Casca 37: Roman Mercenary

by Tony Roberts

Casca nodded and followed Gerontius out of the room back down the staircase and along the corridor and down again into the torture chamber. Flora stayed close to Gerontius who was very solicitous towards her. Casca wondered about their relationship, then put it out of his mind as they came upon Flavius and Wulfila who were waiting by the grille.

  “How did it go?” Casca asked.

  Flavius grinned. “Going up like a funeral pyre. Most of the garrison are there trying to put it out. Wulfila here found a few oil pots. Went up immediately. We were lucky to get away.”

  “Right. This is Flora,” Casca indicated the girl. “We’ve got to get out of here now. Lead the way.”

  They clambered down into the drain, Flora being helped by willing hands, but Gerontius took over once he was down, glaring at anyone who got close to her. They quickly made their way outside into the chill air, and Mattias waved them urgently over to the exit. The drain yawned darkly for them, the iron bars having been bent aside by the big Burgundian, and Manneric was already inside, a torch flickering in the breeze.

  Off to the side, a huge pall of smoke was billowing up into the sky and shouts of people could be heard from the direction of the streets. Casca clapped Flavius on the shoulder. “Looks like you did the perfect job. Let’s get out of here.”

  Casca followed Manneric into the tunnel, and behind him came Gerontius with Flora, then the rest with Flavius taking up the rear. Scuttling of rats could be heard and he heard Flora’s breath being sucked in. It was dark, cold and wet. Puddles lay across the floor and much of what they were walking on had probably been alive at one time, or had come from something living. It didn’t bear thinking about. The smell was bad, too.

  After twenty feet the tunnel turned and daylight gaped ahead. Manneric stopped at the edge and looked down. The pipe ended in a sheer drop thirty feet to the rocky soil at the foot of the wall, and the contents of the pipe clearly was designed to flow into a cut ditch that in turn led off to the right into the Rhine. The ditch, ten feet wide, was full of foul looking liquid and clearly stagnant. The ditch didn’t reach the river, for a blockage dammed it a little way to the right. The Rhine flowed beyond on its lazy way towards the waters that separated Britannia from Gaul and Frisia.

  “Now what?” Manneric asked.

  “Rope.” Casca grabbed a rope from his pack and looked at the surface of the pipe. It was cracked and broken in places. “Anyone got a peg or something we can drive into the cracks here to hold this rope?”

  There came a fumbling and Wulfila handed across a short sword. “Drive it in deep enough and it’ll hold. Tie the rope to the hilt and it’ll take one at a time.”

  “What if it doesn’t?” Flavius asked nervously from the rear.

  “Then you can have it out with the armorer in my tribe. Although he may well be dead, so you’ll have a hard time of it.” The Ostrogoth laughed briefly.

  Casca stabbed down hard and the sword sank into a patch of earth exposed by the break in the pipe close to the edge. He used his shield boss to hammer it down further, then, satisfied it held, tied the rope to the hilt. “I’ll go first since I’m one of the heaviest. Wulfila, Manneric, you come next. Gerontius, you and the girl after them. Mattias, you and Flavius hold the rope then when everyone is down get down too. Leave the rope and sword where they are.”

  Casca threw the rope down to the foot of the wall and gingerly stepped out, dislodging a piece of crumbling pipe. He held onto the rope hard, then began walking down the wall, taking care not to step too much into the green slime that covered most of the wall beneath the pipe’s exit. He got down and drew his sword, moving away from the rope and scanning the land around. The ditch went as far as the wall, then when the wall turned south the ditch ended. The open part of the city lay beyond but to the north stood the forest and that was where they were going.

  He strained his ears for sounds of pursuit, but none came. It looked like they were going to get away with it after all.

  * * *

  Inside the forbidding building they had recently left, the feasting chamber was full of men gathering before their chieftain, the hairy and bulky Reikhars. The leader of the Alemanni people sat in a stout oaken chair decorated with carved eagles, a trophy from capturing the city, and looked down at Hrodbehrt who stood before him. “So,” the chieftain said deeply, “they have escaped through the sewers.”

