Casca 31: The Conqueror
Page 22
EPILOGUE
Goda waited till nightfall to make her escape. The men left behind were either locals or low quality mercenaries. They didn’t know what to do with her, and Goda soon got the location of her weapons from one of the servants.
The cupboard they were in was guarded by a solitary soldier, a Saxon in the pay of Lesalles, and Goda walked up to him and stood there, arms akimbo. “You going to let me past? You have my weapons in there.”
“Sorry, ma’am, the boss said nobody is to get them, not even you.” He looked the unimaginative type behind his Norman helm with the nasal guard.
Goda sighed. She unfastened her tunic and bared her breasts. “Not even for these?”
The guard’s eyes nearly popped out. He looked round furtively, then began stroking them. Goda smiled and pushed against his hand. “Go on,” she purred. “You know you want to.”
The guard licked his lips, lust clearly in them. Goda slipped her pants down and sat against a table. She opened her legs. “Well, how about this?”
The guard moaned, then put his spear down and unfastened his leggings. He was halfway through it when Goda pushed herself away from the table, picked up the spear and rammed it down through the helpless man’s neck, driving it in deep. The man cried out and staggered about, falling over his half undone clothing, and lay still. Blood flowed out over the stone floor.
Goda redressed. It was getting to be a habit, that. She got her sword and dagger out, found her belt also in the cupboard, and fitted it around her waist. She slid the weapons home and patted her clothing. Neat, tidy. Snug. Good.
She walked to the rear door and unlatched it, peering out. Nobody was visible. Good. The rain was falling and she stepped out, trotting away from the house. Where she would go was unknown, but away from London was best. The further from these damned Normans the better. A curse on them all!
A pair of eyes watched as she ran into the darkness. From an upstairs window, the priest she had dragged from the forest peered out, grateful to see the back of her. He stared out for a few moments longer, then returned to the desk he had been writing at by candlelight. His parchment was half filled with inky lettering. He dipped his quill into the ink and continued writing. But he was writing from right to left, for the language was not Latin, nor French. It was Aramaic.
Casca Longinus the Beast is alive in England, he had written, pass the word to the Brotherhood. The Beast has been ennobled by the new Melech William, who has given him a manor not so far from London. He also has a woman and appears likely to remain at his manor for some years. Longinus must not pass from our eyes again.
Continuing Casca’s adventures, book 32 The Anzac
Picked up more dead than alive from the North Sea, Casca is taken to an Alexandria hospital. His
amazing power of recovery arouses the suspicion of medial orderly Ieaun Clark and when Casca escapes, fearing his immortality would be discovered, two British soldiers are accidentally killed.
Clark is recruited by the British army to help track Casca down, so the Eternal Mercenary tries to hide within the ranks of an Australian unit bound for Gallipoli. Once there, Casca has to endure the horrors of trench warfare on a narrow front hemmed in by the Turkish army as well as to evade the closing net led by the determined Clark.
Casca’s situation is not helped by falling for an Australian nurse, and his identity is jeopardized when one of his colleagues decides to betray him to the military police. Once again Casca must use his centuries of knowledge and skill to outwit an implacable enemy.
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