by Tony Roberts
There were blank looks. “Sorry, chief,” Mattias said darkly. “We were all in separate rooms or places, and busy. There was so much noise going on.”
“So I recall,” Casca replied. When he’d left Gunthar in the alley he’d rushed up the stairs and had interrupted a couple of the group having sex with their women. The whores had been upset at being chased off but Casca had reminded them they had been paid until dawn and so they were earning for doing nothing.
The warrior he’d befriended had been allowed to stay with his whore but had taken her elsewhere. Casca had asked to see him the next morning which the man had nodded before following the whore to her room.
“I think you all ought to get some sleep now,” Casca said wearily. “I’m going to find out how to get into the palace, and I think we’ll need to get as much rest as we can. It may be the last chance we get of a comfortable bed for some time. Mattias, you take first watch. I’ll take second.” He looked at the rest. “All of you decide who goes next. Nobody leaves without my permission. We don’t want a repeat of what happened to poor Gunthar.”
“Maybe it was a blood feud,” Gerontius suggested.
“No,” Casca shook his head. “He would have known if he had been in danger before coming here. He had gone to see a cousin of his. I don’t know what happened but I can’t think of any sensible reason why he would be murdered other than finding out something he shouldn’t have.”
“Which was what?” Flavius asked.
“If I knew that, I’d know who’d killed him,” Casca replied. He waved Mattias out with him. The Burgundian stared at him in the near darkness in the corridor. “I don’t want another incident,” Casca said softly. “Watch your back.”
Mattias bared his teeth and slowly drew his blade. “Anyone tries anything I’ll cut them in two.”
Casca nodded and went to his room and sat on his bed. There had been no other footprints coming from the street other than Gunthar’s, so nobody had followed him into the alleyway. He had also been stabbed in the back as he approached the foot of the stairs, so it meant that whoever had killed him had come down the stairs, killed him, dragged him under the stairs and then gone back up.
Casca put his head in his hands. It didn’t make sense. It meant of course that whoever had killed Gunthar had known he was approaching and had gone down the stairs at the moment he was coming along the alleyway. But he would have been seen by Gunthar as he came down. So the only possibility that occurred was that it had been someone Gunthar knew. And the bastard had allowed the Alemanni to pass him before killing him.
The reason why plagued Casca’s mind, and he still hadn’t gone to sleep when Mattias knocked on the door to let him know it was his time to take over. Casca brooded further on watch, standing with his back against the wall. He had no desire to present it to the corridor where the rooms were. But who was it? Manneric? Wulfila? Logic said that if it were one of them, then the other must surely be involved too. Ostrogoths. No connection with the Alemanni or Argentoratum, but there was no verification as to their history. They could be hired killers. But by whom and why, and more to the point why wait till now? One interesting note about the two was that they used decidedly non-Gothic weapons, the axe.
Flavius? Roman, definitely. No connection with the tribes. A soldier in a rebel faction army. But was he loyal to Constantine now? Casca doubted it. So who was he loyal to? Had he taken money before being hired by Casca?
Gerontius. He knew far more than anyone in his position should. Clearly used to commanding. No hireling, that was for sure. Another definite Roman, but certainly loyal to the rebellious faction. Would he endanger a mission taken on behalf of someone working in his master’s administration? Not likely, but political machinations were a mystery to a man like himself.
Mattias? A Burgundian royal refugee. Disliked the Alemanni for certain, but hunted by his own tribe for sure. Did he have any agenda other than what was known about him?
Casca spent too long pondering on the possibilities that night. It only served to heighten his distrust of most, if not all, of them. That wouldn’t do. He had to trust at least one of the group, but who? Gerontius relieved him and Casca went to his bed tired, tense and bad-tempered.
The next morning he wasn’t much better, but he put his temper on hold while speaking to the Alemanni warrior in the tavern. They spoke quietly in one corner, neither trusting anyone around the room. Gunthar’s body had been cleared up by someone and a couple of tough-looking guards had asked questions that morning, especially of Casca who had been pointed out as an associate. Casca shrugged and professed ignorance, but the guards clearly didn’t believe him entirely. He had been advised to stay where he was and await further questioning.
