by Tony Roberts
He fastened his breeches up and sought out his horse which had moved off a little distance during the night. It had eaten well and didn’t seem to mind being led back to the camp where some of the Pechenegs were dishing up a breakfast of cold meat and bread. Casca washed it down with some more water and made a note to find more freshwater. His men would be running short.
As Casca mounted up, a couple of the outriders came in from the east. They pulled up alongside the scarred eternal mercenary. “Chief,” one said, pointing over beyond the hill Nicomedia was sited upon, “Turks over there.”
“How many?” Casca snapped.
“Scouting band,” the large-nosed Pecheneg said. “We could have killed them but you commanded we leave the dogs alone. Can we kill them now?”
Casca shook his head. Alexius’ orders had been specific. No combat with the Turks if at all possible. He decided enough was enough. His men were running short on water, they had guided the Crusaders to Nicomedia and now the Turks had been spied beyond. Time to leave the westerners to their own devices. He would inform them and then join his Pechenegs on the return journey to Chalcedon.
Waving his men back towards Constantinople, Casca rode down the hill and entered the city, noting the untidy way the Crusading people had sprawled out along the streets and in the buildings. Camp fires had been in use cooking meals. He was shown where Peter the Hermit had set up his camp, close to the acropolis, and dismounted when he spotted him.
“What have you come to speak of?” Peter demanded. He was still sore at Casca from yesterday.
“My men and I are returning to Constantinople now,” Casca said, looking round at the sea of faces. “The way to Jerusalem is before you – eastwards. But my advice is to avoid the Turkish towns. They won’t be happy to see you, and they are too strong for your army. Keep to the coast as much as you can, or the main roads.”
“Bah, the Turks are nothing,” an Italian said from the group behind Peter. He stepped forward, a well-dressed man with a neat beard. “We will march on and if anyone tries to stop us, we will attack.”
There was a rumble of agreement from the assembled crowd. Casca slapped his gauntlets against his thigh. “Look at this place,” he waved around him. “This was an important city in the empire twenty years or so ago, yet it is now ruined. The Turks did this.”
“That was because they were fighting you schismatic Greeks,” the Italian retorted, “and God’s punishment came down on you all for your sins.”
Casca shrugged. He’d given his warning, and if these people chose to ignore it, more fool them. “You have women and children to care for here. You should make sure they are protected first. If the Turks come and they are in the open, they will be at their mercy.”
“The Turks will all die. It is God’s will.”
“They think God is on their side, too.”
“Blasphemy!” Peter shrieked, outraged. “You should be punished for such words!”
“Oh shut up,” Casca snapped, fed up. He mounted up as the crowd began edging forward, so he drew his sword and swung it a few times in the air. “Get out of my way,” he growled, and rode away from the hostile group. Nobody tried to stop him, but Casca had the impression they would have jumped on him if he’d stayed any longer. He had no wish to suffer their idea of a blasphemer’s death; he’d had that once before in Persia.
He would return to Constantinople and see what was thrown at him next.
CHAPTER FIVE
Alexius summoned him on his return. Casca showed up fairly promptly, wondering when he’d have enough time to have a shit. To Casca’s surprise he was sent to the terrace overlooking the hill that ran down to the Bucoleon Harbor. So it was an informal meeting.
Alexius arrived, together with Irene and their daughter, Anna. Anna was short, dark and possessed bright, intelligent eyes. She was thirteen, Casca recalled; when he’d last seen her she was only seven, and he doubted she would remember him. Casca felt very self-conscious; he was still dressed in his rough uniform, and the outfitters hadn’t yet made him a new one to go with his new post.
Irene was dressed in a glittering long gown of shimmering gold and blue, and a necklace with huge pearls hanging from it. Anna had a miniature version of Irene’s dress on and smiled at him. She was going to be quite a beauty, Casca thought, if her looks now were anything to go by. Alexius looked proudly at his daughter as she stood before Casca, and the Eternal Mercenary bowed low before her. Princess, Empress, Emperor, whatever, all had to be bowed to.
“Strategos Longios, I remember you,” Anna said in a soft, delicate voice. “You are most welcome.”
“Princess Anna, I am honored to be serving your father once again. I have missed the Empire these long years.”
“My father tells me it is God’s work to return you to us at this time. We are grateful to Him for guiding you back to us.”
Casca smiled and stood before the three, wondering what the hell to say. He did wonder sometimes whether the Curse guided his life or not, and if so, was it still the work of Jesus or some other power? Or was it luck, providence or just plain co-incidence? Or the fact he needed money and the Empire was a damned good place to be employed as a soldier?
Alexius sat, joined by his wife and daughter. Casca was shown a chair, a few feet from where he was standing, and he sat down carefully. Guards walked to and fro close by, and two stood just behind the emperor. “So, Strategos, please tell me truly, what of the situation across the water in Nicomedia?”
Casca thought for a moment before replying. “The Turks do not seem to be anywhere near Nicomedia; they have left it alone and I believe it could be reinhabited and made into a forward supply depot for any future military expansion. Of course Nicaea would have to be taken before the region could be safely reclaimed.”
