Roman Mercenary

by Tony Roberts

  The space beyond – one could hardly call it a room – was full of trash scattered across the floor, a few lumps in the corners that may or may not be sleeping people, and a collection of warped chairs and tables. Around the tables were furtive, shifty looking people who had all turned to look at the new arrival.

  Casca’s attire, a red cloak, chainmail cuirass, leather belt and boots, thick cloth leggings, took their attention immediately. Nobody so dressed would ever come to this place. They looked behind him in case anyone else was coming in, but to their surprise nobody was.

  “Alright you bastards,” Casca said clearly, his fingers locked around the hilt of his sword, “I’m looking for Mattias. He’s always here so nobody give me that ‘I ain’t never heard of him’ shit, or I’ll cut your fucking heads off. So, where is that ugly swine?”

  The silence was deafening. Incredulous looks were fixed upon him, and one or two of the bigger and more confident patrons got to their feet slowly, appraising their chances against this big-mouthed newcomer. Casca scowled, and seized hold of the nearest man, a grey man in a grey one-piece linen outfit that might some time back been white. “Where’s Mattias, you stinking piece of horse shit?”

  “I dunno!” the man gibbered, “I’ve not seen him today, honest!”

  Casca threw him aside contemptuously and roared in fury, slamming his sword down onto the already warped and chipped table. It shook and wooden chips flew off into the air. “I want to see Mattias now! Where are you, you cowardly cur?”

  “You talk big, Roman,” a deep and loud voice said to his left, “but do you have the balls to follow your words?”

  The accent was definitely German, and Casca saw a looming figure standing in the doorway leading from the rear of the building. The doorway seemed to have shrunk, Casca reckoned. Here was one brute of a man, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of his long dead friend Glam. “So you show yourself at last, German. You’re a big man for a deserter.”

  “What is it to you, sheisskopf? Go and leave this place or I’ll rip your head off and feed it to the fish.”

  Casca smiled briefly. “I was told you’re a useful man with a sword; but I can see you’re too used to hiding in shitholes like this to bother with. I’ll go hire people who are men, not cowards.” He turned and made for the door, then swung round fast as a roar of outrage sounded close behind him and a couple of chairs were flung aside by the furious Mattias.

  The German was close, his hands wide and swinging. His face was twisted into a mask of fury and was bearing down on Casca with the intention of smearing him over the already filthy walls.

  Not wanting to kill or maim the man, Casca dropped his sword and sent his right fist blurring, connecting with the huge man’s jaw. He may as well have hit the Alps. Pain shot through Casca’s hand and he was somewhat astonished to see the blow had little effect on Mattias’s progress. Casca was taken under the ribs and sent through the air to smash into the wall and sent another table flying together with the contents and two customers too slow to react.

  He didn’t wish his head stamped to a pulp, so he staggered to one side as Mattias flung a fist at him and smashed it into the wall, shouting in pain. He hadn’t held back with that one. Casca sucked in a deep breath; this was going to be hard. He rammed a fist into the German’s gut and not pausing for a second, hammered another right up into Mattias’s jaw.

  The German grunted. He grabbed Casca’s arm and squeezed. Pain shot along the Eternal Mercenary’s arm. Something unpleasant was going to happen unless he got out of the man’s grip fast. He stamped down hard. Mattias roared in pain and rage as his right foot received Casca’s heel. He blindly struck out and felt it hit something.

  Casca staggered back again. Gods, this man hit hard. He ignored the flaring pain in his chest and thought of Shiu Lao Tze. The little Chinese Sage’s wisdom had saved Casca many times before, and here was another occasion it was needed. He moved right, then switched left, fooling the next bull-like charge and helped Mattias on his way with a foot against his rump.

  The German crashed into a support beam, shaking the roof. People began looking in worry at the ceiling as dust dropped down along with dead flies, pieces of wood and other detritus from the years. Mattias swung round, blind with rage, and howled like a wolf with its balls caught in thorns as he came at Casca again. This time the Eternal Mercenary went with the blow. He deflected the punch, pulled on the German’s arm and swung his hips. Mattias went up and over. He sailed through the air to land with a tremendous crash into the wall. This time the planks split. Daylight spilled in.

