Casca 3: The Warlord (12 page)

The bugles blared once more and the reserves were sent in. The influx of fresh troops was too much and the Hsuing-nu broke, fleeing in panic, back the way they had come, trampling any too slow to get out of their way under their hooves. They ran while the soldiers of the empire pursued and cut down all stragglers and wounded where they were found. No prisoners were taken as the Hsuing-nu made poor slaves and only a few were ever kept at any one time, mainly for stable duties.

Longi was found pinned under his horse and spat in the face of the young Tzin warrior who slit his throat.

If the forces of Kushan had been present, the Hsuing-nu would have been eliminated once and for all, but as it was, thirty thousand made their way back into the marshes and swamps. They would come again; someday they would ride out on the steppes again and wage war on the Chin, but for now, the young king had his victory.

In the battle, Casca had admired the technique of Sung Ti and his flashing blade, the use he made of long sweeping slashing strokes that changed in midair from a strike to the head, to a sideswipe that laid a barbarian's gut open. His stance and posture as he performed his martial ritual reminded Casca of Shiu Lao Tze, who had taught him the way of the open hand fighting so long ago. Yes, there was a definite resemblance. Sung Ti had created a new style, probably too difficult to teach the ordinary soldier, but who knows thought Casca, one day it might catch on.

After Casca's rescue of his royal person, the Emperor Tzin insisted he leave his mountain domain and take personal command of the Imperial Guard. At Casca's suggestion, Sung Ti took his place as lord of Chung Wei. As a parting gesture, he also made a gift of Mei Cho to his comrade in arms. He had not failed to notice the looks that went between them and how she lowered her eyes as a flush would creep up to her face, when Sung Ti came around. The rude manner in which Mei Cho often treated Sung convinced Casca she had the hots for this dashing young warrior. Casca was never one to stand in the way of love and besides, he reasoned, she was a nice girl and deserved a chance at a normal life – something he would certainly never be able to give any woman.

Sung Ti had been overcome at his friend's generosity and once Mei Cho's new position was made clear to her, he quickly put her in her place with a few sharp commands that had her crawling on her belly before him, completely submissive and content. The big nose had been kind to her but never really understood that to a woman like her, the only true pleasure she could have would be from a man who mastered her completely. The new Lord of Chung Wei was of her people and understood the proper manner of gaining her love.

Casca left the two, well pleased with their fortune and rode to the royal city where he donned the colors of the Imperial Guard – black and gold silk robes set about with a red sash. The next nine years flew by rapidly and several times he and the emperor ventured forth to do battle against the tribes beyond the wall. As the young king grew older and wiser in the ways of war, he became ever more attached to his foreign lord and servant. Twice more the Roman saved his ass when in his
eagerness, Tzin put his own life in jeopardy. They worked well together and often shared moments in the gardens where Tzin would try to give Casca some of the feelings of the people of Chin and their love of art and beauty. No people on the face of the earth were so completely devoted to beauty in all its forms, from the lowest peasant to the highest lord all tried to acquire what little share of beauty they could.

The most beautiful of all the possessions of Tzin was the lady Li Tsao, who grew
more lovely with each year, growing into a full woman, confident in her mind and body. She controlled the emperor and was his first consort to the neglect of all others. She was his only constant companion and advisor. True, he, occasionally as men will, took off with Casca for couple of nights of hell raising with the fine and talented courtesans of his empire, but always he returned to Li Tsao. His only sadness was her failure to bear him a son. Casca kept his distance from her. There was always the feeling in the back of his mind that she was dangerous in the way only the female of any species can be and noted she watched him as the years went by. Several times when they met she would look closely at his face, a slight look of consternation behind her almond eyes as if troubled by something she saw and couldn't put her finger on.

The Hsiung-nu gave them no more trouble, but the other tribes were growing in strength and constantly trying their luck at raping the soft lands behind the wall, only to be met with steel instead of silk. Tzin knew well the value of his army and they served him well. If only he could unite the eastern empire under his cousins he might be able to provide the final solution for the security of Han. But this was not to be. His cousin insisted on hiring tribesmen from the Hsien-pi in lieu of his own people. Like the Romans in their use of the barbarians of Germany and the Gothic kingdoms, they bred the seeds of their own destruction.

Sung sent word that he and the woman Mei Cho had a son and if it would please him, they would like to name the child after Casca, though the pronunciation would be slightly different in their language. Casca was present before the priests and family when the child was raised over his father's head and it was announced that from that day on he would be known as Ch'saca Sung Ti. Casca assumed the role of godfather to the child by presenting the offerings of incense and rice to the gods and ancestors of Sung Ti and taking the small blade which Sung had given him, he laid it on the child's naked body. Sung cried out joyfully when the child's fat fingers wrapped themselves around the hilt and held it firmly in his baby's grasp.

