by Tony Roberts
Casca roared in anger but was unable to fight back, and a sack was thrust over his head before he felt himself being bound to a post and left in a sitting position. Gundar and Torgeth sniggered and moved off a short distance. “That’s enough,” Casca said, his voice muffled by the sacking, “get me out of this shit and I’ll be lenient.”
Casca heard laughing by way of a reply and then some heavy objects moving. He thought he heard a horse and then the unmistakable sound of a harness. He heard them approach and untie him from the post, whereupon Casca began struggling against the rope binding him, but after a tap on the head with a heavy object he decided it wasn’t worth it as he couldn’t see damn all or move his arms. He was dragged up onto a chariot and felt more rope being applied to his wrists which were then bound to another secure anchorage. He was then freed from the rope around his body so his arms came free but his wrists were tied securely and he couldn’t move them far, and the sack remained over his head.
“Okay we’ve had a laugh, now I’m losing interest in this game. Untie me and send me to see Hadramon.”
“Not until we’ve finished the game,” one of the two said, a Germanic accent clear to Casca’s ear. To his outrage his clothes were torn from his back and his sword taken away leaving him stark naked, bound to the chariot. He staggered as the chariot suddenly jerked into motion, forcing him to sit down, putting a great strain on his arms and wrists. The tip of a sword prodded his butt and he stood up quickly, feeling the sun striking his body from knees to head. Gundar laughed and jabbed Casca in the thigh. “We’ve arranged for an audience, Rufius the Charioteer, so ride well!”
Casca snarled an obscenity at the German in reply. “Ich werde euch totschlagen, Scheissköpfe!”
Gundar was momentarily taken aback at the death threat, then laughed out loud and slapped the horse he and Torgeth had carefully selected on the rump, sending it galloping round the track, a naked Casca desperately trying to keep his balance. The three men had been joined by others and they were all roaring with laughter, tears streaming down their faces. Casca was mortified to hear some feminine shrieks joining them, too, and even with the sack on his head and the thunder of the chariot wheels he could hear some vivid remarks about his manhood which was bouncing for all to see in rhythm to the racing chariot. Casca thought he had been humiliated enough until he heard a little voice pipe up as he passed, “mummy, what is that on that man?”
He roared in fury under the sack just as the chariot took one of the corners rather sharply and he lost his balance, slipping to the right, falling forwards to strike his chest painfully on the rim of the vehicle. The burning in his left arm and wrist was intense, but he then felt the chariot slow down and gradually come to a halt, the laughter of those watching subsiding until there was only the sound of the heavily breathing horse could be heard. Someone approached and climbed up behind him.
he next thing he heard was Hadramon's voice. “I’m sorry this has happened to you, Rufius, I should have known Icanius would have done something like this, he’s known for it. I’ll untie you and you can put this robe I have here round you. Hold on.”
Casca felt the rope loosen and something drape round his shoulders which he clutched in one fist and wrenched the sack off his head in one angry movement with the other. He blinked in the sunlight before glaring round at the people gathered at the trackside, catching sight of the three culprits by the entrance to the main building, each laughing fit to bust a gut. Casca ignored the others who were dispersing now the entertainment was over and dismounted, striding over towards the three, his face red with anger. Hadramon ran after him trying to calm him down but Casca was having none of it. The three stopped laughing and stepped apart, ready for any trouble that the approaching man would give them, hands on weapons beneath their robes. Casca stopped a few feet away and tied the robe around his middle so that both his arms were free for what he had in mind, then went up to the Greek Icanius and pushed him in the chest.
Icanius’s face darkened and he went to push the scarred man back but suddenly found himself flying through the air, sent by one of the moves learned under the Chinese sage all those centuries ago. Gundar and Torgeth stood open mouthed at the throw, never having seen anyone do that to the tough Greek before, and they were still standing when Casca sent a reverse kick into Gundar’s face, breaking his nose and two front teeth. Torgeth grabbed his sword and pulled it out but found his sword hand gripped in steel and Casca standing nose to nose with him. The intensity of the gray-blue eyes boring into his turned his legs to water and he began to stammer an apology.
