Roman Mercenary

by Tony Roberts

  Casca and Flavius came across the bridge, ready for the next opponent. With a shrill cry, one came out from the crowd, a long bladed weapon in two hands, aiming to decapitate Casca. Casca knocked the wild blow up with his shield and slashed hard across the exposed chest of the man. His opponent toppled backwards onto the frozen earth and lay still, his chest a red smear.

  Another came running for Flavius, and Casca had to hurriedly duck aside as a torch flew at him, then a rock that struck his helm. Roaring in outrage he sprang forward at the crowd. They parted except for one man who bravely standing his ground, gripping a sword in two hands. He slashed hard and Casca gritted his teeth as he blocked. That was a tough one! He back slashed and caught the man across the shoulder and neck and he cried out, dropping his sword, sinking to his knees.

  Casca strode forward again. More rocks and torches came at him, and he had to thrust out his shield, but a couple of stones got through. He backed away and the howling crowd closed in. Mattias and Flavius edged back towards the bridge, too. The sheer weight of missiles from the crowd was too much. Fortunately they weren’t adept at throwing, and the dark made aiming difficult.

  “Kill them!” someone screamed.

  “What are we to do?” Flavius demanded, wincing as a stone deflected off into the night from his helm.

  “Wulfila – go get that bishop!” Casca snapped.

  Wulfila turned and bolted into the darkness of the corridor, grabbing a dropped torch. Casca swung his blade in an arc, keeping the braver of the closing crowd back for a moment. “Keep them off the bridge,” Casca told the other two. “If they get onto it they’ll probably rip it to bits. I don’t want that.”

  Gerontius pushed Flora back towards the doorway and shielded her from the rocks and stones flying at them haphazardly. Manneric hovered by the temple end of the bridge, looking to see if anyone jumped into the ditch and tried to climb up behind them, but nobody was risking that – the ditch was too deep and full of sharp stakes to take the chance.

  Wulfila reappeared with the protesting and struggling Athenus. He’d tried to clean up his wound but it was still bleeding, and bloodstains could be seen over his face and clothing. At the sight of their bishop the crowd roared and surged forward. Casca told Mattias and Flavius to hold the bridge and ran to the flinching cleric and grabbed him by the arm. Pulling on him hard, he brought the bishop to the end of the bridge just as Flavius and Mattias were being pushed back.

  “Stop!” Casca screamed, holding a knife to the bishop’s throat. “Any further and he gets it!”

  The crowd stopped and a hush descended on them. Both sides faced each other a few feet apart. Casca pushed past Flavius and Mattias. “Stick close to me. Get the others to crowd in too; form a circle with Flora in the middle.”

  As the mercenaries formed a circle, facing outwards, weapons at the ready, Casca showed the townsfolk the knife across Athenus’s throat. “Want him dead? Then step aside and let us go. I’ll release this man when we get through the gate.”

  “Why should we trust you?” one of the people answered, holding a wooden club tightly. “You’ll probably take him with you!”

  “Tell them, Athenus,” Casca gripped the bishop’s arm that was bent behind his back even tighter, “unless you want to be butchered like a pig.”

  Athenus struggled but was held fast. “Let them go,” he said tightly. “God will punish them for their transgressions!”

  “And what of yours, you bastard?” Casca whispered into his ear. He glared at the townsfolk who reluctantly stepped aside and allowed the slow moving group to walk past them. Casca turned back to the rear and walked backwards, pulling Athenus with him, showing the crowd all the time the blade at their bishop’s throat.

  “Keep your distance,” he warned. They made it to the gate and the guards reluctantly opened it, and the mercenaries gratefully ran out into the open countryside. Casca paused just outside the gate, holding the bishop. “If any of you try to follow us, we’ll kill you. Out here, we’re kings. The darkness is our ally. Remember that,” and he pushed Athenus towards the gate and turned to follow the others along the road.

