by Tony Roberts
A guard officer stepped out from his room set in the walls. “The governor is with the Shah in Dastagird. Who is this enemy officer you have here?”
“Part of Heraclius’ entourage. I believe he knows of their movements. But all is lost; the enemy has been victorious, General Ratatzes is dead and the army scattered. The enemy will be here in a few days!”
“How is that possible?” the Persian demanded, aghast. “The army was the finest I’ve ever seen!”
“The enemy was that much better,” Pallos said wearily. “Who commands the city then, in the governor’s absence? I must give him this bad news. And perhaps we can learn something from my prisoner.”
“I shall provide an escort. The governor left the city in the hands of Khophes, Commander of the Palace Guard. He is in the Palace.”
Pallos nodded grimly. “Then give me your escort quickly; there is no time to lose.”
Casca waited impatiently while the Persians got themselves organized, then four soldiers led the three men, all still on horseback, through the streets of Ctesiphon towards the massive palace, set out in a huge square with walls to separate it from the rest of the city. The gates were opened to them and Casca was surprised to see watered gardens and trees bordering the stone paved approach way to the palace itself.
They dismounted and Pallos led them into the building, clutching the spear he intended to replace the true Spear with. Mathu jerked Casca after him roughly, tugging on the rope that bound Casca’s hands together, and the four Persian soldiers followed obediently.
Questions were asked and answered, and they were quickly shown through an array of rooms and corridors to a pair of incredibly tall gold and cedar doors that must have been thirty feet high. Casca shook his head at their enormous dimensions. Mathu nudged Casca and under the Eternal Mercenary’s gaze, cut the bonds and passed him a sword.
He flexed his wrists, enduring the tingling of blood returning to his hands, and listened as Pallos demanded to the two guards to open the doors. There was a pause, then the demand came back for their weapons to be surrendered. Mathu looked at Casca and then with rapid movements of his eyes indicated the four men behind them. Casca nodded slowly.
“I have an urgent message for Khophes, you idiot,” Pallos snapped. “Open these doors now!”
“Sir, not until you surrender your weapons. Orders.” The guard didn’t look sorry.
Pallos lifted the spear. “Very well, have the damned thing!” and he drove the spear into the throat of the surprised guard. Even as the man crashed back against the door, Pallos whipped out his sword to take care of the second.
Casca swung round and his blow sliced deep into the neck of the nearest Persian, sending blood spurting out over the clean polished floor with its mosaics. Mathu struck hard and fast, too. His blade sank into the guts of the nearest man to him. Casca stepped forward, avoiding the falling body of the man he’d cut down, and struck again. The third Persian cried out in fear and raised his oblong shield. Casca’s blow changed in mid-air and he brought the blow across to strike the other arm, holding the guard’s spear.
The keen blade cut through flesh and bone and the severed limb dropped to the floor, the spear clattering noisily as it too fell. The Persian sucked in his last breath in shock but had no time to scream as Casca followed up, his face grim and set. The sword slammed up viciously through the throat and into the brain, ending the man’s life abruptly. Casca held him and allowed the body to slowly fall, preventing further noise.
He looked round and saw that Mathu and Pallos had taken care of their opponents. Six Persians lay dead in a group, blood staining the floor and their corpses. “Swords of God?” Casca enquired, looking at their weapons and acknowledging the skilful way they had taken care of their adversaries.
“Indeed,” Pallos said, and retrieved his spear from the first man he’d killed. “Hurry, we haven’t much time,” he said and pushed hard at the door.
Mathu waved Casca in ahead of him, making sure the Eternal Mercenary was still covered. Swords of God. The elite warrior arm of the Brotherhood of the Lamb. Casca pulled a face. These two would be tough to take care of. The room they passed into was huge. There was no other word to describe it. A marble floor covered in geometric designs and representations of garden scenes stretched left, right and ahead, punctuated by immense columns rising up to support a roof over a hundred feet high.
Ahead, the far wall was dominated by a central section that was formed of one monstrous arch, flanked by four normal archways on either side. The wall itself was adorned with five levels of arched windows, all denoting different levels of rooms. The central arch was closed off with a heavy thick curtain, but a raised platform stood before it and here it was clear this was where the throne was located, behind the curtains.