So he’d spoken quietly with the warrior in the corner, not wanting anyone else to overhear what they were saying. The warrior was grateful for the drinks and whore provided and was more than willing to give Casca useful information on the ‘palace’ and how to get in. He wasn’t prepared to help, however, but gave him more advice on how to leave the city without being seen by any of the guards. Casca thanked him for the information and the warrior left, wishing Casca the best of luck.
Luck! Casca mulled it over in his mind. He’d need some. This job was unraveling faster than a ball of string. So much for the easy snatch job. Now he had to get into a fortified residence and take a girl under guard from under the nose of the leader of the entire tribe. Then he had to get to Massilia hundreds of miles away with not only the Alemanni on his tail, but the Burgundians who were intent on nailing Mattias and anyone with him.
It was winter so any journey back would be hazardous, and dragging a girl with them made it that much harder. Then there was the issue of the man who’d killed Gunthar. What would happen should they get away with the girl? Would the killer make his move – and what would the move be and for what purpose?
He slapped a hand onto the barrel in frustration. Damn them all to Hades. He stood up. Time to get going. Waiting here brooding would not do any good. The others were lounging around either in the deep recesses of the tavern room or upstairs recovering from their exertions over the past day. Casca rounded them up. They went outside into the chill air. It had snowed all night and it was ankle deep underfoot. Much of the snow had been kicked to the sides of the street and thankfully the snowfall had stopped.
Casca took them along the street towards the armory. This had been a church before the pagan Alemanni had taken the city and changed the use of the building. They stood around Casca expectantly. “We carry on, despite Gunthar’s death,” he told them all softly. “The ‘palace’ entrance is too well guarded but I know of another way in, a way the guards won’t know about. It gets us into the cellars and we’ll have to find our way up to the right room. That’s just half the problem. The other half is to get away without being seen. So we split up into three groups.”
He considered the pairings carefully. “Wulfila. You and Flavius are to burn this place behind us down to the ground. You do it as noon arrives. Got it?”
The two eyed one another, then looked at Casca in surprise. “Why?” Wulfila asked.
“Diversion. This place is fairly important but look, it’s not guarded and open to anyone to come in. No doubt there’s guards inside but who would think of stealing from here? Everyone around is armed. Set fire to this place and everyone in the street will come running to help. Now, once you set fire to it, get over to the other side of this quarter, close to where the wall of the ‘palace’ meets the outer wall. The wall there has a drainage tunnel at ground level.”
Casca nodded towards Mattias. “Mattias and Manneric will be guarding the area. It’s their job to make sure the drain is open and easy for access. If it isn’t, then make it so. I’m told the Alemanni used it to get into the city and it should be reasonably clear. If there’s a cover, get rid of it.”
Mattias shrugged and scratched his chin. “And what of you and Gerontius?”
“We’ll be ins
ide the ‘palace’ looking for Flora. There’s a guard commander there called Hrodbehrt who can be bought. I intend bribing him with the last of my money. He’ll get us to the right room. There’s a way into the building close to the drain. I think it’s an extension of the same sewer system. It broke decades ago and isn’t used anymore, but the rulers here don’t have the expertise to fix it.”
“Noon is a couple of hours off, yet,” Wulfila noted. “What do we do before then?”
“Buy as much food and drink as you can and pack it away. We’re going to have to get away from here by nightfall and then we’ll not get to any safe place for some time. We’ll have both the Burgundians and Alemanni after us from this afternoon.”
“Nothing like stacking up the odds,” Mattias said with a half-smile.
“We meet back here at noon. Don’t be late,” Casca added. The group broke up and Casca puffed out his cheeks. If one of the group was working to destroy their mission then it would be now that he had the chance to betray them. But it just didn’t make sense. The only one who might have had any reason to do so – Gunthar – was dead. He had to get to Flora and find out just who she was, other than the daughter of Scarnio.