"A good sign, Lord Casca. He will be a great warrior and joy to his family."

Mei Cho had blossomed in her delivery of a man child and her figure and face had filled out to a ripeness that gave her a glow, she knelt before the man who had been her master and touched her head to his boot.

"Thank you, Big Nose," she whispered in words only he could hear, "thank you. My life is full."

After his return to Ch'ang-an, he kept himself busy with the training of the guard, but time was against him. Tzin knew his secret, that time would soon be on him and he must leave. His commanders and men grew old and retired to farms and estates to raise families but the silver in their beards never came to Casca.

Li Tsao watched.

In the garden where the two rocks had been tied so long ago by the ancient poet, she found him sitting on the same bench where he had first met the emperor. Gliding over the stone pathway, the beams of the moon shone through the petals of the blossoming fruit trees and flowers. Sitting beside him she looked closely at his face.

"What is your secret, ugly one?"

The question shocked him for a moment. He tried to collect his thoughts and then stammering said: "I have no secret. I am just a common soldier, content to serve our master."

Li Tsao waved a graceful hand. "No lies, Barbarian. I am a woman grown and even in my hair I have found silver traces of time, but you are the same as when we met on the Silk Road. There is no change in you. Not any. You are the same in body and appearance as you were then. Why do you not age? Tell me – and there is nothing in this land that cannot be yours."

She moved closer to him, her face only inches from him, the smell of her perfume sweeping over him. Her words like a silk sword, she again repeated, "There is nothing in this land which may not be yours-gold, slaves, power..." She ran her lacquered nails along the thin scar of his face "even
myself. I could show you pleasures you have not dreamed of. I can be all things to you and teach you the sensations of pleasure only a few in this world have ever experienced. Tell me, what is your secret. A potion, a magic ritual that keeps you young? This I must know. Is it bathing in the blood of young virgins? I have tried that myself but it has failed. Tell me and we shall share all that is here forever. I can make you King."

Firmly, Casca took her small hand
in his own and began to squeeze gently at first and then increasing pressure until a gasp of pain broke from her perfect lips. For the first time, Casca knew the reality of what she was and the cruelty that lay behind the smiles and graceful manner. Her beauty and youth were all that were important to her. All else was expendable, including Tzin.

Barely able to control his anger, his throat tightened. "Get away from me, bitch. There is nothing I can give or tell you. Keep away from me."

Releasing her hand, the new flow of blood to her fingers made her tingle as the pressure of his scarred hand released hers. Rising he walked away, turning back to look at her sitting quietly in the moonlight.

Li Tsao smiled sweetly, "You shouldn't have done that, ugly one." She rose and then disappeared into the shadows of the garden.

The next few weeks, Casca kept a wary eye on the king's consort, shocked at the depths of cruelty that lay beneath that delicate exterior. Not since Salome had he known a woman as evil as this. Whenever they met, she would smile and be graceful, her manners and words always polite, always correct without a hint of the hate that lay beneath her bosom. No one had ever refused her. She vowed the ugly barbarian would know what it meant to deny her that which she desired above all else – eternal youth and beauty.

The business of the empire went on: In the fall Tzin left Ch'ang
An to visit some of the southern provinces. It was good policy and occasionally he showed himself to the people and passed judgments in person. While he was gone, his lady sat in his stead, governed the city and several times gave formal parties and banquets.

Always Casca refused to attend, pleading pressing matters of the army requiring him to be elsewhere.
But one invitation came which he could not refuse. Sung Ti, Mei Cho and their son were ordered to the capital. Li Tsao had received permission from the emperor to confirm the House of Sung-Ti in their position as lords of Chung Wei and that the line from this time henceforth would be hereditary to be passed on to the young boy Ch'asca, the barbarian's godson. For this occasion, Casca had to attend and witness the confirmation of hereditary nobility.

Young Ch'asca was a fine boy who even now could sit a saddle and ride his pony with the same élan of his father. Five was a great age for a child when all was new and wonderful and Casca envied his friend his son.

Following the official confirmation, the lesser nobles bowed and acknowledged the position of nobility of sung Ti. Gifts were presented and the banquet held in the larger imperial gardens.

Casca sat with his godson on his knee, letting the boy ride his leg like a mountain pony while Li Tsao smiled and performed the duties of a hostess to the gathering of nobles and warriors. The banquet lasted long with one exotic course of food following another. Snow had even been brought from the distant mountains to chill the rare wines and beverages. The changing hues of the trees gave the final touch of color to this joyous occasion.

