Casca 9: The Sentinel (9 page)

Hrolvath led him to the trireme, saying, "Sicarus likes you a great deal and wants you with him where you can spend some time together. He wants to talk with you. That's a good sign. I think he's going to make you a squad leader. If he does, can I be in it?"

The eagerness in the boy's words were a novelty to Casca. He didn't know why Hrolvath had taken such a liking to him. But what the hell could it hurt? He did like the boy in spite of his unbridled energy and enthusiasm.

They found a perch on the bow above the bronze-plated battering ram that served as the prow of the vessel. From there, he could see Sicarus and the harbor master screaming invectives as each blamed the other for generally screwing up everything. Once that was done and each had satisfied his honor by casting every possible abuse and question about the other's parentage, things sorted themselves out. In an amazingly short time, Sicarus came on board the trireme and had a short conference with what was obviously the captain, a man wearing a plumed gilded helmet and rich armor embossed with the profiles of dolphins and Poseidon.

Soon the captain ordered the dock hands to cast off the mooring lines. Tow boats pulled the head of the large ship around to face the open sea and then moved off. The captain gave the command for his six hundred slaves to set oars on the mark of the hortator's drum. The first stroke of the sweeps was made, and they were free of the land. In front of them, the clear, glassy ocean waited, and beyond that the shores of north Africa and the ancient city of the sea kings of Phoenecia, home of the most dangerous threat to Rome, Carthage, now the capital of the empire of the Vandals, who had razed much of Europe on their way past the Pillars of Hercules to the shores of Africa, where they had built their new empire on the bones of the old.

They were well away. Sails were set, the slave oars were shipped, and the drum of the hortator went silent. Sicarus sent for Casca and Hrolvath to come to his cabin on the upper deck.

Imperial marines kept watch not only on the open sea but also on the lower decks, where the oar slaves were chained to their rowing benches. Casca commiserated with them, recalling his long years on the benches of the warships of Rome. If the ship went down in battle, all the slaves would die, unable to free themselves from their chains. If they won and lived, there was only the prospect of a life of endless toil for most of them. Few ever lived to the end of their sentences.

Casca's reflections were interrupted by Hrolvath nudging his arm to bring him back to the present. Sicarus was speaking to them, inviting them to enter his cabin. Casca bent his head and entered the curtains to greet his leader. Hrolvath followed.

Sicarus indicated for them to take seats in the curule-shaped chairs of ebony set around a small round table inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ivory depicting scenes of the battle of Actium, where Pompey had defeated the forces of Antony and Cleopatra nearly five hundred years earlier.

Setting out a map scroll on the table, he told Casca and Hrolvath to attend his words. "I have invited you to join me, Casca, because I have long prided myself on being a good judge of both men and horses." He smiled as he continued.
"Though I must admit that I have no more luck than anyone else where figuring out women is concerned."

Casca laughed appreciatively at the small joke. Hrolvath looked confused.

Pointing at Casca with a small straight dagger of Thracian design, he returned to business. "I believe that you have had experience and knowledge that I will need in the coming weeks. For that purpose, I ordered you assigned to this ship so that we may have an opportunity to get to know each other better. Then, if I am correct in my judgment, you may prove to be of great value to me and my brigade. Hrolvath is here because for some reason the boy has taken a great liking to you. Perhaps it is because you are the only one to ever get the best of him, even if it was by a trick." He turned the point of the dagger to the map on the table. "Now tell me, what do you think of the region to which we are going as a staging area?" He indicated the port of Tripoli, a thousand miles' distance across the Mediterranean, as their destination.

Casca thought a minute before asking, "Are we going straight across or do we make any stops along the way?"

Sicarus told him to say what he thought would be the best course of action.

Casca eyed the distance again before speaking. "As far as a staging area for an assault on Carthage, it's fine, as long as it's not too heavily defended. But I would recommend that we make the trip with two stops."

Sicarus prodded him. "Why?"

Casca grunted, knowing that Sicarus had probably already come to the same conclusion. The mercenary leader just wanted to hear him say the right words. "On a trip like this, with men who are
not used to the sea and animals that have been confined for long periods, with water that can go bad and grain that will sour, we would have both men and animals in better shape if we made stops at Crete, then at either Cyrene or Berenice on the African coast for a couple of days before attempting a landing at Tripoli. In terms of time, it would not mean a loss of more than a few days, yet it could mean a difference in our combat capabilities if we meet the enemy on the beach."