  He didn’t look back, hoping the townsfolk were more afraid of the night than angry at the treatment of their leader. Besides, there were far worse enemies out there than them.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  They spent an uncomfortable night in the open, and then had set off along the road before dawn. Instead of taking the southern road, Casca had surprised them by turning right and leading them away to the south-west. He’d explained to them all that this was the longest route but also the one least expected to be taken. And he’d recalled there was another place up ahead, a small town or large village with something they could use and enjoy, and it wouldn’t make any difference who ran the place or if it were deserted or not; some things would never change.

  It was with delight, therefore, that as the day began to fade, they came upon the ruined and abandoned village, and saw clouds of steam rising from bubbling springs on the far side, issuing from the wreckage of a destroyed public bathhouse.

  “Whoo!” Flavius exclaimed, “a warm bath! By heaven, sir, this is a welcome sight!”

  The Germans looked dubiously at the bubbling water, but Casca grinned, whipped off his clothes, hissing at the shock of the freezing air against his skin, and plunged in. The waters were warm and pleasant, and he lay back against one of the sides of the man-made sunken pool the springs were bubbling from and stared up at the darkening sky. “This is the life,” he commented. “Come on in,” he encouraged the others.

  “You’re crazy,” Mattias said, but he chuckled and shrugged. Bathing was a foreign concept to him but the warm waters were something different. “I think I’ll join you. My balls have frozen to my legs and they need freeing.”

  The others gradually joined him and Mattias, until only Gerontius and Flora remained standing in the cold air. “Someone needs to keep guard,” Gerontius said darkly. “I’ll swap once one of you gets out.”

  “Flora – you want to join us?” Casca asked. He noted how she didn’t bat an eyelid at the sight of five naked men. For a virgin – or a supposed virgin – she had little shyness. Maybe she’d seen naked men before.

  As the girl opened her mouth, Gerontius butted in. “She’s not going to join you lot in there!”

  “I was talking to her, not you. Shut it, Gerontius, and go off and watch the roads. Don’t forget, I’m in command here, and I’m vouching for her safety.”

  Gerontius glared with hostility at Casca, but Flora put her hand on his arm. “Oh, stop fussing over me, Gerontius! I’m no blushing little girl. And I’ve seen all they’ve got. I’m freezing cold, anyway, and need to warm up!” And without further ado, and much to the delight of the men in the pool, quickly peeled off her furs and clothes and slipped into the waters, sighing in relief as the waters chased off the feeling of cold from her hands, feet and inner core.

  Gerontius fumed above them all, but Casca waved him off, grinning at the expression on his face. He looked at Flora, lying opposite him. “I’m surprised at you.”

  “Oh?” she asked, cocking her head to one side. It was a habit he’s seen her make a few times and guessed it was a mannerism.

  “Being ready to join five naked men in the same bath. Not many girls your age would do that. What would your father say?” The others chuckled.

  “He’s not here, is he?” Flora said. “Anyway, I’m cold and need warming up.” She looked at the expression on Wulfila’s face, lying next to her. “I don’t mean that way, either!”

  “Don’t worry on that account,” Casca said, “none of us are going to lay a hand on you. We’ve taken a contract and part of that includes not – ah – getting familiar with you. So, believe it or not, you’re safe here.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Flora said. “I get tired of clumsy advances from men. When I take a husband it’ll be my choice as much as his. Or anyone else’s.” She looked levelly at Casca.


  “You’re no fool,” he conceded.

  “Disappointed?” she challenged, lifting her chin defiantly.

  “Not at all,” Casca countered. A few of the others snickered but Casca ignored them. “Makes a change. Your husband will be a lucky man, whoever he may be.”

  “Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Flora said, wriggling her toes under the water. “I’ve heard so many chat-up lines it’d bore you. They certainly bore me, I can tell you.”

  “I’m not chatting you up, Flora. Learn the difference between that and a genuine compliment.”

  Flora looked contrite. “Sorry, I get a bit bored with men at times; it seems they can’t talk to me without trying to get my clothes off.”

  “We’re different, aren’t we, guys?” Casca looked at his four companions.

  “Oh yes,” Flavius said eagerly, leering at her half-seen breasts. Lucky he was sitting down or his erection would be in full view of her.

  Mattias nodded, grinning. She was a dream. He wanted her. Damn the reward money. Lucky Casca and the others were there or she’d be impaled on his organ well and good.