“It’s too late for that,” Casca replied and chopped the edge of his hand down onto the German’s neck, stunning him. By this time Icanius had regained a standing position and was bearing down on the Roman, red in his eyes, his sword ready to decapitate the unarmed man. Casca merely turned to meet the charge, sank down as the Greek slashed at his head, rolled onto his back, legs extended, and sent the attacking man hurtling head over heels through the air to land with a crash some yards away, knocking the wind out of him. Casca got to his feet and walked slowly over to the gasping man and stood over him. “Don’t you ever try anything on with me again, Greek, or I’ll tear your liver out and feed it to the birds. The same goes for your associates. Is that clear?”
Without waiting for Icanius’s reply he turned his back and went over to the stables to find his sword, Hadramon clucking over the injuries like a mother hen, lamenting the fact that two more of his riders were injured. Gundar was by far the worst, his face being covered in blood and his face itself definitely altered for the worse while Torgeth was now standing painfully massaging his neck, ruefully eyeing a now armed Casca who was making his way over to Hadramon. Icanius got slowly to his feet, raw hatred in his eyes, and Casca recognized the look for what it was. He’d better watch his ass from now on or that Greek would put it in a sling. Torgeth stood across the Roman's path and held out his hand in a placating manner.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said, “but we’d thought you’d see the funny side of it. Guess the joke ended up being on us. We sure got our asses whipped! I hope we can become friends? Anyway, welcome to our family here.” He held out his hand which Casca took after a brief pause and the two clasped arms in friendship. Icanius glowered at the German before helping a still groggy Gundar to his feet and led him away into the living accommodation to patch up his still bleeding face.
“I think you made an impression on the women here with your ride, Rufius,” Torgeth grinned, “and knowing what they’re like it won't be long before they're inviting you to share their beds! Especially that Zoe over there, the dark haired one with tits like a pair of rams on a trireme!” The German chuckled and Casca, after frowning briefly, snorted once then laughed, and it wasn’t long before the two were roaring in high spirits, Hadramon smiling in relief.
For Casca it felt good to laugh so well after so long. He had been deep in black grief and anger and it had been slowly poisoning him from within. Some of the heaviness he felt lifted with the purging of his soul the laughter allowed, and it was in a jauntier and somewhat less sardonic mood that he allowed Hadramon to lead him into the building. The trainer showed him into a room that overlooked the race track and the two men sat in available chairs, one on either side of a table that was crammed with parchments, weights and writing utensils. Hadramon frowned, grunted and searched out a particular scroll in the mess that was his desk top before sighing in satisfaction at finding it.
He waved the parchment at Casca before starting to advise him on what was expected of him. “You can either live here on site or where you are at the moment, but I expect you here each morning during the first watch after dawn. You report to me here and I’ll give you the day's schedule which will probably not vary much in the first few weeks as you’ll be riding the single horse chariot until you can handle it well enough to progress to the twin. Depending on your prowess with that you may ride in a race in Adrianople before the end of the s
ummer, but I expect you to wear clothes when you do,” he grinned.
Casca smiled back ruefully. He wouldn't be allowed to forget that incident in a hurry. “Now,” Hadramon continued, “you seem to be able to keep your balance reasonably well in a chariot. Have you been at sea before?”
Casca nodded. He had spent almost as much time in his life at sea as on land, first as a slave in the galleys, then as a Viking sailing to the lands of the Teotec far across the great sea. He had also sailed to and from Britannia and across the Mediterranean, so he had plenty of sea going experience. However all he would say was that he had served as a mercenary on various ships out of Constantinople, Alexandria and Cyrene which seemed to satisfy the charioteer trainer.
