by Tony Roberts
Casca looked up for a moment, incredulous. A thousand armed men? That would have made one heck of a noise and kicked up a lot of dust, and alerted the local garrison commander. He remembered nothing of that! Granted, the rain had been lashing down but even a storm would have been unable to hide that many men! Casca was more convinced than ever of the unhinged state of mind of this Izram. He looked back down, not wanting to attract the attention of Janus or anyone else.
Janus’ voice rose as he approached the climax of the reading. “But the cursed Roman, Longinus, struck our Lord with his spear just as I approached and His blessed blood poured forth. There was a great storm raging and all had hidden their faces from the wind save me. I alone heard the words of The Lord as He spake to the killer, and He said: ‘Soldier, you are content with what you are, then that you shall remain until we meet again.’” Casca shivered, goose bumps breaking out over his body at hearing those words. No doubt Izram had been there, but Casca doubted he had anyone else with him except his ghosts and demons.
“Then Jesus died and I saw the Roman touch his hand to his lips and go into great agony, which I relished, and I knew I was witnessing a miracle. The blood of the Lamb has great power. I knew that I had to have the instrument of our Lord’s death and secretly arranged to buy it from a man of my own lands, a Syrian who’d exchanged the Roman’s spear for another when the Roman had dropped it.” Casca exhaled long and slowly. So that’s how they’d gotten it; either Kleton or Achron, his squad buddies, must have swapped spears. Why, he had no idea.
Janus went on to describe Izram’s time in the wastelands and the vision he claimed to have had. Casca wondered if he’d gotten his hands on some bad Syrian wine. He himself with Kleton and Achron had swilled some vile stuff at the Crucifixion which they’d even shared with the dying Jew on the cross. “Jesus will return and from His words I knew that He had left the Roman for us to follow. Jesus said they will meet again. The Roman, Longinus, is the road that leads to Jesus and the Second Coming, and we shall follow the killer of God wherever he goes. He must never escape us, and when again he meets Jesus we shall be there to welcome our Lord.” Casca trembled; being in this place amongst these fanatics suddenly crowded in on him. He needed to get away from these people. He missed the final words but he had heard enough.
Janus now called the meeting to a close, inviting each of them to stay at his home until the morning. Casca hadn’t counted on this but bowed when he was addressed, then followed the others out of the chamber and out into the open air, Janus carrying the Holy of Holies. Casca cursed when he saw Narses guarded by his ten Spathos-cublicars and realized he couldn’t get at him again. Narses took a different route from the others and it was clear he was upset at not being elected as the new Elder and left with his escort on horseback. Casca lagged behind and waited but two guards, obviously under orders, stood patiently by acting as his escort. He waited until the others had gone before setting off up the hill towards the first of the houses. As he got to the top he suddenly whipped out his sword, turned a half circle and brought his weapon down on the nearest man who was taken totally by surprise. Even before he had hit the ground Casca advanced on the second who had managed to drag his sword out, and parried the initial attack.
However he was facing a former Roman Legionary and didn’t have his years of experience in the gladiator school of Corvu, and he was hopelessly outmatched. With one vicious strike Casca took the right arm off the man and with his next blow severed his head so that the two removed parts of his body hit the ground before the torso. Wiping his blade he tore off the brown robe, threw it over the first guard, then melted into the night, pleased to have dispatched two more of the evil sect.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A few weeks later in Italy Vitiges faced the angry leaders of the Gothic nation and waved his arms for calm. “Comrades, comrades,” he shouted above the noise, “we are facing a struggle for our own survival and yet I see we are busy fighting amongst ourselves. How can we hope to succeed in this manner? We have lost the southern half of Italy for the time being but as you know our army is encamped around Rome and will hopefully starve them out before long. Once Rome falls then we can move on to the other places the Imperial forces have captured and take them one by one. They cannot break out of the siege I have put around them and they do not have enough men to launch any other attacks. We have them on the defensive, and the next move will be ours.”
