by Tony Roberts
A second man tried to twist aside but there wasn’t the space to do so and Gundoric’s blow cut into his ribs, splintering two and driving a third into the lung. The man folded over, spitting blood, and Gundoric came face to face with the man who had grabbed Delia. Delia stood in terror at the giant Goth and refused to move. Gundoric ignored her and pulled at the would-be abductor and hurled him aside.
Casca stood up, released from the press of bodies, and saw Gundoric whirling his sword in the square, cutting down one who ran past him. The unfortunate cartwheeled with the force of the blow and came to rest in a pile of rags and blood ten feet away. The rest scattered in all directions, Gundoric wondering which one to strike, and found the choice too confusing, so he allowed the survivors to flee, leaving seven corpses, a motionless Delia and a slowly moving Casca in the square.
“Well, you took your time,” Casca said, clearing his throat. His body ached and he felt a dozen throbbing muscles where the untrained but vicious mob had assaulted him. Fortunately none had managed to bring him down or he might have been hurt in a few more places. He flexed his arms and looked around the scene of devastation.
Delia was shaking so he went up to her and gently touched her shoulder. “It’s all over now,” he said softly. “This is Gundoric, a friend of mine. He saved our lives.”
Gundoric grunted and wiped his blade on a dirty cloth he found lying at his feet. He didn’t look too pleased and glanced at the dead people as he cleaned his blade. Casca picked his sword up and examined the corpses himself. He held Delia by the shoulders and stood before the giant Goth. “I thought there was someone following us. How long had you been behind us?”
“Since the house. I followed you and watched you bury the people you found there. Her parents?”
“Mother, yes. The man was her lover. Delia is my responsibility. I can’t leave her here. She needs a guardian. I’m staying. What about you? You said the plague was a good reason not to stay. You’ve got gold. So why stay?”
Gundoric slammed his blade into its sheath forcefully. “Someone’s got to look after you. That’s twice I’ve now saved your ass. What would happen to her if you died? By the sweet blood of Jesus, you need as much looking after as she does!” He smiled at the still rigid figure of Delia. “You think he needs looking after? I’m the best there is, and I think you do need someone like me to make sure nothing bad happens.”
Casca shook his head slowly. “I’m not a baby! Delia will be looked after, don’t you worry. If you really want to be a help then find us a place to live in, away from this hole. I don’t like the neighborhood,” he added, eyeing the furtive shadows that lurked along the edges of his vision. Given half the chance they’d be on them again like a bad rash. It had taken the deaths of seven of their number to gain respect, and they’d not bother them again in daylight.
Gundoric breathed in deeply and spat on one of the corpses. “Very well, one decent house coming up! Follow the Great Gundoric!”
Delia smiled slightly and looked up at Casca. The Eternal Mercenary grumbled under his breath but squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “Let’s go see what the Great Gundoric can find us, shall we?” The girl nodded and they left the square to the dead and the vermin.
True to Gundoric’s word they found a deserted house they could settle in, anonymous and secure, with enough riches to survive on without much trouble. Casca settled Delia down the first night they were there and joined Gundoric in the dining chamber as the darkness closed in. They had found a few candles in a cupboard and the Goth had lit one, sitting back in a chair and drinking from a jar he’d looted from the cellar. The house had, apparently, been lived in by a reasonably well-to-do couple with servants but the servants had fled. They’d found what they believed to be the owners dead out the back in the garden. Their garb was something like that merchants wore; they’d thrown them over the back wall for the clean-up squads to pick up. That and a good search of the rooms and possessions had given the two men enough of an idea of the number of former occupants and their social standing. The area itself wasn’t too bad. All the properties had walled gardens and there was a church just two streets away that served the community.
Casca dropped into a spare chair on the other side of the dining table and looked at Gundoric. “Okay, my friend, why did you come back?”
