Roman Mercenary

by Tony Roberts

  “Ave,” Casca greeted them in Latin. He presumed they would speak the language of the empire. “We seek lodgings for the night. Who do we speak to?”

  The bigger of the two blacksmiths put down his tools and came slowly out into the afternoon light. “And who may you be? You’re warriors, but not of the landlords.”

  Casca narrowed his eyes. “Landlords? Who may they be?”

  “They came a few weeks ago,” the smith shrugged. “Barbarians but we have no means by which to defend ourselves. Thanks to the emperor abandoning us we’re now at their mercy.” He sounded bitter, as well he might.

  “Where are these – landlords?”

  The smith nodded towards the tower. “They left their representative there. He makes sure we collect the rents for them to take when it is due. Are you here to cause trouble, because if you are its best you go on your way. We’re a poor people making a living as best we can. We don’t want any fighting.”

  Casca shrugged. “Depends on if your landlord allows us to stay or not. All we want is to have one night’s stay, some food and drink, and we’ll be on our way. We have no wish to remain here, smith.”

  The smith grunted. “Go through there,” he pointed to a large arched entrance at the base of the tower. “Ask for Silvius. He’s the civic leader.”

  “Thanks,” Casca said and waved the others to follow. Pigs grunted, rooting round the soft earth in their pens off to the right while chickens ran loose around them, and one or two had to watch their step or they would have trodden on the tame birds. The smell of cooking meat wafted across them, making their mouths water.

  The tower was accessed by two steps and they found themselves in a hallway with doors to the right and ahead, and a staircase to the left that went up and turned out of sight.

  Casca looked briefly at Flavius. “Let’s try ahead, shall we?”

  The door opened inwards and they entered a chamber dominated by a pine table, and wall hangings adorned the three walls to left, right and ahead. A man was seated at the table, writing on a scroll and he looked up in surprise. The oil lamp on the table provided the light as there were no windows or openings anywhere. “Yes?”

  “Are you Silvius?”

  “I am. And who may you be?”

  “Longinus, leader of this small group of travelers. We’re on our way to Raetica and wish to stay here the night.”

  “Why Raetica?” Silvius asked, surprised.

  Casca thought fast. It had been made up on the spot, more to confuse any would-be talker should anyone come by who were looking for them. Raetica was in the opposite direction they were intending to go. “The woman here has family there and we are her escort. We’re mercenaries.”

  “Humph! Don’t fancy your chances what with the weather and the terrain, but it’s your decision. You have any money?”

  “Some. We haven’t been paid yet.”

  “Twenty silver pieces of any denomination for all of you. There’s lodgings on the edge of the village next to the market place. I’ll give you a note to give the proprietor after you pay.”

  Casca turned round. “Twenty. Who’s got what?”

  There was a general muttering but finally they came up with the coins. Casca dribbled them onto the table. Silvius quickly scooped them up and dipped his feather quill into a pot of ink. “This will ensure a place to sleep in comfort. Turn left after leaving here and follow the track until you get to the market place – you can’t miss it – and the lodgings are opposite.”

  Mattias was staring up at one of the wall hangings, a deep red colored banner with three circular symbols upon them. “What’s that of?” he demanded suddenly.

  Silvius twisted in his seat and looked up. “Why, that’s Helvetian. This is former Helvetian tribal lands, didn’t you know?”

  Mattias grinned and said no more. They filed out and made their way along the track. Casca waved Mattias to join him. “Why did you ask about that banner back there?”

  “He’s a lying bastard,” Mattias replied, an edge to his voice. “That’s the banner of Gundahar, the so-called King of the Burgundians.”

  “Shit,” Flavius exclaimed. “They are the landlords here?”

  “So it would seem,” Casca said slowly. “Right. We go to the lodgings but we return to the tower and get the truth out of this Silvius, but quietly.”

  “What about Flora here?” Gerontius demanded. “You can’t endanger her.”

  “We won’t, Gerontius. You stay here with – Manneric. You two keep a watch and make sure nobody sneaks out or into the village. The rest of us will go find out what’s in that tower.”

