Casca had fought many times since last they met and had acquired some small measure of fame. It was satisfying in a way for the people on the streets to know his name and face, to come and touch him for luck. It was pleasant to see his name written on the walls of the city, but for how long? Shiu's presence here reminded him of the yellow man's teachings, that nothing is forever. Not even as the most famous gladiator of Rome could he continue indefinitely. For one thing, there were the problems he had with wounds that healed too fast. Fortunately he was very, very good with the blade and had not yet been dealt a blow that should kill, but one day he would be… and then what?
Lying down on his stomach on the stone benches, he turned to face his friend from the far land of Khitai. "Shiu. You wanted to know about me once. I think that now is the time. Perhaps you can help."
Shiu merely nodded, his eyes still closed, but Casca knew he heard. "Okay, my so-called ancient friend. This is it in a nutshell." And for the next three hours Casca unfolded his tale-to the delight and amazement of Shiu. Casca only stopped the telling when someone came into the room. He was able to run the newcomers off with an evil look and a hint that he was not above robbery or murder- nothing specific, just sinister innuendo.
Casca finished the tale, bringing Shiu up to date on everything from Crysos and his arrangement to the deal that had been made with Crespas the patrician.
Shiu sat silently for a moment. Then, for the first time since Casca had started his tale, he locked his merry, ever-questioning eyes on his muscle-bound friend. Hissing between his teeth in the manner of his race when an important thought passed or came to them, he performed kowtow, the bow of obeisance.
Straightening up, Casca said a little irritably: "Now, what the crap is that about? Is that all you can do? Can't you say anything?"
Smiling, Shiu raised his head. "Big nose, I was honoring you for your long life. Remember that in my land age is greatly respected. You are one of the oldest men that I have ever met-especially to look so young."
"Don't you believe me?"
"Yes. Of course I do, my friend. But your condition makes for some very interesting questions,"
"What questions, you yellow weasel?"
"Ah! Weasel is it, you monstrous pink ape? So be it. Listen to the weasel, and it may be we both may learn more. You say your condition is a gift from the Christian's demigod, Jesus. One must look closely at gifts from gods. They are not always what they seem. Consider, my friend. What will be the long-range effect on your development? Your crucified god said 'As you are, so shall you remain.' In what way? Will you always be as you are in tastes and temperament? Or will you, like the silkworm that turns into a moth, become more than your beginnings? I have believed for some time that men change in their attitudes as their bodies change with age, that the aging process causes certain things to happen inside that make us different at different ages. For example, an old man does not like loud noises while a child cannot get enough of them. Our tastes in food and-ah!our tastes in women change with age.
"But apparently you do not age physically. Will that apply also to your other senses and assets? It is fascinating. I must give a great deal of thought to your problems before I dare make any suggestions.
"But one thing I will leave you to think on is this: Go to the East one day. Beyond the Indus, to Khitai, to my land. There you will find wisdom that has been saved for centuries and passed from one scholar to the next, each adding his small contribution to the total. You will find there men to help you ease your burdens, and you will help by adding to the knowledge of the world. What you have told me now demands that I must return home after these many years. This knowledge of you must not be lost. When I leave, come with me, for while you are older than I, I feel as a father to you, and I have an embarrassing amount of concern for you and your well-being. Indeed, big nose, it might be said that even with all your ugliness, your pale fish skin, your oversized muscles and monstrous nose, I love you like a son. Come with me to Khitai, to the monastery of my brothers. Perhaps with all our minds together thinking on your condition answers may come."
Casca turned his head and wiped his eyes. "Damned sweat makes the eyes water," he grumbled. Putting one arm around the shoulders of Shiu, he said: "When I am free, I will come with you. Wherever the road leads, little father, I will go with you to your homeland. Maybe you are right. Maybe we can learn more about myself and others in the process. For example, right now I am not sure I would want to change my condition if I could. Life is beginning to look pretty good for me. If I am not maturing in the manner of a man of age, at least now I have enough money to be able to afford some things I never could before.
"You know what I mean: good wine, good food… and a lusty assortment of wenches eager to render unlimited services to my poor body." He smiled. "And Idon't think I am overmuscled. Also, my nose is not too big. It's just that yours is too small, and your face looks like someone had slapped you acrossyour nose with a shovel. There! I have been wanting to say something to get back at you for all that 'big nose' crap for months."
Shiu smiled, then chuckled, and finally the two were laughing as though both were totally mad in the steam-filled room.
They were dressed and left the baths by way of the caldaria. On the street, Shiu made his farewell and disappeared into the crowds. Casca decided to reward himself. Hailing a passing litter, he had himself carried back to the school as if he were of the blood royal. By the gods! Life could be good. Perhaps things weren't all bad. After all, I have only a little over two years to go, and for a man of my longevity, that's nothing. I just have to be careful, that's all. Just be careful…
Casca's fortune continued to ride high. One victory in the arena followed another. One by one, the great champions of the games fell to his blade. Soon his was the name that was scrawled most on the walls of public buildings and houses. Women sighed for him and his embrace, sent their slaves with gifts to entice him to their villas. Some he accepted, but mostly he preferred wenching on his own. The highborn ladies were a little too strange in sexual fantasies for him. He was pretty much a straight-ahead type of person, and those damn group activities they were always trying to get him into were a little too much for a country boy's taste. Not that he was averse to such things as a little healthy ass slapping in the heat of passion when he was well-mounted in the saddle. And even a good bite wasn't all bad. But… about all he got from diddling Rome's leading ladies was the fun of watching them go through their routines trying to excite him, to get him all worked up. Shit! They were pathetic. They had no idea at all of what it took to get him aroused. If Salome were still alive she could have made a fortune teaching these high-class whores how to use their equipment. But then, the ladies of the East-Asia Minor in particular- always seemed to have an edge over those from the North. Indeed…those tantalizing beauties of Syria and Persia knew their tricks all right… Just thinking about them was enough to set him off and running for one of the better whorehouses that specialized in imports.
Crysos was ecstatic.
Their winnings were mounting to a small fortune. True, the wooden sword had so far eluded Casca's grasp, but the money was rolling in. Already they had over twenty thousand sesterces set aside at a local banking house. If you had to be a slave, it was better to be a Roman slave. You could at least have your own money-even have slaves of your own. Now, if Casca would agree, he would approach Corvu and ask how much it would take to buy his freedom. Surely Corvu would let him go for a couple of thousand.