Casca 28: The Avenger

by Tony Roberts

  And indeed he did. Before any of the group could react, Narses drew his sword and stepped forward, pointing the weapon at Buzes and Belisarius. “You are under arrest for seditious plotting against the Emperor. You are hereby stripped of all rank, riches and privileges by order of the Empress Theodora.” The men gaped in shock as Buzes was dragged off by two of the guard for an appointment with the prison, while Belisarius was put under guard and marched off to his home under close arrest. Casca was left standing in stunned amazement on the jetty, facing the wrinkled Officer of the Sacred Bedchamber. Gundoric shuffled uncomfortably just behind Casca, wondering what was going on, not understanding Greek.

  “What charge have they been found guilty of, then?” Casca demanded.

  Narses waved a lazy hand. “Seditious talk to the detriment of the Emperor while in Edessa so I believe. The Empress was very insistent they were to be arrested.”

  “And the Emperor?”

  “Too ill to be able to deal with affairs of the state. He has a swelling of the groin,” Narses grinned with delight, “and he may die.”

  “Saving you the job, hey?” Casca growled. “Still trying to pursue your policy?”

  Narses switched to Armenian hastily. “You cannot deny the will of God. If the Emperor is to be struck down by this pestilence, then it is His will and not for anyone to challenge. In any case, I have to speak with you on the matter of Janus. Why did you not destroy him when you were last here? I gave you his address.”

  “I’m no-one’s puppet, Narses. If I wish to destroy the Brotherhood then it will be on my terms, not on yours, and I will destroy all of them, not just a select few chosen by you.”

  Narses wasn’t amused by those words. He curtly gestured for Casca to follow him up the hill towards the palace, looming above them. Gundoric followed, but was blocked by the eunuch’s guard. Casca turned. “He’s with me,” he informed Narses.

  The imperial officer thought for a moment, then shrugged. “He will not do anything to intervene in what I am about to say,” he warned the Eternal Mercenary. “Tell him if he tries to do anything I think is threatening towards me or my men, I’ll have him executed.”

  Casca glared at Narses, then motioned Gundoric close. “Watch these men,” Casca said in German, knowing none of the Brotherhood men understood the language, “but do nothing unless they draw their swords first. In which case, my friend, you’ve got my permission to chop them to pieces.” Gundoric nodded, eyeing the Greek guards with hostility. They resumed up the stairs, four of Narses’ men coming with them, all keeping a close eye on the Roman and Goth which Casca noticed. Narses continued talking in Armenian. “We had an agreement but if you wish to renege on it then you know the consequences. I have deposited letters with the Quaestor and other reliable officers which inform them to advise the Emperor and Empress of your evil disposition should anything happen to me. I would think your condition would be easily proven and a similar fate handed out to you as that of Buzes. I have also become aware that you have a woman and her child under your protection in the city, and it would be a pity if the Brotherhood’s more, er, fanatical members got to learn of their whereabouts.”

  Casca balled his fists and stepped up alongside the eunuch. The guards stepped closer but were stopped with an upheld hand from their commander. Casca bared his teeth. “How the hell did you find that out you slimy bastard?”

  Narses smiled briefly. “Don’t expect me to tell you that. You put one finger on me and my men will hack you to pieces. No doubt you will rejoin but you will be completely under our control, for we would prevent your arms or legs from becoming part of you again.”

  The Roman growled deeply. “And if your pets try anything my man will throw them into the harbor. He’s more than capable of taking on your four fools.” This old man deserved to die but he wasn’t in a position to do anything at the moment. He should have killed him when he had the chance before! “I should inform the Empress of your loyalties and your intention to kill the Emperor. She favors me, let me remind you. Even if I may be no longer racing for the Blues, she’ll remember me. And I’m willing to bet she doesn’t care much for you”