  “Yes, Lord,” Hrodbehrt bowed. “They believe they have managed to achieve their aim.”

  “Good,” Reikhars smiled, showing gaps in his wide mouth. “Let the fools continue to believe that. It will make our plans work so much the easier. What of the damage to the armory?”

  “Superficial. Once their plan was known to us it was easy to remove much of what was of value from there before they set fire to it.”

  Reikhars rubbed his hands together in glee. “Then we must wish them well on their way. Send out a large patrol to chase them once they get far enough away just to make it look as if we’re after them.”

  “It shall be done, Lord,” Hrodbehrt bowed. “And of the money their leader paid?”

  “Share it amongst you and your men; a reward for your work.”

  Hrodbehrt smiled in pleasure. “Thank you, Lord.”

  Reikhars waved the guard captain and his men out, leaving the chieftain with his warlords. “If all goes to plan, very soon we will be sitting in Rome, not in this accursed shit hole.”

  The warlords nodded in agreement. All was going very well indeed.

  * * *

  The rest of the day was spent moving clear of Argentoratum and avoiding the Alemanni patrols that came out to see if they could find them. Casca led the six others through the forests in a north-westerly direction at first, then west and finally south.

  As evening fell the exhausted group threw themselves down in a heap, deep in the undergrowth. The land rose ahead, the prelude to the Alps, and the valley that led back the way they had come was yet to appear. Here the cover was good and the trees blocked much of the wind. With the coming of night they could not see where to go so Casca decided they had to stay where they were. Clouds filled the sky, blocking any light the stars and moon might have filtered down through the branches of the trees.

  Flora was shivering badly, despite her furs, and Gerontius began collecting firewood. Casca stopped him with a curt command. “Any light here will bring those Alemanni running. No fires tonight.”

  Gerontius faced Casca and for a moment it looked as if he was about to defy him, but then he scowled and nodded curtly. He returned to Flora’s side and huddled her to him.

  “Gerontius – you’re on first watch,” Casca said. “Manneric, you too.”

  “Get someone else,” Gerontius growled.

  Casca loomed over the Roman. “I’m telling you, Gerontius. It’s not up for debate. Do your share. Flora here can be kept warm by another while you’re guarding her.”

  “Not damned likely!”

  Casca grabbed the scowling Roman and pulled him, with difficulty, to his feet. He heard Flora gasp in shock. Gerontius grabbed Casca’s hands and tried to pull them apart, but to his surprise found he couldn’t. Casca pulled Gerontius to him. “Now listen, you insubordinate bastard. You do as you’re ordered. I’m the one in command here, not you. I’ll take care of the girl if you’re worried one of the others will hump her.”

  Gerontius struggled for a moment, then gave up. Whatever Casca’s hands were made of, it wasn’t flesh and bone. It was more like iron. “Alright,” he gasped. “Now let go!”

  Casca released him but pushed him away to reinforce his physical superiority. “Don’t try to defy me again, got it? What’s it with you two anyway? Anyone would think you’re betrothed to her.”

  “I’m just making sure she gets back unharmed, that’s all,” Gerontius said sullenly, adjusting his clothing around his neck.

  Manneric silently took up his guard position on one side of the camp, while Gerontius went the opposite side after a brief word with Flora. Casca sat do
wn heavily next to her and noted how she shrank away from him. “I won’t bite,” he said. “I’m here to make sure you get to your father safely.”

  Flora looked at him for a moment. In the near darkness her features were difficult to make out, but even so Casca could see that was a stunner. Smooth skin, high cheekbones, long flowing hair, a delicate chin, fine sloping nose with a slight upturn at the tip, even teeth, full lips. Nature had dealt her a winning hand. At least, physically. She’d moved smoothly too, during their flight from Argentoratum. Her legs were long but athletic, and her waist slim but not too much so. A reasonably wide pair of hips and under the furs and tunic he could guess that she had matching breasts too. He knew he’d have a job stopping one or two of the group from mounting her. Maybe it would be best to keep Gerontius looking after her.