The Goth drank a mouthful and thought for a moment. “You left me alone in a strange city, with the plague all round. You know there’s nobody allowed to leave, so I was trapped in this pox-ridden place. Where else could I go and to whom? I followed you, watched from the shadows as you brought out Delia’s family and then followed you again when you left her place. Why didn’t you stay there?”
“Because your friend the warthog knows of her and would send people to kill her. I’m a hunted man and if I’m spotted then my life – and Delia’s – is in danger. That conversation we had by the harbor? Well, he told me to bring something from the house we found the dead man in and it was missing. So I’m on borrowed time; once the plague passes by and he gets out and searches, he’ll know I’ve not done my job and he’ll come looking for me. Maybe you, too. Best to stay away from the eastern part of the city. That warthog, Narses, is a nasty piece of work. Stay over this side of the city and we’ll probably be okay.”
Gundoric said nothing for a while, and drank a bit more. Then he put the jar down. “So we stay hidden. What about surviving? What do we do? We’re warriors, not merchants. We’d stand out like whores in a nunnery.”
Casca laughed briefly. “Leave our weapons indoors and get jobs. After this pestilence has passed, there’ll be demand for all sorts of jobs and few people to fill them. We’ll be able to charge higher wages and be able to live here. Just keep your eyes open and ears cocked. We avoid Narses and his imperial guard. They won’t be coming here but he’ll probably have spies out.”
Gundoric pulled a face. “I’m no city dweller, General. Once this plague has passed I’m going to leave. I’m pleased you’ve found the girl, and from what I know of you, you’ll look after her and bring her up the right way. But that’s not for me. I’ll just get in the way and I’m not a man to live a life as a domestic. Get a slave! For me, my blood calls me back to Italy and my people.”
Casca nodded slowly. He knew the Goth’s wild spirit wasn’t one that could survive inside the city, a city that could corrupt or bury the innocent mind. Gundoric had no ties holding him here, unlike Casca, and since Casca had released him from his Oath to remain with him, Gundoric could do what he pleased.
Within ten days the plague had passed and the city authorities once again threw open the gates, and Gundoric packed his few belongings and bade the two goodbye. Delia was sad to see him go; the giant man had been fun and she’d used him as a horse, riding on his back while he rode around the house. Casca would miss him, too, but knew the warrior had to follow his own destiny, his own weird, as they used to say in the good old days of the Northlands.
Gundoric looked a little lost, as though he was cutting a tie, a bond to his past, but he knew the future was what called at his very heart, and so he left the house for the last time, walking westwards towards the great walls and the countryside beyond, and freedom! His heart lifted with the thought of escaping the suffocating atmosphere of Constantinople.
Casca regretted in a way the Goth leaving, but in another he was relieved; Gundoric wouldn’t have fitted into the world of the big city and sooner or later he’d’ve been noticed and that would mean Narses finding out. He didn’t want that. Casca’s mind turned to more practical matters, that of securing a job. As the house was close enough to the walls Casca could take a job in the suburbs without too much difficulty and spend the evenings with Delia teaching her how to read and write.
He found himself a job initially as one of the gangs that cleared up the corpses from the streets but once the plague passed - as all plagues do given time - he got a job as a dock hand in the Harbor of Theodosius helping deliver supplies of grain from Egypt to the dep
leted granaries. There were plenty of jobs going as eventually it was determined that up to 230,000 had died, about two out of every five citizens, and there was a shortage of everything and prices had shot up. Casca’s hoarded gold came into use in hiring a tutor called Theodore to educate the growing girl and keeping them in fairly good quality clothes and food as his pay wasn’t too great.
Casca was relieved Justinian recovered from his mild bout and once he was on his feet released Belisarius and Buzes and for once argued down the mercurial Theodora, but it was a long time before Belisarius was ordered back to Italy to shore up the rapidly disintegrating situation there. Totila had succeeded the hesitant Eraric after the latter had been strangled after five months of rule and at last the Goths had somebody to rally them and drive the East Romans back. The problem was that the five generals left behind by Belisarius squabbled and failed to co-operate and the worst thing about them was that John was militarily the best of them, but once he had been routed by Totila the Byzantine position collapsed rapidly and city after city was retaken by the Goths.
