Casca 45: Emperor's Mercenary

by Tony Roberts

  There remained the issue of the two others outside. Casca would have to take them out quickly and be gone. The priests weren’t in sight – no doubt under advice not to intervene for their own good. As far as they were concerned, the sound of fighting and dying was what they had been told would happen and was none of their business.

  Picking up one javelin, he pulled the door to the street open and looked left and right. One man to each side. Who was closest? The man to the left. Raising the javelin, he took careful aim. Hours and hours of practice for centuries had given him a good eye, and he knew just how far the iron and wood missile would go. The man straightened in alarm, wondering what was going on. Casca hurled the javelin and it took the man clean in the sternum, smashing it aside and turning his lungs into blood-filled sacks. He fell onto his back, arms outflung, drowning in his own fluid.

  The other man pushed away from the wall of the church and uttered an exclamation. Casca turned, drew out his sword and spat a torrent of fluent vile invectives at the man in Latin. The soldier advanced, his sword gripped tightly, furious that his comrade had been struck down so callously. “You’ll die for that, traitor!”

  “So you say, castratto,” Casca answered. “Now shut up and show me just how shit you are.”

  Riled by Casca, which was what the scarred mercenary had planned, the man waded in, not even thinking of why the traitor should emerge alone from the church full of his own side. Their blades clashed once, twice, thrice. Casca feinted to the right, then checked, leaned back and came inside the reach of the other. His blade sank deep into the soldier’s midriff, exiting out the back. Casca held him close, an embrace of death, and waited till the man’s shade had departed his body before allowing him to fall to the ground.

  Wiping his blade again, he sheathed it and trotted away from the scene of devastation. Now he had to get out of Arelate.

  He wondered how he could avoid the manhunt, so he turned into an alley of narrow streets. Like all cities, this was the haunt of the lower strata of society, thieves, murderers, pimps, whores, beggars. Figures moved in the distance but Casca wasn’t concerned about them. He was well-armed and protected and they weren’t. They could try to ambush him but he was too alert.

  He was looking for a tavern and found one. He didn’t use the main entrance, however, but moved down the side alley to the first side door and began knocking on it. There was no answer at first, but his insistence eventually got a response from a window above.

  “What in the name of God do you want? You’ll wake the fucking dead with that kind of noise!”

  “I want a girl, now.”

  “Use your hand, you stupid bastard.”

  “No – I said I want a girl. You get me one or I’ll smash the door in and cut your throat you weasel. I’m horny as hell and need it now!”

  “Oh, alright! Alright! Anything for a fucking night’s sleep. Shit!” The man vanished and a few moments later the door opened inwards. “Stupid question, I know, but have you any money?”

  “Sure,” Casca answered, passing over a few coins he’d looted from the dead in the church. “That enough for a huge-titted nymphomaniac?”

  “Sweet blood of Jesus, what are you like drunk?” the innkeeper demanded. “Don’t answer that – I probably won’t like the answer. Come on, upstairs. Got one girl that can handle a big-mouth like you. She’ll break your balls before dawn, so don’t go moaning I didn’t warn you.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Casca answered. “She won’t be any good for anyone for days after I’ve screwed her senseless.”

  The innkeeper paused outside a door at the top of the staircase. “By the saints, are you just a typical army bullshitter? Oh, go in and let her drain you dry. I’ll have great fun throwing your senseless hide out of the door tomorrow morning. Her name’s Helga. German girl, thighs that could crack a tree.”

  Casca passed into a dimly-lit room, big enough to pace six times in any direction. The bed dominated the space, leaving just enough to walk round it and for a couple of small other items of furniture. A girl was lying on the bed, and sleepily greeted him.

  “Helga, so I’m told you’re called,” Casca said, sitting down next to her.

  She made a murmur of agreement and stretched, showing an ample chest. Her hair was long and Casca guessed it was fair in color. He stroked her face and neck. She took his hand and put it on her breast. “So you think you can out-fuck me? I heard you bragging to Lecinius.”

