by Barry Sadler
Rasheed grinned, his thin face sweaty, from the self-control he'd inflicted on himself in this moment of triumph. He left the raised dais and walked to Casca, the sound of his minister's robes rustling over the cold stones. He stopped in front of the Roman, snapped his fingers, and Casca's escort pinned his arms to his side. Rasheed took from the folds of his sleeves a long, thin razor sharp dagger and held it high for all to see. Slowly, carefully, he slit the bindings that held Casca's coat of chain mail together and exposed the bare chest beneath. As a surgeon would, he laid the point of the knife on Casca's flesh. The metal of the polished blade felt like ice to him
The Mobed and one of his acolytes joined Rasheed to witness whatever it was that was to take place. The priest had the look of the fanatic about him, a full white beard and burning eyes that were strangers to compassion or mercy.
Rasheed forced the point into the flesh of Casca's bare chest. Slowly it sunk in until blood flowed freely. Casca said nothing nor did he make any expression of pain. He had felt pain a hundred times worse than that pinprick.
Rasheed then angled the edge of the blade downward slightly and began to draw the steel across his chest laying it open, a cut several inches long and about a half inch deep.
Rasheed knew what would happen, as did Casca. Blood flowed freely for a moment down into the metal links of chain mail. Rasheed removed the knife from the wound. The bleeding had already stopped and the blood was clotted and dark.
Rasheed called for a basin of water. It was brought to him along with a clean white rag. The Vizier soaked the rag in the fluid and then washed the blood from Casca's chest, cleansing away the new scab from the cut. Casca closed his eyes. He knew what was going to happen.
The Mobed mobedan and his assistant examined the spot where Rasheed had sliced into his chest. The Mobedan let out a low hissing sound between his teeth. The acolyte moved a brazier closer to them. The Mobedan looked again, then backed away, making a sign to ward off evil.
The Mobed mobedan cried out, his voice thin, and wavering in barely controllable rage and hate, "Evil... Evil!"
The cut was already closed and turning pink, as both Casca and Rasheed knew it would. Shapur himself stepped forth to examine the evidence.
Venom dripped from his words. "Foul beast of darkness. You tried to trick me, but thanks to the wisdom and learning of Rasheed, he knew how to recognize the evil within you. You have proven your guilt. Let the priests make their judgment."
Casca said nothing. The shock of the rapid change of his circumstances had left him feeling lightheaded and numb. There was nothing he could do.
The priests conferred for a short moment and spoke into the ear of the King.
Shapur nodded his head in agreement and turned to the entire assembly to pronounce Casca's sentence.
"There is only one way that true evil can be destroyed, and that is by fire. You shall burn beast! Burn! And your ashes shall be spread into the wind. Take him! Let the judgment be carried out this very day, that he may have no time in which to make additional charms of evil against us. Burn him, Burn him, and do it now!"
Shapur returned to his throne and sat upon it, his hand pointing with the bared sword.
"I have spoken. Let it be done...."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Casca was stunned by this unexpected turn of events. His mind hadn't really had time to register what had happened to him. Before he could voice any protest, he was surrounded by members of Shapur's Immortals, their lances aimed at his chest to restrain him while being chained, both hand and foot. A rope was tied about his neck and he was led from the hall. An escort of fifty Immortals were his companions as they left the palace and began the long walk to the square.
The reality of his sentence was beginning to register. Burn! I am to be burned. He had seen burnings in many places. He'd always thought that it was the most horrible of deaths. To be thrown to the beasts was bad enough, but at least it was quick and no comparison to the searing flames.
When they entered the streets, a drum began to beat, calling the people of the city forth to witness what was to be done. A court scribe, carrying the scroll that listed his offenses against the people, now joined their procession. He called out loud these offenses to the people as they marched forward to the place of execution.
Step by terrible step, he went on, the chains dragging at his ankles as he walked. The mob gathered, the streets filled with leering faces, faces that mocked him and spat at him. Some were filled with expressions of religious fervor at seeing a heathen go to his just reward. Others bore the look of patriots who wanted this traitor punished for betraying their king. There were a few whose faces had the look of sexual excitement in their eyes, glassy and wet lipped. They were going to the burning to enjoy another's pain and suffering. He knew that they all, in their own ways, wanted him dead and individual motives didn't matter.
The abuse, filth, and spit being heaped on him as he stumbled his way forward, was familiar. Where had he seen the likes of this before? It came to him suddenly, and he thought of the irony of it. He tried to laugh, only to have it choked off by a jerk on his leash. Jesus! They'd done this same thing to Jesus as he walked to his crucifixion at Golgotha.
Is this to be my crucifixion? Jesus said that I must live until we meet again. Is He in the crowd somewhere, watching and waiting? Will he come forth just before they set the flames?
It was nearly three miles to the square reserved for special occasions such as this, occasions like festivals, parades, and state executions. A long three miles.