  The lodgings were the former barracks, turned into a store-cum-tavern. After settling in Casca took Flavius, Wulfila and Mattias with him back to the tower. This time, instead of taking the door ahead, they began climbing the stairs. The staircase wound round and round, and the occasional arrow slit allowed enough light to see by. They came up to the floor above the room they’d been in and heard voices.

  Casca peeked around the stone doorway and saw three men standing in the middle of the chamber, arguing. One was Silvius while the other two were bearded men wearing padded tunics and hanging from their waist belts were swords. Their conversation was in Germanic, with Silvius offering a very broken conversation. He had to repeat himself to make the others understand what he was trying to say to them.

  “They have woman,” he was saying slowly, jabbing the air in emphasis. “And six men.”

  “So they lost one and found a woman to take his place,” one of the Germanic warriors shrugged. “From your description it is them. We have sent word to our camp. You must keep them here for a day. Then we shall have them.”

  “Sorry? I what? Keep them here? How?”

  The Germanic warrior smiled. “You are leader of this community. Tell your people to help. Take their weapons. Give them drink. Make them drunk. In their sleep come for them.”

  “It is dangerous,” Silvius said.

  “If not, then when our band arrives we burn this place to the ground.”

  Casca had heard enough. He stepped into the room, followed by the others. The three swung in alarm at the sound of footfalls on the wooden planked floor. The two warriors grabbed their swords and sprang forward, fury on their faces. Casca faced the one who’d done the talking while Mattias took on the second. Flavius and Wulfila dodged around the sides and grabbed Silvius who was trying to wriggle out of the narrow window slit on the other side of the room.

  Casca deflected the first blow, and countered, slashing for the neck. The Burgundian stepped back, sword whirling, and came up low intending to open Casca’s guts. The Eternal Mercenary parried two handed and stepped forward, sword still swinging. The blade cut through the air viciously and tore through the warrior’s shoulder. The man cried out and staggered back, teeth gritted. He examined his wound and snarled. Back he came, murder in his eyes. Casca stepped one way, then the other. His movement put the German off and the murderous blow aimed at his face passed through thin air. Casca saw his chance and slammed the sharp blade edge up into the man’s ribs, cutting through the tunic and into his torso.

  The Burgundian slowly turned and fell to the floor, his sword clattering noisily as it dropped from his fingers. Casca turned to see Mattias standing over the other one, staring down at his corpse. “Go make sure nobody comes up, Mattias,” Casca waved to the doorway.

  Mattias nodded and loped over to the only doorway. Casca wiped his blade and stepped towards Silvius. “So, the Burgundians rule this place, do they? No doubt they told you they’re hunting us.”

  “I’ve no part in this!” Silvius protested, squirming in the firm grip of Flavius and Wulfila. “They are the ones you have an argument with, not us.”

  “That may be so, but you’re their lackey dog and you’ll do as your master bids,” Casca said slowly. “When their main party turns up in a day’s time you’ll be there licking their boots and falling over yourself to obey their commands.”


  “What would you do in my place? I can’t fight them!”

  “It’s best to live one day as a lion than a hundred years as a sheep,” Casca said, recalling a quote he’d heard some time in his past. “We would fight. As you say, we have no quarrel with your people; we wish to stay just the one night. But you’re a different matter.” He examined Silvius closely. “You look healthy and well fed. You must have a food store somewhere. Hmmm. Yes, the cellar.”

  Silvius struggled. Flavius chuckled. “I think you’ve hit the target, chief.”

  Casca stood aside. “Lead us to the cellar, little man.” Silvius was pushed roughly forward and reluctantly went down the stairs, followed by the four others. At the bottom they faced the door opposite, the one that they hadn’t gone through so far. Mattias pushed against it. “Locked.”

  “The key, Silvius.”

  The administrator looked at Casca for a moment, then sighed and produced a large iron key from his pouch. “You don’t need much,” he said. “Enough for a couple of days each. Leave us with food for the winter.”

