Casca 43: Scourge of Asia

by Tony Roberts

  Casca had been rudely shaken out of that belief in Spain during the Moorish conquest when he discovered Islam, too, had been infiltrated by the Brotherhood and they were slowly spreading their evil tentacles throughout its hierarchy. Disillusioned, Casca had turned his back on Islam and spent the next few decades safely away from them in France and then Denmark. “But I always had the feeling they were watching, never far away. They knew better by now not to approach me, but I felt their presence a few times not far away. By and large since then they have left me alone except on a few occasions.”

  Adil had rested her head on his shoulder. “When was the last time you came across them?”

  Casca had thought for a moment. “Scotland. They actually helped me!”

  Adil had pushed herself upright and stared at him in surprise. “Why would they do that?”

  “Easy. I was being held by the superstitious Scots who wanted to burn me for being a demon; they had realized I didn’t age and was therefore an agent of evil. It was the Brotherhood who got me out, although I didn’t know it until they put me on the rowing boat and told me to leave Scotland. I remember sitting there in shock until I drifted out of their sight before rowing!”

  Adil had shaken her head; it had been too much for her. “So how long ago was that?”

  “About thirty years or so before I met you. Since that time I have seen nothing of them.”

  Casca’s mind returned to the present and he thought about the significance of coming across one of them now in Samarkand. Were they here to find him or was it purely accidental? And if they were here to find him, why? Casca grunted, none the wiser for the moment, and left his chair to fetch a flask of wine and returned together with a glass, and proceeded to empty the flask, tears streaming down his face as he remembered the now dead Adil and the loneliness he felt now she was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Timur returned with the thawing of the snows, none-too-pleased to hear of his son’s treachery. Casca himself wasn’t too happy, for the prisoner had taken his own life shortly after Casca had confronted him, but guessed that the prisoner had no other choice. Rather take his own life than be tortured by the Spawn of Satan. Casca was in a quandary. If the Brotherhood’s man was Amarinshah’s agent, then was Amarinshah a member of the Brotherhood also? And if so, what was Casca to do? He could hardly kill Timur’s son. That wouldn’t make things easy between him and the warlord, especially now he needed Timur to move west and finally deal with the Ottomans.

  Timur raged for a day before allowing Casca in to see him. He was sat on a pile of cushions and rugs and surrounded by slaves and dancers. Glaring at Casca he ordered a report of what the now dead spy had said. Casca glanced to his right and caught sight of Farzad, so he surmised the garrison commander had apprised the Khan of most of the story.

  “All I know is that the spy intended to distribute money to people in this city to foment unrest against you. I myself took a look at the prisoner and decided he was not to be approached; rather it would be best if you interrogated him yourself, seeing that he was your son’s agent.”

  “And he said nothing to you?”

  “Nothing.” Nothing of value to Timur, anyway, Casca thought to himself.

  Timur thumped a cushion in anger. “That son of mine has gone too far! He shall never inherit my lands! He shall be stripped of his governorship and come to me to beg forgiveness.”

  Casca stood patiently, awaiting Timur’s decisions.

  The warlord pondered for a moment, then looked up at Casca. “I hear Adil died the winter just past. I regret her passing, she was a fine woman.”

  Casca inclined his head once.

  “And now you will do what, Badahur?”

  Casca eyed the warlord. “One last campaign, Timur. I shall then leave your service, it has been a long time and I must go elsewhere. You understand why I must?”

  Timur sighed and leaned backwards. “Yes, I understand, but I do not like it. I have valued your military advice and knowledge, and you will be impossible to replace. As to the campaign in question,” he looked at Casca and smiled, “yes it shall be to the west as many of those whom swore fealty to me when we were there last have changed their minds. I see I shall have to return to remind these dogs to whom they pay fealty.”

  “Including Amarinshah?” Casca asked softly.

  “Yes!” Timur snapped his eyes flashing.

  “Then please grant me a favor, Timur. Grant me the post of messenger who goes to his palace to summon him to your side.”

  Timur’s eyes narrowed. “You? Why?”