After signing a paper which bound him to the school for a period of a season he was given a tour of the grounds. The buildings away from the race track were houses for members of the faction and their families and he noted that they were grouped in a block with wide streets separating it from the other suburbs. A few of the women smiled when they saw him, including the busty Zoe, their eyes briefly sweeping down to his groin, one or two blushing, and a little girl of about six stared open eyed at him, holding onto her mother’s comforting figure. “You’re the man with no clothes on!” she stated.
“Well, little one, I do have them on now.”
“Why were you riding without any clothes on?”
Casca wondered why children always asked the most awkward questions in their loudest voice. “Oh, I was hot and thought the air would cool me down,” he said lamely.
The child's mother smiled in embarrassment but Casca shrugged a shoulder as if to say ah, what the hell? and he carried on with his guided tour. That afternoon he was going through the intricacies of knowing what reins went where and how they fitted when he became aware of someone watching him intently, and he turned to see the little girl leaning on the fence staring at him. He quickly reeled off the names of each rein to the instructor, a Cilician named Ankamas, before putting them down and walking over to her. “Hello, what are you doing here on your own?”
“Oh, mummy is busy and I was bored so I thought I’d come and see you. Are you going to ride soon?”
Casca laughed briefly, sitting down on the bottom bar of the fence. “Not today. Tomorrow maybe. I’m Rufius,” he said, “what's your name?”
“Delia,” she smiled shyly.
“Well, Delia, haven't you any friends here you can play with?”
The girl shook her head. She went on to say that most afternoons her mother would send her out when a man arrived and she wasn’t allowed back in until the man left. From what he could tell, there were a number of different men that called. Delia also said that her father had gone away a year or two ago with the army and one day a man came to speak to her mother which had upset her greatly. After the man had gone Delia was told that her father wasn’t coming back. Her mother had cried many nights after but gradually this had ceased and shortly afterwards their food had become less and less, her mother saying that they had little money, and it was then that the men had began to arrive at the house in the afternoons.
Casca nodded in understanding. Her mother was finding a means of getting money to feed her and her daughter but at the price of becoming a whore. In the Empire brothels had been banned and many prostitutes had been forcibly taken to the Asian side of the Bosphorus to be housed in a building ordered by the Empress to 'rehabilitate'. Some of these grateful woman had committed suicide as a result but Theodora was determined to stamp out prostitution – a strange act indeed for one who had once been one.
Casca led Delia back to her house and waited outside in the sun until the man inside had left, making furtive glances about lest he be seen. Casca grinned at him and waved him on his way before knocking on the door. After a pause Delia’s mother opened it and looked in surprise at the two standing there. He gestured Delia to run indoors and then looked at the woman. She was dark haired and dark eyed with tanned skin and came up to his chin. Her hair was long and tied back and she was wearing a one piece dress tied about her waist with a piece of cord, accentuating an hour glass figure. Although not obviously pretty he considered her attractive and at least she still had all her teeth. “Delia told me about your husband. I’m sorry to hear it. Was it in Africa?”
The woman nodded, unsure as to why he was there.
“So was I. If he was where I think he was then he died bravely.”
“Thank you, but dying bravely or cowardly ends up the same way, doesn’t it?”
Casca nodded. He looked beyond her into the house. “You have a fine daughter there, lady, ah..?”
“Carina.”
“Carina,” he smiled, saying her name slowly. “Rufius, the charioteer.”
Carina smiled. “I know, I saw you this morning on the circuit.” She stood aside. “Please come in.”
Casca chuckled to himself. It was about time she let him in. Strike one for persistence. The house was simple but well kept, and a small kitchen led off to one side from the main living area which also served as a dining room, while an enclosed staircase stood to the left. Carina offered him some small refreshments which he gratefully took, having not eaten since early that morning, and they talked for a moment about Delia. Casca then broached the subject of staying at her place.
