Casca 1: The Eternal Mercenary (12 page)

And when Jubala noticed. the Sicilian slave Crysos sucking up to Casca, he thought,
Good. That may be the way to get the big Roman's goat. He likes the Sicilian.

But there were other matters first. He remembered the prostitute.
You... I must go to your grave and dig you up so that I can feed on you...
It would not be the first time Jubala had followed the ways of his fathers. He was content to wait.

It would not be long...

Shiu knocked on the portal leading to the interior of the Gallic school. The guard answering did not know what to make of the strange yellow man with the wispy beard and moustache. Shiu smiled pleasantly at him through the bars.

"Honored sir, may I speak to your proprietor?"

He bowed as he spoke, and in the eyes of the guard he looked for all the world like an old carving of ivory that had turned golden with age, but with dark eyes that sparkled with good humor and pleasure.

The sentry called for the lanista.

Lashing his whip to make a few of the new tiros get out of the way, Corvu came to the gate. "What is it? And who
– and what – are you?"

Shiu bowed again, his saffron-colored robes folding themselves gracefully over his thin frame. "I am Shiu Lao Tze, honored sir. As to what I am, that is not so easy, for are we not the sum total of all our parts? And, like you, I have many parts. At this time it is my pleasure to be the friend and servant of a great man of this city, the honored Seneca, adviser to the imperial Nero." Shiu hissed between his teeth, showing respect to the name of his master. "Noble sir, what I wish is to be permitted to speak with one of your students. We met on the ship coming over from Greece, and recently my master heard of him at a contest near his villa in the country. Therefore I have this day, with his permission, come to speak to my young friend, the man called Casca. Is this possible?"

Normally, Corvu would have denied permission for any of his students to have visitors, but the combination of Seneca's name, this yellow man, and his own curiosity about Casca was too much. Telling the guard to open up, he took Shiu to where he could watch both him and Casca, and then sent for Casca. Corvu withdrew after being properly courteous to his visitor. One never knew just who it was who had power... He went to where he could observe the two unobtrusively.

Shiu sat at the bench provided for students when they were allowed to take a break from their training and rest a moment.

A loud bellowing soon brought him to his feet.

Grinning from ear to ear, the overmuscled Casca bore down on the delicate looking Oriental like a ramming galley.

"Gently," laughed Shiu as Casca enveloped him in his bearlike arms and whirled him off the ground, round and round. "Set me down, you great oaf. Have you learned no respect for your elders? Set me down, you big-nosed barbarian."

Finally Casca put the yellow one down, and they sat at the table. "You dare to call me a barbarian, you shriveled-up old prune? And I could tell you something about what you said about having respect for your elders. But, enough. Have you been well? I have thought of you often these last months. Is your master kind to you?"

Shiu laughed, the bell-like tinkle that always delighted Casca just to hear it. "Yes, you great one. Yes, and yes again. My master is kind and wise. From the first moment we met we became soul mates and have spent many pleasurable hours in conversation. Indeed, my master is such a great respecter of learning that he felt it was impossible for a slave to argue freely with his master, and, as we were having a most interesting discourse on life and the merit of living, he set me free so as to feel no hindrance on either part. I am a free man again."

Casca beamed at his small friend. "That is good to hear, Tze. I am happy for you. You are a good man
– if a little weird."

"So, big nose, it is enough. I am well and have a good life for the present, and I am content for the time being. Now, how goes it for you? You look well. Those monstrous bulges under you look even bigger than they did when we were on the ship together."

Casca raised his arms and flexed them, making his great muscles bulge out to the straining point. He laughed deeply. "Aye, little one, I'm healthy enough. They feed their stock good here. But while I may look like just a bear, I have also learned more than you think, and a good portion of what I have learned is thanks to you. I know, for instance, that my strength cannot overcome a little man from the distant East who I should be able to break in two with no trouble at all, and I know also that I have got to start using my mind to change my condition. My strength is only a tool for that purpose. I have never been a very intelligent man – but then I have never had to be. My life was simple, and I had need of very little original thought. Now I am learning, and I will continue to learn all that I can. I may be a slave to other men, but from you I have learned that I do not have to be a slave to myself and to my own ignorance."

