by Tony Roberts
It punched through the chest of one, sending him flying backwards against the door behind him, knocking it open. The second man grabbed his axe, being a more practical weapon to use in restricted space, and raised it. Casca was already at him, though, having run the moment he’d flung the javelin. His sword buried itself deep in the man’s throat.
A twist, a pull, and he was past and stepping into the room. Three men and Flora. Flora was tied to one of the beams above her head, her wrists high and bound, her dress pulled down to her waist and her breasts on full view. Two of the men came for Casca, but they were poorly armored and holding knives and axes.
Casca kicked a chair at the first, encumbering him, and he swung for the second. His blow was met by the axe and his opponent stabbed upwards with his knife, aiming for Casca’s gut. Casca grabbed his wrist and mashed his bones together hard, knowing to delay was to invite the other guy’s attack on his unprotected back. He felt the bones give way and the man screamed in pain, dropping his knife and forgetting about his intention to kill the scarred warrior.
Casca swung round. The axe from the other man came down from high and Casca blocked it just in time. Before the knife could stab forward Casca had slammed his fist into the exposed ribs and the man staggered back, clutching his body.
The man with the wounded arm sucked in his breath and came at Casca again, his injured limb hanging down by his side. The axe blade missed Casca’s face and the eternal mercenary cut through the air and across the man’s throat, opening it up. As the man fell backwards Casca moved on the first again who had straightened. This time Casca didn’t play by any rule. His iron-shot boot crashed into his left knee and there came a gut-turning crack and the man collapsed, screaming in agony.
As Casca passed over him he sent his foot down hard onto the man’s head. The screaming stopped abruptly.
The third man, a middle-aged hard-bitten individual with a broken nose, drew out his Germanic sword and eyed Flora, dangling helplessly. Casca stepped across her and blocked him. “She’s no longer your play-thing, asshole.”
“We can do a deal,” the man growled, “you and me share Geto’s money, you can have the bitch warm your bed every night and you let me go. What do you say?”
“I think I’d say go screw yourself you dickless freak,” Casca said. “Now shut up and die.”
“On your head then,” the man said. “If you kill me the others will come for you. You’ll never know peace in Arelate. We’re a band, so you kill me, the others will have their revenge.”
“If they’re all as shit as you I’ll have nothing to worry about,” Casca snapped. He stepped forward, sword rising, then cutting through the air. The criminal met the blade high, then went to strike at Casca’s side. Casca had seen this move too many times to retell and knew just what was coming, and more importantly, how to deal with it.
One step sideways, a sway back, then thrust forward. The criminal took Casca’s blade through his heart and was dead before he hit the ground. Casca stood above him for a moment, then turned, wiping the blade on a cloth.
Flora closed her eyes, ashamed of her modesty being exposed. “Please,” she implored, “get me down.”
Casca cut her bonds and she slumped, and would have fallen if he hadn’t held her with one arm. She grasped him for a moment, then nodded her thanks and stood up, pulling her dress up to cover her chest. “Did they violate you?”
She shook her head, shaking with reaction. “Th-there are more upstairs. They said – they said...”
Casca stood off her and waved a calming hand. “I don’t care what they said; what’s important now is to get you to your father. I’ve freed your brother and he should be well on his way home by now. Come on, let’s go. You sure you’re alright?”
Flora nodded, adjusting her ruined dress so it covered her without falling down. It would have to be thrown away once she got back, but that was a small price to pay. They went to the hall and the main door beckoned invitingly. Casca went up to it and it opened, letting in a bright shaft of sunlight. He emerged onto the covered walkway, peering left and right. The canopy was all very well but the columns hid a lot of his view and this included two men who were outside guarding the building. They must have been further back when Casca had surveyed the building earlier.
“Hey, who are you?” the first demanded, swinging round in alarm as Casca stepped down onto the street.
Casca cursed. Luck. Damned bad luck! He swung his fist into the man’s guts and the victim doubled up, his breath exploding out in one huge grunt. As he sank to the ground, his comrade dragged his sword free of his sheath and advanced, teeth fixed in a grimace.
“Back off or die,” Casca warned him, one hand outstretched, the other on his sword hilt.
The guard ignored him. Casca roundly cursed his stupidity, casting doubts on his parentage, and met his attack high, then swept his attack at the man’s face. This was blocked but Casca was advancing again, another slash coming down towards the man’s head which was parried desperately. Now he was backed up against the pillar of the canopy and could go nowhere.
Two more blows and the guard was sinking to the ground onto his ass, a red stain spreading across his chest. People had stopped in astonishment at the spectacle and Casca felt exposed. He waved to Flora. “Come on, let’s get out of here!”
She ran eagerly enough, one hand to her dress. Casca kept up with her, glancing round from time to time, but after two turns and a new street they slowed as those who had witnessed the fight hadn’t bothered to follow. Probably too scared or too fascinated by the two dead or incapacitated men.
Flora was puffing, her face stained red. “Thank you,” she said. “I thought they were going to kill us.”
“They said they were going to,” Casca said grimly. “For that they deserved to die.”
She nodded and smiled, then became serious again. “Is Flavius alright? They beat him quite badly.”