The time before noon he spent well. He made sure none of the others saw him, and he didn’t see any of his group before the noon deadline. He was not the first back, pushing past townsfolk and hawkers selling their wares outside their shops and workhouses. The streets were quite crowded. The snow had been trampled flat and in some places swept aside, but there was more likely, judging by the sky.
Casca stood in the lee of the wind, protected by a furrier’s shop opposite the armory. Opposite him Flavius and Wulfila were already there, and they were leaning nonchalantly against the walls, giving the passers-by a cursory glance. Manneric was a little way down the street towards the ‘palace’, and a few moments later Mattias arrived, eating some bread. He nodded and led Manneric along the street down towards the drain.
Gerontius was last to arrive, glancing briefly at Casca before walking on. Casca pushed himself off the wall, winked at Flavius and Wulfila and followed Gerontius. They entered an open space, given to the dumping of garbage and broken goods, and they skirted one foul-smelling pile and were suddenly out of sight of the street. The land dropped away towards the wall and they spotted the drain. It was broken wide open, one end being barred by rusting lengths of iron but they didn’t look that secure. Mattias produced an iron bar, clearly something he’d lifted from the city blacksmith, and pushed it against the bars. An experimental push ended with the grille bending easily. Mattias grinned and relaxed. When time came, he’d rip the bars apart easily.
Manneric stood back on guard, watching in the direction of the street. Casca waved to Gerontius and the two ducked into the other end of the break and peered along the tunnel. The drain went into the building and they couldn’t see very far. It was pitch black.
“When Flavius and Wulfila arrive, send them in here after us. I want back up.”
“Sure thing, chief,” Mattias said.
Casca lit a rag and wrapped it around a stout length of wood he’d picked up that morning. Using it as a torch, he led Gerontius in after him, both men bending down to fit. Above them, the wall of the ‘palace’ rose in a sheer solid stone cliff, at least thirty feet in height. The drain was reasonably dry, with just a touch of water at the very bottom. There were a few items lying on the ground, unidentifiable and probably just as well that they were.
Casca led his companion on for twenty feet, and he guessed they were now well inside the building. Side tunnels the size of a man’s head began to appear, but they were too narrow to fit in. Then the drain passed under a grille. Casca looked up. There was a rotting ladder against the side, completely unsafe, but the grille was only eight feet above their heads.
“Is this the way up?” Gerontius whispered.
“It is. Get up on my shoulders. The grille should be no problem.”
While Casca bent down, Gerontius took the torch and then got onto Casca’s shoulders. Taking the strain, Casca straightened, and Gerontius rose up in the shaft, heading for the grille. The shaft was just wide enough to take a man and allow for a bit of space. Gerontius found the grille was within arm’s length and pushed. The grille resisted for a moment, then with a groan it lifted from the floor. Gerontius pushed it aside and scrambled up into a chamber with a stone flagged floor. It was cold.
He leaned down and took Casca’s hand and pulled. Casca was heavy but he made it, and soon both men were looking round at what clearly had been a prison at some time. It was uninhabited but some of the previous occupants appeared to be still there, judging by the skeletons. The cells were covered in webs, dust, filth and detritus. There was a channel cut in the floor and this led to the grille. Casca took the torch and led Gerontius to the stone steps off to one side.
They went up slowly, swords drawn. At the top there was a door, banded in iron and with a large circular iron handle. Casca cautiously tried it and strained, his neck cords showing. Suddenly the rust gave and the handle turned slowly, screeching. The two men looked at one another and grimaced.
There was nothing to it but to carry on. The door gave inwards and the two men stepped out into a passageway. Nobody was there. The passage was illuminated by a couple of torches set in the walls, one at either end. Gerontius nudged Casca. “Want to bet it’s a trap?”