Shiu nodded, pleased. "It is good that you are on the path to becoming a whole man, big nose. For the time being you do what you must, but by thinking and using your thoughts you may change what it is you are required to do. Every time you can change your life a little you gain that much control over your destiny. I still believe, as I said on the galley, that you are a man pursued by his destiny. Yet, you yourself may be the searcher, and you may one day find what it is you search for."

As the two talked, the sun passed its zenith. Unknown to them, Corvu was watching. Jubala, from where he exercised with the tiros of the second degree of proficiency, also watched, puzzled by the yellow man and wondering what value he had to the tough soldier. Perhaps he would find out. Casca's pleasure at the old man's coming was the first real sign of excitement that he had shown since coming here. The old one had some real value for him...

Corvu finally came over and broke it up. "All right, Casca, back to the posts and finish up your day. And you, sir, I hope I have been of some service to you. If you wish to see this man again, please come any time. And give my regards to your master, the honorable and noble Seneca."

Shiu bowed, and Casca returned to the interminable chopping at the post, first giving Shiu one last squeeze that looked as if it could cave in his ribs. Shiu thanked Corvu for his kindness, and, yes, he would speak to his master about the kindnesses shown to him by the Gallic school and its senior instructor and mentor, the noble Corvu.

Shiu Lao Tze seldom visited, the games. The few times that he did come, the reason he gave was that he wanted to see for himself the emotional structures and responses of people under these conditions. Twice was enough. From then on he visited Casca at the school or
– when Casca had a day off – at the baths where they would go and talk. The public baths were one feature of Roman life that Shiu heartily approved. He said the vapors were conducive to meditation. When he and Casca had the privacy to do so, Shiu would brush up on what he had taught Casca of the way of the open hand – but never in public. Casca wanted the technique kept to himself. There would probably be a time when it would save his ass again as it had on the ship.

Seneca was kind enough to honor Shiu's request that he send a note of thanks to Corvu regarding the kindnesses shown his friend. He added that he would mention the name of the Gallic school to Caesar when next they met. This guaranteed a continued welcome for Shiu. There was little difficulty in arranging the days off; Crespas had said that it was all right for Casca to be given occasional liberty in town, and Corvu had noted that the big man was a whole lot easier to deal with and that his attitude was better if he did get some liberty.

Meanwhile, Jubala watched all that went on, and his heart was as black as his face.
One day
he promised himself,
One day, white dog...

Casca was nearly ready. He would have fought even sooner, but Corvu was saving him for a big festival that was coming up. There was sure to be a full house then, and the emperor would be certain to be there. If he liked what he saw, the fortune of the school was made.

Finally Corvu announced that Casca would fight in the great Circus Maximus with the other first-line fighters. Casca felt he was ready, but Corvu intensified his training even more the last few days. Casca lifted weights and ran and swam to build up his wind. He knew full well that a man out of breath was the most vulnerable.

In the excitement of his coming debut it was difficult for him to believe that what had happened to him had really occurred. The words of the Jew, the things of the past
– all seemed a mere dream that he had imagined many years ago. Only when he received a cut did it all come back to him... and the terrible danger of it. Several times he had to reopen his wounds to make the healing process appear normal. After all, they did
burn
witches and sorcerers...

Crysos became even more attentive to Casca, saving him choice cuts of meat from the mess hall, cleaning his cubicle until it was spotless.

"Crysos, what the hell do you want from me?"

The blunt question took the little Sicilian by surprise. But, looking Casca straight in the face, he said in the strongest voice he could muster: "I want to serve you, and by so doing serve myself
. You are going to fight soon, and I want to be your partner. I have some money set aside. That I will wager on your winning, and split the profits with you. Let me serve you. Promise me that when you attain your freedom you will arrange for me to get mine, too. I can tell much and help you. Do we have a deal, master?"

"By the brass balls of Jupiter, you have guts, Crysos! And if you are willing to put up the money, I will strike that bargain with you. Even if I can't win the wooden sword, there is always the chance that we might win enough money to buy ourselves out of this place. Good enough. Crysos, from this time on we are partners, and you are my man. Shake on it."

