Casca 37: Roman Mercenary

by Tony Roberts

  The land sloped gradually to the left and Casca took them across it, hugging the tree-line close to the edge of the expanse. They could see nothing but white clouds closing in on them from ahead and the right, and it was clear they were in for a storm.

  “We can’t get caught out in the open in that!” Gerontius shouted above the noise of the growing wind.

  “A little way down there,” Casca pointed, “I can just about see a hut of some sorts. That’ll do for the night.”

  “What is it?” Flavius asked, peering ahead.

  “Probably a shepherd’s hut or the like. In summer this is a high pasture.”

  Casca led the slipping, stumbling group across the slope, the Eternal Mercenary probing the ground as they went with his sword as he didn’t want them suddenly falling down some drop that the snow was concealing. His face was chilled and his eyes watered, but they were getting closer to the hut. Gerontius kept Flora close to him while Flavius and Mattias staggered on behind them, none of them saying anything more.

  The storm hit with a sudden ferocity. It took them all by surprise and Flora fell backwards with a cry. Gerontius pulled her up and battled on, one arm around her, while the others bent double and closed up. Anyone who got separated now was a dead man.

  Moments later Casca gratefully bumped into the hut and scrabbled for the door, finding it in the lee side of the wind. It had been secured with a crude piece of wood slipped through a latch; more to stop the wind banging it open than to stop intruders.

  The group gratefully threw themselves into the relative calm of the hut and lay there panting for a while. Casca pushed the door to and wedged it shut with a plank he found lying on the floor, probably there for that purpose.

  The walls were warped and some snow had drifted in but a few moments of stuffing the snow into the bigger cracks stopped much of the wind and snow getting in. Casca sat down by the wall opposite the door and rubbed his hands and face into some sort of feeling again. It was excruciating, but it brought his hands properly back to use.

  “Anyone got a candle?” he asked.

  “Yeah – just a moment,” Flavius answered, his shape half seen in the growing dark. There came a fumbling and after a longer pause, the sound of a flint being struck. A few minutes later a tallow candle was flickering away, resting on the floor, lighting up the single room of the hut. Big enough for the five to lie down.

  “How far are we from friendly territory?” Mattias asked, rubbing his legs, grimacing.

  “Depends on what you call friendly,” Casca said, standing up and flexing his arms and legs. Circulation was almost back to normal. “We’re on the edge of the Alps here. Tomorrow if we get a clear morning, you’ll see Gaul before you, I suspect. Who controls Gaul is anyone’s guess around here, but we’re not too far from Lugdunum.”

  The others mulled that over but Casca had come to a decision. Now was the time to clear up one huge running sore in his mind. Now there were only four of the original seven left he wanted it done. Here up in the mountains they were away from civilization. What he wanted to find out had to come now before they got too close to the grasp of those ultimately responsible for this mission. He walked over to the door and turned to face the others.

  “Before we try to get sleep, I need to know a couple of things. Firstly, what has all this really been about? Rescuing this girl from an unfriendly tribe on behalf of a doting father? Or something else?”

  “What do you mean?” Gerontius challenged, frowning.

  Casca ignored him. “And who murdered Gunthar? And why?”

  “We’ll probably never know that!” Flavius said heavily.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Casca said softly, looking at the three other men. Flora didn’t really count at that moment; she was just an onlooker. “If we find out who murdered poor Gunthar, it’s likely to lead to the why. And if we know that, then we’ll know the real reason why we were hired to fetch her in the first place.”

  “To take her to her father, surely,” Mattias said.

  “If that’s so, then Gunthar’s death makes no sense. But Gunthar was killed because he’d found something out in Argentoratum, and whoever killed him knew it would mess everything up.”

  The others looked at each other. Gerontius shook his head. “You’re trying to look too deeply into things, Longinus. He may well have bumped into an old enemy within the tribe for all we know.”

  Casca twisted his lips. “No. He was killed by someone who came down the back stairs. I saw the footprints. Further, that ‘someone’ knew Gunthar, for Gunthar must have seen who it was and passed him. His death was through a stab in the back.”

  “You didn’t tell us that!” Mattias said accusingly.