  Casca smiled. “We have had differences of opinion in the past and I am keen to see his face when I inform him he is no longer governor and is in disgrace!” Casca believed this to be the best excuse, hiding the real reason why he wanted to go personally.

  Timur rubbed a chin. “Very well, I shall assign you an escort of twenty hand-picked men and one of the captains of my personal guard. But you will not set out until my army is ready to move west, then you shall bring him to a place of my choosing which I shall decide later. He is not to be harmed. I will slap the cur down myself.”

  Casca nodded once. He would now hopefully find out what connection Amarinshah had to the Brotherhood, if any.

  ____

  Preparations for the new campaign were much more extensive than in previous seasons, and Casca had the impression Timur wasn’t going for a weekend. A few inquiries in the right places confirmed his suspicions. A staggering number of supplies were being requisitioned as well as spears, swords, shields and suits of armor. Rumors abounded as to where Timur was going to campaign, but he was keeping that quiet. Casca busied himself practicing his sword play and riding, and making sure his equipment was in full repair.

  ____

  The pain of Adil’s passing slowly lessened but his desire to be away from Samarkand increased as the weeks went by, until he could contain himself no longer and went to see Timur who was overseeing the construction of another mosque. He was litter-borne as his lameness was now so severe he rarely walked, so he either rode on horseback or was carried around by slaves as at this particular moment. He saw Casca approach and waved aside his guard to allow him to come to his side.

  “You have the look of a man who wishes something badly, Badahur” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

  “I have, Timur. I want to go to Shiraz and disgrace Amarinshah. The longer he stays there the more unrest he foments.”

  Timur smiled and peered at his general. His eyesight wasn’t what it was but he still felt as keen as ever for battle. “Do not worry, I am about to gather an army to move west to Tabriz. You shall send my errant son to me there. You will be ready to leave Samarkand in three weeks. Is that soon enough for you?”

  Casca breathed out. “Yes. And where will you campaign?”

  Timur pulled at his lower lip. “The Georgians and the Sultan of Baghdad feature high on my punishment list, but I also understand the Mamluks of Syria and your foes the Ottomans are sheltering enemies of mine whom I wish returned to me.”

  Casca caught his breath. “Does this mean what I think it does?”

  Timur smiled widely, revealing a row of rotten and blackened teeth. “Yes, I may well move against the Ottomans this campaign. I see that pleases you.”

  Casca clenched his fists. At last! At long last!!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  One thing Amarinshah went for, Casca mused upon seeing the palace he used in Shiraz, was comfort in a big way. A huge arched entrance flanked by blue inscribed stone architraves stood before him, and beyond stood the magnificent palace adorned with onion shaped domed roofs, battlemented walls and arabesque windows.

  Casca dismounted awkwardly, the ride from Samarkand had been long and uncomfortable which didn’t help his temper. He pounded the dust from his tunic and stood before the arched entrance, fists on hips. His escort remained on horseback behind him, steady, reliable troops who wouldn’t panic or do anything unexpectedly. Timur would
have assigned the best for Casca-Badahur. The guards by the gate had come to alert and one approached Casca warily, spear in both hands, eyeing his uniform which wasn’t cheap. Casca wore the headgear introduced recently by Timur, which was a fur-trimmed kalpak, a tall segmented helm topped with a white plume, and his armor also segmented on the shoulders and hips. He wore his ‘riding’ clothing but had a better set in his saddle pack. Like many officers he wore a close fitting style of uniform which was the height of fashion in central Asia these days rather than the old fashioned baggy style worn by traditional Mongols.

  Casca’s boots were of soft leather and colored a dark red, and his waist belt held his scabbard in which rested his curved tulwar, a lighter version of the bulkier scimitar. The guard came up to him suspiciously and eyed the scroll Casca produced from his tunic.

  “I come from Timur himself” he announced, “to see the governor Amarinshah. You will permit me to pass.”