  “That’s the innkeeper’s name?” Casca stroked her gently, then withdrew his hand.

  She nodded. “He doesn’t beat us as long as we keep the customers happy, so I suppose I’m luckier than most girls in my line of work.” Her accent was clearly Germanic.

  “So when were you taken captive?” he asked her in the tongue of the tribes.

  She looked at him in surprise. It wasn’t often she heard the language of her childhood, and she was beginning to forget some of the words, as often happened in these instances. “When I was fourteen. We migrated across the Rhine one evening – it was frozen – and it was a wonderful time.” She smiled in memory, her face half in shadow. “That was before we were separated after a battle.” She frowned. “I can’t really remember everything but suddenly there were Huns riding around us, killing the men and taking the woman and children captive.”

  “Ah, you must have fallen victim to one of the Roman auxiliary bands. They used Huns, so I’m told. So you were enslaved and sold on?”

  Helga nodded. “I don’t know whether my family are still alive. It doesn’t really matter anymore; I’m a whore and at least I have a roof over my head and food in my belly. I’m really good at what I do, so if you want a night to remember you’ve come to the right girl.”

  Casca grunted. “You’re a Suebe. I’ve fought your tribe in the past. Hard warriors, proud people. Shame you’re reduced to some Arelate innkeeper’s slave. Ever thought about getting free?”

  Helga snorted. “For what? A life on the run, hunted? No roof, no protection, food or shelter? I’m not stupid, Latin.”

  “No you’re not, Suebe,” he replied. “So you must be eighteen or nineteen now. Just the right age to marry and settle down.”

  “Oh, please,” she exhaled loudly and flung herself onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Next you’ll hope I break down in tears and weep for my lost freedom. To whom could I go? What use would I be to anyone? At least here I’m valued and have a purpose.”

  Casca shrugged. He stood up and in the semi-darkness removed his armor and belts, and then his boots. He sat back down on the bed looking down at her. “I’ve been a slave in my time, and slave owner. I’d buy you if I had the money, but I haven’t. I’d make sure you’d have protection.”

  “Oh?” she looked at him. “A generous benefactor? Wanting to save me from a sinful life? Are you one of those over-pious Christians who think they can make the world a far better place by freeing the slaves?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Good, for they’re stupid if they think that solves everything; they have no idea what to do once a slave is freed. Where is he or she going to live? How are they going to make a living? Damned do-gooders. They don’t care about the likes of me really, they’re only doing it to make themselves feel better.”

  “You’ve got a cynical view of life for someone so young.”

  “And is that a surprise? What I’ve seen and experienced in the past four years is enough to make one grow up fast. So I’m happy here to service clients and the outside world can go to hell.” She stared at Casca. “You’re only wanting to help me because you like the look of me. If I were an old hag you’d not give a damn.”

  “Think you know me so well, Helga?” Casca grunted and looked into the distance. “I have no home myself, and I’m anxious to get out of the city. The new boys are after me. Why, I can’t tell you, but I need to get out as soon as possible. I need a ship. I need to look like a ship’s crewman. I daren’t be out on the streets after dawn, and I need
to ditch the armor. The sword I’m keeping.”

  “Oh, so you need me to help you, is that it? Out of the goodness of my heart I’m going to run errands for you? No chance; you Latins kill yourselves off and let the likes of my people replace you. Your time is coming to an end. Our time is here.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Casca’s chest tightened. Once again he felt the pain of seeing Rome fall to Alaric’s Goths. It hurt, it hurt so deeply. “So we fight amongst ourselves, ignoring the invaders until it’s too late.”

