head, he heaved him in one convulsive movement over the side and into the river.
He slapped both palms together and ostentatiously waved Geto aboard. A few minutes later they left, the debt paid in full, as both knew it would be. The owner of the boat screamed in fury, looking at the blood-spattered deck, and vowed revenge. Nobody should be allowed to come as they pleased and slaughter the good law-abiding citizens of Arelate.
As they reached the house, Geto slowed, frowning. The door was open. He looked at Casca who swore and pushed it so it was fully back against the inside wall. Flavius was lying in the hallway at the foot of the staircase, clutching a bloodied face, groaning. His sword lay on the tiled floor a little distance away. Blood marked the wall.
Casca knelt by his friend and checked him while Geto ran into the house yelling for Iulius and Flora. “What happened?” Casca asked softly.
“They came just after you left,” Flavius groaned. His mouth was bleeding. Casca sat him up and retrieved the sword. The injured man coughed, sucking on the fluid coming from his lips and teeth. “They took the two as hostages. Said – said unless he pays he’d get them back in little bits.” He passed Casca a bloodied and crumpled parchment.
Casca swore. He stood up. He found Geto in the garden, sat with his head in his hands. “They’ve got your two, and you’ll get them back in pieces if you don’t pay.” He passed the man the parchment. “Read it.”
While Geto dejectedly read the ultimatum, which more or less told him he had until sunset to come and pay up the original amount owed plus an extortionate amount of interest, Casca went back to get Flavius sorted. If Geto failed to pay up, his son’s head would be delivered at midnight, and at dawn his daughter’s. Casca was angry at the situation, and also at Flavius’ condition. Clearly his companion was now unable to carry out the mission to fetch the artefact from the palace. Not that he was any closer to getting access, and now this squabble was getting in the way.
Flavius was left at the dining room table, tending his bruises, and Casca once more sought out Geto. “I’ll go rescue them.”
“You’ll get them killed,” Geto said dully.
“You’ve not got enough to pay them what they want, so you’ll lose Iulius and Flora. Now wise up and let me have my way. None of those bastards will live to see midnight. Where are they and how do I get into their lair? Also, while you’re at it, how can I get access to the palace? I’ve got business in there.”
“With whom?” Geto asked, a spark of surprise breaking through his despair.
“That’s my business. For rescuing your two kids you tell me how to break into Constantine’s palace, deal?”
Geto waved half-heartedly. “Yes, yes. Just – please – don’t let them get killed. I implore you.”
“You bet,” Casca said. He fetched his armor and sword and donned them. It was midday so he had plenty of time to check out the bad guy’s lair and work out who it was he had to kill.
The streets were empty. People were scared. The siege was ongoing and it was beginning to filter down that Constantine was in negotiation with Constantius. Food was running short, the garrison was not paid and demoralized, and the feeling was that they would throw down their arms if an assault was forthcoming. No wonder Constantine was talking to the new Magister Militum.
People were
naturally afraid of what would happen in that case. Small wonder, Casca mused, that Geto’s creditors had acted now. Best to sort out what was owed to them now rather than wait until the city fell and who knows what would happen in that case.
The building the two hostages were in was across a paved square close to the north walls. A church stood on one side with a bell tower which Casca looked at thoughtfully. Opposite stood the wide-fronted building he was after, a many-columned frontage providing shelter from the elements, whether it be rain or sun. Casca walked down a side street alongside the church and found a door. He tested it and it refused to give way. Too much to ask for really. He carried round, vaulting a low wall into the space at the rear and found himself in a refuse-strewn overgrown garden.
The garden looked like once it had been full of herbs to feed the priests or other occupants of the church, but now like much of the Roman world had fallen on harder times. Casca stepped around the larger bushes and noticed another door in the rear of the building. He tried this one and it opened. Smiling, he snuck inside and waited while his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the interior after the bright harshness of daylight.
This was an anteroom of some kind with another door opposite. Softly opening it, he peered into the chamber beyond. It was a room full of priestly clothing, church relics and ornaments, crucifixes, candles and other such things he was not interested in. He walked through to yet another door and opened this. Here was the main rectangular church space, and to one side was a circular stairway which had to lead up to the tower, so he slipped into this and began climbing. He could hear someone cleaning the chamber somewhere so it was best he made himself as invisible as possible.
The staircase spiralled up and up, and then came out to a space probably level with the roof of the main church. Here was a space and a door that almost certainly led out onto the roof. He didn’t want that. The staircase continued on ahead so he took that, ignoring the calves and hamstrings that moaned at him.
This wasn’t so high and soon he came out onto the bell-chamber. One bell rested above him and a soft wind blew through the open arches in all four sides. Moving round he came to the side where the tower looked onto the building opposite. He couldn’t see the very front but he could see the roof and there were a couple of skylights that could be used. So, how to get to them? A few more minutes of study and there! To one side was a one-story annexe or add-on. He could get onto the roof of that, and then use the windows on the side to climb up to the roof. What state it would be he didn’t know but it was worth the effort. He would get in and kill everyone. From what had been told to him, these were criminals and thieves loosely disguised as loan providers, preying on people. Geto must have been desperate to go to these types. Or maybe there were no others. Money was in short supply.
He sat down with his back to the low wall and decided to have a snooze. It was cool up there and a few hours’ sleep would do him good.
He woke feeling refreshed, and the sun was setting, a red fireball in the sky. A bank of low cloud before it was lit from below and it gave him a spectacular sight of what the hell of the Christians might look like. He looked thoughtfully at it. It would be him who would provide hell.