Sicarus smiled, pleased at his analysis. The brute did have a brain above those large shoulders, and he knew how to use it. That was of more value to him than a dozen fighters. Men who could think in times of crisis were worth more than gold. They could, and often did, spell the difference between victory and disaster.

Pleased, he called for wine to be served and had the red and blue striped curtains surrounding his cabin raised fully to take best advantage of the breeze.

"That is exactly what we are going to do. Once we have reached Cyrene, a land force under Belisarius will already be ten days in front of us, going across land to assist us in reducing Tripoli. We are to land to the north of the city and set about generally making ourselves a nuisance, to draw off as many of the city forces as possible. Then, when Belisarius is ready, we will join him and put ourselves between whatever forces we have lured out of the walls and then eliminate them piecemeal before assaulting the walls. Belisarius should make good time, as we are carrying in the holds of our ships most of his heavy equipment, such as the ballistae and catapults."

Casca grunted in appreciation of the basic plan. He had heard much about Belisarius, but not from anyone who had served with him first-hand. He asked Sicarus what he knew of the man.

Sicarus was more than ready to give Casca the information. It was not that he was in the habit of blindly trusting anyone who came into his camp, but he did have the wife and child of the man at his home, in the event that he had made a bad judgment. They would make admirable hostages for Casca's good behavior.

Clearing his throat with a draught of tart Lesbos wine, he told Casca how he had first met Belisarius and the service he had rendered him and the Emperor Justinian I.

"Belisarius is the finest commander in the empire. When he was only twenty-five, he defeated the Persians at Darus,
then returned to Constantinople for his victory. While there, the two major political factions, known as the blues and the greens, started a bunch of shit. The greens, also known as the Nikas, attempted a coup. The blues stayed on the fence, ready to go whichever way the wind blew. The greens had many followers among the common folk and in the army. Belisarius came to me for assistance, and I gave it. My mercenaries and few loyal units of the imperial guard were all that saved the throne for Justinian. Because of that service, my brigade of mercenaries has always been given preferential treatment and the choicest assignments. We do have some enemies at court, though, the most important of them being the eunuch faction headed by Gregory the officorum magister, who, in his position, has virtual control over who gets what office at court, and the soldier eunuch Narses, who is very tight with Gregory and shows him a great deal of deference. I must confess, Narses is a very capable commander, but there is something about men who voluntarily have their balls cut off that puts me a little bit ill at ease around them."

Hrolvath asked him to talk about the eunuch general a bit more. Sicarus wetted his whistle with another draught before proceeding. "Narses was born in Persarmenia. He is a small, well-formed man, not fat like most eunuchs but still given to fine dress and exquisite manners. Currently, he holds the position of sacellarius, by which he commands a bodyguard detachment of eunuchs who stay close to the person of the emperor. To my way of thinking, that is not a good thing. I hate to admit it, but he was instrumental in bringing the blues over to the imperial side through the judicious use of extravagant bribes and payoffs. They did aid somewhat in keeping many people out of the revolt."

Casca queried him about the reason for eunuchs being in such positions of power and trust in the court. Sicarus tried to explain the thinking process behind it. "The court believes that men who have no balls have no ambition and can therefore be trusted more than normal men."

Casca snorted. "Bullshit! With no balls, what do they have left to entertain themselves with, except for intrigue and plots of one kind or another? I've found that no matter what the reason they were cut, they all have a hatred for those who still have their gonads intact."

Sicarus was in complete agreement with Casca. Hrolvath said little, not really having much experience with such people or matters. He was content to sit and listen.

Sicarus let them go to their quarters, which was no more than a small place where they were able to string up a hammock near the bow. It was the roughest part of the ship to ride in and, because of that, the least popular as a place to sleep, leaving them more room than the others had in exchange for their discomfort.

During the next days, as they wove their way through the rocky islands of the Cyclades, Casca had a lot of free time with which to get to know Hrolvath better. Much of this time they spent fencing. Casca was naturally very interested in this new technique of swordplay.