  “You fucking whore spawn!” Mattias screamed, rising from the wreckage of three men, a table and three chairs. The other patrons had cleared a large area and were eyeing the shaking walls and ceiling, hoping they were going to stay up. “You’re going to die!”

  “Try it, dick-brain,” Casca said, sweating. He crouched low as Mattias came for him again, his left foot catching some wreckage and he stumbled slightly. Casca swung round on one leg. The other scythed through the air. Mattias saw it coming but couldn’t react in time. The blow struck him in the body and he was sent backwards, his chest exploding in pain.

  Casca readied himself for the next rush; Mattias was in a blind rage now and any subtlety that there may have been was now forgotten. He was going to rip Casca to pieces and to the flames of perdition with the consequences. The trouble was, Casca had too much experience for the German. Another bull of a rush ended with Mattias arcing through the air to smash into another wall which bulged outwards, dust and splinters of wood billowing out in a cloud onto the harbor side jetty.

  Mattias couldn’t understand why he was being flung about so easily like a bundle of rags. He was big, strong, tough and had beaten up too many opponents in his twenty years to remember. Yet here was this gott-dammed Roman treating him like a hunk of meat!

  “Finished receiving a lesson in fighting, you Rhineland whore?” Casca sneered in the tongue of the tribes.

  Mattias screamed in rage, tearing apart a chair he had become entangled in and came at Casca again, fingers hooked into claws of death. He howled as he closed in on Casca, intent on tearing his head off and using it as a weapon to beat the torso to a pulp.

  Casca fell backwards as the German got to him, grabbing his right arm and using his feet against the off-balance tribesman’s stomach to propel him up and over, sending him flying through the air to crash halfway up another wall. This time the wall collapsed outwards, sending the German falling out into the street.

  It was too much for the building to withstand. With a deep ominous groan the roof sagged and the remaining part of the broken wall began to fold outwards.

  “Look out!” someone yelled in horror, “the roof’s falling in! Run!”

  Casca quickly grabbed his sword and made a break for the doorway, but a beam collapsed in front of him and he covered his eyes as splinters and dust blew up at him. He vaulted the collapsed beam but something hit him hard on the head and he pitched forward, losing consciousness…….

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Wake up, wake up you filthy bastard!”

  Casca didn’t care much for the tone in the German-accented voice. His head throbbed and his body felt as if someone had gone down it with a set of rusty iron nails. He groaned and opened one eye.

  “Good!” Mattias roared from six inches away. “You’re alive! I can kill you then!”

  Casca chuckled.

  “What are you laughing at, swine? I’m going to kill you!”

  Casca began laughing, his body shaking; hurting too, but he ignored the pain. He laughed louder.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” Mattias demanded, kneeling over the prone figure of his adversary.

  “Yes,” Casca said in between breaths. “Great fight, you ox! I’ve not enjoyed myself in such a long time!”

  Mattias stared in confusion at Casca. “You mean you just did all that for fun?”

  The Eternal Mercenary rolled over and looked a
t the pile of wood and unidentifiable material that had just a short while back been a building. Dust was still in the air from the collapse. “Heh heh, we wrecked the place?”

  “Ja!” Mattias nodded. “You threw me into the street and the place fell down! I pulled you out from the wreckage so I could kill you.”

  Casca grinned. “Let me see if I get this right. You saved my life in order to kill me?”

  “Uh…… ja.” Mattias frowned. He stared at Casca’s still shaking body, then snorted and broke into laughter too. The two sat side by side roaring in mirth, covered in dust, detritus and bruises. People gathering to find out what had happened looked on in puzzlement at the sight. Why the two men would be sat there giggling amongst the wreckage of the tavern was beyond their comprehension.

