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  The Bedouins surged around the front, trying to get inside, where their lighter arms would not be at such a disadvantage and they would be able to fight on more equal terms.

  The flanks of the front line held. Giving a bit and then straightening out, the line moved back and forth like a thing alive. It thinned in spots and then filled itself again from those who pulled back. They held! The Vandals pulled back, leaving the wounded to be killed where they lay. The Bedouins wailed and cried for vengeance. Belisarius knew that they had to come again. This would be the one for the money.

  Gelimer withdrew his force to a distance just out of the range of the Byzantine bowmen. He watched their lines carefully. They had almost broken through. He had lost many men, but he still had the numbers on his side. In the Byzantine lines, he could see weak spots now that were not being refilled. He believed that if Belisarius had any hidden resources, he would have had to use them by now. He didn't!

  One more full-scale attack with all their strength, this time hitting the Byzantine front at three separate points, where he could see the line was weakest, should do it. He gave his men only a few minutes to let their horses breathe a bit easier, and then he gave the signal for the drums and cymbals to clash again. Once more they came on, screaming war cries from a land they had never seen. From their concealed position, Casca heard the odd cry of Wotan and Odin come across the plains. The Vandals, he saw as they neared, were still much the same in the color of their hair, but their skins were darkened by their years in the African sun till they could scarcely be told from the dusky savage Bedouins at a distance. Their courage was still the same, too, and they came on like the berserkers he had faced on the Rhine.

  Belisarius had his trumpeters standing by. He was wounded slightly, from a javelin made with a reed haft and an iron head that had grazed his cheek. Gelimer rose in his saddle, robes flowing about him, the white of the robes blotched with blood from those he had slain. He pointed his sword straight at the enemy and cried out for all to hear, "No quarter, no prisoners. Kill them all!"

  Sicarus signaled for his men to make ready, to mount and ride. It would be soon. The others, on the far side of the plain with the cataphracti, were doing the same. They knew what was to be done, and if they failed this day, all would die or, even worse, end up in the slave mines of the Vandals.

  The scriboni were doing their jobs and clearing the Byzantine wounded from the ranks, taking them to the rear. As they went about their principal activity of saving the lives of their own men, they also dispatched any Vandal or Bedouin who showed the least sign of not being completely dead. This they did without charge, feeling that it was only right that they help where they could. They were still in the front ranks when the next Vandal assault began. Several found that they couldn't get back through their own reformed ranks, and so they picked up arms that had fallen and placed themselves where they could do some good.

  The Vandals were totally committed this time. They knew they could break through, and once they did, it would be all over for the Byzantines. The first assault had done no more than whet their appetites. Close behind, running low to the ground, their native allies ran nearly as fast as the horses, not wanting to miss out on any of the slaughter. They hit the first rank again, this time massing their attack at the three spots Gelimer had indicated. The first rank went down, then the second and the third. The fourth started to break, and some Vandals were actually through and heading to the rear when Belisarius finally gave the order for his trumpeters to sound their signals.

  At last, the cataphracti and mercenaries could get rid of their tension. They mounted and broke from their places of concealment, swinging in behind the Vandal main force, trampling the native infantry underfoot. The surprise of their attack was all that Belisarius had planned for. The Bedouins gave up, wailing like lost souls, and ran back the way they had come, leaving the Vandals alone and isolated on the battlefield.

  The cataphracti hit the left side of the Vandal column, breaking it into several pieces, and then wheeled and turned in a mass, smashing those nearest the main line of the Byzantine infantry. At this point, Belisarius released his reserve to fill the gaps the Vandals had made in his lines. Once more he had a solid front. His mobile forces were herding the surprised Vandals into small groups that could be easily taken care of by archers, and his ax men provided the anvil against which the cavalry played the hammer.

  Sicarus and his men swung far out to the, rear of the Vandals, blocking their way back to the safety of the walls of Carthage. Casca stayed close to Sicarus, thinking that his job was more to make sure that he didn't get killed than to take out a Vandal or Bedouin. Hrolvath had the same idea. The three of them led their own attack at the head of their bands, cutting off nearly a hundred Vandals and herding them back into the fray, where the archers could dispose of them with little loss to their own men.

  Hrolvath and Sicarus gained some added respect for Casca when they saw him grab a Vandal by the neck, lift him off his horse, and snap the warrior's spine over his saddle while still riding. Casca's good strong arm kept death away from Sicarus more than once that day, and Hrolvath's long toothpick danced and picked, taking out an eye here, leaving a tiny hole in a savage throat there.

  The mercenaries did their job well that day, as did the rest of the army, but there was no way they could contain all the Vandals when they'd finally broken completely and had run for it. Nearly five thousand made it back to Carthage. First among them was Gelimer, who as soon as he returned made his first act that of killing Hilderic by slitting his throat and then tossing the body over the battlements.

  Belisarius sent runners to tell Sicarus and the others to ease their attacks on the Bedouins and allow some of them to reach Carthage. If he knew them at all, they would be more trouble than they were worth once they were inside the walls. They were not worth a damn when fighting from fixed positions.

