Casca 35: Sword of the Brotherhood

by Tony Roberts

  “Sounds sensible,” Casca commented. He looked about the room. It was far more comfortable than his cell. He wondered where Ayesha was. Probably in another cell close by. He’d have to see her before he agreed to anything. “So then what happened?”

  The Elder smiled. “The emperor ordered his troops to remain on the frontier for the winter. They revolted; not being able to spend the winter with their families or spend the loot they’d earned was too much. They elected one of their officers, a man called Phocas, as emperor and marched on the capital. The city was taken and the old emperor put to death with his sons. Phocas then took the throne.”

  “And he found Kusrau at his back door?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. Kusrau owed a debt to the old emperor and decided the rebellion was a perfect excuse to invade. The Empire’s army fell apart and Phocas executed all the best officers. Then he picked on the Jews and the entire populace was up in arms. Not surprisingly only the capital and north Africa remained in imperial hands.”

  Casca shook his head. All the hard work of Justinian had been undone. “So the Persians run Egypt and Syria?”

  “More or less. But Phocas was too bloodthirsty. Even we saw it as too much so under our goading the Exarch of Africa, a man called Heraclius, set sail for Constantinople and ten years ago deposed Phocas. I am reliably informed Heraclius had Phocas chopped up into small pieces and fed to the dogs.”

  “Lovely,” Casca folded his arms. “But that made no difference, so it seems. How did you come to lose the Spear?”

  “Heraclius spent the next few years reorganizing the Empire and rooting out corruption. But then the Persians decided to remain in the areas they captured, including Jerusalem. We thought that would be fine, but then the Christians rose up and slaughtered the garrison and the Jews. That brought the Persian army back and there was a terrible slaughter. We were caught by surprise and lost many good acolytes.”

  “Shame,” Casca said without sincerity. “And the Spear was taken.”

  “In the confusion, yes. They also took the True Cross from the Holy Sepulcher and Heraclius declared he wouldn’t rest till he regained all the relics from Persia.”

  Persia! Casca rubbed his thigh. Memories of that place burned in his mind and he saw piles of dead slaughtered in the campaign under Avidus Cassius he’d been on, where he’d been wounded in the thigh, and tried to take his own life in despair. It still left a bad taste in his mouth.

  “Ah,” the Elder commented, “I see it means something to you. Well, your task, if your woman is to live, is to find wherever the Spear is and recover it. We will arrange for you to join Heraclius’ army which is training near Tarsus and you will receive instructions from our agents who will be watching you. Don’t worry about that, Longinus!”

  “I never doubted that,” Casca replied. “Now I wish to see Ayesha, to prove she is unharmed and that you slaughtering maniacs haven’t done her in. I remember all too well what happened the last time an Elder had a woman I loved captive.” Casca briefly saw a vision of Ireina falling into his arms, a spear thrown from a Brotherhood guard embedded in her back. “And remember what happened to that Elder afterwards!”

  The Elder glared up at Casca. “I am no panic stricken fool; I’m not in a position to take such liberties, as you well know. I promise no harm will come to your woman if you carry out your task and return the Spear to us.”

  “And me? What will be my fate, Elder?” Casca sneered at the merchant.

  “I make no such promises to the Spawn of Satan. Not even you would believe me if I offered you freedom. I cannot kill you, so we shall have to cast our lot to the fates as to what will happen when you return the Spear.”

  Casca grunted. It wasn’t satisfactory but they had him by the balls. If he could free Ayesha and take her to safety then he’d achieve his task. Maybe returning that damned Spear might be the only way to do it. “Let me see Ayesha first.”

  The Elder stood up. “Very well, but I remind you; she is well guarded and any false move by you will result in her death. Yes, I know that if we kill her, and especially if we do so before your very eyes, you might be able to kill maybe even all of us in the ensuing brawl, but even if that happens, that won't be the end of matters. There are other places the Brotherhood has followers so if you wipe us out the Brotherhood will continue elsewhere. And one day we would regain the Spear. But it is best we recover it sooner, for every day it is away from us it is an insult to our Order and to Jesus, blessed be His name!”