Casca heard about these without satisfaction. Someone had screwed up in a big way and Justinian was mightily pissed off but apart from sending Belisarius there he could do little to stop the rot. Talk was that Theodora was ill and the Emperor had lost heart in a war that looked over a short time ago and now wished to concentrate on religious matters. Delia came on well with her studies and met Theodore’s nephew, Licinus, one evening at a social function, a stocky Cappadocian a few years older than she, and the two got on famously. In fact within two years the two were betrothed and Casca on their wedding day gave her the remainder of his gold coins to start the two off on a sound financial footing. Licinus had a promising career as a member of the imperial bodyguard so certainly Delia looked bound for a fairly good future.
Delia came to Casca during the wedding celebrations and took him aside. They went onto a balcony overlooking the Golden Horn and for a moment the two stood there looking at the lights from the boats reflecting off the water, then Delia turned to speak. Casca certainly would agree with anyone should they say she had grown up into a beautiful young lady. He could remember her the first time he saw her, a six year old watching with wide eyes as he had been forced to go round the race track naked. That was twelve years ago. Now here she was dressed in a flowing dress of silk and her dark hair garlanded with flowers. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” she said. “You're more a father to me than my real father, yet you don't seem that much older. I seem to remember you exactly the way you are now right from the beginning.”
“Perhaps time has clouded your memory, or I am young looking for my age,” Casca grinned back.
“No, you are definitely unchanged. You have not aged. I meant to ask you about this before but I couldn’t. Theodore once told me a fascinating story, a legend handed down by the barbarians of the north about a man who never aged, who was condemned to forever walk the lands of the earth. They called him The Walker.”
Casca nodded. The legend had begun all those centuries ago when he had been Lord of Helsfjord, and his reputation had spread, particularly after he had left the hold. Some years after that he had fought a Saxon and before the Saxon had died he had admitted to Casca that the Roman was indeed The Walker.
Delia studied the face of the man who had done so much for her and saw in those blue-gray eyes a deep sadness, a sadness that told her he would soon have to leave and go somewhere else. “You are he, aren’t you?”
Casca stared at her in amazement. “What did you say?”
Delia came up close and stared at him closely. “I’ve been living with you for years and I know you’re not normal. I’ve seen cuts heal on you. Remember that one where you dropped that beaker and it shattered? You cut your hand on the pieces and I saw it heal. You tried to hide it from me but I saw. I said nothing, but that and other little pieces I’ve seen, or heard, or been told by Theodore, all make sense that you are he. You are, aren’t you?”
Casca closed his eyes and leaned on the rail. He couldn’t hide the truth from Delia. She was too observant and, besides, he thought she deserved to know the truth at last, even if it repelled her. She was now married and had a life away from him, and what did it matter anymore? “I have been cursed, Delia, by Jesus. I must go on until I am judged at the Second Coming when perhaps I may find peace at last.”
Delia’s hand flew to her mouth. “You have been cursed by Jesus? Personally? But that was five hundred years ago! What did you do? How are you here, after all this time?”
He had never meant to tell her but now he just couldn’t stop himself. Every so often he found a compulsion to tell someone his story and it all came out: the Crucifixion; the years in the slave pits; the gladiator school; Nero; the galleys; Nela; Ctesiphon; Germania; Lida; the Teotecs; the lands of Chin; Persia; Attila; Ireina; and of course, the Brotherhood. Delia stood transfixed, for never in all the time she had been tutored had she heard such a compelling story. The man she knew as her guardian had committed a vile sin and had been duly punished for it - in fact he was still being punished. Casca leaned on the balcony, drained by the telling of his story, looking into Delia’s eyes. He expected revulsion, disgust perhaps, at least condemnation.
“You have been punished by Jesus for what you did, yet I believe you have been given a chance to redeem yourself, something the rest of us never have. I believe that any punishment is for God to make and we should not interfere and in that the Brotherhood, whoever they are, are wrong.”