  The guard looked at Casca with a degree of insolence. Casca sighed. The closer to Shiraz they had come the worse respect for Timur had become. Casca had no time for this and if this runt caused any trouble he’d kick him clean over the damned gate. “Now go get someone of authority before I lose my temper.”

  The guard curled his lip a fraction before turning his back on Casca, another deliberately offensive gesture. Behind him, Casca sensed the outrage from the escort. Their officer, a young captain called Shaburdar, stepped down and came alongside Casca. “By Allah, that dog deserves to be whipped for such disrespect!”

  “Yes but I’m not after the street curs, only the mongrel who commands them.”

  Shaburdar grinned, his white teeth flashing in the sunlight. He was young and very dark skinned, and Casca surmised he was native to this area. The guard had called the officer of the guard and now this man approached with a small escort and Casca glared at his approach.

  Effete, would be a kind way of describing him. Dressed extravagantly in silk from top to toe and walking in a way that someone once described as having a spear tip up his ass; the officer neared him. A whiff of some perfume reached Casca and it was clear he was surrounded in a cloud of the stuff. “You have business here?” he asked in a superior manner that got the hackles rising. “Have you sent word of your arrival ahead of yourself? If not then I regret you may have to stay outside the complex until a suitable time and date can be found. The governor is extremely busy.”

  Casca grabbed the creature by the throat and pulled him up to his nose. There came a ripping noise and the dandy’s eyes bulged in surprise, pain and outrage. The guards advanced threateningly, spears raised. “Tell those two to back off or I’ll rip your dumb head off.”

  The officer flapped his arms like a dying pigeon and the guards backed off. Casca continued to hold the man up to his face even though the smell of perfume was making him nearly gag. It was like embracing an expensive courtesan, but this man was making his flesh creep. “I am going to see the governor right now; I don’t care if he’s in the saddle with his chambermaid. You will lead us to his room or I’ll split your head open like a rotten melon. Get it?”

  The officer nodded frantically, his face going very red. Casca released him and the man staggered as he dropped six inches to the dusty ground. He kept on his feet and massaged his neck, gasping for air.

  “I want my men fed and housed, and the horses fed and watered. May Allah help you if they are not.” Casca pointed a thick finger at the guards and then nodded to Shaburdar to accompany him. The still gasping guard officer led them through the gateway into the palace complex. He walked to the foot of a wide staircase where two more guards stood, then turned again. “This outrage will be punished, you are aware of this? Do you know who I am?”

  Casca frowned, then stopped, looking at the guards. “Do you know who he is? He seems to have forgotten.”

  Shaburdar put his gauntlet to his mouth and tried to stifle a chuckle and the two guards made heroic efforts to keep straight faces. A slightly shaking pair of shoulders gave one away. The officer went beet red and his fist closed on his sword hilt tightly. “I shall inform the governor of your disrespect of course, and I expect he shall decide to punish you.”

  “I doubt it, you pimp,” Casca snapped back, “I’m an Emir and I have Timur-i-Lenk’s full authority to summon your precious governor to his side in Tabriz. I fully expect you’ll have a new governor here before long. Now show me your master, street dog!”

  The officer snapped his mouth shut, swallowed, then turned about and led the two up to the palace and through the wide double doors to the cool interior where a fountain sprinkled water into an immense stone bowl. The floor was of marble and plants stood all about. They were led up a flight of marble stairs and along a corridor, flanked by more guards, to an antechamber where a court official was sitting. The official was advised as to the nature of the visit and Casca flashed the scroll of authority at him. The courtier nodded and gestured the two men to follow him. Casca glared at the effete officer one last time before they passed through a guarded doorway into a long passageway, at the end of which were two immense doors guarded by more soldiers.

  The soldiers leaned on the doors after the courtier barked an order and they glided open. The courtier gestured Casca to precede him through the doorway into the personal chambers of the governor. The courtier stood nervously just inside the room. “The governor may be busy,” he began.

  “I don’t care, send him out here then go away.”

  The courtier looked nervously at the two men before passing through the room, leaving them to gaze around at the plush furnishings. All you need are peacocks, Casca thought. He hated those damned things; they made such an awful noise, like someone having their balls crushed suddenly.