  “No I didn’t, did I?” Casca said, folding his arms. “If I had then all of you would have been too suspicious of each other to continue with the mission effectively. I had to keep you together as a group. I had no idea what was going on but I was sure there was something more to the job than we’d been told. So now it’s going to be told. One of you three killed Gunthar.”

  “Rot,” Flavius said, getting to his feet. “I’m no back stabber.”

  Casca shrugged. “Only one of our group could have done it; nobody else had access to the staircase and who was trusted by Gunthar enough to be passed, presenting his back to him.”

  The three others stared at Casca. “Do you know who it is, then?” Mattias asked.

  “Yes,” Casca nodded. He looked at Gerontius. “You, you bastard.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The wind howled outside, an icy force hurling itself against the walls of the mountain hut, but none of the people inside seemed to take notice. The light cast by the flickering candle beheld a tableau frozen in time, a scene held still while minds raced with thoughts.

  Flora huddled the furs around her shoulders tighter, watching the men facing each other, her eyes wide but wary. Flavius stood to one side of the room, his arms loosely hanging by his side, waiting for something to happen. Mattias was a statue save for his eyes, roving back and forth between Casca and Gerontius, his hand tense, ready to take his sword out of its sheath and use it.

  “Ever since we left Massilia this mission has smelled wrong,” Casca said quietly, facing Gerontius. The Roman was saying nothing but his face was dark and his eyes boring into Casca’s, white points breaking through the shadows. “A straight forward rescue task? Not likely. Someone stupid enough to leave a young daughter on a volatile frontier that was liable to collapse at any time? I think not. The whole story didn’t make sense to me.”

  Casca glanced at the other two men. Neither were saying anything. The Eternal Mercenary drew in a deep breath and eyed Gerontius once more. “Flora isn’t Scarnio’s daughter, is she? Are you?” he switched to the scared-looking girl. “Who are you, exactly?”

  “Leave her alone!” Gerontius snarled, his hands curling into claws.

  “I want an answer, Gerontius, or Flora, or whatever your name is. You’re no Roman or half Roman. You’re a full-blood Germanic tribal woman. Don’t deny it, I’ve seen enough to know one when I see her.”

  Gerontius drew his lips across his teeth. The scraping of his sword being drawn filled the room. Instantly both Flavius and Mattias drew theirs. Casca remained as he was, staring at Gerontius. “You’re mixed up in whatever this is right up to your neck. You’re no Primus either, so don’t lie to me anymore. I’ve been aware that you’ve been lying to me ever since Arelate; that idiot Vicarius who tried to get us off those ships – he saluted you. He’d only do that if you were senior to him.” Casca waved at the Roman. “You’re a damned Tribune.”

  Flavius’ mouth dropped open. Mattias looked thoughtful.

  “So what the Hades would a Tribune be doing coming along on a secret mission like this? And at whose bidding? Nobody’s like Scarnio’s, that’s for sure. No,” Casca shook his head, “you’re here on Constantine’s behalf. This is a mission for that false emperor.” He pointed at Flora. “And she’s
the reason. So, lady, who are you?”

  “Tell him nothing,” Gerontius snapped. He stepped forward a pace, and Mattias and Flavius took a step forward to block his path to Casca. Gerontius halted, his face a mask of hate.

  “I’m willing to bet you were that Tribune who ordered the slaughter of those people in Cabillonium those months ago, too. No wonder that sole survivor was murdered the night before he was due to meet me; you must have been listening to me talking to that administrator. I knew somebody had been there but not who. Now I can guess pretty sure as to who – and why. You had to shut him up just in case he recognized you. Any comment, Gerontius?”

  Gerontius just kept on staring in hatred at Casca.

  The scarred mercenary sighed. “Poor bastard. Just like poor Gunthar. You murdered him too, didn’t you? So why would you do that? I can guess.” Casca looked at Flora. “He found out who she was, so you had to shut him up. He was back with his tribe and must have bumped into an old friend, someone high up in the tribe who knew what was going on, and told him. So Gunthar came back to tell us and you got to him first.”

  Mattias and Flavius were now regarding Gerontius with undisguised anger.

