by Tony Roberts
Suddenly a figure burst out onto the path, a wild-eyed fur clad man. His sword was raised across his face and it was a few seconds before he realized Casca was there. He swung desperately at Casca’s head but the Eternal Mercenary was waiting for that. He blocked, then rammed the spear into his gut. The man went down screaming and to shut him up Casca drove the point of his sword into his throat as he lay at his feet. The screaming switched to a gurgling sound and then there was silence.
Gunthar appeared and lowered his sword. “It’s alright,” he shouted, “the chief got him.”
Casca wiped his blade. He liked the term ‘chief’. So Germanic.
“That’s the lot,” Gunthar said smugly, “except for the women.”
“Women?” Casca asked, looking at the big German in surprise.
“Come and see,” Gunthar said, grinning. He led Casca through a couple of twisting paths, then through what had clearly been a gate disguised as a bush as it was covered in fresh branches and leaves. Beyond was a clearing with man-made shelters arranged in a half circle and a fire pit dug in the center. The entrances to all the shelters had been torn aside and a group of six women were huddled together close to the pit, looking frightened. They were a mixture of brunettes, blondes and black haired women, their ages ranging from teenage to thirties, and their appearance similar in that they had once worn good quality clothing but which now had been reduced to a soiled and torn condition, much repaired.
“So what do we do with them?” Mattias demanded, standing over the corpse of a man he’d just slain.
Casca examined the six women. One or two stared back at him defiantly, the rest bowed their heads and wept. “Your men?” he said to one of the two defiant ones.
The woman scowled and spat at him. Casca brushed the spittle off his tunic and nodded. “Your men.”
“Barbarian filth,” the woman snarled. “God will punish you for your sins.”
Casca smiled briefly. “I think not, woman. Why are you not in the town nearby?”
“What’s that to you? You should know anyway! Your tribe threw us out in the winter when you came over the Rhine. We’ve nowhere to live! Now you’ve killed our menfolk!”
“I’m sorry but they attacked us.”
“Animals!”
Casca turned away. They could either leave the women there or take them to the town. Neither was what he really wanted. Leaving them to their fate here was cruel with no protection, and there was a huge risk in taking them as there was no guarantee they wouldn’t try to betray them or even get revenge for their men being slaughtered. He was aware that everyone was waiting for him to make a decision.
“Well if you’re not going to say anything, I think I’ll take one of these bitches into that shelter there and hump her senseless,” Gunthar announced, loosening his belt.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Casca snapped. He stood facing the huge German, staring at him hard.
Gunthar paused for a moment, then dropped his hands to his sides and balled his fists. “Then you’re going to have to stop me, aren’t you?”
Casca sighed, but slowly unfastened his belt and passed his sword to Mattias. “So it would seem, Gunthar. About time you and I sorted this out, isn’t it?”
Mattias grinned widely. “He’s going to wipe your arsch all over this clearing, you great fat overstuffed schwein,” he gleefully informed Gunthar.
“Huh, so you hope. After I’ve shoved this little Roman scheisskopf’s head up his own back end, I’ll finish off our little issue. Maybe I’ll ram your head up his arsch, hein?”
Mattias chuckled. He’d experienced Casca’s unarmed abilities and had little faith in Gunthar coping. Casca walked to one side, away from the group of women and the other mercenaries, flexing and loosening his arm muscles. Memories of beating the massive Glam on the banks of the Rhine briefly crossed his mind, then passed. That was then, this was now.
Gunthar cracked his knuckles and drove his own sword into the earth, point first, burying it deep so that none of the others would be able to pull it forth without help. He strode confidently forward, closing on Casca. He was, after all, a good head and a half taller and much wider than the Roman, even one with muscles bigger than he’d seen before on any of their kind. It should be easy, once he got hold of the silly shit and buried him head first into the ground. Then perhaps the rest would give him due respect and stop treating him like a brainless oaf.