Calling for a toast to the honor of the new family, the guests' cups were filled with fine white wine of the south. All drank deeply. Casca swallowed one long draught and raised his empty cup to his friend.

"Long life and honor to the Sung-Ti and his son, who will one day be Baron of Chung Wei."

The last words stuck in his throat as
a coldness gripped his limbs and spread over his entire body stiffening it. He turned to look at Li Tsao and tried to raise an accusing finger but was unable, the coldness reached his brain and claimed him. His body had not hit the ground before Li Tsao gave a curt order and the slave who had filled his cup found his head suddenly separated from his body, lying on the ground waiting for the rest of him to fall. The guard who had performed the execution looked expectantly at the Imperial Lady and licked his lips in anticipation of the reward she had promised. That night, he too, would join his ancestors before he ever knew the pleasures of her arms.

The procession wound its way through the sculptured valleys and terraced hills leading to the place of entombment. Peasants bowed low in Kowtow before the symbols of the Imperial Lady. Her palanquin cast reflected rays of light from the gold leaf and polished lapis lazuli which made up the intertwined dragons and seemed to be lending their sinuous strength to the columns supporting the silken canopy beneath which Lady Li Tsao reclined.

Her face was like ivory which had turned gold with time, beautiful but unfeeling: only in the almond eyes were hints of deeper passion and desires.

Behind,
came the litter bearing Casca's coffin of teakwood, embellished with scenes of his service to the Emperor. Inside, Casca lay on silk cushions, his arms tied to his sides and a silk gag covering his mouth. Wailers and singers led the way; musicians followed, lending the beat of brass gongs and flutes to the lilting voices of the paid mourners. This was indeed a noble's funeral.

Guards escorting the party marched in solemn dignity prodigious in the apparel of the Imperial Protectors – black on gold and a circle of gold thread in which was the ideograph of the Emperor Tzin – marching in half-step, their pikes lowered to forward angle position, decreed for a solemn occasion such as this. They were paying homage to a brave and fallen soldier. Most had fought alongside him at one time or another.

The day was clear and sharp with only a hint of the coming north winds in the light breeze, causing pennants and flags on the pikes and standards to whip, gently fluttering. The procession itself, from a distance, appeared to depict one of the scenes that the artisans of Chin delighted so much in preserving on painstakingly carved tusks of ivory and on jade. The rice paddies and tamarisk trees added background to this touching act of affection and honor that Lady Li Tsao was paying a friend of the Son of Heaven, Emperor Tzin.

A languid wave of her hand silenced the wailers and musicians.

They had reached the place of entombment. The porters stood breathing deeply though the day was cool, the weight of the coffin and palanquin giving them a sweaty glistening sheen to their faces.

Between the clefts of a rocky gorge, the tomb had been built. The walls and sides of carefully joined gray stone were sealed with a mixture of lime and rock dust to make it airtight. The gaping tomb awaited its occupant. A great slab of stone bearing the Imperial seal showed this was an honored tomb and not to be disturbed.

Casca was motionless in his coffin. The drugs administered earlier served to keep him quiet; though not unconscious, he was unable to move or talk. His mind tried to reach out from the darkness. It seemed almost as if he could see what was happening in a detached way, as if he were watching from the heights of one of the nearby hills. The litter bearers lowered their burden to the earth and stepped away. The guards took positions indicated by their commander and turned their backs to the tomb, facing outward. The priests lit sticks of joss and incense, placing them on the tomb and spinning their prayer wheels: they too, turned away from the tomb.

Li Tsao and her two personal physicians approached the casket. She stood by idly, enjoying the strengthening warmth of the fall sun as it neared midday. The two healers opened the lid of the teak casket, exposing Casca to the sky. His head was on silk pillows and his bindings concealed by robes of honor. Only the silken gag was visible, appearing to be more of a covering for his lower face than anything else.

Waving the physicians away, Li Tsao moved with the grace of a temple dancer, her small delicate body swaying slightly with each tiny step, her fan of thinnest ivory sheaves making gentle breezes. Casca's eyes were closed. Li Tsao leaned over, her brown eyes taking in the face of one who had denied her the right to eternal youth. She was beautiful still, but time's insidious advance could not be stopped forever. One day the artful use of cosmetics would no longer be able to hide the small lines now making their slow but sure appearance on her ivory skin, marring the once perfect beauty.

Snapping her fingers, an attendant approached bringing an object wrapped in white silk. Taking it from him and then waving a hand of dismissal, she laid the silken package on the chest of Casca.