  “That’s irrelevant,” Narses countered, facing Casca. “She’s got other things on her mind at present. But if Justinian dies of the plague,” Narses smirked, “I may inform her of your condition anyway. I doubt any favoritism would protect you in that instance, Spawn of Satan. Therefore you had better pray to God that both I and the Emperor continue to live. You had better go to Janus’ house and take care of him. Bring the Spear to the Palace and advise me. I shall arrange for it to be collected by trusted men. Once the plague has passed I shall check to see if you have disposed of Janus; if he still lives I will reveal your real identity to the Empress. Once Janus is dead I shall assume the leadership of the Brotherhood and our little arrangement shall be at an end. Of course, you will then be at my mercy.” The Eunuch smiled infuriatingly. “However as a reward to carrying out my wishes I shall allow you twelve hours to get away. After that, I shall hunt you down.” He rubbed his hands in delight. “This plague has worked out really nicely for me.”

  Casca gritted his teeth. Once again the wrinkled imperial officer had him by the balls and it wasn’t something he liked very much. One day, Narses, one day..... Narses took his escort up the stone steps that led up to the palace wall, leaving Casca and Gundoric to turn left towards the Hippodrome. Before he entered through the guarded gate the eunuch turned and addressed him again. “You may be lucky in that the plague may have done your job for you, if that is the case inform me here at the palace. Do not try to leave the city for the guard has been ordered to prevent anyone leaving until this pestilence has gone. I wish you luck, Spawn of Satan.” With that he turned, passed into the palace and vanished, the gate being slammed shut and locked behind him.

  Casca and his companion wandered the streets, stepping over or round the corpses that littered the city. Here and there gangs of men worked hard to deposit the dead on carts, bound for the Golden Horn where ships would transport them across to the vast pits dug for them. The sounds of wailing or coughing was to be heard, or the feeble entreaties of the dying asking for help or just a cup of water. Most of the dead had huge purple weals over their skin which gave them a hideous appearance, and Casca avoided them as much as he could. Even though he was immortal he had once caught a variant of the plague in Italy and he had no intention of getting it again. Hopefully he was immune.

  “What are we doing here?” Gundoric demanded, staring at the bodies littering the streets. The stench of rotting corpses had him covering up his nose and he was fearful of going any further. “What were you and that ugly old warthog talking about?”

  “I’ve got to find someone and something he’s got and return it to the old warthog, as you call him. I don’t want you touching anything or anyone. I’ve no idea how this plague passes from one to another but don’t go anywhere near these people.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gundoric replied, a cloth over his nose and mouth, “I won’t. What about you? You’re just as likely to get this!”

  Casca looked around. The smoke from the pits across the water was drifting along the streets, making things harder to see, but he knew which direction to take. He turned north and made his way towards the Golden Horn, towards where the smoke was coming from. “I’ve been here before, when they last had the plague, and I didn’t get it then. I don’t want you getting it, though, my friend.”

  Gundoric grimaced. “It looks like you burn up and bleed to death. We had plagues in Italy that make you shit yourself silly, not like this!”

  “I know,” Casca said softly. Memories of the cholera bout he had caught in Italy at the time of Attila’s invasion came back to him. It hadn’t been nice, but he’d taken a stomach full of infected water and not even his enhanced constitution could deal with that without passing through, so to speak. It had knocked him out for three days. “Come on, along here.”

  He led the way to Janus
’ house and walked up to the front door. All was silent and the signs were that nothing had come this way for a few days. They looked round, seeing no-one around, and forced the door open, splintering the jamb. The smell of death was prevalent inside and it didn’t take them long to find the corpse of Janus, sitting in his chair, mouth agape and eyes staring as though screaming his last breath before he died.

  “Oh hell,” Gundoric commented, “looks like he screamed the house down and nobody heard him!”

  Casca grunted and began trashing the place, tearing aside curtains, ripping icons off the wall, smashing delicate items of furniture. He was looking for any sign of the Brotherhood, where they were, where they met, who else was a member. Gundoric watched, puzzled, then joined in, not really knowing why they were smashing the place up but it was fun. Casca suggested going upstairs to look for anything valuable. While Gundoric was upstairs Casca carried on methodically searching through every drawer, cupboard and chest. He found nothing in the house but after discovering a steep flight of steps leading down to a cellar he did find a bare room with unmistakable markings on one wall that his spear had been affixed there until a short time ago.