Some of the leaders present in that room in Ravenna shook their heads. They did not like how the campaign had been handled so far by their kings and were very disillusioned about the whole thing. Theoderic wouldn’t have allowed the imperial forces to take Sicily, Naples and Rome. One of the Goths present, a man named Ildebad, spoke up. “If we have such an overwhelming force why don’t we drive the Greeks back into the sea? We have more men here in the north doing nothing at all. Why don’t you send them down south and retake Naples? That would cut Belisarius off completely from any supply route.”
Vitiges shook his head even though there were assenting voices present. “We must watch our rear at all times just in case the Franks decide to intervene in the war. I have already sent emissaries to Theudebert the Frankish king promising to keep to our word which means paying him for his neutrality, but as you all know they are not to be trusted. We also must watch for an imperial attack from the north east just in case, so we need these garrisons in Ravenna, in Pavia, in Verona. If we send our reserves south to retake those cities lost to the Greeks, we are open to conquest in the north.”
Ildebad snorted and angrily turned about. “My men are grumbling about staying in Verona while their comrades are fighting outside Rome. When will we have our turn?”
“In time, Ildebad, in time. First we must retake Rome. When that is done the job is half done and then we will make a two-pronged attack: one to the south towards Naples, the other to the north east towards Sirmium. Not even the Greeks have enough men to stop that.”
Ildebad grunted. “Very well, but we will not wait for long.” With that he left with his chieftains for his journey back to Verona, leaving a troubled Vitiges in his quarters pondering on how to end the siege of Rome with the inadequate equipment they had.
* * *
Casca made sure his chariot was in top condition for the twentieth time before allowing it to be led out onto the track to a thunderous roar from the crowd. Over the past four weeks the hysteria over the head to head had surpassed any other, and it seemed as though every faction supporter in the entire city was there to see who would triumph. Vast amounts of money had been placed on either Manius or Rufius and Ibrahim had rubbed his hands until he had been in danger of wearing them out.
Theirs was the last race of the day and interest in the other races had not been what it normally was. There were five chariots in this race, two from the Blues and Greens and an independent, entered purely as mischief by that owner. The five lined up by the starting gates and each took their applause from the crowd. Manius was next to Casca and he leaned over after they had been introduced, a snarl on his lips. “This is where you lose everything, Rufius.”
Casca stood still in shock. He recognized the voice of Manius as being that he had heard in the aqueduct in the Lychus Valley those weeks ago. Manius was the auditor of the Brotherhood! Very slowly, very carefully, Casca turned to face his great rival. “You’re going to be beaten today, you screwer of little boys, beaten so badly that everyone will remember this day as the Day of Rufius. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to win these times having no balls at all.”
Manius’s face went purple with rage, his veins standing out in his neck. Casca laughed briefly and turned his attention to the track. The other riders were getting psyched up ready for the race and Casca studied each of them. The other Blue was Debenos, a tall, fair haired man from Moesia who seemed to have a strain of Gothic blood in him. Debenos was full of flair and although this made for spectacular races it also made for spectacular crashes of which Debenos had more than
his share already. Apart from Manius the Greens could cheer on a swarthy Cypriot named Theophanos, while the one independent rider, calling himself a Red, was Leo, a well-known eccentric who saw himself as something of a talented rider. Once, long ago, there had been four main factions but the Reds and Whites had been absorbed into the ranks of the Blues and Greens, and now, apart from maybe the occasional independent entry under a neutral color, it was mainly a contest between the two demes, as the two factions were known. In fact, the two factions had grown so successful that they now were political parties and had their own armed forces, the Blues currently having something like 900 to call on, the Greens 1,600.
The five chariots were called to ready themselves and the crowd’s noise increased perceptibly, increasing to a crescendo as the official started the race. Casca urged his team forward in a headlong dash for the first turn, determined not to be the last and certainly wishing to be ahead of Manius. For the Blues, it was a great start with Debenos flying through the turn first followed closely by Casca with Manius in third. The roar from the Blues was deafening and both Emperor and Empress smiled as their favored faction took an early advantage. Manius rode like one demented, stung by Casca’s words and further enraged by the fact the upstart was in front of him.