  “Come on, my tough friend,” Casca clapped Mattias, “let’s go to a proper watering hole and I’ll buy you a drink, and then tell you about a job I’ve got in mind for someone like you. Something that’ll need skills you have.”

  Mattias shrugged and the two helped each other up. “One thing though,” Mattias said.

  “Oh?”

  Mattias smashed a fist into Casca’s face, sending him back down on his ass. “I’m not from the Rhineland! Don’t you ever say that again!”

  Casca rubbed his jaw ruefully. “Sorry, that was the first thing that came to my mind.”

  “That’s what makes it worse,” Mattias grumbled, then helped Casca up. He grunted, then slapped a friendly arm round Casca’s shoulder. “So what job is this then?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way to the tavern,” Casca said, rubbing his jaw again. Mattias had hit damned hard. But one thing – the event and his laughter had helped lift a corner of his depression, if only for a while.

  Flavius sized up Mattias silently when they got back, and Casca did the introducing. The bumps and bruises over both caught the soldier’s attention but Casca waved the silent enquiry aside and asked if anyone else in the tavern was a potential recruit. Flavius turned and nodded over his left shoulder. “There, in the corner,” he indicated a glowering, brooding fair-haired bear of a man. “Some barbarian from the back of beyond. Has the manners of a rabid bear; threw out some fool who challenged him earlier on. That’s why nobody goes near him, except that serving wench you humped half to death last night. She can hardly walk! What the hell did you do to her?”

  Casca shrugged and eyed Mattias who looked at Casca with respect. “Don’t ask,” Casca grumbled. “So what’s the brute’s name?”

  “Caught his name once,” Flavius admitted, “something that sounds like Gundobad or something like that.”

  “I’ll go speak to him then,” Casca said with a sigh. “You two best back me up if he gets all touchy.”

  The three pushed their way through the gloomy room, a wave of muscle and obvious strength, and those sat in their path hastily pushed themselves aside. Life outside was stressful enough; they just wanted a quiet drink here to get away from the harsh realities beyond. The ‘barbarian’ looked up from under his eyebrows and glared at the approaching three.

  “Go away,” he warned in German, his accent unmistakably of the tribes. Casca reckoned he might be a Goth, or maybe a Frank. He didn’t have the Frankish hair knot, but he did have the blond beard and mustache.

  “Relax, mein freund,” Casca said in German, “I’d just like to have a talk with you.”

  “You’re not of the tribes,” the German accused Casca, pointing a stubby finger at him, “and you talk like a Scandian whore.”

  “That’s because I learned the language there,” Casca said equably, determined not to be intimidated by the aggressive manner of the tribesman.

  “Scandia? You lie. It’s too far for a Roman breast-suckler like you to travel to! What place, exactly?”

  Flavius nudged Casca. “What are you talking of? I don’t speak their language!”

  “I’ll tell you after.” He leaned on the table, planting both fists in the beer-soaked surface. “Helsfjord. Heard of it?”

  The barbarian paused, frowned, then choked off a laugh of disbelief. “Only in tales and legends. A place you no doubt have heard from some ale-addled old man for a few coppers.”

  “Want me to describe the shoreline there? The trees? The sunlight through the glades as you walk there in the summer? The deer, the wolves to the south? The Field of Runes?” Casca’s breath caught as he remembered the last place as Lida’s burial place.

  Mattias was staring at Casca in amazement. “I have heard of the legend, too. My uncle told me of the stories of the Walker who left one day after his lady died to the west, never to return. A man with a scar on his face…..” Mattias’ voice tailed off and he looked away, his heart suddenly beating heavy as Casca turned his face towards him, his expression unreadable, but his eyes boring into the German’s.

  “Bah! Fucking old woman’s stories!” the seated barbarian scoffed. “You come to give me tales of the forests and the homeland? I can get that from any old crone sat around the camp fires. Now fuck off and stop wasting my time.”

  Casca turned back to the barbarian. “You might like to listen to what I have to say, Gundobad. You might find it lucrative.”