  The Brotherhood had gone.

  Casca laughed briefly. Narses had no idea the Spear had been taken, which meant there was someone else intent on becoming Elder. Screw Narses, let him find him in the city. Casca decided it would be best to get Carina and Delia out of the house before Narses and his grunts did. He found a large bag of gold coins in a chest and took them. After all, Janus had no use for them and if he didn't take them then somebody else would.

  He called Gundoric down and, leaving hurriedly, they made their way north to his former house and noticed with grim regularity the number of those dead or dying along the way. Gundoric stopped and looked about, uncertainly. “General,” he began hesitantly, “I don’t know what you want of me anymore. I don’t want to be here amongst all this,” he waved his arms about, “and I’m scared to death I’m going to catch this. We must leave! We found nothing at that house apart from a corpse. Let’s go before we become that as well!”

  “You may go, Gundoric,” Casca turned in the silent street, the taste and smell of smoke heavy in his mouth and nose. “I release you from your oath. Go follow your own destiny, for mine is here, at least for the immediate future. I have to find a girl and her mother – if they’re still alive.”

  “You’re mad, General,” the Goth shook his head in bafflement. “There’s a life to live out there away from this charnel house! They’re dead, like that monk in that house back there! Come on, while we can, get out of here!”

  Casca pulled out the bag of coins and dug into it. “Gundoric, take this. You might need it.” He threw a handful of coins at the warrior’s feet and turned away, pacing rapidly up the street towards the turning at the end. Gundoric stood watching him for a moment, then at the scattered coins lying about his feet. It was more than he’d ever seen before in his life. Back in Italy it’d make him a rich man. He slowly bent and began scooping the coins up.

  Casca approached the place and though it looked ominously dark, and after pushing open the door was greeted with silence. His heart pounding he began a search of the rooms and found nothing on the ground floor. He ascended to the upper floor and heard a faint sobbing from the main bedroom. Treading carefully he pushed the door open to see two figures on the bed and one kneeling by the side racked with sobs. The two dead were Torgeth and Carina and little Delia was crying by her mother’s side.

  Gently kneeling by her side he took her hand in his and lifted her chin so she was looking at him. “When did they lie down like this, Delia?”

  Delia sobbed and buried her face in his chest, mumbling incoherently. Casca merely held her tight and waited for her crying to abate. He looked at the two lying side by side and judged they hadn’t been there long, perhaps since the morning or the night before. Eventually Delia calmed down enough to confirm that Torgeth had come home ill a few days ago and had deteriorated rapidly, being bed ridden for three days. Carina had tended him but then had succumbed herself, rapidly falling sick so that by the time Torgeth had died, the previous evening, Carina was virtually dead herself and had expired in the early hours. Delia showed no sign as yet and really had no idea of what to do now her mother was dead. Of course, Carina’s unborn child had also perished, so there were three lives lost on that bed. Casca clenched his fist. It looked as though the pregnancy had nearly runs its course.

  He resolved to look after the young girl and take her away from the danger of Narses and the surviving members of the Brotherhood. The first thing he did was to carry both Carina and Torgeth down to the garden, bringing him another flashback from the time he had been in Orleans following Attila’s defeat a hundred years ago. Delia watched him digging the large grave, crying uncontrollably and she finally put flowers on each grave. After Casca had covered over both bodies she had turned away and wiped the tears from her eyes, vowing to him she would never cry for the two again, nor her unborn sibling, their burial symbolizing their journey from this world to Heaven. Casca had more down to earth theories on what would happen to them now but telling her the worms would eat their bodies wouldn’t be the best thing to do, so he kept his own counsel and jollied her into packing spare clothes and valuable items. The last thing he did was to take all the spare riches he couldn’t take with him and dug a deep hole in the garden exactly ten paces from the rear of the house due north. He packed the items in a wooden box and lowered it into the hole, covering it back over. Maybe one day he’d return and take the valuables, but he had no intention of doing so now.