  Wulfila looked away. It was unfair! Her delicious body was begging to be loved, and here he was within touching distance of what was to him a goddess and he couldn’t touch her. Were the gods playing tricks on him? His cousin Manneric was saying nothing as usual, but even he seemed affected. There was a glint in his eye he’d not seen before. Was that his equivalent of drooling lust? Who could tell with Manneric?

  Casca nodded emphatically. “So you see, Flora, Gerontius has little to worry about.” He glanced again at the men lying or sitting in the pool and knew they’d gotten a bit worked up. He’d said what he’s said for the benefit of the girl, and to a lesser extent the four men. Saying he trusted them was an attempt to bond them closer to him.

  Another thing had just occurred to Casca and he cursed under his breath. He called Gerontius and the Roman appeared after a few moments. “Before you get relieved, you’d best get a fire started. We’d freeze to death getting out of this pool without getting dried in front of a nice fire.”

  Gerontius shook his head slowly. “What am I, a sort of wet nurse?”

  “You’re doing that with Flora without a complaint,” Mattias said, a wicked grin on his face.

  “You shut it,” Gerontius snapped, “or you can make your own damned fire!”

  “Best you do it quick,” Casca said, “or Flora here might suffer when she has to get out.”

  Gerontius grumbled and stamped off. Mattias sniggered. Flora gave him a look of contempt. “He’s caring for my welfare,” she admonished the Burgundian. “It’d be nice if more of you did the same.”

  “Not going to happen, Flora,” Mattias said. “Your ‘carer’ would bite our heads off. You ought to have a word with him to relax more. It’s almost like we’re guarding two people, not one.”

  Wulfila grunted in agreement. Casca looked at the others who seemed to agree. He pulled a face. Looks like he’d have to put Gerontius on other duties. The others were becoming a little tired of the Roman’s attitude.

  The fire was soon started, thanks to an abundance of material left by the villagers when they had to abandon the settlement, and Casca was first out, deciding he ought to show the others he wasn’t afraid of the cold. He did scamper rapidly to the roaring fire, and was grateful he did. The others, even Flora, gaped at his muscled body, criss-crossed with scars. Casca wrapped his fur cloak around his nakedness and squatted in front of the fire, warming himself. It wouldn’t be long before he was dry enough to get his clothes on, and he arranged them on an improvised stand made of three sticks to warm before the fire, so when he put them on he got the benefit of the warmth against his skin.

  He was wriggling on his pants when Flora turned up, dripping water, wrapped in a cloak, and Casca graciously allowed her to squat close to the fire. “How did you get those scars, Casca?”

  Casca grinned. He was still bare from the waist up, but close enough to the fire to not be that cold. He traced the scar over his chest. It wouldn’t do to tell her he got that a century and a half ago in a land far across the seas. Or even, for that matter, the scar on his face, gained before his immortality for skewering Jesus on the cross at Golgotha. “I’m a warrior, Flora. Many of these wounds I’ve received in battle, but some as a gladiator of the arenas of the empire.” That much was true, but he’d been a gladiator twice. The first time had been during the reign of Nero. He decided not to discuss that time, only the one recently under Honorius.

  “And the one round your wrist? That’s a strange one.”

  Casca flexed his left hand and looked at the scar encircling it. Jugotai’s stitching would be forever on his body, and he felt a sadness for the loss of yet another friend. A mark he carried thanks to the maniacs of the Brotherhood of the Lamb. He wondered where they were; were they amongst these men here? He didn’t know. If they were then it was too bad. “Torture,” he said briefly. “I was a prisoner of the Persians for a while. It’s not pleasant.”

  “Oohh,” Flora said, staring at his scarred torso. Casca, standing up, could see down her front and got a good eyeful of her breasts. Gods! She’s got a fantastic body. He looked away out into the night. Lucky Gerontius couldn’t read minds. He’d have a fit. “I survived, Flora, just as I’ll survive this journey. Just as you will. We’ll get you through to safety, don’t worry.”