“Headache and his looks have been improved,” Casca said briefly. “How did they get in?”
“Fooled Iulius – said they were coming with some money to pay. Of course, once the door was opened they burst in and grabbed Iulius. Flavius tried to rescue him but there were too many, and then they came for me in the garden.”
“Think they let Flavius live to give us the message. Anyway, they are no longer a factor in this money business. Come on, let’s get out off the streets and into decent clothing.”
It didn’t take long and Geto was overjoyed to see his daughter once again. Iulius had turned up a few minutes earlier and they all sat down in the main room, including a bruised and battered Flavius.
Geto looked at the two soldiers. “I’ve made my mind up about going to Corsica. This has been the last straw. I’ll requisition a ship to take us and our personal belongings. I’ll sell the house. I want you two to seriously consider my offer, and know that you’ll be well provided for and paid well.”
Casca eyed Flavius who was waiting for the scarred warrior to speak. “I have unfinished business here to attend to in the palace. I have to do something there which is not for you to know. This city is on the point of surrendering and I have to do it now before that happens. Flavius here is too badly hurt to come with me, so its up to him to decide what he does. I myself may well come afterwards, depending on what happens in the palace. I really can’t say.”
Flavius sucked in his breath. He looked ghastly, purple bruising, caked blood, cuts and a shut eye. “Sir, I have to be with you.”
“Not in your state; have you seen yourself? You’d curdle the milk of a cow inside the udder. Besides, you’re in no fit state to hold a sword. Corsican air will do wonders for you. I strongly advise you to take up the offer.” He nodded.
Flavius sighed. He knew he was too badly injured to go on the mission, but pride had dictated he said he wanted to. Now Casca had pointed out the facts, he could give in. “If you say so, sir. Maybe I could do with a rest. Fresh air and sea.”
The others nodded
, relieved. Geto looked Casca square in the face. “Then I shall tell you how to break into the palace. I once did it in my younger days, stealing food from their kitchens. It won’t have changed much from then. You just need to be strong and fit.”
“That I am.”
“Very well. At the rear are gardens. You will have to scale a wall to get over and the streets are patrolled there, so bear that in mind. Provided you can get over and not be spotted, make your way to the rear store sheds. You can’t miss them. The middle one, the biggest, is really an annexe and there’s a door at the back that leads into the kitchen slave area. It’s a smelly route, full of refuse. They pile the discarded food there and get rid of it every so often as compost.”
“Alright. From there, where do I go if I want to access the private rooms of Constantine?”
“You’re after the man himself? Are you mad? He’ll be guarded like a legion of vestal virgins.”
“No chance; I don’t want to see that man. I’m after something, not someone, but it’ll be in his quarters somewhere.”
“Well, there’s a back way from the slaves or servants section. Its a back stairway which Constantine could use as an emergency exit. I once sneaked up there to get a good look at the governor who was then running the city.” He looked furtively at the assembled people. “I saw things I shouldn’t have and got out of there pretty quick! Get to it from a small half-hidden doorway in between two fireplaces in the basement. That’s all I can tell you. They may have changed the furnishings since the time I was there, of course.” He shrugged.
“Thanks,” Casca nodded. “I’ll cope. I’ll go after dark. I’ll get some rest before then. If I were you I’d prepare to pack up fairly quickly. Someone else may come for you, and Flavius here isn’t in much of a condition to fend off a bunch of kids, let alone nasty backstreet roughs.” He grinned briefly at his companion who rolled his one visible eye.
“What of those who saw you escape the house? If as you say you killed that man in the street, the vigiles will be coming for you. Or me.”
Casca scowled. “I doubt it; the vigiles won’t be bothered with this kind of thing now. Law and order are breaking down and everyone is looking after themselves. I mean, what kind of mood will the army outside be in when they enter Arelate? Or, come to that, the garrison? They might abandon their posts and do a spot of looting themselves. People should be staying indoors now and waiting out the outcome of the talks between Constantine and Constantius.”
Geto nodded, and heaved himself out of his chair. “Come on, you two, start packing. Only things you can carry easily.”
“But the bigger things, like our furniture, father?” Flora asked. Her dress was clean, new and in one piece. The story put out by her and Casca was that she had been grabbed on the way out and in the struggle the dress had torn. No point in worrying or enraging father and brother unnecessarily.
“They will be transported separately. I’ll arrange it.”
Casca left them to it and retired to his room and lay down on his bed, thinking. He doubted he would get any sleep, but the rest would do him good. Flavius appeared and sat down disconsolately in a chair. “I feel like a spare piece,” he complained.
“And you hurt. I saw you wincing as you sat down. I wouldn’t be surprised if they broke a rib or two during your difference of opinion.”
Flavius grunted. “Glad you took care of them. Ugly nasty types, wouldn’t fit into the army at all. Too much discipline for them to handle.”
“True. You stick with these people, look mean – your face is enough to put most off thinking about trying anything on. Get a boat and get out of here as soon as you can. I think as soon as the city surrenders they’ll allow boats to sail down the Rhodanus to the sea again.”
“And you, sir?”