  Casca was led down a stone floored corridor to a cross passage, and on the left stood guards outside a barred door with a small window set in it. Casca was shown the door and he was allowed to walk up to it and peer through. Beyond was a small room. A woman sat in one corner, chained to the wall, and two guards sat by a table throwing dice. The woman was small, dark and had long curling black hair. Ayesha.

  “Ayesha!” he called. Immediately she looked up and cried out in relief and fear.

  “Casca! Please help me!”

  “I shall. I must do something for these vermin first, but they promise you won’t be harmed and released if I carry out this task. It may take some time, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh please be quick; they frighten me!”

  Casca grunted and was pulled aside by a guard. He balled his hand and raised it, ready to strike. As he did so the two dice playing guards grabbed their swords and advanced on Ayesha who screamed. Casca cursed and stood face to face with the guard, pouring hatred into him through his eyes. “I ought to rip your head off,” he breathed.

  The guard swallowed and only just managed to retain control of his bladder. He wildly sought out help from his Elder. The merchant sighed and tapped his foot impatiently. “Longinus, remember the woman.”

  “Fuck off and die,” Casca snarled but backed off. The guard closed his eyes and slumped in relief against the wall. In the cell the two guards stood expectantly by Ayesha who sobbed in terror. A word from the Elder made them return to the table, sheathing their swords.

  “Such a pointless show of bravado,” the Elder commented. “Brought impotent by the love of a woman! We aren’t so encumbered by such weaknesses, which is why we flourish.”

  “Shut up and get me to Heraclius’ army. The sooner we get this damned job under way the better. Then I can get back and make sure Ayesha is freed. But remember this, priest; you hurt her in any way and I’ll shove that damned Spear up your ass.”

  “I promise on the Sacred Book of Izram she will not be harmed, provided you follow our plan.” Elder and Casca faced each other for one long moment, the air between them charged with tension, as each sought out to gauge the other, before one, then the other nodded.

  So Casca was going to war for the Brotherhood.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Byzantine camp was impressive; from the sea it appeared as a city of tents growing along the shore and spreading inland, with the impressive Taurus Mountains in the background to the north-west. Close by was Issus, where Alexander the Great had won an overwhelming victory 950 or so years before against the Persians. Maybe that was why Heraclius had chosen this spot to build his army into an effective fighting unit.

  Casca stood at the prow of the trader as it headed for the stone jetty. He was dressed for war. One thing the Brotherhood could do to his advantage, and that was to equip him sufficiently. As he’d said to the Elder back in Alexandria, ‘if I’m going to fight for you bastards, then give me decent arms and armor.’ He wore a thigh-length mail hauberk over a cloth tunic. The hauberk had sleeves that ended at the elbow, and it even included a coif that covered his neck and the top of his head. Over this he sported a round iron helmet.

  Down his back dropped a fine scarlet cloak which would help keep him warm at night, and he wore knee-length soft leather boots. These would probably be the first to go if a lot of marching had to be done. He had a large oval wooden shield and spear, and his main weapon was a three foot long broad bladed sword set in a plain leather shea
th hanging from his belt. He was as well dressed and probably better than many of the soldiers he was about to join. Good enough. So once more I join the emperor’s army. I wonder how much it’s changed since Justinian’s day?

  The sun beat down, causing sweat to break out on Casca’s brow. He braced as the fat ship closed in on the jetty, hired hands waiting to secure its lines to the bollards, with crewmen throwing ropes to them as the ship slid alongside. Not waiting for the ship to stop fully Casca leaped onto the jetty and straightened his cloak and helmet. Now he was ready! He walked purposefully up the incline to where the tents stood, passing the rows of tethered horses and donkeys. The smell of their dung and sweat mingled with the salt of the sea, and the smell of human ordure came to him as he approached a knot of men watching the ship being unloaded.