Casca held his breath. This was one of the most impressive rooms he’d ever witnessed, even in his six hundred years of soldiering, traveling and wandering. People were lost in its immensity. There were chairs at the far end where a group of people were standing. A couple of soldiers advanced, concern on their faces at catching sight of armed and bloodied men who had broken into the audience chamber. Pallos pointed at them. “Longinus, this is where you start justifying your side of the bargain. Kill them.”
Pallos and Mathu began to move to the right, away from the advance of the guards. The two guards, bearded, dressed in clean, shiny uniforms and armor, and holding decorative shields and spears, advanced on Casca. He cursed. He’d no shield, just this borrowed sword. He’d no armor on either, just the now blood spattered white officer’s tunic.
The two men separated; they weren’t complete beginners. Casca wasn’t going to wait for them though. Screaming a war cry, he stepped forward, sword high. The man to his left stopped and raised his shield to block, and at the same time pushed his spear forward. But Casca was feigning. He suddenly dropped to a crouch, swung to his left and thrust forward, coming up low under the other man’s guard. His sword slammed into the guard’s guts, cutting in deep.
As the guard doubled up, Casca pulled his blade free and stepped back. The first guard had missed with his thrust and now looked warily at him. His comrade had slumped to the marble floor, his life blood seeping onto it. Without speaking, the guard attacked, spear point seeking Casca’s flesh. The Eternal Mercenary danced to his right and chopped down at the head of the Persian. The sword edge bit into the shield and was deflected off to one side.
As the spear was pulled back to gather for another thrust, Casca grabbed the shaft with his free arm and pulled. The guard was jerked forward and Casca’s forehead smashed into the Persian’s face, the sound of breaking cartilage and bone reverberating through the chamber. The guard cried out and clutched his ruined face, and Casca whipped a quick blow across his exposed gut, scoring a deep line across it. Leaving the guard to fall, Casca turned to see Pallos and Mathu holding an angry looking man, demanding answers from him. Picking up one of the two dropped shields, Casca strode up to the three men. The Persian he guessed was Khophes. The others had fled through the left hand archway.
“We will take this one with us to the treasury. Any trouble he can be the first in line, then you, Longinus. Hold him and go through the archway to the right,” Pallos ordered.
Casca reluctantly took hold of the medium built man and pushed him forward, heading for the smaller exit. Khophes scowled but went on anyway. “You will be executed, all of you,” he said, passing through the archway into a long passageway.
“Shut up and keep walking,” Casca said, his eyes peering round the Persian’s shoulder, ready to deal with any trouble that may appear. Behind him Pallos and Mathu came silently, Mathu continually casting glances over his shoulder. There was a door at the end of the passageway. It had ornate handles and was veneered with ivory, judging by its color and texture. Casca whistled to himself. This must have cost a fortune to build.
“Through there,” Khophes said softly.
Casca grunted and pushed Khophes on. The P
ersian paused at the doorway and looked round. “It’s locked.”
“Well unlock it then,” Casca said impatiently.
Khophes shrugged helplessly. “I haven’t got the key,”
Pallos tutted and pushed forward, his sword at the Persian’s throat. “The governor entrusted you with this place, so who else would be trusted to have the key to the treasury? Now don’t try my patience!”
After a moment or two the Persian produced a gold key on a chain and unlocked the door. Casca pushed the door open and propelled Khophes into it. A guard was sat behind a table and he stood up suddenly at the entry. Khophes staggered into the table, then grabbed the guard. “Kill them!”
Casca swore and stood forward, sword ready. The guard came at him, blade high, ready to slash down on Casca’s head, but it was clumsy and predictable. Casca stepped forward and sank his blade deep into the stomach of the guard and held him close until the life went out of him. Khophes meanwhile had run around to the back of the room and had picked a sword off the wall. Now he came at Casca, brandishing it. It was longer than his, and Khophes looked as though he knew what he was doing.