  “I’m the leader, Longinus. Despite my looks, I’m Roman.”

  Flora bowed her head. “You know my name already,” she said with an accented voice that could have melted a statue. “And I’m half Roman, half German.”

  “Who looks like a full blooded German and speaks good Latin but with a German accent,” Casca noted, a slight challenge in his voice.

  “I was brought up mostly by my mother on the other side of the Rhine,” Flora explained, “until my tenth birthday, then my father arranged for me to come over here for an education.”

  “Ah, that explains it. He must think a lot of you, getting seven men to rescue you.”

  “Seven?”

  Casca sighed. “Yes. One of our number died in Argentoratum. So, have you been to the south of Gaul before?”

  “No, never. It’s very cold, isn’t it? How far is it to my father?”

  Casca scratched a hairy cheek. “Now that’s the thing. I don’t know yet what route to take. Depends on your friends back there. They may get us in the open, so I’m thinking we ought to go over the Alps.”

  “In winter?” Flavius queried from a few yards away. “Are you mad?”

  “Hannibal did it,” Casca said. “And he had elephants.”

  “Not in winter,” Flavius countered. “And you are mad.”

  “Perhaps, but the tribes won’t have any advantage up there and I know the routes there better than them.” Casca looked out into the night. “And with Flora here we’ll be slowed down a bit. We go south until we hit the mountains then head for the lake at the western edge of the Alps and then down to Lugdunum from there.”

  “Won’t Lugdunum be in the hands of the Burgundians?” Mattias queried.

  “Maybe. We’ll see. If so we’ll skirt the place. We can’t go back to the south without passing through Burgundian patrolled land, so we’ll have to take our chances no matter what.”

  Flora hugged her knees under her chin. It was all a little scary, but she had confidence that Gerontius would look after her; after all, that was his brief, and her father had assured her that Gerontius was the only one that she could trust amongst the group, being connected to her father and having met him previously.

  Casca remained with her until relieved by Gerontius and the two men stood facing one another for a moment, almost squaring up to one another, but then Gerontius sat down and made sure Flora was comfortable and glared at Casca until the scarred mercenary had moved off to his guard position.

  Deep in thought, Casca watched the night. Distant howls of wolves came to him, but no sound of any pursuit could be heard. It figured. Nobody could blunder about in the woods at night and find anything. Now they had the girl, they had to get back as fast as possible. The options were few. Crossing the Rhine wasn’t one, clearly. The Burgundians were out there somewhere, searching for Mattias and the rest of them, and anywhere east of the Rhine was tribal lands – either Alemanni or Bungundian. So they had to stay this side of the river. That meant either retracing their route back along the valley towards Gaul, or carrying on south into the Alps.

  Casca considered that option. Winter was upon them. The Alps in winter was an insane choice, but it would stop the mounted patrols chasing them down and they could hide better there. And, Casca admitted to himself, he did know a couple of routes through the mountains.

  But it would be horribly cold.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Thankfully the weather moderated over the next few days. They made their way south out of the forest and crossed the plains to the south-west of Argentoratum, keeping off the roads and better traveled routes. The terrain was awkward but not too difficult; the snow turned to slush and the only thing they really had to endure was the wet seeping through boots and footwear.

  Flora held up well; she was young and fit and clearly had enjoyed an active childhood. This was no delicate daughter of nobility; she could forge her way across country as well as anyone her age. No doubt her stamina would fail before the others but she was light enough to be carried by Gerontius if push came to shove.

  The Roman kept close to Flora throughout the journey; nobody was allowed to get anywhere near her without Gerontius watching them closely, and so the rest kept their distance from both. When Casca did insist on Gerontius taking up point or drag, then Casca himself would walk alongside the girl. He stole a few glances at her from time to time but she offered little in the way of conversation and he said even less to her. But from what Casca could tell, there was precious little indication she had any Roman blood in her.