“And the countryside? Is it fit to be used to sew crops and have livestock grazing upon it?”
The scarred eternal mercenary nodded. “Nothing I saw would prevent that. But you would have to ensure that there would be a strong military outpost there, sir. Could the Empire afford such an expense, and be able to garrison it?”
Alexius played with his beard. “I believe yes. Many of the former inhabitants of the cities are living in the countryside, in caves or other places of hiding. Every so often we get people crossing the straights who have been in hiding for years and bring us stories of how these small communities are surviving, waiting for us to return.”
Casca shrugged. “Then set up a forward post in Nicomedia. Once Peter’s rabble move on you might as well occupy it.”
“Not yet,” Alexius said, picking up a glass of spring water. “We must first see what the armies of the nobility bring. I want to see how many of them there are and how strong they are. If they are good enough to give the Turks a good fight, then it may be well worth crossing over as you say, but if they are weak, then the Turks will beat them and make it pointless to follow them.”
Casca mused on that. Alexius was playing a cautious waiting game, assessing the strengths of the respective players. He knew how strong his own forces were, and had a reasonable idea of the capabilities of the Turks. What was unknown at that moment was the number and quality of the soldiers the Frankish nobility would bring. It was all conjecture, and no definite policy could be determined until that was known.
That having been discussed, they turned to more domestic matters. Casca asked about his quarters and his new uniform, and he was assured that would be taken care of. Casca regarded Anna once more. “You are growing into a fine young princess, if I may say. I remember you as a little girl.”
Anna smiled. “I am to be married shortly.”
“Really?” Casca was surprised. Still, the nobility both east and west often married their children off at a young age. Anna was thirteen. Maybe she was old enough. “And who’s the lucky man?”
“The handsome Nikephorus Bryennios, Strategos.”
Casca opened his mouth in surprise, then looked at Alexius. “Surely not�
�.”
Alexius chuckled. “Oh, no, not the same man we defeated in battle those years ago, my friend. His son. Same name.”
Casca grunted. Why did people name their sons the same as themselves? It made things confusing. “I assume he’s loyal?”
“Of course,” Alexius and Anna chorused. Casca grinned. Anna looked at Casca severely. “Marriage to me will certainly guarantee his loyalty to my father and our family!”
“I have no doubt of that, Princess,” Casca said hastily, wishing to move away from the touchy subject. “And Maria, John, and your other brother, uh, Andronicus, isn’t it? How are they?” Casca recalled Andronicus had been born just before he left the last time. John had been a mere three year old, and he remembered with some trepidation that Irene had thought because of John’s swarthy skin and general dark complexion that Casca might have been the father, but Casca knew he was unable to sire offspring, thanks to the Curse. Not that Casca wouldn’t have loved to have children, but that was just another burden to bear in his sometimes unbearably long existence.
“They are both fine, as are Isaac and my two other sisters.”
“More?” he looked at Alexius and Irene. “How many is that now?”
Irene looked at him with pride. “I have seven children now, thank you Strategos. All strong and healthy. You should see how strong they are, especially John.”
Casca felt a yawning pit opening in his stomach. She clearly still thought John was his. “Oh, I’d be delighted, ma’am.” How old was John now? He must be nine or so. Just coming into an age where he would appreciate the military instruction he would be receiving.
“I shall show you him. Please come this way.”
Casca stood as Irene got up. He bowed to both Alexius and Anna, and they waved him off, clearly wishing to discuss things between themselves. Irene smiled and allowed Casca to walk alongside her. “They get into such deep theological discussions at times, it bores me. I am pleased you have returned, Caska,” she said in a low voice. “It has been too long.”
“I had to go, Irene,” Casca said softly so that the guards they were being followed by couldn’t hear. “He was getting suspicious.”
Irene smiled slightly, the corners of her mouth turning up in the way Casca recalled with fondness. “He wouldn’t suspect you; and we have an agreement in any case. He needs me. My family is very powerful, remember?”
Casca nodded. Without the backing of the Doukas family, the revolt that had put Alexius on the throne would never have happened. “So you could have any number of affairs and he’d stick by you?”
“Caska – politics can break the most loving marriage or family. Husband against wife, father against son, brother against brother. We’re no different. You recall that wicked old harpy, Anna Dalassena?”
“Oh yes, the wife of the former emperor. Alexius had the hots for her.”
“He still does,” Irene spat, venomously. Casca knew Irene was a mercurial woman subject to sudden mood changes. It all added to her attraction. He eyed her figure; still firm, voluptuous, despite six more years and a whole load of children. He remembered her body against his and a tingling went up his spine. “That woman keeps sticking her nose into our business and Alexius listens to her!”
“But you need Alexius,” Casca grinned, “so are willing to put up with his – indiscretions.”
“Bah!” Irene replied, then chuckled. “Yes, yes, I see what you’re saying, throwing my words back at me. So, I have no qualms about seeing another man, provided it is discreet.”