Pallos and Mathu walked around the edge of the room, one on either side, while Casca blocked the Persian’s first attack and struck back, but the Persian stepped aside and the blade merely cut through thin air.
Casca struck again, aiming for the shoulder and intending to cut down to the waist. Khophes blocked it and slashed viciously with a backhanded sweep. The Eternal Mercenary ducked and came up with a stab to the chest that sank in to the hilt and Khophes gasped in pain, then fell back lifelessly.
“Congratulations, Longinus,” Pallos commented. “You have done well. And now we can take what we came for.”
The room ended with another door and Pallos opened it to reveal a chamber stocked with gold items, jewels, boxes with lids open, overflowing with coins of gold and silver. Ivory and jade statuettes stood proud of the sea of lucre, and here and there were necklaces of gold with precious gems inlaid. Casca stood there, his mouth open.
Pallos snorted in amusement and stepped into the room. He scanned it from right to left and caught sight of the Spear, resting against a gold and ivory statue of an elephant. “Ah!” he said with delight and walked over to it, placing his duplicate spear in the same spot and taking reverently the True Spear.
He gazed at it almost in awe, then turned round, his face beatific. “Longinus, you have served the Brotherhood well. Your reward - Mathu!”
The Nubian raised his sword and hacked down at Casca’s head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Being a soldier for hundreds of years had taught Casca many things about combat and tactics, something way beyond anyone else could possibly be taught in their normal lifetime. But beyond that, a life of six hundred years and more had given Casca an ability to develop something that some might describe as a ‘sixth sense’. There again, Casca had been expecting a betrayal from the Brotherhood, an organization that took back stabbing and treachery to an art form.
So the instant Pallos had picked up the Spear Casca knew his usefulness had come to an end. The Brotherhood no longer needed him. Even as Pallos had turned to him, Casca had gripped his sword tighter and had shifted his weight to his right foot, ready to pivot towards the silent but waiting Mathu, standing no more than four feet to his left.
As Pallos shouted out to Mathu, Casca had swung round, his left leg sweeping backward, all his weight on his right leg, giving him extra momentum to his sweep at waist height, well below Mathu’s sword. Casca’s sword was four feet long, his arm another two and a half or thereabouts. Mathu was well within range.
Mathu hadn’t even begun to make his downward blow when he realized Longinus had already acted and begun his strike. The Nubian tried desperately to change his blow in mid execution to a defensive block, but it was too late. Casca’s blade bit deep through the leather strapping of Mathu’s belt and baldric, the padded jacket of a typical Persian infantryman, and into flesh and bone.
The blade jarred against ribs and Casca continued the cut, pulling the blade out of Mathu’s stomach and sweeping up to complete the circle. Mathu keeled over and sank to his knees, clutching his intestines that tried to flop out of his opened torso. His face displayed disbelief and shock, and then his face sank to the floor and he went still, almost in a fetal position.
Casca turned to face a stunned Pallos. “So, you treacherous bastard,” he hissed, “you had no intention of letting me leave here. What the hell did you think would happen? Kill me? I’d recover and come after you!”
Pallos put the Spear to one side gently and drew out his sword. “But you wouldn’t know where we would take the Spear. By the time you came round Mathu and I would be long gone.” He looked sorrowfully at the still figure of the Nubian. “But he was more than just a member of my cell. He was my lover. And for what you’ve done to him, you will now suffer!”
Casca’s mouth went down. “Too bad. I’m not going to kill you, Pallos, not yet anyway. I want to know the location of your hideout. Knowing your twisted sect, they would go somewhere else rather than risk me returning and destroying that nest of vipers.”
Pallos laughed nastily. “You think I’ll tell you? I’d rather die!”
Casca smiled evilly. “We’ll see. Now defend yourself, man lover!”
Pallos spat. “What do you know of love? The emptiness of a woman? She cannot go with you into battle; consider the Spartans, now they went to war with their male lovers, and look how glorious they were!”
Pallos roared in rage and determination, striking down from right to left, and Casca blocked it and followed up with a blow aimed for Pallos’ throat, but the Brotherhood man was fast. He danced backwards and suddenly swung a blow towards the Eternal Mercenary, stinging him with a thin cut down the upper arm. Casca stepped back and examined the injury. It was nothing. A few moments from now it would heal and be just a thin line.