  He sat there immobile, looking into the darkness. Helga sat up, wondering, then slowly put her hand to his face and felt tears. She turned him round and then pulled him to her. She had no idea why she did it, but she held the weeping man to her, squeezing his shoulders and back, whispering she was there for him. It was different to her, nothing like the sex she was expected to perform for unfeeling and heartless clients. This was something else; emotional, a sense of something deep within her. He wasn’t touching her for self-gratitude, he was holding her to him, needing her in a completely different way. It confused her, opened up her inner feelings that she thought were no longer there. Then he was pulling away, squeezing her hand in gratitude.

  “Thank you,” he said in a tight voice. “I needed that. It’s hard seeing your world fall about you, the ending of a comfort you thought was to be there forever, so I do understand some of what you went through when you were taken from your people.”

  Helga sat wordlessly, wondering where this was going. She tried to ignore the thoughts now whirling round inside her head, but they wouldn’t go away.

  Casca put his rough, calloused hands to her soft face. “I felt something for you when I came into the room. If you were a Latin, then maybe it wouldn’t have been the same, but I once lived amongst a people far to the north whom I regarded as my own, and I loved them. Then we were separated and I miss them so much.” Helsfjord. He wondered whether he should return there. Now Rome was dying, maybe Helsfjord was the place for him to go.

  “Amongst my people?” she asked.

  “No, not the Suebes, further north, in Skandia. Beyond the lands of the Saxons.”

  “Oh.” She wondered for a moment whether he had been with her tribe. She looked at his features in the soft light of the candle flickering on her bedside table. The scar, the hard features of someone who had seen too many battles, the thick muscled build. There was something about him that pulled her to him. “I-I don’t know what you want of me...”

  “Lie with me tonight,” he told her. “I need you.”

  She nodded in acquiescence. This she could do. Somehow sex was not on the menu that night, and it made her feel special. This man was not using her as an object to sate his selfish needs on. No, this was very different, and it made her feel wanted in the right way.

  They lay together, arms round one another, a whore and a soldier, both receiving from the other something deep and meaningful.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The light of the new day seeped through the threadbare curtains. Casca’s eyes opened and focussed on the athletic form of Helga. She was a typical German woman; tall, blonde and strong-looking. Beautiful too, although not dazzlingly stunning like some he’d seen. No, she had character, a charisma, something that lasted long after the initial lust for a stunner had passed. Blue eyes, a wide mouth, straight nose, cleft chin.

  “You slept well,” she said, sitting up.

  “I was tired,” he said, stretching. “How long have you been awake?”

  “A little while. I was watching you. You have some bad scars. You must have been in some battles.”

  “Yes, and some. I guess your lord and master is going to kick me out soon? Back to the serious business of earning him money, mm?”

  “That’s a whore’s lot,” she said, shrugging. “Until I’m too old or ugly to get customers.”

  “You deserve better.”

  She laughed, throwing he head back. “You know, you puzzle me, Latin. You don’t strike me as a carer, a do-gooder, yet there you go again. I deserve better because I have a great body? Whores are whores, darling.”

  “When they choose to be, yes. Not when they are forced into it. I bet you never had ambitions to be one.”

  “Slavery changed that. I could have ended up worse. So, shut up, stop trying to make me feel I have any value. I’m a method of relaxation for horny men. I provide a service. I’ll go get some food and drink and we can share a meal here before you go to whatever fate is in store for you.”

  Casca kicked his armor under the bed while she was out and sat assessing his options. She returned soon enough, struggling through the door holding a chipped and worn tray with a jug, two mugs and a plate of food upon it. He helped her in and she smiled a thanks.

  They shared the food and watered ale and ate in silence. When they had finished Casca eyed the door. “I can’t go outside – I’m being hunted.”

  “Yes, so you said. I don’t want you bringing trouble down on my head. Sorry, love, but the sooner you’re gone the better, then I can get on with my life in safety. You’re trouble, I can sense it.”

  “Hmm. I’ve been told that before. Look, my armour is under your bed. Get rid of it when you can. I’m going to go to the docks and try to get a ship out of Arelate, if they are letting people go. Its been great being with you, Helga. Look after yourself – may the gods look over you.”