Casca said nothing. He looked left and right. This was clearly a store area, for some of the doors along the sides of the passageway were open and amphorae, pots and baskets could be seen, some tipped onto their sides. Casca peered into the nearest. The pots there had been smashed and their contents spilled or scattered. Evidence of the fall of the town to the Alemanni earlier in the year. Nobody had yet got organized enough to clear up the mess.
But the passageway was used. The torches were evidence of that. One end had a stone staircase leading up while the other turned right out of sight. Gerontius waited. “Next level up I would say,” he suggested.
“Of course,” Casca said irritably. “What was that about a trap?”
The other man shrugged. “It’s too quiet. Somebody may well have tipped Reikhars off, you know.”
“You can back out if it’s too dangerous for you, Gerontius.”
“Don’t be stupid, Longinus. I’m in no matter what. I’m doing this for my master, and his daughter.”
“You want to marry her?” Casca needled the Roman.
Gerontius said nothing but gave Casca an odd look the Eternal Mercenary couldn’t work out, but he had an idea he’d said the wrong thing.
“Ah shit,” Casca said, ending the awkward silence. “Let’s go up. Nice and quietly.”
They made their way up, seeing another door at the top. Light was spilling in under it into the passageway and it was clear the room was occupied on the other side. Casca gripped his sword tightly and slowly depressed the iron handle, pulling the door open, allowing more light to spill across their faces. He peered into a well lit room.
Standing there, waiting for him to open the door, were ten fully armed warriors.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Wordlessly, Casca and Gerontius walked into the guard chamber. The Alemanni guards said nothing, but stepped back to allow the two intruders to approach the far end where the guard captain waited, a half smile on his be-whiskered face.
“So, you come at last,” he growled deeply. “I was beginning to think you were not going to arrive!”
“I paid my money, Hrodbehrt,” Casca replied softly, “and I’m damned if I’d just walk away.”
Gerontius looked thoughtfully at Casca. “You bribed this man?”
“He entered into a contract with me,” Hrodbehrt corrected him. The Alemanni captain was dressed in a chain mail hauberk, long leather boots, a fur cape and fur-lined trousers of light blue. A long sword hung from his belt. “You wish to collect your package?”
“Indeed,” Casca nodded.
“So be it.” Hrodb
ehrt clicked his fingers. Two men walked to a large wooden box that was lying to one side, and flipped open the lid. They pulled out a slim figure wrapped in a fur cloak. It was a woman, fair-haired, slim, blue-eyed. Flora. Hrodbehrt took her from the guards and chuckled as he dragged her, bound as she was, over to the two men.
Flora was angry. Red spots stained her cheeks and she struggled all to no avail. A piece of cloth gagged her so she couldn’t speak, but she was making noises behind it. Hrodbehrt laughed, handing her over. “One wildcat. Good luck with her! Our glorious chieftain has his eyes upon her and I think he’s wanting to ride this wench well and good before long. You’d best be going before his loins force him to come looking for you.”
Flora made outraged noises behind her gag. Gerontius took her and looked at her hard. Flora’s eyes widened in recognition. She stopped struggling and Gerontius untied the gag and began unfastening the ropes that bound her wrists together. “Gerontius!” she gasped.
“Your father Scarnio sent us,” he said. “Think he would have left you here to rot?”
Flora looked relieved. Casca nodded to the two. “Come on, let’s get out of here before we get the wrath of their chieftain coming down on us.” He looked at Hrodbehrt. “What about you? He’ll have your hide for helping us.”
Hrodbehrt laughed unpleasantly. “Not a chance. I’m through here working for that dumb man. He’s not my chieftain anyway! He’s got ideas above his station. I’d rather go work for the Burgundians or Franks.”
“Talking of Franks,” Casca said, “what about her bodyguard?”
“He’s gone to sleep,” Hrodbehrt sniggered. “When he wakes he’ll have one heck of a headache. Speaking of which, he’ll probably be coming round fairly soon. Time you were gone – and us.”