He stepped into the room, circling Pallos. The Greek followed him and looked for a second opening. Casca slashed for the neck and down across his chest, but Pallos met it in front of his body. But the force of the strike made him stagger backward. He’d forgotten how strong Longinus was. Casca didn’t give him a second opportunity, pressing home again, striking left and right, down and down again. Pallos gritted his teeth and parried desperately. His balance had been upset by the force of the blows and his main defensive weapon, his agility, had been neutralized.
Once Casca got in close Pallos had nowhere to go and he tripped and fell backwards as his feet trod on a pile of coins that had spilled out from a jar. Casca reached down and slammed the pommel of his sword into Pallos’ head, then slapped him a couple of times until the Greek lay still.
The Brotherhood member didn’t remain out cold for long, but just long enough to enable Casca to tie him up against the gold elephant. It was too heavy for one man to move.
Pallos’ eyes opened and he saw to his dismay Longinus stood before him, holding the Spear. “So, you piece of filth,” Casca started, “are you going to tell me where your unlovely pals are? I mean, you and Mathu here aren’t going to deliver this; I need to bargain it for Ayesha’s life, and so I need to know where to go.”
Pallos glared at him with hate-filled eyes.
“Alright,” Casca sighed. “There's no time to torture the answer out of you and, thanks to Brotherhood training, torture probably wouldn't work anyway. But there's another way. I think you need to be told the short version, so here goes. If I don’t know where to go then Ayesha will never be freed. And if that’s the case, I might as well break this thing and burn it. After all, it’s mine, really, and it’s old and a bit blunt these days.” He looked at it and shook his head sadly. “Fancy treating it like that! So, unless you tell me in the next few moments I’ll kill you and burn this damned thing to ashes. The war’s over, I’m tired of this damned place and working for you unlovely assholes. I hereby resign from the Brotherhood and once again declare war on you.�
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“It’s a sacred relic!” Pallos protested.
“It’s nothing of the sort. It’s an old Roman pilum and is obsolete. I’m going to destroy it. In fact I’m going to do it in front of you and after it’s gone I’ll slice you up into little bits.” He scratched around and found a box of silks and wrapped them around the Spear. Then he placed it against one wall and picked up one of the torches from the guardroom. He looked at Pallos, sighed again and put the flames to the silks. The garment burst into flame and it raced up, engulfing the Spear. Pallos shrieked. “The Church of the Holy Nativity in Jerusalem!”
Casca kicked the Spear over, scattering the silks and flames, and stamped the fire still on the weapon to extinction. He looked at Pallos. “There, that wasn’t so bad after all, was it?”
He picked up the Spear, testing it for heat. Apart from a couple of spots where it was warm and slightly blackened, it was fine. “Hmm…. I’ve not used this for centuries. In fact, the last act I used it for was killing Jesus. Let’s see…”
Pallos swore at him, vilely and continually. Casca grinned, hefted the Spear, aimed at Pallos, and drew it back. “Let’s see if I still have the old touch.”
“Die in hell!” Pallos screamed.
“I wish I could!” Casca roared, then released the missile. It buried itself into Pallos’ midriff and the Greek stared at Casca in pain and surprise, and slumped against the elephant, the shaft pointing outwards like some obscene growth. Casca stared down at his corpse for a long time, then retrieved the Spear and cleaned it. He looked at it and sighed. Such a simple and mass-produced thing, yet it had caused so much trouble, both to him and to the many others whose lives had been touched by the Brotherhood.
He looked at the piles of gold and jewels and shook his head. A fortune for any man, but for him? No, not for him. He would outlive what all that could buy. He would still be the same and Ctesiphon and the Sassanid Empire would have fallen into dust. He knelt and gently ran his hand through a pile of gems and smiled sadly. None of this could buy Ayesha’s freedom. But it could help his life in the short term. He scooped up a few handfuls and placed them in his pockets and pouches. He now had the two spears in his hand, an idea forming in his mind.