Casca found that the man in front of him, Debenos, was a hard man to follow as he was driving with excessive recklessness around the corners and at each turn he pulled further away from the rest. Manius soon used his skill and familiarity with the circuit to catch up with Casca and on one turn nipped through on the inside, much to Casca’s chagrin. He was now in third place with the other Green hot on his heels and Debenos and Manius pulling away.
However, the reckless Blue rider took one corner too wildly and had to swerve wide to avoid tumbling over which lost him some ground, allowing Manius to close up alongside and Casca to regain much of his lost ground. Now he remembered Manius’s style at approaching corners in taking a slightly wider approach before pulling across the turn and accelerating into the straight which explained how he had managed to catch up and then overtake him so quickly.
Casca looked at the counter and saw that only five circuits remained, so it was time to act. He took a tight hold of the reins and guided the four horse team into a tighter approach and at a higher speed than Manius. Without applying any rein to the horses he dragged the team around the inside, almost touching Manius’s chariot, and spoiled his path through the turn into the straight, thus causing the Green to slow to prevent him from crashing. Casca sped by, helped on his way by a vile invective from Manius, right on the tail of Debenos who was now swerving from side to side quite violently in his efforts to bring his team under control. He was going far too fast and as a result took the turns at a wider angle than he needed to which allowed Casca to pass him on the next turn. Seconds later Debenos lost control completely and tumbled over outside the path of Manius to destruction. Pieces of chariot flew into the air and struck the outside barrier and the horses dragged the wrecked remains of the chariot wide and over to the end of the stadium, away from the track. The crowd roared.
Handlers rushed out to soothe the frightened horses while others waited till the last team had raced past before running onto the sand to drag the prone figure of Debenos off the track before they could come round again to run the unfortunate over.
With all other opposition too far back to mount any challenge, it was now a straight battle between Casca and Manius, just as everyone had expected. Casca knew now that the Green had the edge in the straights but his superior strength and line in the turns canceled that out, so he grimly concentrated on keeping his lead, well aware that Manius was thundering up close to his right, encouraged by the many Green supporters. As the number of circuits dwindled down to two, Casca still held a narrow lead, and Manius now began to get desperate seeing that his long unbeaten run was in grave danger. His long tried and trusted method of approaching each corner had come to naught, for when he took the wider approach, his opponent nipped inside and dragged his chariot round at a seemingly impossible angle and speed, and no matter how fast he went in the straight the Blue always had a narrow lead and could therefore choose the path into the turn.
The Blue faction in the crowd got to their feet and began to chant as the final lap approached: ‘nika, Rufius, nika Rufius’, the cry of encouragement to win. The Greens took up their cry to Manius but it was of desperation and Casca recognized this. His forearms ached and sweat dripped from his brow with the effort, but he still held a slight lead, Manius’s horses alongside him, foam falling from their mouths in the effort they were being driven to in order to pass him. The last turn neared and Manius put in one supreme effort to pass and the two teams entered the straight in line together, sending the crowd wild in excitement. Casca cracked his whip across the rumps of his team, giving them an extra spurt of speed, and before Manius could react they had passed the finishing line to a thunderous wave of noise, Casca ahead by a horses’ neck.
The impossible had happened, Manius had been beaten. All around the Hippodrome the Blues were leaping up and down or hugging each other in delight while the Greens sat stunned, unable to believe what they had just witnessed. Casca slowed his team and looked up at the imperial box to see the Emperor and Empress clapping politely. It would not do for those of such dignity to show unrestrained jubilation but the smiles on both of their faces told the story. Rufius had the imperial approval and judging by the shouts from the Blues he could have anything he wanted. He was the city's hero - at least to the Blues - and had the freedom of the city as a result as far as they were concerned. Casca jumped off the chariot and handed the reins to a beaming stable lad and sauntered over to Manius who was staring at him with undisguised hatred. Casca whipped off his helm and grinned impishly up at the Green.