  They felt trapped and became demoralized easily when they didn't have open ground around them.

  Sicarus told his captains to finish off any stragglers they came across. He personally was going to go to Belisarius to see whether there was anything more for them to do. As they rode, Casca could see isolated bands of beaten warriors on horseback and foot, heading away from the battlefield of Ad Decimum in any direction that was open to them.

  They came around a clump of brushlike trees, twice the height of a man, and were jumped by a half dozen Bedouins, who most likely only wanted their horses so that they could make better time getting away from the mop-up squads scouring the brush. Sicarus split one's head to the neck with a well- placed blow of his broadsword and then was pulled from his horse by a wild-eyed, wooly-haired, naked thing who swarmed over him like a gangly brown spider, screaming and frothing at the mouth. Hrolvath stabbed him seven or eight times through the back before he finally let loose. Casca kept the others at bay, with his horse whirling around them, screaming like a demon of the desert, his heavier sword crushing arms and clavicles as his charger pawed the air, doing its part with steel-shod hooves. The surviving natives changed their minds about the horses and took off on foot, only to be brought down by a flock of arrows from a half band of light archers who were in pursuit of the Vandals but not so picky that they would pass up the easy targets presented by the backs of the fleeing Bedouins.

  By the time they reached Belisarius, it was all over, save for the last of the Vandals, who were so critically wounded that they couldn't be saved. Belisarius did stop the slaughter long enough to take five thousand prisoners. He had plans for them later. Most of them would be sent to Constantinople and forced into a light cavalry unit to fight on the distant borders of Byzantium, against either the Persians or the tribes of Carpathia.

  Once they had cleaned up the field, he sent his full army back to Carthage, where once more they camped in sight of the crenellated battlements. This time Belisarius knew that he would be able to get over them. The losses at Ad Decimum were so large that the enemy couldn't keep him fro
m getting his men over the top. They would not have enough experienced warriors left to guard the six and half miles of wall with any degree of strength. Now it was just a matter of a few days before it would all be over and he would have his victory completed. The news that Hilderic had been killed didn't upset or surprise him. He knew that Hilderic had just been an excuse to wage war against the Vandals; the real reason had been the one he had told his captains before the fight.

  For Casca it had been an easy fight, and he was glad he hadn't had to take too great a part in it. He would enjoy the respite before the final assault on the walls of Carthage. It gave him time to think about Ireina and Demos. He wondered how they were getting on at the farm. He knew that Demos would have a good time with the young animals there, playing with goats and wrestling baby pigs in the mud. He would be glad when this was over and he received his share of the booty. The coffers of Carthage should give him what he needed to buy them their farm.

  With luck, this was the last time he would have to leave them, at least until he began to see the questions in their eyes about his not aging. He knew that Ireina would not really think anything about it, as she already thought of him as some sort of godling, but he didn't want Demos to know him as anything other than a father who one day went off to war somewhere and didn't return. That would be the easiest answer for the youngster to deal with and understand and the best solution he could think of, though it still hurt to think that one day he would lose them.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Timoteus, secretary to the magister officorum, caught his breath as he read the intercepted letter from Belisarius to the emperor. Holding not only the title of the master of offices but also that of the cursus (imperial post), Gregory was able to monitor at will any correspondence to and from the palace that he wished to, and the missives of Belisarius and his army were of great interest. He was not pleased with the growing popularity of Belisarius. It took away from the influence of the eunuch faction of the palace and cast their own achievements into a lesser light in the eyes of the emperor.

  Timoteus bit his lower lip in consternation. Should he wake his master for this? The contents of the letter, reporting on the Vandal campaign, were innocuous enough. It simply stated that victory was theirs and that he, Belisarius, wished to call the attention of his emperor to the valiant service rendered the empire by those who had fought under his standard. Among the names were those of the mercenary chieftain Sicarus and the one that gave Timoteus such a problem, especially with the threat of major disaster hanging over the city. Plague had once again reared its head, though it was for now found only in the poorer quarters of the city. Perhaps it would go away, as it sometimes did, to reappear in later years, even more deadly. It was not unusual for there to always be a few cases of it around, but this looked as if it could be a major breakout of the death. He truly didn't know which the master would think the more important: the potential deaths of tens of thousands or the name he was looking at.

  Casca! Could it be the one the master had searched for these many years? He had doubted in his heart whether the mythical killer of Jesus really lived, even when reports of one resembling him came to them from their agents. But now the name screamed at him. Casca! With some trepidation, he knew that he would have to disturb the slumber of Gregory.

  Taking the letter from Belisarius with him, he left his chambers to walk to the next apartment, which was the master's, who liked to have his secretary close to him in the event that his services were required at any hour of the day or night. Holding his breath, he rapped on the door, his actions watched by a eunuch warrior.

  His mild tapping was immediately responded to by a terse, "Enter." He sighed, relieved that the master was still awake. Entering, he bowed his head as he approached Gregory, who was sitting behind his desk going over his most recent correspondence with Narses, his eunuch general from Persarmenia, holding the office of the sacellarius and, as such, the commander of the Sparthos-cublicars. Known only to a few was the fact that Narses was a member of the Inner Circle and had been brought to his position of power by the careful, patient machinations of Gregory. In his capacity as sacellarius, he was in position to remove the emperor by force at any time it suited their purposes.