"Hrolvath, how did you come to develop your style and weapon?"

Resting the point of his long sword between his feet as they stood on the deck of the galley watching the waves rise and fall in front of them, Hrolvath smiled shyly as he explained. "My father was a sword master for the governor of the diocese of Dacia and in charge of teaching the children of several noble houses the art of swordplay. As a child I was not very strong, but my reflexes were quick. Often I was picked on by other children who were larger and stronger. I couldn't compete with them on their level by using the heavy short or long swords. But as I watched, it always appeared that they were open to long straight thrusts, and the heavier swords made their counters seem terribly slow and awkward."

Hrolvath made a couple of passes at the wind with his sword to emphasize his words.

"During one of these times, one of the older boys was picking on me as I watched them spar. He began to call me a girl and fit only for sweeping up kitchens. Then he tossed a broken broom at me, which I caught, and without thinking, I took a swipe at him. My father was watching me, though I didn't know it, and when the bully blocked my attack and came at me with his short sword, it was more luck than thought that I was able to parry his blade with the end of the broom. Then, when he made a lunge, I just straightened my arm out. With the extra length of the handle and my extended arm, the broom simply slid over his guard, and he ran onto the blunted end, nearly breaking his neck.

"At that point, my father broke up what was going to be a severe beating for me by the boys for hurting their friend with my unfair use of the broom handle. From then on, my father began to experiment with longer, thinner swords.

"He had several different types made by the governor's smithy. We would spend hours testing them against other swords and even short spears and pikes. Not everyone has the strength to wave around one of those heavy blades such as yours for hours. For such as myself, this was the perfect weapon. By using its length and suppleness, I was able to spar for long periods without tiring, while my heavier opponents worked themselves into a state of exhaustion. Then it was an easy matter to just reach out and pin them where I chose. My father tried to interest others in the style, but to no avail. They were just not interested in anything new. So he concentrated his efforts on me. At least I would be able to protect myself when he wasn't around anymore, and even though our new style was scoffed at by everyone, it didn't take many times before the other boys chose to leave me alone and no longer challenge me to duels. They would curse me for being a coward and not fighting the normal way that gentlemen should, but they still kept their distance, and that was all I wanted from them."

Casca was impressed at what the boy and his father had developed. It was something that could revolutionize sword work if it caught on.

Hrolvath tried to show him some of the basic moves and techniques of the new thin, long sword. At first Casca thought it awkward and not very effective for him. He was used to the heavier, more comfortable weight of a blade that could smash through a stout iron helmet or slice through a breastplate of steel scales. Hrolvath changed his mind. He demonstrated that instead of having to use force to crash through the helmet, with the thin longer point he could go into the open eye sockets of a helmet or reach the throat while staying out of the range of his enemy. The chest was not as vulnerable, but there were always chinks in armor. When an arm was raised, the armpit was exposed, and a long thrust could penetrate straight to the heart or lungs. Then there was the junction between neck and head, which always provided a good target for a lightning-quick thrust. The greatest weakness of the sword was shown when an opponent managed to get in close under the weapon or a good strong counterblow below the midway point of the long thin blade caused it to snap. Because of that, Hrolvath said, he always carried at least two of the long swords with him in battle.

It took a little time, but in a few days Casca began to feel more comfortable with the new sword, though he felt he would never have the suppleness of wrist that Hrolvath had. It reminded him in some ways of the open-hand techniques of fighting he had seen while in the lands of China, beyond the great wall, where he had served in the army of the eastern emperor, Tzin. There too they emphasized not brute force but balance and style, to use the least amount of force necessary to achieve your purpose, whether it was to merely disable or to kill. Never to use force or energy that wasn't required. The sword of Hrolvath was much like that.

It was a good time for Casca and Hrolvath. They found that each had many qualities that the other liked. Hrolvath was a completely guileless lad who was doing his best to live what he thought of as a romantic adventure. He had blind faith and trust in Sicarus. He knew that if the mercenary leader took on a contract, he did it for the right reasons, not just for loot or the pleasure of killing. In his way Sicarus was a dreamer, too, a throwback to the times when men fought for what they believed was their honor. He had found his counterpart in Belisarius, and as Hrolvath was devoted to him, so he was to Belisarius.