  “So, why? Why are we here? Why is she so important? Why did Gunthar have to die? What terrible secret did he learn that he had to be silenced for?”

  Flora shrank into the corner, her eyes wider than ever. Gerontius’s jaw was working, the muscles flowing and flexing.

  “Fine,” Casca said. “We kill you, Gerontius, and take you, Flora, back to Argentoratum. Not another step further south.”

  “You’ll destroy everything!” Gerontius shouted. “All the careful planning that’s gone into getting her to Arelate will be ruined!”

  “Arelate?” Casca picked up on the place name. “Not Massilia? No, I bet not! Scarnio is no longer a player in this – tragedy – is he? No, you intend taking her to your lord and master Constantine. She a gift, a bride, perhaps?” he looked at the woman anew. “Untouched, or so Scarnio insisted. Hmmmm…. Yes, a bride. Constantine’s bride? An alliance.” Casca looked hard at Flora. Now it all became clear, the pieces falling into place. “By the gods, it damned well makes sense, doesn’t it? Constantine fucks up in Italy and loses half his army in the process, and then his general Gerontius – no relative to you, I suppose? – turns against him and takes Spain from his little ‘empire’. He hasn’t enough soldiers to fight two enemies and keep the barbarians from rampaging through Gaul, so a deal is done; ally with the Alemanni and get them to take on Honorius in Italy so Constantine can turn his forces on either the Burgundians or his turncoat general.”

  Gerontius glared at Casca. “Close enough, Longinus. Constantine agreed to marry the girl and seal an alliance to ensure victory in Italy. The Alemanni would turn on the Burgundians and destroy them, and while that front was occupied and the emperor’s son was holding the Spanish front against the traitor, Constantine would sweep into Italy and take it from Honorius and be confirmed as the true emperor.”

  Casca shook his head in amazement. “I suppose it was that secret that Gunthar discovered. You feared Honorius would find out from us if we learned of it, so Gunthar had to die. No wonder the Alemanni weren’t chasing us – they had no intention of stopping us go! You played us like a professional card player!”

  “I killed that fool Alemanni, yes, but not only to stop him blabbing to you – I had to also stop the Burgundians from ever finding out. Mattias there could have told them, even though he’s hunted by them. Tribal blood is thicker than you realize, Longinus. So now you know. You must allow us to get to Arelate!”

  “What, and allow some traitor to rule the empire?” Casca shook his head again. “No. You’re a backstabbing traitor yourself; I bet you were going to kill the three of us once you were close enough to Arelate not to worry about being stopped by anyone, or maybe arrange for our arrest once we got back to your master safely.” He looked at Flavius and Mattias. “I’m afraid there won’t be any reward waiting for us.”

  “Yeah, except for death,” Mattias said moodily. “I’m going to kill this prick.”

  “No you’re not,” Casca said, sliding his blade free. “That’s my privilege. Stand clear you two. Keep the girl safe, too. I don’t want him getting to her.”

  Gerontius looked at Casca in contempt. “You have no idea what damage you’re doing, you fool. Then die. You don’t deserve to live, any of you. I’ll kill you all and take her to the emperor regardless. You’ve all outlived your usefulness anyway.” With that he waved his blade in the air and stepped into the center of the room, allowing his cloak to drop to the floor, kicking it off to one side.

  “We were being used all along, weren’t we?” Casca rasped, closing on Gerontius. “You’re as cold-hearted a man as I’ve ever met. Your death won’t be on my conscience.”

  “You think any of yours would be on mine?” Gerontius sneered. “Pathetic cattle, all of you. Now die, Longinus.”

  He lunged, striking for Casca’s throat. The eternal mercenary parried and struck back fast. Gerontius dodged it in surprise. He’d known Casca had been good but facing him for the first time made him realize just how good he was. The ringing of steel echoed around the hut. The two men grunted and struck again. Gerontius punched with his shield at Casca. The boss struck Casca’s shoulder and pain shot through his muscle. Flinching, he stood his ground. Casca swung his own shield at his adversary. The shield caught Gerontius on the sword arm just as he struck again, and the blow stopped his attack. Casca slashed down hard at the Roman’s head. Gerontius swatted the blade aside with his shield, then swung back and hammered down hard with his sword.