“I need a place to stay close to the racetrack and my place at the moment is inside the city which isn’t all that helpful as I need to be here early in the morning, so I was wondering if you had a spare room for me. I can do work about the place when I’m not at the trackside and I can pay for my room, so Delia doesn’t have to go out in the afternoons.”
Casca watched the woman’s face closely as she took in his words. She reddened for a moment then looked at him in an odd manner. “How did you know about that?”
Casca grinned, then shrugged. “Man of the world,” he said simply.
Carina played idly with a comb that had been lying on the table. “I have Delia to support as well. You’d need to earn plenty to cover that. When you’re earning enough come back to me. I appreciate your offer but I can’t afford to give up my income if you’re not earning enough.” She smiled to rob any offence from her words.
Casca nodded. “I’ll earn enough,” he promised, “I intend becoming the top rider here. Watch out for me, Carina.”
With that he got up, winked at her and left, determined he would train hard and get to the top, no matter what it took!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Casca settled in quickly into his training. He got a routine going of riding the chariot round the track in the morning, working out where the various tack and harnesses went and what tactics to use. After lunch he helped the other riders in building up their strength. Hadramon had looked at his physique and the way he managed to keep his balance and wanted the other charioteers to develop stronger legs, so Casca had them running round the track, weighed down with packs full of stones.
Torgeth complained but Casca pointed out when they rode they wouldn’t have the weights on their backs so they’d feel lighter. Icanius spat in Casca’s direction and made pointed comments but Hadramon insisted, so the Greek complied, but not without further scowling.
Casca found a room to rent close to the track. Zoe had a spare room and she was happy to have the muscled newcomer in her house. She eyed Casca with ill-disguised interest and swayed her hips whenever she was around him. Her dark eyed looks were full of her desire and Casca knew he’d be called upon to do more than just sit at her table before long. Carina scowled at Casca when he mentioned he was taking a place at Zoe’s and the Eternal Mercenary thought there was a touch of jealousy there. Carina refused to come watch Casca train but Delia often turned up to cheer him on in his progress, and the big man often shared his lunch with the girl who seemed to take a shine to him. He soon got the hang of the easy single horse chariot and progressed to the twin horse ones which were a bitch to handle and he often ended up on his ass on the dirt track.
&nbs
p; The news from the war was encouraging as well. Belisarius had approached Naples and demanded its surrender whereupon he was told to go away in no uncertain terms. After a three week siege and no sight of an end to it one of his officers discovered an old disused waterway into the city and with a bunch of hand-picked men the officer sneaked into Naples at night and upon Belisarius attacking the next morning rushed the gates, opened them and let the imperial forces in.
Although officially the imperial army, Belisarius had mostly mercenaries in his force; some Huns, Slavs and North Africans, and these troops, having been promised that if any city resisted them they could loot at will, and since the general didn't want to piss his army off, he let them loose in an orgy of destruction that was reminiscent of the Gothic sack of Rome over a century before.
For the Goths, the loss of Naples was a shameful blow and the road to Rome was now open. Theodehad was beset by indecision - he admired and respected the Empire and really wanted to be friendly to it, but his damned warlike generals just loved a fight and couldn't see that their butts would be kicked if they carried on like this. The Franks were watching like hawks as well and any slip up could see an invasion from across the Alps. The elderly Goth put his head in his hands in despair. If only those bloody jailers hadn't knocked off Amalasuntha everything would be fine, but someone had really stepped in it when they strangled her. Shit! What to do? Commit his army south for a battle to save the ancient capital of the Roman Empire and leave the north open to the Franks or another imperial force, or to wait until Rome fell and rely on them having to garrison all the places they captured to reduce the size of their army so he could take them on with a fair degree of a chance?
He gazed out of the window over the countryside and drummed his fingers on the sill. The rumbles of discontent from his own generals were growing daily, and he knew they were itching to show they hadn't lost any of their prowess with the sword in the years they had been in Italy.