Crysos was almost pathetically eager to grab the muscled wrists of Casca. He had found what he had been searching for ever since his father had sold him into slavery twenty years before to pay off some gambling debts.

During the weeks that followed, Casca grew to have a fondness for Crysos, but another interest was there also, though unknown to Casca and Crysos. Jubala watched, and also waited... for just what, he did not know, but time would tell... it always did...

The night before the festival Crysos came and sat in Casca's cubicle, and the two talked long, each taking the other's measure. Casca found that beneath the weasel-like exterior of Crysos was a man with an amazing degree of knowledge and experience, knowledge that he would need in times to come.

The oil lamp's light flickered across the features of his new partner and Casca finally called an end to the day, sending Crysos off to place his bets on the games tomorrow.

Yes,
he thought, just before sleep took him,
tomorrow the arena.

Before dawn the gladiators of the Gallic School were pulled from their cubicles, fed, and assembled for the march to the Circus Maximus. The first glow of the morning light was breaking as they made their way to the city of Nero. They entered through the Asinarian Gate, passing the great aqueducts of Claudius and Marcian. To the north the temple of Isis and Serapis was barely visible through the morning mists, but the chanting of the priestesses was clearly heard, a strange lilting melody honoring their goddess of the Nile. The melody caressed forgotten edges of Casca's brain, but his conscious thoughts were all on what this day would bring.

Corvu led them finally to where the Appian Way and Via Ostia met at the south end of the Circus Maximus. The crowds were already gathering, and many were already being shown to their seats by the
locarii
. Most had baskets with lunches and suppers in them. And surprisingly enough, even this early, prostitutes of both sexes were doing a pretty fair business under the arches and passages leading to the arena.

The first thing that hit Casca as they entered the passageways leading to the barracks like area where they would be outfitted was the smell... the smell of the beasts in their cages, and the smell of the humans in theirs.

There was a sameness to them now, but that would change when the beasts were let loose on the humans.

The deep, rumbling cough of the lion merged with the higher more catlike, cry of the leopard. The beasts knew that this was a day different from any other. Some primal instinct told them that there would be blood
, soon, very soon.

A breeze picked up, and Casca could smell the waters of the Tiber, only a hundred yards away.

Each gladiator was unto himself, alone with his thoughts...

Bread was brought. Not the
panis sordis
of the common people but the fine, sweet, yeasty white bread of the rich,
silgineus.
Casca had never tasted it before. He let his mouth fill with the sweet taste of it, letting each bite melt by itself. Then, like the others, he washed it down with posca. No wine until after they fought... which meant that many would never taste wine again for this day would be their last.

An auctoratti from Dacia turned to Casca and smiled quietly, his voice low and soft. "Soldier, does this have the same feel as before going into battle?"

Casca turned to him, his gray eyes serious. He let his back slide down the stone wall until he rested on his haunches and looked up into the face of the Dacian.

"Yes. There is a sameness to the waiting." Taking a short swallow of the bitter posca, he rinsed his mouth and spat. "But here we fight not for a cause or for each other. We fight for the amusement of the beasts outside, those people in the seats. They're the ones who should be in cages. But we will go out there and kill each other off for their pleasure. And ours, too. For the gods help us. Man was made for battle, and when the fight starts you can't help but be drawn into the killing. But there is something out there we can win."

The Dacian knelt beside him. "What's that, soldier?"

"The wooden sword," Casca stated through half-clenched lips. "The wooden sword is out there. If we can please the beasts that judge, freedom could come today. And for that freedom, Dacian, I would kill you and everyone else here gladly. That is our fate
– to kill or be killed. As with the great beasts of the jungle – eat or be eaten. And this day, Dacian, I will feed."

Still on his knees, the Dacian backed away from Casca, fear running over his skin, running over the crawling flesh. He turned his eyes away. He left. He gave thanks to his gods that he would not fight against that madman today...

