Casca 49: The Lombard

by Tony Roberts

  Casca smiled wryly. “First of all, immortality is not a gift, Verinus. It’s a curse. I won’t go into the deep philosophical truths of it, but believe me, if I could become mortal right now I’d accept it without hesitation. As to proof, well.” He pointed at the small dagger in Verinus’ belt. “Use that on my arm and believe.”

  They all gathered around, the adults too, and a reluctant Verinus slowly cut along the forearm, watching as blood began to flow from the shallow slice. As they all looked on, the blood stopped and the flesh began to heal visibly before their amazed eyes.

  The room was filled with gasps and words of denial. Petronus made the sign of the cross. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was the work of the devil.”

  “Ironically, it’s the work of Jesus,” Casca said in an weary tone of voice. He wiped the congealed blood off his arm. “Being cursed is no wonderful thing and I do get tired of it all, but,” and he took Greta’s hand, “sometimes my life is worth living.”

  She smiled and squeezed his hand. “It saddens me that I will go eventually, leaving Casca, but neither of us can control that.”

  They all sat back down. The exarch explained that the three young Longini had been taught about Casca’s immortal situation and to honor him as the family’s founder. They were also to pass down to their children the story and the secret, and that the Brotherhood of the Lamb were hunting him so nobody was to tell anyone outside the family. They were soon to be scattered in true imperial manner; Verinus was going to be assigned to an imperial garrison in the south of Italy very shortly, in order to reinforce the Byzantine situation there. Two rebel Lombard dukes had passed to the south of Rome and were creating havoc there.

  Petronius was going to enter the church and study here in Ravenna, in the church of St. Vitale. His task was to rise as high as possible in the church and promote the interests of the Longini family. Atalantia would eventually return to Constantinople where she would probably marry into a rich family. The exarch smiled at his daughter. “But one important fact we will insist on. Since we wish to pass on the knowledge of you and your secret, we will insist that the name Longinus will remain. The man will change his family name to Longinus.”

  Casca raised an eyebrow. That was unheard of. They talked further for a while before the exarch stood up. “I’m sorry but I must be off to attend matters of state. We are living in dangerous times and my presence is needed elsewhere. Please excuse me; I will be back for dinner.”

  It wasn’t that long before another knock came on the door and a messenger appeared with a note to Casca. Intrigued, the eternal mercenary took it and read it. He was summoned to attend an important meeting. “I’ve been called away. I’ll return as soon as possible.” He looked at Greta. “I’ll bring you up to date as soon as I can.”

  He was escorted by two waiting guards outside the chamber, and was shown through a door down two corridors. Here was a smaller chamber, and at the back, stood looking thoughtfully at his shoes, was the exarch. As soon as the door shut, he looked up. “Alright, Casca, you’re here for Helmichis and Rosamunde.”

  “Not hard to work that one out, exarch. I want their livers on a spike.”

  The imperial officer grinned briefly. “Just the kind of answer I was expecting. So why should I give them to you? They’re useful tools for the empire against the Lombards.”

  “Pah! I don’t give a shit about that. I’m here for revenge, pure and simple. They killed the man I was working for, King Alboin, and the new king gave me the all-clear to go find and take care of them. I want them and I’ll have them. Both.”

  “I could offer you the bed chamberlain and leave it at that.”

  Casca snorted. “Oh come on! You’ve got the Lombard treasury. And what further use could Helmichis serve? The Lombards hate him; none of the dukes voted for him. He’s a regicide and if I wasn’t sent here, then there would have been someone else. Rosamunde isn’t liked either. They still see her as a Gepid, and the fact she was involved in the murder counts against her.”

  The exarch sucked on his teeth. “She’s still royalty. Killing one of them is not seen in a favorable light, and no matter how much the Lombards hate her, if we killed her here then it would be another excuse to attack us. We’re trying to come to a truce, but any negotiations would fail if we killed the former king’s widow.” He sighed and walked a few steps. “I have to maintain my official position here, especially if I’m to give you as much protection and assistance as I can. I’m caught between my two roles. More than that, I cannot possibly risk the future of my wife and children. I must be seen to do the right thing for the empire.”