“Sorry to beat you, Brother, but we can’t have one of the Lamb winning, can we?”
Manius’s jaw dropped and the blood drained from his face. Casca slowly ran a finger down the scar on his face and the Green realized who he really was. “Longinus!”
“The very same, Auditor. You may run and hide in this city, but I'll find you and hunt you down like the scum you are. I have killed your Elder and been to two of your meeting places, now I will begin hunting its acolytes. Run far and fast, Manius, lest I catch up with you.”
The Green backed away, fear on his face, and he fled from the track to jeers from the Blues. In hardly any time all the Greens on the trackside had followed their fallen star into the stadium’s bowels, leaving the Blues to receive the accolades of the supporters. Today was the day of the Blues, and they were determined to celebrate. Casca was carried on his teammates’ shoulders around the track much to the supporters’ delight and they showered him with coins, gifts and flowers. Casca grabbed as many coins as he could although most were picked up by his team mates following behind.
Carina and Delia were there and Casca jumped down and ran over to them, handing Carina some of the flowers he had been thrown. She took them and hugged him while Delia was jumping up and down like a demented grasshopper. Casca then continued on his way and stopped in front of the imperial box where Justinian and Theodora applauded him. The box hung at the top of the stadium, a stone pediment above being linked to the balcony by four pillars. The Emperor beckoned a messenger forward and whispered something to him who then made his way out of sight and shortly reappeared from the tunnel beneath the box. He beckoned Casca to lean forward to listen. “The Emperor and Empress request your attendance this evening after dark. Please come to the Chalke Gate.”
Casca nodded and confirmed he would come. He continued on his way around the track, wondering if he would meet Narses in the palace. If he did, would he kill him as he had planned or not? Narses was certainly well guarded and valued by the imperial couple so any public killing of the eunuch would be disastrous for him. He had heard of the fate of anyone displeasing the Emperor or Empress greatly which ranged from beheading to burning, neither of which appealed
to him, even though he was cursed with immortality. In fact he had been burned once and that experience filled him with dread and he certainly didn’t want to go through that again.
He arrived at dusk at the Chalke Gate by the side of the palace and announced himself to the guards there. He had restrained himself from getting roaring drunk that afternoon and had handed the coins and gifts he had picked up to Carina. The money he had gained plus what was promised to him from Ibrahim would be enough to purchase a property in the city which, judging by recent events in Thrace and Moesia, would be a better place to live rather than in the suburbs. Carina had said she would think on the matter and let him know over the next few days. Casca had pointed out that with the near worship he was getting it would be easier to get away from it in one of the better class areas of Constantinople which was traditionally a Blue faction area - the Blues having support of the aristocracy and the big land owners.
He felt tired and wanted nothing more than to sink into a comfortable bed and go to sleep, but one couldn’t keep the imperial persons waiting, so he allowed the officer of the guard to take him into the palace grounds. He was surprised to see it wasn’t one building but a collection, being palaces, covered walkways, baths and function rooms. The first large building was obviously a barracks and he was marched past this, through a quiet garden area and past the freshly rebuilt Baths of Zeuxippus and to the palace entrance proper where he was searched for weapons first and then told to wait in an antechamber until summoned. After a few minutes a white robed official arrived and gestured for him to follow, leading him down a long marble corridor flanked by columns to a set of double doors guarded by two fierce looking soldiers whom Casca recognized as two of Narses’ men. Past these doors was another room occupied by officials who wanted to know who he was, what his business was and so forth. Casca felt like telling them to piss off but kept his cool and merely informed them he had been requested to attend by no less than the Emperor. The officials nodded at his name, having been instructed he would be present that evening. He was shown through to the next chamber. The floors were covered in colorful and spectacular mosaics of all kinds. One was some kind of barbarian king – maybe Gelimer?