  "What is it, my son, that keeps you up this late hour?" Gregory's voice always had the same flat fatherly tones, except when he was in a rage.

  Timoteus indicated the name of Casca on the letter, saying nothing. Gregory's face paled and then flushed. Sweat broke free from his pores to glisten on his forehead.

  "When did this come in?" He rose from his desk to confront his secretary.

  "Not ten minutes ago, master," came Timoteus's tremulous response. "It was in a packet of correspondence from Carthage brought to the palace this night."

  Gregory crumpled the document in his hands, holding it to his chest as he raised his eyes to the vaulted ceilings of his chambers. "Praise be to Jesus and His disciple Izram. The beast has been found."

  Clearing his throat, Timoteus dared to interrupt the ecstasy of his master. "There is one other thing in the message, lord. It has to do with the wife and child of the man Casca."

  Gregory whipped his head around, his eyes wide, locking on those of his secretary. "Wife? Child?" His tones changed from exultation to the hiss of a viper.

  Straightening out the document, he read through it carefully till he came to the part mentioned by Timoteus. The letter asked for the emperor to show his loyal servants the great favor of forwarding the information that they were all right to the wife of Sicarus and that of his good servant Casca Longinus, whose wife and son were staying at his home in the country.

  Gregory called for slaves to light the rest of the lamps in his rooms. There would be no sleep this night. He had much to think of. Timoteus was dismissed to return to his quarters, with the orders to stand ready for new instructions. All that night, Gregory went over in his mind all that he knew of the beast. Never in any of the writings passed down had there ever been any mention of the killer of Jesus siring a child. Did that mean that he couldn't? Perhaps his information was not complete. The implications of the possibility that Casca could have children was staggering. If the beast had one child, he could have more, and if he did, would they too carry the curse that Jesus had put upon their sire? If they did, and they passed their inheritance on to their offspring, they would multiply by the tens of thousands, till they had control over the earth, and none would be pure of their contamination.

  He would have to find out. His mind was made up; there was only one thing to do. The woman of Casca and the child would have to be brought to him for testing. Bursting out of his doors, he startled the guard as he went to Timoteus's room and shoved the door open, scaring his already edgy secretary. He shouted for him to get his ass dressed and ready to travel; he had a message to deliver to Narses this night.

  Timoteus hustled to obey. By the time he was ready, Gregory had a letter for him to deliver to the hand of Narses and no other. At the barracks of the Sparthos-cublicar, he acquired two warriors for escorts and took horse for the encampment of Narses and his command at the Valley of Olives, where his castrati were practicing mounted maneuvers and close-order drill as part of their annual training exercises.

  It was the second hour past dawn when he reached the picket lines of the Sparthos-cublicar and, after identifying himself and his escort, was admitted to the camp.

  Narses had been about his duties long before dawn. He prided himself on being the first of his officers to rise. It paid well, for that was the time when men and minds were the slackest; if mistakes were to be made, most of them would occur at those times. It also kept his sentries in a constant state of alertness, for if he found them asleep at their posts, they would never wake from their slumber. After the death of three sentries in two years, there had never been another recurrence of such a dereliction of duty in his command.

  Narses was small in stature; his uniforms and armor were always of the best quality. The
thinness of his features gave lie to the myth that all eunuchs were fat and lazy. There was nothing fat or lazy about him or any in his command. They had beaten fierce enemies, among them the tribesmen of the Gepids, Lombards, and Huns. His face was that of an aristocrat, cold, haughty, supremely confident in the abilities of his mind and personality to overcome all difficulties.

  All his life had been prepared for one thing only: to be of service to the Brotherhood of the Lamb. He had not hesitated a heartbeat before giving permission for the knife to remove his testicles. What were the few feeble pleasures that a slut could give him in comparison with the great mission that awaited him as a disciple of lzram? His name be blessed!

  He recognized the secretary of Gregory immediately and had the man fed as he read the missive from the Elder. It gave him no reason for what he was to have done, but the urgency was clear. It must be of extreme importance to the order. It would be done.

  Summoning two of his most trusted captains, he gave them their orders. They would take with them two full squads of the Sparthos-cublicar, and those must all be Brothers of the Lamb.

  The captains, Aeolius and Miklos, had no questions about why they were to ride to the farm of Sicarus and take the woman and boy child there to the magister, nor did they question the order that all else there must be put to the sword and for it to look like a bandit raid was responsible for the slaughter.

  By the time Timoteus had returned to the capital, the warriors of Narses were already outside the fields of the farm of Sicarus. They halted their horses to discuss their strategy before going in. Once the two captains had agreed on a method of accomplishing their mission, they formed their troops into two columns and led them through the gates with no signs of anxiety or urgency. After all, they wore the uniforms and armor of the Sparthos-cublicar, whose members were often entrusted as bodyguards to the emperor and his family.