  The girl smiled. Casca groaned to himself quietly. Even her smile made his heart jump a somersault. How could it be that nature gave her such a great face, figure, smile, hair, legs…..? He picked up his undershirt and shrugged it on, smiling as the warmth coated his flesh. “Ahh, warm for the first time in weeks. I’d put your clothes on those sticks. You’ll be thankful you did.”

  “Thank you, I shall. You’re very kind.”

  Casca switched to German. “Only right that I should. And, after all, I’m being paid to make sure you’re unharmed.”

  “You’d do the same even if you weren’t being paid to do so,” she replied, also in German.

  Casca eyed Mattias approaching, shedding water. “Sshh!” he smiled, “you’ll be ruining my tough guy image.”

  Flora giggled and allowed Casca to hand her clothes to her. Mattias sat down firmly next to her, still naked, and put his hands close to the flames. “Ahhh, I could get used to this life!” he announced. He didn’t seem to care he was next to Flora wearing nothing. Nor, come to that, did Flora seem to mind the well-built and endowed German sitting next to her.

  Flora smiled and began talking to him, so Casca wandered off and found Gerontius. “I’ll take over now,” he said, flexing his fingers inside his gauntlets. “But let Flora talk to the others; its important they all feel a connection to the woman they’re supposed to be guarding. You’re acting too much like a barrier.”

  “You trust them too much,” Gerontius replied darkly. “I’d keep them as far as possible from her, if I were you. You know our orders – she’s not to be touched in any way!”

  “Follow my damned orders, Gerontius, or I’ll remove you from her company and put you permanently as drag. Want that? Now go get some food or drink or something, but get out of my sight.”

  The two men exchanged unfriendly looks but Gerontius went off to the fire, muttering to himself. Casca sucked in a lungful of searing cold air and walked out to the edge of what had been the settlement, and looked out across the silent and snow-covered landscape. He enjoyed these moments of solitude, to be able to think. He was like no other and so nobody could fully understand his moods and thoughts. Some tried, others said they did, but he didn’t really believe them. How many had he spoken to about his unique condition since Jesus had cursed him on Golgotha?

  His friend in Achea, Lucius Minitre, had been the first. Then of course, there had been good old Shiu Lao Tze. Who else? Glam had guessed there was something unusual about him long before he’d said anything to the great big German. His people in Helsfjord had happily accepted his condition.
He smiled at the memory of Helsfjord and looked out over the snow. So much like that place in winter. Again a pang of longing struck him. He would have to go there again one day. But he was afraid what he would find, or more to the point, what he wouldn’t find.

  The Teotah people had known there was something different about him, but not exactly what. Anyone who had their heart ripped out and had reclaimed it can’t have been normal. Jugotai had looked at him oddly at times after Dacort had chopped his hand off and it had been sewn back on, but he’d never spoken to him.

  The oriental advisor in Kushan had been told, of course. Without his help Casca would never have gotten to Chin. Emperor Tzin had known, and he’d spoken to him on many quiet nights such as this. His wife, the Empress Li-Tsao, had known there was something about him, and it had ended up with him being buried alive by that bitch.

  Who had he told after that? He had to be careful about it as time went on; he always had to move on as he never fitted in anywhere. It had gotten him burned in Persia. Nobody else had been told.

  He sighed, and wandered out onto the road and idly walked about, looking into the darkness. The sky was clear and the stars were out. It was damned cold! He returned to the village and patrolled the perimeter, seeing nothing. Mattias came up after a while, to relieve him. “She’s a nice girl,” Mattias said.

  “Yes, I think so. Not very Roman, though, is she?”

  “Nope. Speaks with a Suevi accent, too.”

  “Does she, by the gods?” Casca mulled that revelation over in his mind. He made his way back to the camp and sat close to the fire. Everyone had dried out and were either sleeping or getting that way. Wulfila was nodding off by the fire. Casca found a clear space and swept some snow away, laid his cloak out on the ground and lay there, thinking, until sleep claimed him.

  * * *

  He was woken before dawn by Manneric. Getting up, cramped and cold, he grumbled and looked to eat something from his pack, and finally found a squashed piece of cheese and bread going stale. Not the best breakfast but he’d need the energy.