Casca 9: The Sentinel

  This is a book of fiction. All the names, characters and events portrayed in this book are Fictional and any resemblance to real people and incidents are purely coincidental.

  CASCA: #9 The Sentinel

  Casca Ebooks are published by arrangement with the copyright holder

  Copyright © 1983 by Barry Sadler

  Cover: Greg Brantley

  Dynamic Arts

  All Rights Reserved

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  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE -The Brotherhood

  CHAPTER TWO - The Warrior

  CHAPTER THREE - Ireina

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN - Mercenary

  CHAPTER EIGHT - Hrolvath

  CHAPTER NINE - Pompeianus

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - Belisarius

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Search

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Vengeance Is Mine

  Continuing Casca’s adventures, book 10 The Conquistador

  THE CASCA SERIES IN EBOOKS

  CHAPTER ONE -The Brotherhood

  To Constantinople came riders of horses of noble blood. Others came in the rags of beggars or the robes of merchant princes, nobles from the courts of Persia in cloth of gold and silver. Men of power, privy to the councils of the great men of the world, all rode to Constantinople, the last great city of the Caesars. The word had been sent, and they would obey. This was the conclave set for the most holy of days, to celebrate the death of the lord Jesus Christ and to reaffirm their faith and devotion to the teachings of the prophet Izram, the thirteenth disciple.

  From all the known world they came, these men of many coats, all dedicated to one purpose in life. No matter what their station in the secular world, there was no greater order than that of the Brotherhood of the Lamb. A man might be a prince in his own land, but one who was a beggar might be his master in the Brotherhood. All would serve their purpose as ordained by the Elder. Therefore, they rode or sailed by ship or walked the long trails and roads that led to the capital city of the Eastern Empire, indeed now the only empire left of what had been the glory of Rome.

  Constantinople was more Greek than Latin. The speech of the court and the manner of dress were a mixture of Greece and the decadent East. Opulent Wealth and unbelievable poverty walked hand in hand on the streets.

  The Elder was anxious, awaiting the conclave that would happen this night. There was much to be done and many things to decide upon concerning their next course of action. They had done well in the last hundred years. They, more than the Goths or Huns, had brought Rome to her knees. For they were the instrument that had to destroy the rising influence of the Catholic Church. That meant Rome had to be destroyed to slow the spread of the false teachings of those who called themselves Catholic.

  It was their influence that had brought about the uprising of the Goths, and it was their hand that had arranged the death of Rome's ablest general, Stilicho, when it looked as if he might be too successful in restoring the might of Rome after driving the Huns out, and it was they who had persuaded the emperor of the East to send only token aid to his brother emperor, and then always too late to do any real good.

  Only in a state of chaos could the new order be established, and the greatest threat to their influence was the church of Rome. The barbarians would be dealt with in time. That was one thing they didn't worry about, for they were prepared to spend centuries to accomplish their mission. They were patient. The Elder knew that their day would come, but the time was not yet. There was much to be done in their holy mission.

  They had to prepare themselves for the second coming of Jesus, and they had lost the road to him. It had to be found again – that was the purpose of this grand conclave. The road must be found again so that they could be at the right place when the Lamb chose to return.

  They, and only they, knew the truth of that day at Golgotha. Theirs was the great secret, not to be shared with those outside their order, for they were the followers of the thirteenth disciple, Izram the Syrian.

  Izram had stated that there must be chaos before there could be order, and it was their holy duty to create that condition. The world must be in turmoil. Jesus could come at any time, and they had to be ready.

  The Elder smiled under the hood of his plain homespun robe of rough wool. Chaos and disorder! Rome survived a thousand years, and we destroyed her in fifty. Fewer than a thousand of us have brought down the city of the Caesars. Because of us, a barbarian rules in Rome and the Catholic Church has been set back a hundred years.

  Odoacer, a barbarian general, took the last reins of power into his own hand and made himself king of Italy after deposing Romulus Augustulus, the last emperor of the West, not knowing that he was only a tool that would be broken when he no longer served his purpose for the Brotherhood.

  Persia, too, had been reduced as a power through their judicious use of treachery. At a critical moment in battle against the White Huns near the borders of Kushan, an arrow had found its way into the heart of the Persian king. With his death, the Persian army had lost heart, and the White Huns slaughtered them to a man. Nomads were the masters of the Sassanids, and it would be a long time before the empire of the Persians breathed freely again.

  It was easier to deal with barbarians. Their minds were so simple and obvious. Already, in order to prevent the rise of a civilized empire of the White Huns in Persia, they had arranged to turn their interests toward the wealth of India and away from the West. Only Constantinople remained as a truly great power, and for now they needed the city and its armies. By their will the Eastern Empire would survive a while longer.

  In this, the year A.D. 485, the Brotherhood was alive and well save for the lost road, and that they would find again, though it might take a hundred years.

  An acolyte brought a torch to light the Elder's way from his rooms in the palace to the catacombs and huge cisterns beneath the streets of Constantinople. In one of these huge chambers the Brotherhood would meet and re-enact the crucifixion as they had done on this day ever since the death of their master at the hands of the beast.