The crowd continued to grow as they walked, until finally becoming one giant, heaving organism. No individual faces now, but a mass mind that swarmed around him and his escort. A rock struck the side of his head and glanced off to hit the shoulder of the escort commander. The commander put an immediate end to the rock throwing when he himself was hit. He bellowed out that all were to keep their distance. If anyone threw anything they would find their own heads on the road. This was, he said, by the command of the Great King. The torment eased; the only things being thrown at him now were invectives and curses.
The day was warming up as the sun rose. It was going to be a beautiful day, a fine day for any kind of celebration.
Casca didn't know it, but he was not to be alone in his suffering this day. Before he'd been summoned to the court, riders had gone forth across the Empire, carrying with them Shapur's written command. All that had served too closely with the Roman, or were suspected of loyalty to him, were to be put to the sword. This also had provided Rasheed the opportunity to include a few names of his enemies. Although he knew that they had never had any dealings with Casca, the opportunity to eliminate them was too good to pass up.
As for the Roman's woman, she was of no importance and would merely be driven from their domain back to her own savage lands in Armenia. Shapur also used the event to rid himself of those he thought might prove troublesome in the future. It was a perfect pretext. For the people would have no sympathy for treason or those that followed the ways of Ahriman. But, Shapur would have to admit, he had been stunned when Rasheed had made the cut on Casca's chest. The Roman was surely aligned with the spirits of the world. How else could he have healed the wound before their eyes, unless through sorcery? Rasheed, Shapur thought. That sly one. He had found out the Roman's secret and had been correct in his suspicions. Shapur was more than relieved that Casca had proved to be evil. It made all his decisions and actions proper and just.
Shapur and his court arrived at the site of the upcoming execution in advance of Casca. There, they took their ease beneath covered awnings and waited for the escort to appear with the condemned prisoner.
They had arrived! The place of death! Casca stumbled to his knees and was jerked back up by a strong, determined tug at his leash, strangling him for a moment. They pushed and prodded him to the center of the square. Everyone in the city had come to witness his punishment. The crowd was being held back by a line of soldiers, their s
pears held horizontally in front of them, forming a human barrier. Thirty thousand pairs of eyes watched his every move. Many of them were making signs to ward off the evil he carried with him. Some were touching lucky charms or talismans.
They stopped. The chains on him were growing hot from the rays of the now midday sun, beating down on him relentlessly. Sweat ran freely from him to drop on the ground. His mouth was dry, as if it had been stuffed with cotton. He winced as he saw the stake directly before him. It sat atop a newly constructed platform, six or seven feet above the ground. The instrument of his death! But, he thought, would it be his death? Perhaps even the curse on me cannot withstand being turned into ashes and scattered to the winds. Surely, not even the power of The Jew, Jesus, can reconstruct my body after such a thing is done. If that is the case, then maybe it will be worth it. Perhaps now I can stop my wanderings.
Shapur rose from his chair beneath the purple awning and spoke. Silence settled immediately over the crowd. As the King spoke, Casca could see that slaves were already beginning to pile bundles of dried wood around the base of the stake, shivering in spite of the heat of the day. Shapur's voice rose over the square as the audience hushed.
"Citizens of Persia, hear me. You have gathered here this day to witness justice being done to one who has been a traitor to me. One who has returned the honor and favor I have shown him by spreading the seeds of dissension and sedition. His perfidy and treason have been proven, as well as his worship of, the dark forces of Ahriman as witnessed by your priests and holy men. He is the tool of Rome and the minions of darkness, sent to destroy all that we have labored to build and to allow the powers of the dark to come into our lands again." Shapur was excited and really getting into his stride now.
"And now, my people, his punishment has been set. The only way to destroy true evil is by the purification of fire. The light of the sun is pure and evil shrinks from its radiance. Now, we shall burn the evil from this traitor in our midst. This is my word, this is my law, and so it shall be!"
Casca was dragged without further ceremony to the steps leading up to the burning stake of green wood. The chains on his wrists were used to suspend his body from a spike set in the timber above his head. His arms were stretched out until it felt as if they would be pulled from their sockets at the shoulder. Only his toes reached the stones of the platform. The chains around his ankles were secured to the post to prevent him from kicking away any of the burning faggots when they were lit.
Rasheed asked for permission to speak to Casca before the flames were lit. Reluctantly, it was granted by Shapur. When he reached Casca's side, slaves were already soaking the bundles of dried wood with oil. Priests were walking the perimeter of the compound, waving incense braziers and chanting to drive away any evil that was still present.
Rasheed stepped close to Casca's face, looking straight into his eyes. So that the slaves could not understand, he spoke in Latin.
"Greetings, spawn of Baal. The blessings of the Brotherhood be with you this day. Surely and finally, you are about to receive just punishment for your sins against The Living God. I wanted you to know who it is who's responsible for the agony you are about to experience here at the stake. I only wish that it could last for many days." Hatred dripped from his words; his eyes narrowed and his face flushed with passion.
"Even this, as compared to what you did to our Lamb, is not adequate punishment, but it was the best I could do on such short notice. I leave you now to your fate." He came closer to Casca's face and spat in it.
"Burn, heretic. Burn!"
The faggots were lit by a slave as Rasheed descended, and the first tendrils of dark oily smoke began to rise from the wood at his feet.