Gerontius looked on with arms folded; to him this was a waste of time. Damned mercenaries, they ought to be working together to make this job a success. Flavius nervously played with the hilt of his sword, hoping Casca won, although it didn’t look likely. Gunthar would be a terrible leader and if he won, then it was likely the mission would fall apart and if that was the case, he’d have no choice but to quit and try to get back to Massilia.
Wulfila sat on a grassy bank and chewed on an apple he’d found. This should be entertaining and it was about time something happened here that interested him. So far it had been mostly a boring trip. Manneric stood slightly apart, saying nothing as was usual, but showing no sign of interest. He was, however, fascinated by the thought of two clearly mis-matched people going to battle against one another.
Casca crouched lower, his hands wide. The teachings of Shiu Lao-Tze filled his mind. Use the enemy’s strength against him. He waited. Gunthar sneered. “Fancy stance. It won’t save you, Roman.”
Casca merely concentrated on the eyes. It would give him a few moments’ notice of an attack. Gunthar made a decision. With a roar he pounded forward, closing the ten feet in three strides, his hands reaching for Casca’s neck.
He wasn’t there. Suddenly he had moved, and two hands grabbed his left arm and swung him on his way, the momentum of his charge adding to the force of the throw. There came a crash as Gunthar struck the ground, and Casca was slowly turning a half circle to face the red-faced German.
Gunthar grunted, getting to his feet, his eyes narrowed. So the Roman could move fast? No matter, the next attack wouldn’t give him the chance. He laughed, forcing the sound out, even though he didn’t feel much like laughing. He dusted himself down. “Nice trick. Now fight me like a man.”
“Do your worst, lard-guts,” Casca replied. “Stop showing everyone here what a useless hunk of blubber you are.”
“What?” Gunthar’s eyes bulged and he puffed himself up in disbelief. “You have insulted me for the last time, Roman. Fuck this mission; after pulling your greasy body apart I’m going to go back to Massilia and tell this Scarnio to stick his daughter up his arsch!”
Casca sneered. With another roar of outrage, Gunthar came again, but he checked just as he reached Casca, seeing the Roman’s hands move, and then came again, aiming to knock the smaller man off his feet in order to pound him to a pulp. Casca dropped onto his back, feet tucked, and planted them onto Gunthar’s chest as he fell forward towards Casca’s. The rolling motion gave Casca the impetus to propel Gunthar over him and through the air for eight feet. He crashed to the ground in an untidy heap, arms and legs splayed.
Casca rolled to his feet swiftly. Gunthar lay dazed for a moment, then planted his hands underneath him and prized himself up off the ground, spitting earth from his mouth. He was growling continuously. Casca wasn’t entirely sure, but it sounded like “youfuckingbastardwhoresonI’mgonnakillyouafuckinghundredtimesover.” Or something along those lines at least.
His face splattered in dirt, the Alemanni attacked again, legs kicking viciously. Casca leaped aside and landed on his left foot, swung his right round and hammered it into Gunthar’s chest. The German staggered back a few steps, half winded. Casca came at him. Gunthar swung a punch wildly, hoping to knock Casca’s brains out, but even as he went for him, he half expected to miss.
And he did. His fist went through thin air and even before he could bring it back, Casca jabbed hard into the German’s jaw, then his gut. In a reflex Gunthar swung both arms inwards, trying to trap Casca in a hug, but the Eternal Mercena
ry had ducked. With a roar Gunthar lashed out with his foot, and found it caught. With a savage pull Casca straightened and hauled hard on the foot, throwing Gunthar off balance and he landed hard on his back.
Casca was astride him in seconds, his knees clamped against his ribs. Two hands closed against his skull and began to squeeze. Gunthar struggled but was held fast. He’d never been in such an inhuman grip, but he was not to know those hands had been shaped by decades as a rower on a slave galley. It had given him a grip unequaled anywhere.
Gunthar squirmed but knew his skull was going to collapse. He tried to force Casca off him but those knees were stopping him inhaling and no oxygen was getting into his system. He was weakening. He slapped the ground hard repeatedly, pleading at the determined looking Roman for mercy with his eyes.