Casca stretched out. “I’ll probably follow once this business is finished. I’m a little concerned about this artefact. I mean, what is it really? Some kind of religious treasure? The way we’ve been treated so far makes me very uneasy. You remember how our traces behind us have been erased? Off the payroll, no mention of us being in the unit?”
Flavius sat up straighter. “What are you saying, sir?”
Casca looked at Flavius out of the corner of his eye. “I’m thinking that we’re on sinking sand. Once we retrieve this treasure I think we’re going to be disposed of. Honorius doesn’t want anyone knowing about this treasure, including us.”
Flavius sat open-mouthed for a moment.
“You can’t be serious, sir!”
Casca shrugged. “Is this artefact really what we’ve been told it is? Seems very important to me, more so than what we’ve been told it is. If it was a mere saint’s body part, then it would be in a church. That’s where they all are. That was a mistake to tell us its in the palace. And the handover – at night in a church when nobody will be around to witness anything, straight after the city’s surrender. Ooh no, Flavius, I think our lives are in danger.”
“But – what, then, sir?”
“You get out on that ship. I grab the artefact and make my own plans. I want to see what the hell this thing is before I decide whether to come after you or run for the wilderness. Whatever it is I bet it’s too valuable – to someone anyway – to let us live and risk speaking of it.”
Casca had a very nasty feeling about what he would find in the palace.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Night. Darkness cloaked the city, choking it. Fear ran everywhere, it was in everyone’s eyes. People walked hurriedly, heads down, and made for their homes. Casca stood in the shadows looking across the ill-lit street at the looming palace atop a small hill. Fires were burning within the building, so people were still working and living there. Whether the negotiations had finished, broken down, or were still being conducted was anyone’s guess. Whether they were in the palace or outside, again it was not known.
It was two hours after darkness and coming towards midnight. He made his mind up and stepped out into the silent street. The quarter moon filtered a weak light down from the night sky. Enough to see by.
The stone wall that ran at the rear of the palace was tall but ill-repaired and the plasterwork had fallen off in many places, and small weeds were growing out of the gaps in between the bricks and stones. This was enough to give Casca purchase points to climb, especially where rain and wind had scoured some of the stones and brickwork, leaving holes and crevices.
The wall was twelve feet high and Casca was up and over in a few moments, sweating with the effort and collecting a few scratches and scrapes. He slid over the top and dangled down, holding onto the top. He would be only four feet or so off the ground so he let go and landed with a thump, bending his knees and rolling to absorb the shock.
Stinging nettles. Fuck they stung! Leaping out in haste, he stood on a worn path and rubbed his tingling and aching flesh. The building was ahead. There would be guards, he knew, and the grim realisation that from now on anyone he met, no matter what faction they professed allegiance to, would be an enemy, even if they didn’t know it. Circumstances had put him into this position, and his curiosity now got the better of him.
As he slipped through the untended grass and water features of the garden, sadly overgrown and dried up now, his mind tried to come to terms with the realization that what he was doing was strictly a shut-ended mission. Once he had recovered whatever it was he was to fetch, he was to be killed. Whatever it was, was far too valuable and important that he could be risked to talk about it to anyone.
So what could it be? The surrender negotiations between the two leaders could feasibly include the artefact, he guessed, but he wasn’t going to chance it. No, Honorius wanted whatever it was and also wanted him and Flavius silenced. Best to let the two complete their mission, turn up at the agreed place and then dispose of them.
That was why it was insisted they do it on the evening after the city’s surrender, of course. Things would be confused, and there would be enough soldiers to take care of the tw
o on hand.
Another thought went through Casca’s mind as he ghosted underneath neglected vines dangling from trellises; if Honorius was being deceitful over the identity of the item, then maybe he was equally untruthful about him passing it to Constantine in the first place. Maybe it had been something Constantine had in his possession all the time.
Casca shook his head. Too much thinking. He crouched, in the shadow of a huge rosemary bush, the scent of the plant filling his senses. The path that was meant to pass by it was hidden beneath weeds, grass and overgrown shrubs. He saw no movement and so he moved out, sword ready, towards the sheds at the rear of the palace. Here were guards, and he saw one slowly move along a tramped route, spear slung over one shoulder. The middle one was, as Geto said, the largest and more of a glass-house type of space. The glass panes were broken in many places and the handle rusted. Clearly nobody had bothered to use it in a long time.
The guard, his back to Casca, continued on his way, so Casca slipped up to the glass and tried the handle. Stiff and resistant, he pulled hard and suddenly it gave way, the mechanism moving with a metallic screech. Swearing, Casca dropped back into cover.
The guard came back, alerted by the sound. He wandered up slowly to the glasshouse and noticed the door now open. Puzzled, he tested the handle. It was in a depressed position and locked there. He was sure it hadn’t been like that a moment ago, and he pushed the door open hesitantly, his spear now pointing forward.
Wrong direction.
Casca slammed the pommel of his sword onto the luckless man’s head, knocking him out. The guard lay across the thresh hold, so Casca dragged him out and left him in the bushes. He entered the annexe and pulled the door to which protested. Leaving the door behind him, he pushed his frame through the large shed.