  “My name is Gunthar!” he snapped, “and I don’t need any stinking job you have in mind, wet-nursing some snot-nosed Roman spoiled brat or pinning some pretty boy down so you lot can bugger him senseless.”

  Mattias snarled. “You got a big mouth, you ugly shit-brained Alamanni!”

  “And you’re no beauty yourself, Burgundian bastard!”

  Casca had heard enough. He leaned into Gunthar’s face, his eyes hard as flint. “What are you here for, anyway? Escaping something, I’ll bet. Well I’ve news for you, my big-mouthed forest dweller. I’m hiring warriors for a tough job that pays well, and it’s on behalf of one of Massilia’s ruling elite. I’m willing to bet whatever personal problem you have can be dealt with behind the scenes, but only if you shut up and agree to come with us; else you can sit here waiting for whoever’s seeking you for the inevitable day they’ll find you and then nobody’s going to lift a finger to help. Your choice.”

  “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Roman!” Gunthar snarled, his eyes wide, but Casca saw a touch of fear in them and was secretly pleased he’d hit home. The presence of the big German had been puzzling him for a few minutes, and he’d guessed it was because he was on the run from someone. Plenty of places to hide in a big city, but sooner or later somebody would spill their guts, either for money or a sense of outrage at the manner of Gunthar who clearly had no idea how to integrate into city life. Possibly a blood feud?

  “In that case we’ll leave you to your fate,” Casca waved Mattias and Flavius to follow him back to the other side of the room.

  As they returned to their table Casca filled Flavius in on what had been said. Mattias was glowering. “I’d teach that Alemanni shit a lesson for saying such things normally,” he rasped, sitting down heavily. “It’s only due to my respect for you that I held back, I’ll have you know!”

  “I’m honored,” Casca said sarcastically. “I’m due to report to Scarnio this afternoon, and so I think you ought to come with me for what he’s said are going to be final instructions.”

  “That’ll be interesting,” Flavius grinned. “Any chance of having a few drinks beforehand?”

  “I don’t think we ought to smell of alcohol,” Casca advised, holding Flavius’ gaze. “You can get drunk afterwards.”

  Flavius shrugged. “I ought to make sure my rent is paid up then, and check my arms and armor. If we’re off on a long journey – it is way outside here, isn’t it?”

  Casca nodded.

  Flavius grunted. “I’ll be back by lunchtime. Have a decent meal waiting for me; I always work up an appetite before a job.”

  Mattias leaned back and appraised Casca. “Odd job this, hiring a mixture of Germans and Romans. You’d think we’d be at each other’s throats.”

  “Maybe in the past, but
I’ve fought with Germans recently as well as for Romans, so perhaps this is the new world that’s coming. We ought to get used to it, since it would seem your tribes are here to stay.”

  Mattias nodded. “You don’t have the armies to keep us away any more, and we take what we want.”

  “That’s not that clever, Mattias,” Casca answered. “If you’re going to stay here, taking everything leaves nothing, and so where are you going to settle? You can’t keep on moving around as sooner or later you’ll run out of places to plunder and you’ll come up against another tribe who’ve decided to settle down where they are. From what I’ve heard some tribes are already starting to do that along the Rhine frontier. The Alemanni, and your people, the Burgundians, for example.”

  Mattias chuckled. “Some of my people maybe, but there are others like me who don’t want to. Follow the command of someone we haven’t sworn fealty to? I don’t follow Gundahar so I won’t fit in with his wishes.”

  “Gundahar – is that the Burgundian King?”

  “He calls himself king, and those who kiss his ass do as well, but he can drown in the Rhine for all I care!” Mattias said angrily. “My family were his rivals, and we were cast out as a result. I have nothing to do with the people who look to Gundahar.”

  Casca looked up. Gunthar was slowly making his way over to them. The Eternal Mercenary tapped Mattias on the forearm and nodded towards the giant German. Mattias tensed and faced the approaching man.

  “Do you speak the truth about working for a rich and influential man?” Gunthar asked.

  “Yes,” Casca nodded. “He’s quite high up in the political circles here. Why?”