  His main concern was to get Delia out of the clutches of Narses so he took her west through the outer parts of the city. He looked around from time to time and imagined he heard footsteps, but nothing could be seen. He carried on, hurrying the tired and hungry girl along. As he got to a point before the Great Wall, he saw the first sign of life. City vermin, preying on the corpses of the richer people who had been fleeing the city and had been turned back by the guard at spear point. Either they had died from plague, or had been attacked by the mob and robbed before being killed.

  He was in a square surrounded by low quality housing. All round garbage lay in piles and a corpse of a dog lay by the roadside. Other refuse could be smelt at twenty paces. Delia pressed into Casca and whimpered, frightened by the atmosphere and Casca’s change in mood. He was alert and cautious, and the vermin were all looking at him. Some carried clubs or even rudimentary swords. Stones and other household implements could be seen too, and he slid his hand inside his tunic and gripped the hilt of his sword.

  “Well, what have we here?” a coarse voice asked close by to the right. Casca turned his head to see a grubby, filthy and thoroughly disgusting specimen standing a few feet away, idly swinging a home-made ax. “A lonely man and a child. A man with coins,” he added, looking at the bulging bag hanging from Casca’s belt. “Full of gold, I’ll bet! More than any of us here could ever have dreamed of!”

  “Stand aside,” Casca warned him, his sword sliding out of its sheath, “or you’ll join the thousands being buried.”

  “You’re surrounded, my friend,” the would-be robber pointed out. He looked at Delia. “A nice unspoilt girl child, hey? Just the type to warm my bed for years to come. With the money you’ve got I’ll be able to afford plenty of girls like her!”

  The other scum had drifted closer, about twenty of them, all raggedly dressed but wearing an odd assortment of clothing, looted from their victims. Here and there were silk tunics or woolen cloaks, looking out of place against the rags worn alongside them, and on the stick-thin pale looking individuals that wore them. Some carried clubs, others stones. Others again had primitive spears or other weapons fashioned out of discarded household items. They had obviously overpowered unarmed and defenseless people, and grown bold, now thought they could handle a man with a sword.

  “The first who moves on me dies,” Casca growled, much in the wa
y a dog growls at a threat. The ax-wielding man ignored the implied danger and stepped forward, his ax swinging high. Casca stepped across Delia and raised his blade, blocking the downward blow, and punched the thin man in the chest. The man staggered back, his face screwed up, and hit the ground hard with his ass. He sat there, stunned for a moment. Casca gently guided Delia back to the wall of houses behind him so nobody could sneak up on him, and waved his steel blade warningly at the closing mob.

  With a howl they rushed him, eager to take the coins and his life. Casca swept the sword down hard, cutting through the first man’s neck and carried on the sweep sideways, slicing through a second’s stomach, opening up the gut for the blue entrails to flop out onto the ground. Casca’s blow ended on the up, cutting through a third man’s throat, showering those around him with blood. But the others crashed into him and sent him back against the wall which shook with the impact.

  Casca roared in rage and gouged his left thumb into an eye socket of one of his assailants, causing him to scream and clutch his face in agony, and he brought his knee up hard, striking someone else hard. He felt the body fall but was then smothered and despite his strength, couldn’t use his arms or legs, and blows began raining down on him. He heard Delia call to him in fear and pain and Casca emitted a bellow that could be heard three streets away. He was beginning to sink under the weight of the street vermin when a battle cry from the other side of the crowd broke through the noise and the mob turned in shock to see a giant bearded man sweep down on them, a huge two-handed sword whirling death. The ax man, standing at the rear encouraging the mob, was the first to be hit, his head spinning up from his shoulders and turned over three times before it hit the ground with a soggy thud.