"Come darkness, come peace. Welcome death!" He didn't know if the words were for Jugotai, for himself, or for both.
Shuvar touched Casca's shoulder and made a request that Casca honored. It was the son and the father's right.
Indemeer rode up with Shirkin, calling Casca aside to give him the after-action report. Casca told them to take care of the details and the wounded. He didn't want to stay here any longer; they would leave this day. The wounded would remain to be cared for by the Kushanites until they were well enough to return.
Once more, he rode away from the city, this time going to the west. Leading his army slowly, they began to climb back to the pass leading to the capital city of Persia. He stopped once briefly, on the hill from where they'd watched the Huns attack, and looked back at the walled city.
He knew what would be taking place below, even though he could not see clearly. The dark was coming now. He knew that four thousand Hun prisoners were being put to the sword, forced to kneel as teams of executioners decapitated them.
Shuvar's request was being honored and four thousand Huns would be laid in one massive grave, their heads between their hands. The Huns would be Jugotai's slaves in the afterlife.
Casca slowly moved his charger to a place a little higher and away from the weary line of his warriors winding their way to the pass and away from Kushan. The last red glow of the sun was barely visible on the horizon.
Quietly, under his breath, he said a prayer. The first real prayer he could ever remember making.
"Jesus, if you are the Son of God as You professed, and You do have the power of eternal life beyond, then hear me. Though by no choice of my own we are enemies, and You will not show me mercy or grant me peace, then so be it. But if You will, grant me this. Take the spirit of the one below, for he is a good man and deserves your peace that you promise."
Then, in spite of himself, he made one last personal plea, whispering.
"When will I have peace?"
The answer came with the rustling of the leaves on the trees. Gently, softly, words that only he could hear. This time he thought he heard a trace of sadness in the voice.
"When We Meet Again…"
THIRTEEN
Casca returned to Nev-Shapur, this time not participating in the triumphant entry with his troops. There had been too much sadness with this expedition and he was content to leave the glory of the victory to Indemeer and Shirkin, who'd served as his surrogates in the procession.
As the army was entering the main gates he went through the side entrance to make his report to the King. After he'd finished he asked permission to go home and was granted it.
Shapur, after Casca had made his report and left, sensed that something was amiss with his general, but he didn't push the issue. Rasheed, who'd sat in on the report, also commented on the fact that Shapur's Roman general looked a bit preoccupied and nervous. The King pushed the observation away. Rasheed always referred to Casca as the Roman and the King, even though he was aware Rasheed didn't like the Roman, wondered why. He had looked questioningly at the Roman's back as he'd left the court. Casca was different from the others. There was a quality to him that he couldn't put his finger on, and this bothered Shapur. The King liked everything to fit into nice, neat niches. Shapur decided he'd have to keep an eye on his foreign general. He was becoming too successful.
Casca used the time to ease the pain of Jugotai's death, with the help of Anobia. He let Masuul go; he had grown tired of the constant bickering between the two. He had enough problems without being referee between his woman and his servant.
As he waited out the storms and rains of winter, there was another who was not idle like himself.
Rasheed! He never lost a chance to use the name of Casca in the presence of the King. Shapur was more than aware that his Vizier did not care for the Roman and was beginning to wonder why he sang his praises so often. But, Shapur said nothing about it to either of them. Shapur knew that one of his best weapons in the maintenance of power was the constant shuffle for position among his courtiers, and Rasheed's dislike for his Roman general just might prove useful in time. As long as they kept competing for his favor by keeping an eye on each other, his throne would be just that much more secure. Let Rasheed watch the Roman and he, Shapur, would watch Rasheed.
Meanwhile, Shapur's ears were fertile ground for the seeds of Rasheed's praise of Casca. He knew they'd bloom soon.
The King moved his court to the city of Koramshar, by the sea. He would spend some months there; it was good policy, he thought, for the court to be moved from time to time that his people might see and hear his judgments in person.
As the King's household followed him, so did Casca bring with him Anobia. They set up housekeeping in a small villa on a hill overlooking the baked walls of the city. There were tall trees around it, set in a garden that bloomed year round. Anobia was delighted with the place and showed her pleasure to Casca by trying to drain off every ounce of strength he possessed in the following days.
At unexpected times, she would throw herself on him, demanding that he make love to her. It happened at breakfast, at dinner, or even when he was currying his horse in the stable. Anyplace, anytime, was good and each period of sharing was as fresh as the first; fresh and new with wonder and surprise at the delights they found in each other.
The death of Jugotai, in distant Kushan, was fading with the months. Now he was just a fond memory that Casca would retain forever. For Casca, Jugotai would always be young; the gray-haired man he'd held in his arms in death was gone. That time was more distant now than when they had crossed the pass together. Jugotai had been no more than thirteen years of age.
Rasheed, too, waited, growing impatient for the justice he had been promised. The heretic, Casca, lived too well. Every breath that he drew was an abomination and an insult. The beast must be punished. He wondered at times if the Elder was not possibly growing too old for his responsibilities? Whose face lay behind the hood of the Elder? He'd find out when he was admitted to the Inner Circle. But he sadly recalled, that could not happen until one of the brothers died. Several of them were older than the Elder probably, and when one ofthem passed on to his greater glory, surely he, Rasheed, would have the opportunity to take his place and sit on the ruling council of the Brotherhood.
There was a need for new thought and direction in the Brotherhood as far as he was concerned; it was growing stale. The Elder Dacort hadn't hesitated to treat the beast as he deserved. Now there was punishment if ever there was.
Rasheed was bitter and tired of waiting. He'd laid the groundwork for having the Roman swine punished by keeping Casca's name constantly in the ear of the King. Rasheed knew Shapur well, and the name of Casca constantly being brought to his attention would have an adverse effect on the King, turning praise to doubt sooner or later. He must now figure out the way, the proper justification for Shapur to make the final move himself. The King was ready, all he had to do was use the built-in paranoia of people in power, who see enemies in every shadow. Shapur would do the rest.
Rasheed, however, was frustrated and he cursed the Roman. He couldn't do anything more about it though until after the next conclave of the Brotherhood, and that was not to be held for another two weeks near the ruins of Babylon. Perhaps then the Elder might decide to act.
Time passed quickly and Rasheed, begging leave from the court of Shapur, rode to the conclave near Babylon.
In the ruins of an ancient ziggurat, perhaps, he thought, one the Jews had worked on, Rasheed shook the dust from his riding clothes and donned his hooded robe. He wished that the Brotherhood could meet in the same place each time and nothave this constant moving from one site to another. But it was probably wiser to not have a physical temple and instead just rely on the spirit of their beliefs. This method did reduce the chances of their being found out, with nothing to risk save one day out of the year. Even then they sometimes missed a year or two if the way was too dangerous or the nations were at war with each other and restricting the members' travel.