  He chewed on his lower lip. “But I have something you might be interested in. I know the precise whereabouts of Narses.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Casca stared at his adoptive son-in-law. “What? That old bastard? Tell me, where is he?”

  “Not so fast, Casca. We need to agree on a deal first.”

  “Damn you! Alright, let’s hear it.”

  The exarch waved one hand in the air. “I’ll give you Peredeo, and let you know where Narses is, if you agree to leave Helmichis and Rosamunde to me.”

  Casca grimaced. “I don’t like it.”

  “Take it or leave. Those are my terms.”

  Casca swore, thumped the desk, then sighed. “Oh, all right. You got a deal, damn you.” Narses meant more to him than Helmichis and Rosamunde. They shook hands. “So when do I get the bed chamberlain, and where is Narses?”

  “You’ll have the first tonight. I’ll give you details in a moment. Narses is in Naples.”

  “I know that! Where about precisely?”

  “You’ll be given that later. Peredeo is your concern at the moment. He takes a nightly walk around the roof, guarded by my men. You’ll be allowed access onto the roof and the guards won’t lift a finger.”

  “Alright. You drive a hard bargain, you know.”

  The exarch smiled thinly. “In my position, I have to. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Helmichis and Rosamunde get what they deserve, but I won’t let you near them. We’d be blamed for their deaths and I can’t let the world think we had anything to do with that.”

  Casca had to let that one go. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with the exarch and he didn’t want to end up in opposition to the people he regarded as being the closest thing to a family he had.

  Dinner was, as expected, a formal affair. Other senior members of the imperial hierarchy were present and Casca and Greta were done up in borrowed clothing like a couple of theater characters, or so he said. Casca only had half an ear to conversation, and had warned Greta that he would be called away sometime during the night to deal with Peredeo.

  After the food had been eaten or taken away, and small talk was beginning, Casca was beckoned by the exarch to go to a curtained alcove at the back of the chamber. Behind the curtain was a narrow passageway that ended in a door, guarded. The door was barred from the inside. As Casca approached, the guard unbarred the door and passed him a sword. Passing out into the cooler air of outside he found himself on a narrow walkway high above the streets of Ravenna.

  To the right was a small set of steps up onto a raised walkway that was flanked by shrubs, to give the illusion of being in the countryside. Up here the air was fresh and invigorating, up out of the heat of the streets. A sea breeze blew through his hair and he smelt the tang of salt water. He breathed in deeply, then looked along the walkway.

  At the far end was a figure, leaning on a rail, peering into the distance, his back to Casca. The eternal mercenary strode forward purposefully. It may be cold-blooded murder, but then Peredeo had done the same to his king. Those who live by the sword…

  When he was ten feet away the man turned, sensing Casca’s presence. Casca recognized him as the former bed chamberlain alright. He’d been in the company of the king and his entourage enough to be certain. Peredeo though didn’t know who Casca was, since the big beard the scarred mercenary had worn for over tw
enty years was now gone. It was also semi-dark which made it even more difficult.

  The Lombard looked at the bared sword and the body language of Casca and tensed. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “Bringing an injustice to account, chamberlain. Murder is to be met with murder.”

  Peredeo swallowed and pressed back against the rail. No escape that way – unless dropping fifty feet to stone paving was an escape. It was in a manner of speaking. Permanently.

  “No! I didn’t kill the king! It was Helmichis, I swear! He made me help him! Please – please spare me! I’ll do anything you want.”

  Casca stepped forward. “I only ask one thing of you, in that case.”

  “Yes! Yes, what is it?”

  “That you die,” and sank the blade deep into the regicide’s chest, pinning him to the rail. He jerked the sword free angrily and watched dispassionately as the body of the murderer fell to the walkway.

  He turned, leaving the corpse to be cleaned up by the guards, and threw the sword aside into the shrubs before returning to the dining chamber.