They walked out into the evening and the smell of honeysuckle hit them as they entered one of the many gardens that separated the various buildings of the palace. The empress had a separate part of the complex of her own and it contained her offices, quarters for her personal servants and even sleeping chambers. Her children were there, too, and John came running as he caught sight of his mother. He grinned as she embraced him, then he stepped back and looked at the scarred man who had entered the garden with her. “Mother?”
“This is Strategos Longios, a man who was serving here when you were born.”
John bowed formally, his face serious. He was dark, had deep black hair and wasn’t in any way handsome. Casca didn’t see any resemblance to him and had no idea why Irene might think he could possibly be his. “Strategos. Are you serving us again?”
“I am indeed, young Prince. I served with your father before he was emperor. He has placed me in charge of the Pecheneg mercenaries.”
“Ah, those barbarians. Are they difficult to command? I am told they can be awkward.”
Casca smiled. “Perhaps, but if you know how to earn their respect, they will follow you easily and faithfully enough.”
John thought about this. Irene ruffled his hair. “You must return to your studies. I am showing the general here the entire complex, so we have little time for conversation just now. Later we will discuss the Pechenegs.”
“Very well, mother.” John kissed Irene, bowed again to Casca and bounded off. A guard followed at a discreet distance. Irene looked at Casca. “A fine young man, don’t you think?”
“Very. The future of the Empire?”
“Perhaps. Alexius is keen on John succeeding him, and is grooming him as such. I hope he does grow up to be the man for the position. The Empire is so vulnerable these days.”
Casca could only agree. Thirty years previously nobody would have guessed how suddenly the collapse would have happened, yet it had. Irene led Casca into her palace, a tall, yellow stone building rectangular in shape sited close to the outer wall of the palace complexes near the top of the hill. On the other side was, Casca knew, the huge hippodrome. He’d raced there centuries back in the time of Justinian. The memories of those days briefly flowed in his mind, a time where the Empire was strong, feared and not one to cross. So unlike now.
The interior was cool, a welcome switch from the sultry air outside. The thick walls did a good job at keeping the heat out. Their footsteps echoed along the stone corridor, and a few guards could be seen stoically standing in alcoves, dressed in colorful uniforms of rich red and white, their spear tips gleaming in the light of the oil lamps that hung from the ceiling.
Irene acknowledged a couple of them and led Casca up the wide marbled stairs, flanked by a stone balustrade. At the top there were two passages and the empress took the left hand one and walked to a guarded door. The soldier opened the door and let both past, closing it as Casca passed through.
Two servants – or slaves – stood up as Irene came in. They were female, deferential and were dressed in single piece white dresses that were tied around the waist and fell to their ankles. Their hair was curled and adorned with a bronze hair band. Irene lazily waved them to stand aside and Casca followed her deeper into her chamber, sweeping through a silken drape that hung from the ceiling. Casca had been here before, and knew they were heading for her bedchamber.
A single gold painted door stood ajar. As Casca followed the empress into the inner chamber, she indicated he was to close it. Beyond stood a bed, an immense item with voluminous sheets, covers and cushions. Casca grinned in remembrance at being here before.
“It’s been too long, Caska,” Irene said finally, turning round and slipping her arms over his shoulders, pressing herself against him. “I have missed your touch.”
“Yes, Irene,” Casca agreed, running his hands down her body. It was still firm. He remembered her vibrancy, passion and uninhibited lovemaking. It seemed his evening and night was decided. She kissed him and he responded, sliding his arms round her back and holding her tight against his body. Irene made a noise of delight, enjoying once more the feel of his hard, muscled body. It was something she couldn’t resist.
Pulling away she pulled out of her hair the combs, pins and slides that decorated it, and she allowed her dark hair to tumble down her back. Her dress followed, untying at the shoulder and waist, and she stepped out of it as it fell to the floor soundlessly. Casca unbuckled his leather
straps of his armor and placed the breastplate and back plate against a pillar. His tunic followed. Irene knew his scarred body well, and pressed her naked body against it. She was picked up and carried to the bed, and allowed him to lay her on her back and begin to pleasure her. She closed her eyes and groaned, allowing her senses to be overwhelmed. “Oh, welcome back,” she breathed. “It’s wonderful to have you here again!”
Casca smiled, then continued working on the empress, reacquainting himself with this beautiful woman’s body. It would be a long, sleepless night.
CHAPTER SIX
To Casca the next few weeks went by in a blur. He spent his time alternating between making love to the empress and getting properly settled into his new job. It seemed the Pechenegs were going to be a fully-fledged policing force, escorting the various armies that would be marching into imperial territory safely through towards Constantinople to specially prepared camp sites, then making sure the crusaders would stay there while their leaders met Alexius before being shipped over to Asia.
Casca devolved some of his duties to two subordinates, young Greeks from noble families with a definite idea of how things ought to be done. Unfortunately sometimes this clashed with the way Casca did things, and there were a couple of sessions spent shouting at them to ensure they understood fully that it wasn’t up to them to decide policy but rather to follow his orders that he got direct from the emperor. Casca thought they were pissed off that he, an outsider, a Frank, had the ear of the emperor whereas they did not.