Barry Sadler - The Persian

The girl quailed at the thought of the Hephalites. The Persians called them the Huns. She left in a fearful rush to obey and send the caravan master on his way, regretting only that she would lose the two copper coins he had been giving her each night she slept with him. But nothing was worse than even the remote possibility of ending up in the felt yurts of the Hunnish tribes.

After sending the tavern wench off to do her duty, Beshar addressed himself again to the sunburned, travel-stained foreigner.

"Now, lord, will you take a seat while the room is being prepared? And perhaps some of the red wine of Shiraz would please you?"

Casca nodded in the affirmative. "Yea, and landlord, have my horse rubbed and curried and give him a full measure of grain. I want him to be presentable when I enter the city on the business of the Emperor of Chin." Casca knew that landlords were usually in the pay of whoever controlled the nearest city and that it wouldn't take long for word of his arrival to reach someone in authority. Settling his body on one of the wooden benches that served as seats for the plank tables, he put his pack beside him and adjusted his sword to a more comfortable position. Sighing deeply, he scratched a sore spot on his ass and grunted contentedly. It wasgood not to have to climb on the back of that four-legged torture chamber any more. After a bath and a shave he knew he would sleep deeply until cock's crow, and then… a new day, a new life for a while. The pouch of gems given him by Tzin would last a long time if he didn't do something stupid. He sipped the wine, enjoying the sharp, slightly resinous aftertaste, and was content to wait until his rooms were ready. It wouldn't be long, judging from the yelling going on upstairs as the camel driver was evicted.

A few more moments passed and the previous occupant of the room was going out the door, leaving behind a stream of oaths and curses that left Casca open-mouthed in admiration. He especially liked the one about, "May the sores from a thousand diseased camels infest the face of thy first born."

Wearily, he picked up his gear and climbed the stairs. It was a basic room with a clean bed and a jar for washing, also a strong bar to bolt the door from the inside. Well, if this was the best, he would hate to see the worst. But it would do for now.

In a ravine twenty-five miles from Nev-Shapur, a light flickered, glowing in the moonless night. The sound of chanting came, low and strange, from the entrance to the cave, the source of the light.

Inside were gathered a group of men. All kneeling, they prayed, their heads bowed. Hooded robes of rough, brown homespun wool covered their features, keeping their faces in constant shadow.

Torches danced in their iron brackets on the walls of the cavern, casting an eerie, quivering glow over the interior of the new refuge of the Brotherhood of The Lamb. The Elder stood before them, his face concealed in the folds of his hood. Only the members of the Inner Circle knew his true name. For the rest, it was enough that he was The Elder.

Behind him, illuminated by a row of bright burning torches, was the object of their adoration- "The Spear of Longinus," instrument of The Son of God's death.

The Elder raised his arm, showing delicate fingers without rings or other adornment. The Brotherhood was not given to opulent display of worldly goods. He spoke now, silencing the droning prayers of those on their knees. Though his body was slight in build and his robes seemingly too large for his frame, his voice rang out with the strength and authority of the righteous.

"Hear me, Brothers! The beast has returned from the lands beyond the wall. Praise be to The Lord, His Son, and to the thirteenth disciple, Izram, founder of our holy order. Some of you may have doubted that the beast truly lives. I say to you all now, he does live and he walks in the city of the idolater, Shapur. And, so that we may know him, as it is written in the 'Book of The Beast,' he wears the mark of punishment from the Elder Dacort. The scar on his right wrist, although the hand is whole again now, shows where Dacort had the beast's hand severed from his body. He has yet another visible scar on his face, brothers, and I swear to you, he does live yet and may God in his mercy curse his name for eternity."

There was an amen to this speech from the brethren on their knees, and he continued.

"Praise be to God, for the road that leads to His Son, Jesus, has returned and is again in our sight."

The Elder's voice rose, bouncing from the stone walls of the cavern that had served as their refuge since they'd been forced to flee the monastery in the desert due to the encroachment of barbarians and savage tribes of the heathenish Huns. Passion rode every word from the Elder's tongue, hatred and venom dripped from his mouth with every pronouncement. Pure, simple, burning hate beat at his followers. They wailed in anguish with their hatred of the animal, the spawn of evil, the beast that had driven his spear so cruelly into the side of their beloved and gentle Lamb on the Mount of Golgotha.

Then, as Dacort had done many years past, The Elder cried out for the heavens to hear them.

"Brothers, pray with me. Curse the name of Longinus, the 'Killer of God.'”

The brethren moaned and wailed, their souls filled with delicious ecstasy and pain. Sobbing out the hated name from their unseen mouths, their bodies twitching and twisted, they acted out the reliving of the scourging of Jesus. Whips and flails, mounted on their tips by balls of lead, were removed from beneath their robes and they began to beat themselves, the small lead balls striking into their flesh. They all cried out in glorious pain,"Longinus, Longinus, Longinus!"

The Elder's whipping words rose over the sounds of their anguish. "Remember the beast! He must not escape us again. He must be punished for all the days of his life. We, the true followers of Izram, are entrusted with the sacred duty of watching the beast and giving what pain we may to him when the opportunity arises. And, Brothers, the time will not be long in coming when we shall be able to give him all that he deserves. There is no punishment too great, no suffering possible that he does not deserve. As Izram has bade us to do in his teachings, we must hate… hate… hate. Until the day of the resurrection, when we shall at last be one in the spirit and glory of Jesus." As one, all responded with "Amen, Amen."

Like silent shadows, the members of the Brotherhood filtered out of the entrance to the cavern. It had been fortunate, they thought, that the beast had been found during the time that the Brotherhood gathered for their annual meeting. The word was taken back with them as they dispersed to their separate nations and cities, some going even to Rome or as far as the Isles of Brittania. All of the Brothers carried with them the identical message. "Casca lives, and is in Persia."

One of the members removed his rough garment of wool before climbing into his saddle, revealing below his own attire, richly flowing robes of state. He must hurry now back to his city of Nev-Shapur. It was he who had recognized the name of Casca Rufio Longinus when it had come to him from his spies in the city, and it was he who had brought the good news to the congregation of the Brotherhood. Now he must return in haste. There was much to do and prepare for before the sun rose tomorrow.

He found his reins and mounted. Striking the animal's flanks, he raced over the stones and sand of the plains and deserts, robes whipping in the wind, his horse lathering at the mouth, its heartstraining with every stride. He cared not if the animal dies, as long as it got him back to Nev-Shapur before dawn. Rasheed, Vizier to Shapur II the King of Kings, was elated with his good fortune. He would find some way to punish the Roman. The time, as the Elder had said, was near. He was excited now, and determined to do even better than he had in the past, by taking some sort of direct action on his own that would bring his name to the attention of the Elder and enhance his stature in the Brotherhood.