  They left Ravenna three days later. A group of soldiers provided the escort for Verinus, Casca and Greta. The exarch said his farewells, embracing Casca and kissing Greta. “I may never see you again, Casca, but remember you’ll always be in our thoughts.”

  Casca nodded, then turned to Delia. She was tearful, but bit back her sorrow. “Goodbye, Casca,” she said huskily, “be safe wherever you may go. Always know that we’ll be watching over you.”

  He smiled. “That’s comforting to know,” but he wondered why she would suddenly burst out with a religious metaphor. “You’ll always be in my thoughts, all of you. Just steer clear of those Brotherhood bastards.”

  “Fear not, we’ll make sure they do not know about us.” They kissed.

  Farewells were said to Petronus and Atalantia, then they rode away in a long line. The exarch was sending men he badly needed here down south to try to reinforce a deteriorating situation. Sometimes he wondered if Constantinople even cared about Italy.

  The group rode out of Ravenna down the via Flaminia, the old Roman road that ran down the east coast of Italy. It was still in reasonable condition, and they made good progress. Casca wondered what the exarch would do with Helmichis and Rosamunde. It was a tricky situation. To keep them there would attract the enmity of the Lombards who wanted both dead, but to kill both would enrage the enemies of the Lombards, who were the Franks. The empire seemed to have a no-win situation on their hands.

  The road hugged the coast and here the Lombards hadn’t come. They stayed in some of the old classic Roman towns and cities such as Ariminum and Ancona, and after seven days they got to a small place called Teanum Apulum, sited on the crossroads of routes that led south-east, north-west, east, west and south. It was a huge junction of routes and in times gone by had been a major trade route meeting point.

  Verinus waved his men on eastwards. “This is where we part company,” he said. “It’s been a privilege travelling with you both,” he said gallantly, even though all of them knew Greta was merely Casca’s companion. “But now I must go to my new posting and a future career. I will try to keep Barium free from the Lombards. The empire needs the port to remain in our hands if we are to maintain links with Greece. As for you,” he reached into his saddle bag and passed Casca a sheaf of rolled-up sealed papers, kept in place by a silver holder. “Read this when you rest tonight. The road to the south over there leads towards Naples. Be wary though, the hills are rife with bandits and Lombards.”

  “Yes, we’re aware of this. Thank you for this, Verinus, and look after yourself.”

  The officer smiled, nodded, then turned his steed around to follow the line of soldiers riding into the distance. “Live long, Casca!” he said, then galloped off.

  Casca looked at Greta. “Well, it’s the two of us once more. We’ll have to be on our guard against everyone; the imperials, Lombards, Brotherhood, bandits. All are enemies now.”

  Greta smiled wryly. “You do like to make things a challenge, don’t you?”

  “Life gets boring otherwise,” he replied, and turned his steed’s head to the south. The land was flat and the horizon spread far in either direction. It was August and the sky was a clear blue as far as the eye could see. To the right of the road there were olive trees, and the land to the left was clearly farmland.

  They rode on gently, taking their time. They had provisions for a few days and both of them were skilled in hunting and foraging. After the best part of the day, they saw a long line of a ridge growing before them. Up ahead was a farm and there were some outbuildings.

  Tying their mounts to a stand of trees and hobbling them, they sneaked into a barn as the night was falling and snuggled up in the freshly-cut hay. Casca unrolled the papers and peered at them. The night came before he could read it all and he cursed, putting it away.

  “Now what are you going to do?” Greta asked, lying in the hay, her top undone, looking up at him alluringly.

  “Well, funny you should say that…”

  She giggled and held out her arms.

  The next morning they ate quickly and Casca looked at the papers again. “Ah, good old Verinus, he’s given us an imperial pass into Naples. That’ll make things much easier. Now let’s see… what have we here?” he peered at a map of a building in one hand. “Close to the harbor, not a surprise, that slimy piece of offal would want a place easily served by supplies and news.”

  “How old is he? You said he was pretty old before.”

  “Mmm. I think around ninety, now.”