Casca stopped, then slid off Gunthar. He stood over him, looking down at the panting man. “You swear fealty to me, Gunthar of the Alemanni tribe?”
“Aye, lord,” Gunthar breathed, nodding. “I do.”
Casca placed his foot above Gunthar’s head. The German took it and placed it on his forehead. After a few moments Casca stepped back and allowed Gunthar to rise to his feet. “I am chieftain of this warband, Gunthar, don’t ever forget that.”
“I won’t, lord.” Gunthar shook his head and wandered in a daze back to his sword, wondering just how he’d been bested. The fact was that he had been beaten, and he acknowledged the other’s superior fighting ability, not only with his fists, but with weapons too. A formidable man. Lucky the rest of the Romans were not like this, or the tribes would never have invaded their empire.
Casca buckled is belt back on, looking Mattias in the eyes. “You won’t get any more trouble from him now, Mattias. Back off him, right?”
Mattias bowed. “You’re the chief.”
“Too right I am,” Casca said, then slapped him on the back. He wandered towards the women, all staring at him with fear. The way he’d easily beaten that giant…. One or two of them were trembling in not only fear, but sexual excitement. They recognized the strength and leadership of this man and despite themselves, would readily couple with him if he demanded they submit to him at that moment.
Gerontius stepped aside warily, respect in his eyes. This Longinus would need to be watched carefully. There was more to him than what met the eye.
“You have two choices,” Casca addressed the six women. “We are on our way to the Rhine frontier. You can come with us to the town across the river, and we will leave you there, or you can go along the Dubis back downstream to one of the towns back that way. We can’t take you with us.”
“Back to Epamanduodurum?” the oldest of the women exclaimed and looked at the others dubiously.
“Is that what it’s called? That’s a mouthful,” Casca stated. “Let’s call it Epamand for short. So, yes or no?”
“What choice have we got?” the oldest of the women snapped. “Leave us out here alone we’re prey to the wolves or any band of marauders who come along – and there’s plenty of them, I can assure you! We’ll return to Epamand but it’s full of people like him,” she pointed at Gunthar. “If it means survival we’ll have to submit to them. God damn their eyes.”
“So be it,” Casca nodded, pleased they had gotten that problem sorted out. He looked the six women over carefully. Three were in their teens. One was a little older and the other two were in their thirties. One was fairly generous in her proportions and weeping – Casca guessed her husband had just died – while the other, the one who was speaking to him, was quite buxom but athletic looking and had her hair long down her back under a head scarf. This was a sign of being single. Perhaps she had been married but widowed when the Alemanni had taken Epamand six months previously. That would explain her bitterness.
“Search the shelters for anything useful, then let’s get on with things. I don’t want to hang around here any longer than necessary. The weather looks like it’s going to get worse.” Casca motioned for Flavius to look after the women while the other five ransacked the shelters. Flavius looked piqued, so Casca ambled up to him.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“I’m given the crap jobs, sir,” Flavius complained.
“That’s because I don’t trust you looking in those shelters. If you find alcohol you’ll probably throw it down your gullet and become drunk. Once we finish this job you can drink yourself senseless as much as you like, but not while you’re in my group. Got it?”
“I’m not that bad, sir,” Flavius said sharply.
Casca held his gaze and Flavius looked away. “You’ve gotten drunk at every opportunity since I’ve met you. Whatever hell you’re heading for at the bottom of a jar can wait until we get back to Scarnio. Until then you’re off the drink. And furthermore, until you prove to me you can be trusted, I’m not going to give you any job out of my sight.”
Flavius pulled a sour face. “I want to be part of the team again.”
“Then start acting like someone I can trust out of my sight. I’ve got enough with keeping an eye on the others. I thought I could trust you which was why I made you my second in command, but your drinking ruined that.”
“Yes sir,” Flavius said with a downcast look.
Casca paused, then leaned towards him. “Part of your problem may well be connected to losing that battle in Italy. Get over it; I’ve lost far more than you ever will in your life. Maybe with us you can earn yourself redemption; you need to recover your battle confidence. Next fight we have prove to me you can fight like a bastard, and I may give you more responsibility. It’s up to you.”