The morning's entertainment began with mock battles between naked old men and midgets cavorting and thumping each other with wooden swords and flails made of animal bladders. These were followed by more forms of mild entertainment, including a lottery in which the winners won prizes of young slave girls and money.

But these were only the preliminaries.

The time for the sacrifice arrived.

Trumpets blared, echoing through the giant U-shaped structure of the Circus. The seventy-five thousand in the stands went silent. The priests entered, walking with stately strides to the shrine running down the center of the Circus. Here were the altars to Jupiter and Mars. The priests led out a pure white bull for the sacrifice, its horns covered with gold foil and with garlands of flowers draped around its neck
– but with a ring in its nose by which the priests led it. The bull's eyes rolled from side to side, the red rims showing, as though he sensed that this was no normal day. The deep smell of blood lying covered by the clean sand made its way into the bull's flaring nostrils. But he felt no real fear. All his life men had tended gently to him, brought him the best of fodder, and washed him every day. From the time of his calving men had been gentle to him.

Then it happened.

His legs were bound, and he was thrown on his side.

The bull gave one short, startled bellow before the slicing blade of the priest severed his great artery. The dumb brute's mind had not really registered what had happened, his body had not stopped its death tremor before his entrails were out and were being inspected for omens. The priests then removed the bull's heart and set it in the flaming altar before Jupit
er and announced – as always – that the omens were auspicious and the games could continue.

The audience roared its approval. The entire company of the day marched around the Circus so the people in the stands could get a good look at them. Gladiators in the dress of a dozen nations appeared. Retarii with their nets and tridents were followed by a group of condemned prisoners from Germany who had been taken while raiding the northern provinces. Sleek and black Numidians rode ostriches and the striped horses of Africa. Cages of lions and leopards rolled by. Slave girls scattered flowers and garlands from baskets. Choruses sang paeans to the glory of Rome and her gods.

Late to enter the arena were the
bestiarii,
those who would fight the animals. Some were armed with swords for killing bears. Others carried the stout boar spear with its iron circular guard about midway on the shaft. The guard was to prevent the boar from sliding on down even after it was speared, and getting to the
bestiarii
with its flashing tusks. The beast men took up positions while the rest of the day's entertainers returned to the cool interior of the Circus to wait their turn on the hot sands. The preliminaries were over. Now the games would begin in deadly earnest.

A great rumbling came from the crowd as the beasts were let loose in the arena. Nearly a hundred and fifty animals raced into the open. Some, like the deer, fled with wild, flashing eyes. Others methodically stalked their prey. The great cats slunk low and stayed to the wall sides as a house cat would have. Bulls, antelopes, hyenas mixed in confusion. Several wild dogs with firebrands tied to their tails were let loose, helping to drive the beasts into a frenzy. The cries of "Kill! Kill! Kill!" echoed from the chambers and arches of the Circus.

And kill they did.

Men and animals.

Slaughter...

Casca caught one quick look outside and saw a leopard dragging a boy off to a quiet corner where it could enjoy its meal. While he watched, the beast began eating its victim's face. Casca turned away in distaste. This was not the business of soldiering he knew. To kill was natural... but to feed the beasts was not.

One spectacle followed another. In one pleasant diversion a great number of condemned criminals were let loose in the arena to kill each other off – and then lions were released to kill and eat the survivors. One insane depravity followed another, glutting the Romans' senses... Beneath the arches and alcoves, the whores' trade tripled... The slaughter continued past midday, with only short breaks while attendants spread fresh sand on the floor of the Circus and raked it smooth. Fine entertainment. Seventy-five thousand spectators...
Sick damn bastards
, Casca thought... and turned his attention to his own group.

Corvu briefed them on the day's schedules. They were to fight as a team. There would be fifty of his men in the traditional dress and armor of the Secutoris, with the fish symbol of Gaul on their helmets. They would be matched against a like number from the Dacian school dressed as Thracians with great curved swords and short brass bucklers as shields. The curved Thracian sword was longer than their own gladius iberius, but it had disadvantages to it
–particularly where the straight thrust was concerned.