  Casca waited until the door was opened, then took the key and pocketed it. Silvius was pushed downstairs into the dark. Wulfila was sent back to get the oil lamp from the administration room, and they then carried on down to the room below. The ceiling was held up by arches of stone, and around the chamber were pots, barrels, cartons and storage vessels of varying shapes and sizes.

  “Wow,” Mattias said, looking round in wonder. “You could feed an army with this.”

  “The Burgundians’ cache, obviously. This lot couldn’t have gathered all this by themselves. This must be a garrison replenishment depot. I suppose they can’t have all that many ready-made storerooms around, so they use what they find.” Casca examined the nearest stone jar. It was full of salted fish. “None of this will probably find its way to the villagers. Help yourselves, guys. Don’t forget the others’ shares too.”

  With whoops of delight, the other three took to grabbing as much as they could. Casca stood in the entrance, making sure Silvius didn’t take the opportunity to slip out. Casca took his turn and filled his pack and pouches. Money they had exhausted, but now they put in its place something much better. Waving the others out, Casca faced the administrator. “No hard feelings, Silvius, but I can’t have you telling your new masters where we are until we’re far enough away. You’re going to have to stay down here until someone lets you out. By then we ought to be far enough away.”

  “You can’t keep me down here!” Silvius protested, “that’s inhuman!”

  “The other option is to kill you,” Casca said evenly. “Lucky for you I’m not that cold blooded. You’ve got the lamp here so that should last most of the night. Be seeing you.”

  He locked the door, closing it on the shouting man. Some of his voice came through, muffled, but it blocked a lot of it out and at the top of the stairs it could hardly be heard. He threw the key into the biggest puddle and carried on along the track, in the wake of the three others.

  The villagers had gone to their homes. Nobody saw them in the gathering dark.

  * * *

  The next morning they set off before it got fully light, laden with supplies. Flora carried her share, much to the others’ satisfaction. They didn’t want a passenger with them since Casca had told them all that they were about to take a particularly hard leg of their journey.

  Casca’s main worry was getting away into the mountains before the Burgundians discovered they had been there. Killing their men and stealing their supplies was enough to get anyone killed, let alone have amongst their number a sworn enemy. So they walked hard and fast, crossing the rolling countryside, moving away from the river and the settlements scattered along it. Here there were two roads that ran into the Alps; one went south, cutting around the tip of the Jura Mountain range and then joined the main road than ran to Raetica, while the other ran south-west on the other side of the Jura, and then climbed dizzily up to a pass – the Dervu – that would in turn lead them onto the route that led south through the Alps to the lakes that sat at the south western edge of the mountain chain.

  The latter one was the harder of the two but more direct and in the direction they wanted to go. Casca’s misinformation about going to Raetica would hopefully send the Burgundians off on the wrong road and give them more time before they’d realize they’d been tricked. At least that was what he was hoping for.

  As they tramped across the steadily rising land, they crossed from the farmland into Alpine pasture and uncultivated terrain. They walked single file, Casca taking point at times, but they shared this one out as this was the more difficult position. Casca had some idea where they had to go but his memories were hazy. They kept the Jura to their left as they approached the range and stumbled across a poorly maintained road that went in the direction they wished to go.

  The weather got colder and colder. Rain had come and gone and now the threat of snow was all around. The upper slopes were coated in white and they knew they would soon get to the point where it was permanently snowy. Casca hoped everyone was properly prepared for the climb. The pass was their big hope. If they could cross it they’d be in the central plateau and the going would be much easier.

  Casca ordered the rearguard man to keep looking back just in case. They didn’t want to be surprised. As night came they reached a group of trees overlooking the road and stayed there, grateful to have made it that far without incident. They’d seen nobody, and hopes were rising all the time.

  The next day was even better; a mist had descended and nobody could see very far. “Won’t it stop us getting to the pass?” Wulfila asked after breakfast.

  “We follow the road,” Casca answered, grinning. “Our path is mapped out for us.”