  “Ave” Casca greeted them in the time honored Latin greeting. The four men frowned at him. Aw shit. Greeks. They don’t speak the language. He should have known. The eastern portion of the old Roman Empire had been largely Greek speaking, and since the collapse of the west Latin had withered away. In Justinian’s day it was still used as the ‘official’ language but most of the soldiers spoke Greek as their main language.

  “Hi, I’m here to join the emperor’s army. Could you show me the recruiting officer please?”

  “Who are you?” one of the four, a bearded, broad chested man with a broken nose demanded. “And where are you from?”

  “Casca Longinus from Alexandria. Came on the grain ship there. The master ought to have me on his manifest.”

  “Isn’t Alexandria under Persian occupation?” a second man, a curly haired slimmer version of the first queried. “You could be a Persian spy!”

  “So could you, for all these others know.” The three others looked at the second man, then all four glared in dislike at Casca.

  “Okay, a wise-ass. You’ll get to see an officer alright,” the bearded man promised, an edge to his voice, “but not in the way you wanted. Follow me.” He led Casca off at a tangent across the slope to the right, and two smartly dressed guards stepped in line to accompany them. Casca acknowledged the escort and tramped up the dusty, rocky route to a large tent with fluttering green pennants topping it.

  He was obliged to surrender his weapons before being allowed entry, and by that time the bearded man had donned a silken shirt and insignia of an officer, an Ekatontarch. Casca recognized the rank; it was similar to the old centurion back in the old days. He sat behind a small table, flanked by two men who looked like either attendants or junior officers. Either way, they were ready to follow whatever order they were given. They probably would crap on the spot, if so commanded, Casca mused.

  “So, Casca Longinus,” the Ekatontarch said heavily, “you wish to join the emperor’s army in the fight against the Persians. Why?”

  “I serve the Empire,” Casca replied easily, “and one of my forebears was Exarch of Ravenna in the time of Justinian. I heard of the army being trained near Tarsus so naturally I wished to come to take part in the freeing of our lands from the heretics.”

  “You were in Alexandria and heard the army was here? How?”

  “A merchant who knows me informed me. Don’t worry, he has no love for the Persians. They stole his property and killed his men.”

  The Ekatontarch pursed his lips and thought for a moment. This man was well informed and knew his stuff. He was seemingly well connected, or had been. “Have you done much soldiering?”

  Casca nodded. “I’m eager to knock myself back into shape. The last few years I’ve not done much so I’d jump at the chance to get myself into full fitness again.”

  “You look fairly fit already, Longinus. Longinus… Longinus…” he turned to one of the two attendants. “Was there an Exarch by that name in Ravenna?”

  “Yes, sir. Briefly held the post when the Lombards invaded and held it for the Empire. The family settled in southern Italy and hasn’t been heard of for many decades. They may well have dropped out of Imperial service.”

  Casca wondered if any of the family that had adopted his name had survived. Now he knew where they had gone, so maybe he’d look them up again. Once this nonsense had been dealt with, that is.

  The officer grunted and eyed Casca again. “Very well. The Emperor is keen to knock the army into an effective force quickly, and good soldiers are always needed. We will face an enemy more numerous than ourselves but we have a sacred mission to fulfill, and the Emperor himself is with us and has vowed never to depart until God orders otherwise, until the True Cross is returned to Christian hands. I shall instruct your commander to watch you, as I’m still not fully satisfied you’re all what you say. If I suspect you’re a Persian spy I’ll have your head cut off and mounted on a spear outside my tent. Now go with Michalis here who’ll show you your unit.”

  With a flick of his fingers the officer dismissed Casca. So now he was in the army, he wondered how the Brotherhood would know he was here. No doubt one of them was watching him at this very moment. He gritted his teeth. Those damned maniacs had better not do anything to Ayesha or he’d hunt the lot down and slaughter them.