Casca's mind strayed from the briefing. Another smell had joined the existing odors of blood and animal sweat that permeated the entire structure. Now the scent of excited humanity wafted down from the stands, the smell of excitement and sexual arousement. Casca could see the looks of depraved passion on the faces of the people in the stands above. Only the vestal virgins in their box seemed to make any attempt to maintain some form of dignity. They would be disdainfully observing all that took place as if it were a burden on their sensibilities when they would much rather be at a clean and pleasant temple praying.

And, at the opposite end of the arena, the gladiators of the Dacian school would be listening to a briefing likewise. This would be a fight where only the victors of the winning side walked away.

The moment had come.

The games master signaled. Trumpets blared. The senior gladiators held the front ranks. Casca and the others picked up the step and marched into the arena, Corvu's voice following after them, exhorting them to remember the honor of their school and give a good show.

Each school marched across the arena, turned, and faced the Imperator's box. There the divine Nero was playing with the breasts of his newest paramour, Acte, a pleasant blonde girl of perhaps nineteen, a street whore who had screwed her way to the top. Nero sat with his hand down her stola oblivious to all that was transpiring until Burrus, the prefect of the Praetorians, called his attention to the men below. Removing his hand from Acte's breast, he made a small face and turned to the hundred men below on the shining sand. As one voice, the gladiators cried out: "Hail, Caesar. We who are about to die salute you!" Gaius Nero acknowledged their salute with a wave of his hand and motioned the games master to get on with it.

The men from the two companies squared off and sized each other up. Casca locked eyes on a tall Greek and assumed the basic defensive posture rather than the attacking attitude, letting his actions say that he was unsure and giving the big Greek the impression he had the mental edge on him.

The gladiators closed.

His scream was already in the air when the sword arm of one of Casca's teammates went down before the curved flashing blade of his Dacian opponent. The victor did not have time to finish off his victim before he, too, was down with both hands holding his belly trying to keep the large intestines from falling out onto the sands. The men swirled and milled, changing opponents again and again.

Casca kept his eyes on the Greek, letting the Dacian beat him back farther and farther from the main battle, away from the larger group of killing men. By separating himself from the mass, Casca knew the audience would be watching him more closely, which was proved by the jeers from the crowd, the calls of "Coward!" and the demand that he fight. They also encouraged the Greek to finish this swine off. The curved blade of the Greek repeatedly pounded on Casca's protecting shield. The Greek was seemingly trying to beat him down through sheer exhaustion. That curved blade kept hacking gouges out of Casca's shield, sending aching vibrations running up his arm. One of the Greek's teammates started to come and help finish him off, but the Greek waved him away. He wanted no help with this kill.
Good,
thought Casca. Good. Let the others waste each other.
If I just hold on to this one until the odds are reduced, then...
The crowd screamed and wagered on their favorites. Several women had already bet themselves into slavery and were even now at the feet of their new masters. Others in the stands stood with glazed eyes in sexual excitement as ecstatic shudders ran through their bodies... as though they were making love and were in an uncontrollable climactic response...

The time had come. The two teams were evenly matched; there were about twenty men left standing. Casca grinned at the Greek, his teeth showing below his protective nose guard. "Greek!" he called. "Freedom is just a wooden sword away!" He took his helmet off, letting the crowd see his face. The act alone made him stand out from the rest. He threw the helmet at the astonished Greek and went into a low, leaning position, his blade
extended out, the flat side up. He motioned the Greek to come closer.

"Come here, lover of boys," he mocked. "Come on, hero."

He feinted a short thrust and sliced a small gouge from the Greek's left shoulder just enough to piss him off.

The Greek roared and fell on Casca like a whirlwind, raining one blow after another. The crowd was screaming its approval. Casca let the Greek almost hover over him, and then, with one quick, clean motion, he turned his body sideways and leaned away from the Greek... almost as though he were going to try and run away.

The Greek bellowed with pleasure and went at it even harder. He beat at Casca's shield, trying to get around it. Then, as Casca completed his turn away, his left foot was between the legs of the Greek. With one quick, clean motion he jerked his foot up into the balls of the Greek, striking with the back of his heel.