  They continued, following the back of the person in front of them, the mist clammy and cold against their faces. They had gone for perhaps an hour when there came an exclamation from Flavius who was bringing up the rear, a shout of alarm and a clash of what was unmistakably sword blades.

  Casca led the rush to the rear and they came upon Flavius standing above a huddled shape lying on the paving stones of the road, blood draining away from an ugly gash across his chest. “What happened?” Casca demanded, sword in hand. The others looked into the nebulous mist but could see nothing.

  “Damned Burgundians,” Flavius breathed. “Three of them, on foot. Bumped into me. I’d heard nothing and seen nothing, then suddenly they were there, coming out of the mist. They were just as surprised as me, I think! Killed this one before he could do anything but the others defended themselves and then ran back down the road. Sorry I couldn’t stop them.”

  “That’s alright, Flavius,” Casca said, looking back down the route they had come. “I think it was a scouting party. They’re covering every route. Now they’ll know which direction we’ve taken. I’m willing to bet there are parties out everywhere, and so they’ll be scattered. It’ll take time to gather them all in. We’ve got a good head start, too.”

  “So now what?” Gerontius demanded. “They’ll be after us in no time.”

  “In a couple of hours, yes. The word will be sent back by messenger. But in this mist? Nah, we’ll get to the pass before they get here. Besides, the road ahead forks. One fork goes to the pass, the other goes to that town we left the women in on our way here. They’ll waste time asking if we’ve been that way.”

  “They could split up,” Mattias rumbled. “I would if I were in their place.”

  “So it depends on how many they send after us, does it?” Flavius said.

  “More to kill,” Manneric said darkly.

  “Let’s get going,” Casca snapped himself out of his trance. “Come on, the road to the pass isn’t far.”

  They resumed their route, Casca now in the lead. Sure enough, a short while later they came to the split in the road and Casca led them to the left, up a steeply climbing mountainside. The mist thinned and suddenly they were above it, looking down on an opaque white
world. Only the tops of hills protruded above it. To the left the Jura Mountains rose like fangs, snarling up into the sky. They craned their necks to see the top, but clouds covered much of them.

  Eyes met in worry. They would have to go up there. The snow was covering much of the terrain and more was coming.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The climb was never ending, so it seemed. Legs ached, lungs heaved, throats rasped breath in and out, sweat broke out on foreheads and underneath the furs and armor. But they could not afford to rest. The wind was blowing another front in towards them and the deep black clouds could only be carrying one thing: snow.

  The chase was on, too. They had no idea how far behind the Burgundians were and how many they would be, so they pressed on. Casca wanted them to be through by nightfall so they could rest on the other side of the mountains. They needed warmth, too, and it would be suicidal to light a fire this side of the pass.

  Rocks now rose all around them. The road clung to the side of the mountain, one side a solid wall of rock, the other a plunging chasm that went down for hundreds of feet. Snow began falling, adding to that already lying on the ground, and Casca forged on, teeth clenched, grimacing with the pain of having to climb so fast.

  He stepped aside to keep a check on the group from time to time. Flora was his main concern. She was being shepherded by Gerontius constantly, and he was almost carrying her now. He kept looking at Casca but the Eternal Mercenary shook his head. They could not afford to wait on this side of the pass.

  Mattias panted, his cheeks red, his breath clouding his head. He forged on manfully, and the two cousins panted past, noses dripping with condensation and cold. Flavius came last, almost bent double. He was suffering.

  “You want to be spelled at the rear?” Casca asked him as he came alongside.

  “No,” Flavius breathed, “I’ll be alright. How far’s this cursed pass?”

  “Not far. The rocks are closing in now.” Casca slapped the Roman on the back and made his way past the others to the front. The road curved round one rock tower, passing through a gap in the mountainside, then turned left and plunged into a steep valley. Rocks lay all around, some tiny, others the size of ships. Snow softened the outlines of everything and the road ran along the bottom of the pass up to a point on the horizon, beyond which Casca could only see sky.