Casca thought deeply on that. Perhaps she was right in that, and the sect that had persecuted him were going against the prophet Jesus, and it may be that when he was judged so would they. That would make it bearable.
Delia touched his face, running her finger down his scar. “All I know is that you are kind and gentle; even when my mother hurt you deeply. All you really have known is pain, I can see it in your eyes. What you did makes no difference to me and I shall tell nobody that you are The Walker, save perhaps my children. All I ask is for you to look over my children if you can. Will you promise me that?”
Casca cleared his throat. Damned air, makes the throat tight, he thought to himself. “Of course. You’re like a daughter to me and it's the least I can do. Now go back in there and be with your husband, or else they’ll send someone out looking for you before long.”
Delia smiled and kissed him lightly on the cheek. A shadow fell across the two and they both turned guiltily to see Licinus standing there, a dazed expression on his face.
“What you just said to Delia… was that true?”
Delia put her hand to her mouth. “How long were you standing there, Licinus?”
“Most of the time. I came looking for you.” He turned to Casca. “You’re immortal, cursed by Jesus?”
Casca nodded warily, wondering how he would react and whether it would ruin the wedding day.
Licinus slowly took hold of Delia’s hand and pulled her to him. “And this Brotherhood, they are intent on hunting down anyone you get close to?” Again Casca nodded. Licinus chewed on his lower lip. “That makes them Delia’s enemy, and by association my enemy. Narses will be someone I will have to be careful of, it would seem.”
Delia held her husband tightly, gazing up at him, her eyes wide. Licinus smiled at her affectionately, then his stance became formal. He could appear very stern, this young man. He was tall but not too tall. A dark complexioned man with a serious manner and intelligence that would one day, if his luck held, take him far. “Casca Longinus, you have sacrificed much to bring up my beloved, so in honor of that, I would be grateful if you would permit my name – my family name – to become Longinus. Any child would thus carry that name.”
Casca was speechless. His mouth opened and shut, his gaze transferring from the formal Licinus to a shining Delia, clutching her husband in joy. Eventually he found the words. “Yes, Licinus, you may adopt the name, as I adopt you as a son, but be aware that the Brotherhood would inve
stigate you, and also you will age but I shall not.”
Licinus bowed and smiled briefly. “Worry not, I am someone with powerful backers and my position within the court is secure. My adopted name shall be recorded by the Censor’s office at the earliest opportunity. Now, forgive us but we must return to the party. I think you may need a few moments to yourself here.” Licinus bowed, then took Delia’s arm and returned to the room, leaving a thoughtful Casca alone.
He shook his head slowly in amazement. Never before had he been given such a gift! He slowly thought over the implications. Any family name of Longinus would surely be investigated by the Brotherhood, not that the name was unique; there were plenty of Longini in the lands of the Empire. As for the Brotherhood, Casca hadn’t heard of their activities since the plague and wondered if they were still around. He wondered.
Now his job of bringing the girl up was over, he had no reason to stay in Constantinople any longer. His thoughts turned to other places. He had been to the land of Chin, far to the east, and as yet had no yearning to return there. In any case he would have to pass through Persia and the thought still sent shudders through him. The lands to the west were full of former barbarians who were fighting amongst themselves for dominance which the Franks seemed to be winning at the moment. Maybe his talents were needed there in time, but not yet. He thought more and more of the lands north of the Danube and east of the Rhine, the forests of Germania. Whenever he needed to get away from it all he thought of the relative tranquility of those lands and the simple lifestyle of the people there. That’s what he needed, he decided. He returned to the wedding celebration, much more settled in mind now he had made his decision, but unknown to him at that moment events were conspiring to delay his return that little bit longer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The stunning news hit them all the following morning: Theodora was dead, consumed by a wasting disease she had been suffering from for a while. The Emperor was beside himself with grief and would not see anyone which put the running of the Empire for the moment in the hands of his Court.