The only thing he really needed was to find out where the two were held and get to them fast. He made his way down, needing to get down before it got too dark. The last of the descent was done in near darkness and he felt his way more than saw. The church was being lit with candles and a priest was busy moving from place to place lighting up, so Casca waited till his back was turned before slipping into the vestry and then out to the anteroom, and then out to the garden.
He waited there, crouching and easing his stiff knees, for another hour before setting off and making his way round the other side of the church and towards the square. A couple of people passed by ahead but they weren’t looking down the darkened street so he was undetected. He leaned against the corner of the street and eyed the annexe which was across and to the right. Lights were on in the building so he would have to move away as if he wasn’t interested in the place. He emerged and walked, head down as if in thought, walking on the other side of the street to the annexe.
Once past and into a small street he stopped and turned back. Again, at a corner, he surveyed the annexe. It was on the end of the square and by a side street to his right so he moved quickly to this, and was now at the side of the construction. A way up? He looked around.
Yes, a shed standing towards the rear. He hauled himself up and then reached up to the annexe roof and pulled himself up, grunting with the effort. A scrape of the knee and elbow and he was up. Now a quick traverse to the main block and a side window. It was shuttered as he expected and light was coming from within. He couldn’t force it as he’d make too much noise and give whoever was beyond too much advance warning, and besides, he had no idea where it related to anywhere else.
So, up again. The window had a ledge and a coping above it, and he pulled himself up onto the ledge and looked up. The roof edge was just out of his fingers’ reach, so he used the top of the window coping to gain a few inches and hooked his free hand over the roof edge and then he was up, panting and sweating.
The roof was sloped and had skylights at regular intervals. He walked as softly as he could, not knowing the state of the roof, and came to the first. He gently tested it. It was stuck. So he made his way to the next. This, too, was not moving, but he bent and listened. Nothing. No light seemed to come through or around it, so he inserted the blade of his knife into the side and slid it slowly along until he came to the bar that was blocking it. He now levered on it firmly, applying more pressure, and he was relieved to feel it give. The skylight came free and he lifted it cautiously. Nothing. It was dark below.
His feet sought something, but nothing was felt. He lowered himself and held himself at the fullest extent then let go. He fell about two feet and landed, bending his knees and almost falling over. The first thing he needed to know was where was he, and then how could he move on?
Voices to the left. “What was that sound?”
“What sound?”
“Next door, in the empty bedroom. Didn’t you hear it?”
“No.”
“Well I heard something!”
“So go fucking check it out. I’m busy playing dice.”
The first voice muttered an obscenity and Casca heard footsteps approach. Time to be quick and ruthless. He stepped away from the door and held his breath, reaching for his knife. The door opened and light flooded into the room, showing indeed that it was a bedroom, albeit a small one.
As the man came in cautiously, his sword in front of him, Casca acted. He grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him into the room, striking him hard behind the neck. The unfortunate sagged at the knees and slid to the ground. Not wasting a moment he wrenched the door fully open and strode into what looked like a guardroom, but not a very big one. Only one man occupied it and he was sat at a small table, a set of dice before him. He opened his mouth wide in shock and wasted time in realizing the intruder was there before him.
He went to grab his sword which was lying on the table but Casca beat him to it, running him through. The scarred mercenary held the dying man to him as his life ebbed away, then released him and gently slid him to the ground. One good look around. Two doors he hadn’t been through; one over the far side, the other to his left. A couple of small clothes chests against the walls, a chair, a weapons rack, empty. Looked like a storage room recently converted.
He tried the door to his left. Locked. Grunting, he returned to the dead man and searched his pockets, and his belt. A small set of keys. The second one he tried fitted and he opened the door to yet another small bedroom. The bed had an occupant, tied to it, gagged. Iulius. Casca freed him and the youth sat up, rubbing his wrists ruefully. “How did you find me?”
“Luck,” Casca said in a low voice. “Keep your noise down; there’s others around. Where’s Flora?”
“They took her away;
I don’t know where or why.”
Casca had a good idea. The sooner he got to her the better. “Get out through the other room,” Casca advised, “jump down at the end to the annexe, then onto a shed and onto the street.”
“But – I want to help!”
“You can help by getting back to your father and telling him I’ll be back with your sister shortly. I won’t be able to rescue her if I have to keep an eye for you. It’s going to be rough, nasty and vicious. No offense but you’ll be out of your depth.”
Casca looked into the room he’d come from. The man he’d knocked out was moving faintly and groaning, so he went in and whacked him across the head. The man collapsed and lay still. Iulius looked aghast. Casca pushed him towards the skylight. If he was squeamish at a mere tap on the head, who knows what he’d be like with a beheading? “Get a chair and climb up. Now get going!”
Without waiting to see if the youth could actually climb, he was into the other room and heading for the other door. He listened. Faint voices could be heard but nothing definite. Gently he opened the door, pulling it inwards, and peered out onto a faintly lit corridor running left and right. It seemed this was a landing, because the opposite side was a rail which overlooked an open space, and he leaned forward to see it was a large hallway at ground level.
Along the same wall were more doors so he began to move along, listening. He tried each door, one was locked, one open. The unlocked one was unlit and empty. The corridor came to a corner and the staircase ran down to the hall so he went down. The front door was to the left but he ignored that. Running along in two directions was another passageway and this ended in closed doors. One was clear, but the other had two men standing in the tiled passageway, dressed in leather armor with a few iron adornments on the shoulders and chest. They had axes and swords.
Casca looked around. On the wall by his side were a few trophies, and one was an old-style javelin. He picked it off its mountings and hefted it. Old, rusty and dusty, but hell, it felt good to hold one of these again! He stepped into the passageway and drew the javelin back. The two guards straightened in surprise, and they were still working out who he was and what he was doing when the javelin was arcing through the air.