Barry Sadler: The War lord

The young fop's companion stepped in front of Casca to bar his passage. This was no dilettante. The man had the look of blood about him. He stood approximately Casca's height and size with square shoulders. Close cut black hair hung to the nape of his neck and two silver bracelets encircled his thick and muscular wrists. Beneath the expensive cloak, Casca could see the hilt of a sword.

Confidently and arrogantly he pushed Casca back a step with an open palm.

"You really shouldn't have done that old boy. Now I'm going to have to put you in your place."

Tossing his cloak into the street, he stepped back drawing his blade, one a little longer than the old fashioned Roman short sword Casca wore. "I see you are wearing a sword. Take it out and let's see if you can entertain me for a few moments."

The broad man made a couple of passes in the air with his blade, flickering the point under Casca's nose.

Sighing, Casca stepped back a pace and drew his own weapon. He tried to hold down his growing anger but the pulse in his temple increased its beat and his breath began coming in short spurts. He looked the other over, his grey-blue eyes black in the predawn light.

"I'll do my best to provide you with a little amusement. Now get it on, or get out of my way."

His opponent struck, expecting a quick kill, only to find his weapon blocked and an instant repartee that almost laid his guts open. He stepped back.

"Well, old boy, this may be better than I thought, but before I kill you, you should know you have the honor of dying at the hands of Marcellius Aelius."

He waited for the shock of his name to strike fear into the heart of this common trash that dared oppose him.

"Who gives a shit, you faggot."

Astounded at Casca's retort he said, "You mean you don't know who I am?"

"No, loudmouth, and frankly, I could care less. Now get on with it or get the hell out of my way. I won't tell you again."

Marcellius shook his head sadly. "So be it, you clod, but know this, I am the premier gladiator of Rome; I have fought and killed eighty-three times."

"Oh, fuck you," Casca swore and launched an attack that left the other stunned and retreating. Casca's blade was a silver serpent, dashing and darting, flickering and flashing. He struck, beating the pride of the arena to the side of the temple wall. The man rallied and with a strong rush forced Casca back a couple of steps, then stood still breathing hard.

Fear was making its insidious way into his bowels. No one had ever done this to him.

Casca regained control of his temper. "Now, will you let me pass?"

Casca's question restored the other's confidence and he came on again with a high sweep that would have taken Casca's head off, only to feel a deep burning in his stomach. Astonished, he looked down to see Casca pulling the foot of the blade out of his gut. Still unbelieving he dropped his sword which clattered to the stones.

Casca wiped his blade off on Marcellius's cloak, looking at the fallen man squatting on the street holding his stomach, he gave a gentle shove with his foot.

"You amateur, you wouldn't have lasted three weeks at the school of Corvu. He would have fed you to the dogs."

The dying brain of Marcellius found time for one last wondering thought: "Corvu? He died over a hundred years ago…"

Casca stayed close to Ostia until the time for sailing. From Rome came the news of the death of the favorite of the masses-the glorius Marcellius- who had been set upon by at least ten thugs in the dark, according to his young companion who had his jaw smashed by a wicked blow from a club. According to the young gallant, Marcellius slew at least seven of the brutes before a blow from behind knocked him unconscious, whereupon the savages had finished him off and stolen away in the dark, taking their dead with them. It was indeed a tragedy for such a man to be struck down unfairly in the dark by thugs.

Ortius commented on the case as he read the daily report in the acta diurnla, "I saw him fight a couple of times, Casca, old wart hog, and I do believe he might have given you a run for your money. But enough, we sail on the dawn tide. First port of call will be Naxos and then onto Carthage with a group of travelers and tourists. I made them a good rate on a package deal, but they supply their own meals. From Carthage, we cut back across, making stops at several other ports for whatever cargoes we can get and then on to Byzantium. Now, there was one hell of a city until Gallienus had the place sacked and looted. I used to know a couple of Armenian hookers-twin sisters they were-each would start at different points of your body and work their way to the center." Ortius sighed deeply and scratched his ass.

"Ahh! But I was younger then. It would probably kill me to try something like that now. Still a man is tempted to always recapture something of his youth, even if there is a price to pay. Is that not so, my overmuscled friend?"

Casca merely grunted noncommittedly and stuffed his face with fresh oysters from the bay. Rising, Ortius paid the bill and said, "I'm off for a massage and piling. You finish up with the stevedores and make sure none of the bales are broken open."

They set sail with the dawn tide and were out to sea by the time the day broke in fully on them. The group of tourists going to Carthage immediately started chanting and wailing while they conducted a ritual among themselves. Words drifted up through the open hatch.

Casca was standing beside Ortius near the oar sweeps. Turning to him, he squinted as a beam of reflected light from the sea struck his face.

"They're Christians?"

Ortius nodded. "Aye, they're going to Carthage to escape. The word is out there will soon be another purge in Rome. In Carthage they are not bothered so much and even on occasions have been permitted to conduct their services openly. There are hundreds if not thousands there. Personally, I could care less what cult or gods they worship so long as their gold and silver is good. One thing about Christians-their god forbids them to cheat or lie." Laughing, he cleared his throat and spat phlegm over the side. "Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous in your life?"

After an uneventful trip, they docked at the inner harbor and tied up next to the storage houses used for transhipment of goods from the interior of the great African plains and mountains, most of which went to Rome.

The Christians were met by others of their sect and quickly left the harbor to find new homes and what they hoped would be safety from the coming persecutions.

Casca spent the day wandering through this miniature Rome where once the Carthaginians had challenged the power of Rome and were destroyed by the legions of Scipio. The city had resisted fanatically, the last survivors fighting to the death under the leadership of Hasdrubal in the Temple of Eshmun. With their death came also the death of the city as the conquerors pillaged and butchered. The stones of the buildings were broken and all human habitation of this place was forbidden on pain of death.

For twenty years only lizards and desert creatures lived in the rubble that once housed 700,000 men, women and children who were now no more. Mars is a vengeful god.

While Ortius attended to ship's business, Casca rented a piebald pony from a local stable and went for a tour of the city, glad to exchange the swaying of the ship for the bump of the saddle. On several walls he saw the symbols of old, of the hated gods of Carthage that the Romans detested so, for their savagery and rites of human sacrifice. Rome seemed to find no parallel between those who died in the name of a god and those sent to the arena to die for the amusement of the Romans. Casca wondered how the difference affected the enthusiasm of those to be killed. Passing a stone panel used to rebuild a wall enclosing the sumptuous domus of a retired senator who had taken up farming, he saw the emblems of Tanith, the supreme goddess of the city. Properly called Tanit pene Baal, the Other Face of Baal, the carving was that of the disk and crescent moon. The other face of Baal… the one he showed was bad enough.