  He heard a raised voice from behind a door, then the courtier came scuttling out and fled. Shaburdar shut the door and stood against it so it couldn’t be opened quickly. Then into the room from the chamber the courtier had scuttled from strode Amarinshah, belting a rich silk gown around him. He halted in surprise at the sight of Casca. “You!”

  “Me,” Casca echoed, a faint smile on his face. He produced a second scroll from his belt and thrust it into Amarinshah’s reluctant hand. “Read this.”

  The governor eyed Casca for a moment then looked at the seal, his mouth turning down as he recognized it as being his father’s. He broke it and unrolled the scroll and read it, his face darkening as he did so. Casca idly took three steps towards the inner room and Amarinshah swung round and snapped a curt “stop!”

  Casca looked idly at the governor before continuing towards the doorway. Amarinshah took a few quick paces and blocked the way. Casca put a hand on the governor’s shoulder and pulled him aside. Amarinshah tried to resist but the grip made him gasp in pain and he ceded ground, watching in impotent fury as Casca sauntered into the inner chamber.

  Here the room was dominated by a huge bed, and Casca had no eyes for anything else, for in the bed, or rather, on the bed lay a dark slim and naked young woman. She squealed in fright as she saw Casca and hauled the silk sheets around her, too late though as Casca grinned widely at her.

  Amarinshah stood in the doorway, fists balled. Casca cleared his throat. “Spreading your seed further, Amarinshah? She one of your harem?”

  “That is none of your business, Emir!” the governor replied acidly.

  Casca laughed and pushed past him back into the main chamber and, spotting a bowl of fruit, picked up an orange and threw one to Shaburdar before picking one himself. “I am here to summon you to your father’s side at Tabriz.”

  “Tabriz!” Amarinshah was shocked, “but that’s far to the north!”

  “So I understand,” Casca conceded, knowing full where it was. “You’ve been a naughty boy and he wants a word with his loving son.”

  Amarinshah glared at Casca. “I am a loyal follower of my father, I have done nothing wrong!”

  “That’s not what we hear, and there are some who have told Timur of your treach
erous moves to gain independence in this part of the world. But you have been clumsy and too many people have learned of what you intend, not all of them loyal to you. But you can speak to him directly yourself. In the morning we set off. You’d best pack your best stuff as I don’t think you’ll be returning.”

  Amarinshah gaped and turned around, surveying the chamber. “All this? I have worked hard to make this place as I desired, and now I’m to go?”

  Casca indicated to Shaburdar to leave the chamber but to stay close. After he had gone Casca folded his arms and faced the governor. “The man you sent to Samarkand was caught trying to distribute money to important people. He talked before he died.”

  Amarinshah looked shocked and opened his mouth, before shutting it. Casca grinned and stepped up close to him. “He knew who I was as well, without having seen me before. Who was he and how did you recruit him?”

  Amarinshah kept his mouth shut. Casca sighed and pulled at his gown and ripped it apart, despite Amarinshah’s efforts to the contrary. The governor staggered and then was pulled back to Casca as his shoulders were gripped tightly. “What are you doing?” he demanded fearfully, trying to keep a hold of his destroyed gown from falling to the floor.

  Casca scanned the man’s chest, but nothing was tattooed there, nor did he wear any incriminating jewelry. Casca breathed out deeply and shoved Amarinshah towards a couch, and he fell over the arm into it, legs flailing wildly.

  “Do any of your men wear any jewelry like this?” he threw him the necklace of the fish he’d acquired from the prison captain after the prisoner had died.

  It landed across Amarinshah’s chest and he picked it up and looked at it for a moment. “Why?”

  “Does anyone?” Casca whirled and snapped the question.

  “Well, yes, a guard captain. Why do you ask?”

  “Don’t tell me, a slim man who wears perfume like a bordello madam?”

  Amarinshah nodded.

  Casca cursed. He snatched the necklace back off the governor. “Tell me, Amarinshah, where you recruited that pimp, and the man you sent to Samarkand.”