Flavius nodded, and Casca returned to the edge of the clearing. The sky was darkening and clouds were racing hard across from one side of the valley to the other. It wouldn’t be long before it began to rain. The thought soured him. His mood was heavy enough without having to suffer the cold, wet and muddy conditions they’d most likely meet up ahead.
They soon set off, and Casca noticed that a couple of the men were more than solicitous towards the younger women, helping them with their belongings. He shook his head. They’d best be careful. Gunthar was up ahead on point and Manneric bringing up drag. Flavius and Wulfila were chatting to a couple of the teenage girls, holding their bundles, while Mattias and Gerontius kept a more professional stance, watching the undergrowth as they went on their way through the valley.
After a while Gerontius came up to Casca. “You trust that Alemanni tribesman, sir?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“We’re entering Alemanni controlled territory. The town up ahead is under their rule. What makes you think he won’t give us away given half a chance?”
“He gave his oath of allegiance to me. That counts for a lot.”
Gerontius scowled. “If he sticks to you rather than his own people, that makes him a traitor. I don’t think I’d trust a traitor. A traitor is as likely to stab you in the back as his own people.”
Casca glanced up ahead where the large figure of Gunthar could be seen brushing aside a couple of shrubs. “And what of you? From my point of view you’re a traitor too. And Flavius. I’m a Roman supporting the legitimate regime, and you and Flavius belong to a rebel faction. We could well end up fighting each other if we returned to our respective armies.”
“You’d still support that fool Honorius?”
“Like it or not – just because the current emperor is a fool that doesn’t justify betraying the empire. It weakens Rome. Look at what’s become of the empire. That’s down to usurpers challenging for the throne, turning Roman against Roman, killing men of the legions, leaving our defenses wide open for any invader to take advantage.”
“That’s far too simplistic, Longinus. You have no grasp of the wider political picture,” Gerontius admonished Casca.
“Perhaps, but don’t go bleating about him being a traitor when you’re one yourself. I know the tribal loyalties and just how much an Oath means to them. After what he did back there, I trust him now more th
an I do you. Now get back to your place.”
Gerontius sneered. “It may come down to us fighting each other for a successful conclusion of this mission, Longinus. If so, don’t expect any mercy from me.”
“Nor from me, Gerontius.”
Casca strode on, leaving the other Roman looking at his back with distaste. Then he shook himself, as if shedding an unpleasant thought and made his way back to his guard position.
CHAPTER TWELVE
They lay flat on their stomachs on the grassy ridge above the town of Epamanduodurum, studying it as the light of day faded. The river snaked through the valley below, changing direction from the north-east to the south-east just after it passed out of the town. Off to the right the mountains rose high, lost in the gloom and the scudding clouds that raced across the darkening sky, laden with rain, or even worse, hail and sleet.
The road from Cabillonium appeared from round the shoulder of the ridge they were on, and wriggled across the river valley to the town, then entered it and ran straight through the center of the town. It crossed the Dubis and then passed out of the town via a gatehouse and vanished in a long, wide valley straight ahead from the view that Casca and his comrades had.
“That’s the road we want,” Casca confirmed. “But we’ve got to get through that lot first,” he added, indicating the people milling in and around the town. Even from the distance they were at, it was plain that these were tribesmen and their families, children too. The Alemanni had crossed the Rhine with everything they had and intended to stay. This was no temporary raid; it was a migration.
There were guards, inevitably, and they looked more formidable than the ones they had encountered in Lugdunum. They had spears, true, but they also had long swords in their belts and were armored in chainmail. Clearly they had raided or stolen Roman army stores somewhere.
The town had a low stone wall, topped by a walkway and ramparts, and dotted along this were small guard towers at irregular intervals. There were three visible gates. The first, below where they were hid, lay to the south west, where the road on the near side of the river entered the town. There was one on the other side of the river to the north-east, and a third gate to the south-east, off to the right.