"Barbarian, do you hear me?" Taking his cheek between her lacquered nails she twisted once, and then again, leaving a bloody trickle running down his face. Casca's eyes opened slowly, blurred from the drug induced sleep. He tried to focus with difficulty. "Good, Barbarian, I have brought you something," she patted the silk package. "In here is your sword. You may need it to fight your way through the demons of darkness. I felt much for you, but you rejected me and this cannot go unpunished, but for the feelings and the life we might have had eternally young, I leave you your weapon." Her face swam above him as she leaned over and kissed him long and full on the mouth, her tongue darting like a serpent. She kissed him as she would one she loved long and full, as if in this final kiss she was trying to draw off the essence that made him what he was. Placing her fingers over his face, she closed his eyes, her voice lilting, and sweet she whispered, "sleep the long sleep of eternity."

Darkness closed in again as the lid of his coffin was closed and even the thin glow of light from the sun through his shut lids was terminated. The slaves lowered Casca into the rock tomb that would be his home for the ages. Straining, they needed the help of twenty guards to place the massive slab on top.

They bowed their way back from the tomb, out of sight. This was the business of those above them as they were above the vermin that crawled in the bowels of the earth.

One by one, the soldiers made obeisance and lit sticks of incense for the deceased and laid them on the small stone altar where the incense burned. The priests began their death chant in earnest, nasally whining paeans to the dark spirits to let the traveler through safely to join his ancestors. The mourners – the best that money could buy and completely devoted to their occupation – took their cue and began to wail as if a child had been torn away from them. With undulating cries of grief and sorrow, they pitched themselves into ever greater expressions of grief, slashing their faces with their fingernails and tearing their clothes into shreds to the syncopation of the gongs and flutes until they lay exhausted upon the ground in a sobbing mass of genuine bereavement.

Thus, Casca was buried.

The procession reformed itself and left quietly with dignity. The Lady Li Tsao being well-pleased made a mental note to use the same mourners when the Emperor died. Calling her attendant, she asked to which guild they belonged.

Casca awoke, the effects of the opiate having worn off; most men would have been unconscious for at least a full day and night. The procession had not yet reached the outskirts of the sacred city when the terror came over him. Unable to move his arms, the darkness enveloped him like some horrible placenta.

"No!" he screamed through muffled lips. "No!"

The terror of being buried alive washed over him. The same desperate fear he had felt as a slave in the mines of Greece returned. To be buried alive, unable to die. How long would the darkness last ...one year ... five ... a hundred or for eternity?

He cried out through his gag, his mouth working at the bindings. He beat his head against the silken pillows in anguish. "Alive, the bitch has burled me alive." The horror settled on him giving vent to an icy chill that came from the surface of his skin, deep into his bones. "Alive, for how long? How can I find the Jew If I'm buried here forever." Casca's efforts to free himself slackened. He felt heavy, his arms and legs like lead appendages, his chest aching for air. The darkness came again, his eyes closed once more and the deep chill faded. Casca was still, his body unmoving. Then a tiny movement in the great vein of his neck. Minutes passed... then another quick twitch of the large vein.

Once every twenty minutes his pulse beat and every forty minutes his chest would move slowly, taking a shallow breath. His system came to an almost complete halt. Like the great bears of the
ice mountains, Casca slept.

The years passed, the business of the kingdom went on, babes were born, old men died and wars were fought. Occasionally a bundle of fresh incense would be lit at his grave by one with whom he had soldiered. Bowls of rice to feed his spirit were set with honor. The birds and rats appreciated the offerings. Occasionally one of the great plates of the earth shifted and tremors came to the surface as minor quakes, not severe or uncommon in this land. To the peasant, this was accepted like the seasons – some were good and some were bad – but all were part of their life.

Casca's tomb cracked open at the north seam, letting in a tiny amount of air; not much, but enough for the sleeping one inside. With the crack came others. Smaller vermin and insects made homes in the robes of silk. Families grew in the beard and chest hair of the sleeper. His hair still grew and in the growth were many colonies of worms, seeking the warmer spots in his armpits a small family of vipers chose the place between his crotch for their own. The insects and a minute amount of moisture weakened the fabric of the robes and bindings until finally, a great rat made his way in after gnawing for days at the crack. The rodent walked up and down the length of Casca carefully to avoid the snakes and after satisfying himself, took a bite out of Casca's big toe but immediately began to eat dirt and run his mouth and tongue over the ground trying to get the taste out. This was a large piece of meat and the rat prided himself on being able to eat anything, but not this – to eat this was death. In frustrated hunger, the rat nibbled and chewed the silk bindings away from Casca's arms and while trying to digest his silk meal, became a meal himself for a family of snakes in the sleeper's crotch.