  Greta looked troubled. “Would you really kill a ninety-year-old man?”

  Casca sighed and put the papers down. “Its not his age that’s the question, Greta, its what he is and what he has done. He’s done great evil in his time, and he was partly responsible for killing my six-year old son and my woman at the time. He’s responsible for more suffering and deaths than those two, of course, and he’s a member of an organization that knows no pity, no remorse, no mercy. No matter he’s ninety now; he’s still capable of issuing orders that brings misery and suffering to innocents. He simply has to die.”

  “I don’t think I could do it, Casca,” she said.

  “If you listened to him for just a minute, then you’d understand. Leave him to me; it’s the others with him I think you ought to worry about. They’re trained killers and wouldn’t hesitate to cut your head off.”

  They resumed their journey. The sky was darker that day, glowering and oppressive. They retrieved the horses which hadn’t gone far and they rode up the ridge, the road bending to and fro a few times before straightening out. The flat plains were left behind and in the distance they could see the peaks of the Apennines.

  The town of Lucera was reached, the people in an anxious state of mind. There was no visible protection and they worried in case the Lombards would come. Casca reassured them he’d seen nobody since parting with the imperial column he’d ridden from Ravenna with.

  They got a few more provisions and rode on south to the old village of Aecae which sat astride the via Traiana. They turned right and now headed straight for the hills. It was here they first encountered the rebel Lombards, a group of ten who were on foot and grouped by the roadside. They were having fun at the expense of a famer and his woman, and the woman was spreadeagled underneath a grunting, sweating tribesman. The farmer was being forced to watch.

  “Want to spend an enjoyable afternoon with these gentlemen?” Casca asked.

  “I want to cut their balls off,” Greta snarled.

  “Good idea. No prisoners,” he said, jumping off his horse and enjoying the feel of his sword in his hand.

  Greta got off too, less flamboyantly, but she had her axe in her hand and shield ready and came walking up on the other side of the road. The Lombards stopped their fun and looked at the two approaching figures. The one pushing into the crying woman snarled at his comrades to keep the newcomers busy until he’d finishe
d his fun.

  The one holding the farmer by the neck hit the unfortunate on the head hard enough to knock him out, and then walked out into the middle of the road, his axe swinging lazily in the air. Three had spears and they thrust them forward in a threatening manner.

  “Who are you?” one of the Lombards demanded.

  “Casca, lately advisor to the late king Alboin. You naughty boys need a lesson in social graces.”

  “Why don’t you fuck off?”

  “Because I’m going to kill you, you cocksucker.”

  The Lombard roared in fury and ran at Casca, the signal for his comrades to do so, too. Five went for Casca, four for Greta. “Odin!” Casca roared and swept his shield in an arc, knocking the axe blow aside. He planted his right foot firmly on the ground and swung his sword up under the Lombard’s shield and into his gut, slicing it open and spilling his intestines out. He span, going low. Instinct.

  A spear meant for his chest passed overhead, and Casca thrust up, his sword impaling the second through the gut and into the chest cavity. The spearman howled, then choked as blood spurted up through his windpipe and out of his mouth.

  Pull, turn, shield out. A crash of a blade on his shield gave him an instinctive sense where his next enemy was and his sword came down violently, cutting the Lombard’s arm off just above the elbow. He screamed and staggered off to one side, blood spilling out in an arc.

  Two to face. One spearman, one swordsman. The spearman tried to gut Casca but he was having none of it. Slash, block. The swordsman was a pain but Casca got the better of him and left him sinking to his knees, blood staining his leather armored tunic. The spearman desperately tried to stick Casca but missed and he got the entire length of Casca’s sword through his chest.

  Greta meanwhile hit the first on the head with her axe and blocked off the second with her shield. As the first sank to the ground, his brains dribbling out, the second came at her again, his sword swinging hard. He prevented the other two from getting a clear strike and Greta took advantage by slamming her shield into his face and then sinking the blade of her axe into his thigh. He screamed in agony and staggered away, falling heavily into the dusty soil.