  The Elder was weary from his labors but not dissatisfied, for was he not the comites (supervisor of offices) for the emperor? He did regret slightly the fact that he'd had to become a eunuch in order to gain such a position of influence. However, that small sack of flesh was as nothing to him, for now it was he who approved the candidates for most of the important offices of the empire. He could place whom he wished where he wished and thus control the destiny of millions.

  He inspected the chamber in which their ceremonies would be held to make certain that all was in order. Torches in their brackets sent up tendrils of oily smoke to collect on the damp stones of the ceiling. A raised dais of dark ebony with the delicately carved image of fish had been placed at the far end of the chamber. From there he would address his clergy, and most important, the Holy of Holies was there, set above the dais where all could see it and marvel, for it was the instrument of the death of Jesus Christ at the hands of the Roman legionary Casca Rufio Longinus, who had let out the life blood of the savior.

  Walking on bare feet, slowly he approached the spear and knelt before it
. Head bowed, he lost himself in prayer, immersing his spirit in righteous hatred for the beast who walked the earth. Crawling forward on his belly, he wormed his way to the spear, tears running down his face in rivers. Ever so slowly, he rose from his stomach to place a shaking finger on the dark stain on the wooden haft, where the blood of Jesus had spilled out on the instrument of his death.

  Touching the stain, he felt a cold fire run into his bones. His entire body shook in fevered spasms of ecstatic agony. To be able to actually touch the blood of the living God was a privilege granted only to those most favored. He collapsed to twist spasmodically on the floor, with white foam gathering at the corners of his mouth, flecking his chin, and dropping to the damp stones of the chamber floor. He wept and moaned, crying out in unknown tongues. The acolytes stood in awe of their master on the floor. They tried to let their souls fly with him, envying him his holy experience.

  The spell at last eased and then passed. Sobbing, Gregory regained his feet to stumble to his dais and then leaned heavily against it. The time would be soon. He had to get control of his thoughts, though he hated to lose the aura of the touch of God that had overcome him.

  The Brethren were entering in two long silent columns. A novice leading each element swung a censure of silver to give off aromatic fumes. All were as he, barefoot in simple robes without adornment, save for a simple silver clasp in the stylized form of the fish, for Jesus was a fisher of men's souls.

  Gregory was pleased. Here were the elite of the Brotherhood of the Lamb: the members of the Inner Circle of Thirteen and those with enough merit to be permitted to attend the function.

  There was an aura of expectancy running through the kneeling brothers. Without being told, they knew that this was not a normal meeting. Something was going to be said or done that was of special significance.

  Gregory cleared his throat. "Welcome, oh ye of the faithful. In the name of God and his Son, I call down the blessings of eternity and paradise upon you. Praise the Lord. Do I hear an amen?"

  Two hundred voices responded devoutly: "Amen. Praise the Lord."

  Gregory nodded his head. "Then in Jesus's name let us pray. Oh Lord, grant us the strength to do thy holy bidding and prepare the world for thy coming." He turned to face the spear. "In the name of Jesus, let us consecrate ourselves to the day when he shall take us to his bosom and we shall rest forever in the breast of the Lamb and know for eternity the glory of God." Gregory turned quickly back to his audience, his voice gaining in intensity and power. He pointed a finger at his flock, crying out, "Do I hear a hallelujah for the Lord?"

  The flock moaned in a rising crescendo, "Hallelujah! Jesus love us. Praise the Lord!"

  Gregory threw back his hood, showing his face for the first time. He had soft, rounded features, the after effect of his castration. But the fervor in his eyes was not to be denied. He let the spirit take him. Blood rushed to his face. He pounded his flock with his passion. With tears running from his face, he gave them the message they had come to hear.

  "We have failed the Lord. Do you hear me? We have not done our duty, and those before us have likewise broken faith. But we have the chance to redeem ourselves in the sight of God if we have the faith and determination to commit ourselves completely to his holy plan. Are we going to let God down, Brothers?" he cried.

  The members of the Brotherhood beat themselves, renting their chests with their fingernails at the knowledge of their failure, although they didn't know just what that failure was. It was enough that the Elder had said that they had failed God; therefore, they were not in a state of grace.

  As one giant sobbing voice, they wept and cried out, "No! Elder, we shall not fail. We commit ourselves to the holy plan of the Lord and his Son."

  Gregory wept with them. "Our sin, Brothers, is that the beast has been lost to us for too long. Casca Longinus, that spawn of corruption, has not been found. As you know, he was last seen in the service of Aetius. Then, after the defeat of Attila, he vanished. He must be found, for he is the road that leads to Jesus, and we have lost him. How can we be with our Lord at the moment of his coming if we don't have the beast to follow? Somewhere he lives, he breathes, and he must be found or we will be condemned to eternal hell and pain for our failure. From this day forth, our most important purpose in life will be to find the beast, wherever he may be hiding. He cannot conceal his curse forever. Somewhere someone will speak of a man who should have died but did not, whose wounds heal miraculously, who bears the scar upon his face and the mark of the Elder Dacort on his left wrist, where his hand was severed from his body, yet it is whole. Great is the power of God!" Gregory nearly fainted with passion. "Go ye into the world; search out story, every legend no matter how fantastic. Commit yourselves to this purpose with one will, and we shall prevail.