Rasheed returned to his seat beside Shapur, whispering in the King's ear:
"I tried to give him a chance to confess his sins and to ask for mercy of Ahura mazda. But, Lord, he refused it and mocked you and our God. He said that the darkness would come and that he rejoiced in the evil he had done. He said his one regret was that he'd never had the opportunity to kill you."
Shapur's face turned beet red with anger as he spoke through clenched lips. "Then it is well that the heretic perishes in this manner."
The first tongues of flame licked at Casca's feet and legs, singeing the hairs. He bit back a yelp of pain at the touch of them. This was the beginning. He knew now that the pain would grow in earnest as the fire grew in size.
The flames reached up, licking at him, touching, caressing, then searing. Smoke rose in columns to swirl around the writhing figure tied to the post. He screamed as the fires ate through the surface layer of the skin of his legs and charred the raw tender meat beneath. The pain grew by degrees of agony until he thought he would lose his mind before the fires claimed him entirely.
A long tongue of oily fire slid up the side of his chest to his face and Casca felt the hair on his head ignite. He beat his head against the post, trying desperately to knock himself unconscious, anything to escape the hungry flames that danced around his body. The fire twisted with his every turn, eating away at his flesh, turning it into charred, black, smoking tissue and exposing raw nerve endings to the flames.
He recalled others he had seen burned and it came to him suddenly: there was a way to escape, not from the stake itself, but from the pain. He opened his mouth, pausing a bit for the screaming to stop, and inhaled deeply, sucking the smoke and fire into his lungs. The heat, reaching inside to the tender tissue of the lungs, caused great blisters to rise, then burst, with the immense heat. The smoke took the place of needed oxygen and mercifully, he passed out. No more feeling the pain of the hungry, consuming flames. Though his body continued to twist and jerk, it was only the nervous reaction of nerves and muscles being blistered and charred. Casca felt none of it.
He was out now, and unaware of the small man who had thrown himself on the platform and started kicking and throwing off the bundles of burning wood with his bare hands, ignoring the blistering of the skin.
Imhept was almost speared in the back by one of the Immortals, but the soldier's action was stopped by Shapur's upraised hand. The king called out, "Egyptian, why do you interfere with my justice?"
Imhept stopped his efforts for a moment and raised his own smoking hands to Shapur.
"King of Kings, you once said that I could ask a boon of you and that if it was in your power, you would grant it. I ask now for the body of this man."
Shapur realized that he had a problem facing him. He had, it was true, given his word to the Egyptian, and in public. But he had also issued punishment orders. He made up his mind.
"I will give you my answer in a moment." He turned his head to the side and spoke to one of the white robed priests. The priest pulled up his robes and ran to the stake. Once there, he carefully studied the body, touching the charred chest and eyes, calling back to the king. "He is dead, Lord. The servant of Ahriman is dead."
The crowd roared with pleasure at his words. Shapur silenced them by raising his hand, palm up to the sky.
"As I have given you my word, Egyptian, you may have what remains of the heretic. I give you this favor only because I know that you are a good and righteous man without evil in your heart. But, before you claim the body, tell me your reason for wanting it."
Imhept bowed low from the platform. "Lord, it is for no other reason than that this man was once my friend. I know you say that he has done great evil and perhaps that is so, but in respect for the kindnesses that he once showed me, I would give him proper burial so his Ka could perhaps find peace."
The man's answer was no less than Shapur had expected. The Egyptian was almost as intelligent as he himself, though he might be an emotional fool as far as Shapur was concerned.
"So be it, scholar. You may have him." Shapur then addressed the rest of the audience. "These proceedings are now at an end. Let none interfere with the Egyptian and his professed wishes. This is my word, and so be it.”
Imhept carefully freed Casca's body from t
he chains, burning his fingers on the hot metal of the shackles. Several of the links had burned their way deeply into the seared flesh of the Roman, and had to be pried gently loose. He carefully examined the body for any spark of life, hoping that the priest may have been mistaken. There was none.
Shapur watched the proceedings for a moment.
It really made no difference to him what happened to the remains, as long as the traitor was dead. Even if the Roman was alive, he could now no longer be more than a crippled beast that could neither walk nor crawl. Already, he could see the legs were knotted into impossible positions as the tissue shriveled and drew the skin taut over the bones. The Roman's nose was not completely charred and the eyes and ears were still intact. The hair on his head though, was almost completely burned off. Shapur left the Egyptian to his corpse.
Imhept called out for one of his servants to come forth. The man listened to his master's words and quickly departed, leaving the stench of the smoking body to his master's nose. He returned in a few minutes, leading an ass with a carpet tied upon its back. They wrapped the body in the carpet, reloaded it on the ass, and made their exit from the city.
Imhept led the way to a cave near the sea, a place he'd found while on a tour of inspection for the King. It was not a pyramid or a royal tomb, but it would serve his purpose well enough. When he had the body unloaded and inside, he returned to the city to gather the things he'd need. When he returned to the cave, he dismissed his servant. The man left the scene, relieved, never again to return to Imhept's service.