  “The gods? You’re a pagan?”

  He laughed. “What does it matter who you pray to or worship? It’s all bullshit in the end. Pagan, Christian, Zoroastrian – whatever. I’d rather believe in my own abilities, that way at least you know what you’re getting.”

  “But you must believe in something!”

  “I do,” he leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “I believe in beautiful women.” He got up and walked to the door, wrenching it open and leaving her sat holding her lips in wonder on the bed alone.

  He went to the ground level door and peered out. Nothing. Checking his sword was easily accessible, he strode out and made for the main street. He paused as a squad of soldiers tramped past, under orders from an optio, barking out commands. Constantius’ army was in charge now and anyone connected with the former regime was in danger.

  Casca loped down the paved street towards the river. People were wary, looking at anyone wearing a sword. Were they fugitives or supporters of the emperor Honorius? Nobody knew and few had the balls to ask. Downhill, always downhill. There were the ships, moored alongside the jetties.

  He wondered if Geto, Flavius and the others had got to one yet. Casca took a deep breath and ducked into a dockside tavern. A group of soldiers were slowly making their way along, checking the ships and boats, and the bona fides of the captains and crews.

  He swore to himself and went to the bar. “Ale,” he said to the bartender.

  The man handed him one and took the couple of coins Casca tossed his way. “Looking to stay out of trouble?” he asked neutrally.

  Casca looked up at him, then turned his head as the voice of the officer in command of the squad came to them, clearly threatening one captain. He grimaced.

  “Out the back is a safe hiding place,” the bartender said conversationally. He looked relaxed, eyeing the doorway. “If anyone comes in I suggest you go out through that curtain to the left there.”

  “Thanks. I’ve no love for the emperor.”

  “You and me both. Taxes will go up now. Guess I’m fucked.”

  “Not as much as I am.” Casca drained the ale, wiped his lips and nodded a thanks. The voices came closer and the innkeeper nodded urgently to Casca and the eternal mercenary slid off his seat and moved swiftly behind the threadbare curtain and found himself in a narrow passageway, full of mold and damp. Behind him he guessed the soldiers were entering the tavern, asking about him and whether the innkeeper had seen him.

  The passageway ended in a poorly maintained door and there was a latch which Casca lifted and made his way out into a walled-in courtya
rd, a very small one.

  There were no exits so he guessed this was used as a storage place for some purpose. The wall wasn’t too high and he used a small wooden stool lying on its side to get a lift up so he could scale the wall and drop down the other side onto waste ground.

  It was used as a dumping ground for broken pottery and amphorae, and weeds grew vigorously everywhere. He crouched and stared across the ground to a street, and beyond which was the river. Boats were within touching distance. But which one? River boats had a shallow draught so they would be no good. He needed one that was built to sail the Mediterranean, and he’d been on enough ships to know which would be suitable.

  There were two off to the right, but there was a squad of soldiers too close at the moment to risk crossing over to the jetties, so he stayed put. After what seemed an eternity the soldiers moved on, so he got to his feet and trudged over. The first ship was one he’d helped Geto get money from so he decided to pass that one by. They may well inform on him to get their own back.

  The second one was a wide-bodied merchantman and Casca went up the gangplank. A man stood up, dropping a couple of vegetables he’d been peeling into a bucket of water and stood in his path, knife in hand. “What do you want?” he growled, his dark eyes boring into Casca’s.

  “I want to know if you got any room for one when you next sail.”

  “No. Go away.”

  “You the captain?” Casca asked. Of course the man wasn’t, the captain wouldn’t be peeling vegetables. “I think he’ll make the decisions, not you.”

  “Huh, big-mouth. Want to argue with your fists?”

  Casca snorted. He’d be able to take that idiot, but it would attract attention he didn’t want. He waved the man away in disgust and turned round. There was someone waiting for him on the quayside, hooded and cloaked. Looked sinister. Not built very strong, so he left the gangplank and went up to the figure.