  "The beast shall be found. Let nothing take your minds or efforts away from this purpose. Although it takes a dozen lifetimes, he must be found. When ye go forth from here, find him, find him ... find him! That we may find the way to Jesus, praise the Lord!"

  His message and order were given; now it was time to perform the ritual. A member of the Inner Circle who had reached the time when years had enfeebled his body had begged for permission to be the one who served this day. His request was granted as an acknowledgment of his piety and devotion.

  Gregory raised his voice to a clear bell-like tone in joy as he told his Brothers, "Let us do our duty and send the spirit of our Brother to stand beside the throne of God." Pointing his finger at the lucky man, he said, "Rise, Brother, and receive the glory of Jesus!"

  The old man before him stripped off his robes to stand clad only in a simple white loincloth. His aged body was shivering with expectation. He had long waited and prayed for this moment.

  Gregory knelt in front of the spear and cried out, "Let it be done in the name of Jesus!"

  Whips came out from under robes, whips of lead-tipped leather, and heavy ropes with knotted ends. They scourged their brother, reveling in his holy cries of pain as he was permitted to experience all that had happened to Jesus on the day of the crucifixion. Drops of blood fell to the stones, to be walked on by the bare feet of the disciples of Izram.

  The old man fell to his knees under the blows, his loose wrinkled skin wincing. He prayed for the strength to reach the final moment. He was dragged to his feet by the loving hands of his brothers. A weight was put on his shoulders. His knees nearly buckled again, but he was aided by their hands even as they beat him.

  He was guided along a series of corridors and tunnels through the great drains where the red eyes of rats watched the ceremony from niches in the bricks and wondered whether they would feed this night on fresh meat instead of the offal that came down from the drains to collect in foul streaks of slime along the floors and walls.

  The old man moaned as a wreath of thorns was set into the flesh of his forehead. He stumbled forward, one heavy dragging step after another, led by Brothers with torches to light their path. Gregory was in the lead, his head covered by his hood. Hands folded, they chanted, "Longinus," over and over in rhythm with their steps: "Longinus."

  They entered another large chamber. In the center was a raised set of bricks in which a place had been prepared for the cross their brother carried.

  As they neared, the blows on the old man ceased, and they turned the whips on themselves, each striking as hard as he could, letting the ropes and whips cut into their own flesh. They shared their brother's ecstasy as they laid him down and drove spikes into the thin wrists between the large blue veins and then tied his arms to the cross's beams. It took several blows of the mallet to get the spike through the bones of the feet and into the wood block deeply enough to sustain his weight. But it was done, and the Brothers raised the cross to an upright position and then slid it forward until it dropped into the hole prepared for its base. It settled in with a heavy thump and nearly fell over, but it was steadied by eager hands. Then the base was secured by bricks until it stood steady and firm, wit
h the body of their brother hanging from it, his arms stretched out, the shoulders nearly separating from the force of his meager weight.

  The old man passed out from the pain and had to be whipped gently to be brought back to consciousness. He had yet to fulfill the full rites of the ceremony; he had to be awake.

  Gregory removed his cloak. Under it he wore, as had every Elder on this sacred occasion, the uniform and armor of a legionary of the Jerusalem garrison on that day when their Lord, the Gentle Lamb, had gone to his death.

  Gregory signaled an acolyte, and a Roman helmet was brought for him to complete his costume. Without looking, he stretched out his hand. The spear of Longinus was put into it.

  The Brother on the cross tried to focus his eyes through the pain. He had to get out the words or all would be in vain and he would not be granted the mercy of God.

  Somewhere he found the strength to croak out, barely audible, the words that Izram had heard Jesus speak nearly five hundred years before from his cross: "My father, why has thou forsaken me?"

  The disciples responded with their own anguished cry: "The spear, Longinus! Have mercy!"

  Gregory decided to rush things a bit before the man on the cross died prematurely. That would have been a bad omen.

  The old man continued to speak, gasping out the words as the spear was carefully forced into his side. Not deeply enough to kill immediately – he had to finish playing his part first. Gregory waited until the last words were spoken by the lucky one who had taken Jesus's place on the cross and was to have the honor of experiencing the death of their Lord: "As you are, so you shall remain."

  With those last words Gregory shoved the spear home before the old man could die of other causes. He sank the head of the spear in deep, driving it into the lungs. Then he gave another firmer shove, and the point of the spear reached the old man's heart to puncture the muscle and stop its weakening beat. The old man shivered once and died. His mouth full of blood, he hung limp from the cross. The last thought in his mind was how grateful he was not to have died before playing his part. He was truly blessed among men.