  It was November and sometimes the wind would blow from the west, and when it did, the temperature climbed and the snows stayed away, but the rains would come more often than not. At other times the wind came from the east and then it would bring snow and chilling temperatures. Thankfully these days were rare. They saw few people, and many of the houses or farmsteads they came across were abandoned, many of them burned.

  Food was a problem. They soon ran out of what they had got in Argentoratum, and they were reduced to foraging or hunting. Wulfila and Manneric showed the group that their abilities extended to these skills, and Mattias too had some knowledge here. Casca knew some from his many years of existence, but he left the hunting to the cousins. He was pondering on the route they would choose and how long it would take them.

  The mountains would be the difficult part but he had made his mind up now to try the crossing. It wasn’t yet deep winter and although the snows would be there, the passes wouldn’t be blocked, unless the weather was particularly bad. But they had a narrow window of opportunity, and speed was of the essence. What puzzled him however was the absence of a pursuit. Stealing the woman wanted by the Alemanni chief would surely provoke an all-out hunt, but perhaps he had other women to occupy himself with. He wasn’t unhappy about that; the further they went the less chances the Alemanni had of finding them.

  The land ahead rose in jagged rows. The peaks could be seen to be covered in white whenever the clouds that shrouded them parted. Flavius looked at him three days after they left Argentoratum. “We’re going for the Alps, then?”

  Casca nodded. “Uh-huh. We can’t walk through Alemanni lands, and the Burgundians know we’ve used the Dubis valley, so that’s two reasons not to go back the same way. So we go up there.”

  Flavius pulled a face. “Won’t be easy,” he muttered and resumed his place in the column.

  Casca agreed with him, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. They were walking along the old frontier region, and in days gone by they would have seen plenty of forts, soldiers and road traffic. They were now all gone; the emperors had pulled everyone back to defend the heartlands and the frontiers were now either the domain of the barbarians or undefended areas occupied only by fearful citizens wondering who would come along next.

  The roads were still in reasonable condition, and Casca regretfully began to follow the military road south into the Alps, mainly because the passes into the mountains all had roads running through them, and the group certainly weren’t equipped to scale rock walls and cliffs. This increased the chances of bumping into someone they didn’t wish to meet.

  “There’s a sizeable fort up ah
ead,” Gerontius said on the afternoon of the third day. They had kept up a reasonably fair rate of march for three days but they were becoming tired, and Flora was showing signs of flagging. Camping out in the damp conditions wasn’t what she wished for. “At least there used to be before they pulled the troops out of the area.”

  “Yes – Basilica, isn’t it?” Casca replied, squinting ahead. The Rhine was once more in view, but steep sided and thick forests grew on the opposite bank. The mountains rose to their right and dead ahead now. The air was cooler too, and they would enter the Alps the following day. Ahead and off to the right a jagged line of white-topped mountains could be seen running off south-west, an impassable barrier. Casca recalled that they were the Jura Alps. They would have to cross them some time in the next few days. There was a pass up there, and this was the one they had to get through before the snows got too much.

  “Yes,” Gerontius said. “I don’t really know this area – its only bits and pieces I picked up from army talk. Maybe there’s people there we can get food from.”

  Casca nodded. They had to find food and shelter, and the fort was as good a place as any. They tramped onto the road and followed it along the top of the ridge overlooking the Rhine and ahead appeared the tightly packed settlement, dominated by a grassy bank topped with a partly demolished wall, and a tall watchtower that was still intact.

  They picked up the pace, eager to get out of the chill, damp air and find some fresh food and shelter. People were moving about around the settlement and smoke billowed from fires, and they entertained thoughts of hot food for the first time in days. They came through a gateless opening and found themselves in the courtyard that stood before the tower. To left and right were workshops and the houses lay beyond these.

  A few people working in the smithy looked up in curiosity as the group walked across the clearing, clearly not knowing where to go or who to speak to. The ground was muddy and squelchy underfoot, and they walked round a large puddle that comprised of liquid mud and almost certainly dung before coming to a halt before the smithy.