  The shield took the blow but his whole left arm shook with the force. Casca stepped back, sweating, and crouched low. Gerontius saw it and frowned. He looked like one of those friezes of gladiators that decorated those damned triumphal arches over the empire. He curled his lips in contempt. Just about Longinus’ social level, damned peasant.

  Casca emptied his mind. Now he was a gladiator once more, hearing Corvu’s barked commands. He pressed forward. The sword thrust at Gerontius, forcing him to parry in front of his chest. Casca slammed the shield forward next, stepping onto his left foot. Gerontius gritted his teeth. He was being forced back. He prided himself on being more than adept with the blade, but he’d never faced anyone like this before.

  Thrust. Slam. Step. Casca pushed Gerontius back against the wall and now the Tribune had nowhere to go. Gerontius desperately slashed down but Casca’s shield stopped it, and Casca pushed against Gerontius, pinning him against the wall. Slowly, deliberately, Casca slid his sword into Gerontius’ stomach, his face a mere couple of inches from his enemy’s. Gerontius arched his back and dropped his sword, gripping Casca’s shoulder in agony. His shield clanged to the floor. Casca pushed his sword in as far as it would go and held him there in an embrace of death.

  Gerontius stared into Casca’s face, then his eyes glazed over and the grip on his shoulder slackened. Casca jerked his blade free and allowed Gerontius to collapse to the floor in a heap.

  “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that before,” Flavius said in awe, his voice hushed.

  “Nor I,” Mattias echoed, sliding his sword back into his scabbard.

  Casca stepped away from the dead man and stood there for a few moments, considering his victim. He’d fought well, but he’d deserved his fate. He looked at the girl, cowering along in the corner. “Who are you?”

  “Gretasuntha. Daughter of Reikhars.” She shivered. She had no idea what they would do to her now Gerontius was dead. Perhaps telling them she was the daughter of the chieftain of the Alemanni might help save her.

  “Figures,” Mattias grinned ironically. “That old bastard wouldn’t have anyone else marry an emperor.” He walked over to the scared girl. “Relax, Greta, if I can call you that. I’m a prince. Well, sort of.”

  She looked in surprise at him. Then at Casca. Casca nodded. “Son of a deposed king, and with a bounty on his
head. But a prince nonetheless.”

  “I’ll be your protector,” Mattias said, standing over her. “You’ll need one now.”

  Gretasuntha considered it for a moment, and that was as long as it needed. She nodded in relief, and Mattias held out his arm. Greta snuggled into it, smiling up at him.

  Flavius chuckled and shook his head. “Fast worker,” he muttered. Then, looking at Gerontius’ corpse, asked, “and what of him?”

  Casca kicked the dead man. “Dump him outside. It’s blowing a gale and snowing hard. By morning he’ll be covered up.”

  Flavius sheathed his sword and began dragging Gerontius by the heels towards the door. “Don’t fancy sharing a night with a dead man, anyway.”

  EPILOGUE

  The morning was bright and fresh, and cold too, only in the way a winter’s morning can be in the mountains. Freshly fallen snow lay underfoot and the sound of it being crunched into compacted ice by the four who walked to the edge of the tree-lined slope that led down to the south filled the air.

  Clouds of breath shrouded their faces and they stopped and gazed out across eastern central Gaul for a moment. Then Casca, his cheeks and nose red, turned to face Mattias and Gretasuntha, the Burgundian standing protectively close to the fur-swaddled princess. “So what have you decided to do now?”

  Mattias looked at Gretasuntha and smiled. “Go somewhere far from this mess and find a place to live. I can only see trouble coming for Gaul in the next few years, and who knows who’ll end up possessing it? I want to settle down with land of my own and raise a family. I’m through with power struggles and politics. They can stick it where it hurts.”

  Casca nodded. “And you, Greta? You’re happy to stay with this reprobate?”

  “Oh yes,” she smiled, cuddling up to him. “My own people were willing to sell me for an alliance. I’m happy to be away from an elderly Roman’s grasp, especially one that looks doomed. Mattias here is a prince anyway, so I’m going to be with the right type of person, not some upstart general who thinks he’s better than he is.”