  * * *

  Ayesha was summoned from her cell to the Elder’s room. It was dark and torches illuminated the chamber, casting flickering shadows everywhere. She was dirty, uncomfortable and hungry. Her captors hadn’t fed her all that much and had left her alone most of the time; once Casca had gone the guards in her room had left, leaving her in her cell unchained and frightened.

  She stood, shivering in between two silent guards. The nights were often cold in Egypt, as much as the days were scorching hot. The Elder watched her for a moment, his face impassive, the candle on the table casting flickering shadows across his face. “My belief is that you will be our prisoner for a long time to come. It may take years for your man to carry out his task, but I am confident that he will. In the meantime it would be to our mutual benefit to make your stay here a little more comfortable. I would like this place to look less like a prison and more like a home.”

  “Then let me go!” Ayesha replied with some heat. “You starve me, freeze me and treat me like some penned animal!”

  “I cannot let you go. You know that as much as I do. But we can be more civilized and to that end you will be allowed a bath and a change of clothing and some decent food. I cannot yet allow you freedom within this place but perhaps in a month or so that may be possible. A lot depends on you to co-operate. I want you to understand that I have some of my followers with your man and if you escape I shall pass orders for them to cut his throat, for without you here he would not have any reason to carry out his task.”

  Ayesha said nothing; she didn’t want to be in this place with these odd men and it scared her. She equally didn’t want any hurt coming the way of the man she’d known for the last few years. They had enjoyed adventures in the deserts of Egypt and he’d taken her away from the dull and tedious life she’d had in the village by the Nile. Life had been good and the sights he’d shown her surpassed everything she’d imagined. She nodded curtly and was allowed to walk unhindered back to her cell.

  The Elder watched her depart with a thoughtful expression on his face. Yes, my dear, a little co-operation from you would really be a good thing. Something to really hurt Longinus. He smiled slowly, an evil plan hatching inside his head.

  * * *

  The summer slowly progressed. The training camp close to the sea echoed to shouts of drill, curses and exhortations from training officers, and the ringing of blades as they clashed as the men were knitted into an army. Discipline had been almost non-existent when Heraclius had taken over twelve years ago, and only now had he been able to turn his attention to the army, hoping to forge it into a weapon to regain those parts of the Empire that had been lost to the Persian hordes. And, more importantly, to regain the True Cross and Holy Lance from the heretical Zoroastrian Persians. Every day they rested within the empire of the heretics was an insult to him and to God. He prayed hard, hoping for
divine inspiration; the weight of responsibility bore heavily on him but he had vowed never to return until he had accomplished his goal.

  His brother Theodore ran the main part of the infantry, while Heraclius was more involved in training a new elite unit of horse archers, something the Roman army hadn’t really had before. Their experiences with both the Persians and the Avars had shown up this deficiency and Heraclius was determined to train up a corps of mounted bowmen before he felt it was ready to launch the campaign. So far the Persians had had the best of the war and had done what they liked. That would change, if the Emperor had his way.

  Casca found the training routine but hard work. He’d not been part of an army for some time. Much of it was discipline rather than weapon training. It seemed the army had gone to the dogs under Phocas – much the same way Phocas had ultimately! (Casca still shuddered at his fate) – and the new regime was determined to bring back a sense of purpose. Officers barked orders, repeated the same boring movements, and then insisted on prayer to God. Casca didn’t feel comfortable with this aspect and remained silent, preferring to bow his head and keep his thoughts to himself. He doubted any of his new colleagues would believe he had speared Jesus on the cross, but if they ever found out and believed it, he had little doubt they’d string him up.

  One thing that had to be sorted out fairly quickly was the unit braggart; there was always one who thought the sun shone out of his ass and everyone ought to realize that. Casca made the error of not recognizing this individual’s greatness, and it had led to an unpleasant but instructive scene. The one concerned, a man called Philatelis, had confronted the newcomer, eyeing his new equipment with envy. “Ho, beginner!” he’d boomed, fists on hips, blocking Casca’s path to his tent, “why should you be dressed like a palace guard while I, the best soldier in the army, am not? You will give over your cloak and sword to me. I have need of both.”