Oh, the hell with it. Wonder what Herod's palace is like inside?
SIX
Casca was properly impressed. One hell of a place to stand guard duty…
This palace of Herod Antipas was all that the mind of an Asian despot with almost unlimited wealth could wish for. The richness of the decorations and the brilliance of the dress of Herod and his guests made the few Romans present look lackluster and dull by comparison, for the Roman evening dress could in no way equal the splendor of Herod's finery-or even that of his personal guards. His bodyguards were all dressed in matched sets of armor, the expensive brass fish-scale kind that looked like liquid gold when they moved. Their helmets were of steel, with a chain-mail mesh of brass covering the back of the neck and the shoulders. Damn prettyboy types. They were all mercenaries from Greece. Herod was shrewd enough to understand the degree of affection in which he was held by the indigenous populace; as foreigners, the Greek mercenaries would give their loyalty directly to him.
Envious of the Greeks, Casca waited out the time.
The entertainment progressed through the evening. Jugglers and clowns performed through the first eight courses of food. As the evening wore on and the wine took effect, several of the guests made use of the vomitorium, some because they were sick, others to empty their stomachs so that they could eat more. The tempo picked up. Performers from Numidia and Egypt danced; they seemed more insane beings than dancers as their oiled bodies writhed over the marble floor and twisted into the semblance of monster serpents with human features. Casca and his troop stood firm, trying not to be too obvious in their distaste for the parasites and sycophants for whom this gaudy display was intended. The troopers were legionnaires. They would maintain their proper attitudes, reflecting the discipline of the Roman army. Damn all civilians.
The time approached for the relief to come on duty, and Casca sighed mentally, impatient for his relief. He was ready. A hot spot from the rigid attention position had settled into a burning throb just below his left shoulder blade. That, along with that bitch niece of Herod's, was beginning to make things a little tough for him. The niece, Salome, had been in there showing the guests how to really dance. One thing about her, she could throw that ass around faster than anything he had ever seen… and then pull her stomach in until it looked like her navel was going to rub up against her spine. Casca could feel the pressure building in him. Tonight, he promised himself, that little Armeman of Sporus's I've got lined up is going to get more than she bargained for… Damn. He was about to burst with frustration.
Damned right. That Salome slut is one hot piece of goods… and she is driving Herod crazy. The fat fart was on his knees, begging her to lay with him. Said he'd make her a queen. The fool actually slobbered in frustrated passion. That bitch had her hooks in the old boy, but good. During one part of her dance she had used Casca as a support to twine herself around-and also to aggravate Herod. She had rubbed up against Casca, trying to get some reaction out of him. Casca felt a certain degree of satisfaction out of his maintaining his cool so well under duress,
Casca would have felt a lot more satisfied with himself if Salome hadn't snuck a feel on him and found out exactly how much she had worked him up. That slut was an accident waiting to happen, and Casca was glad to be getting out of there before the party got real rough. You could feel that it was going to get worse before it got better.
Good! Here comes the relief. The changing of the guard mount took only a moment, and Casca, as assistant squad leader, formed up his troops and took them out as rapidly as possible. Now for that little Armenian dancer.
The night was in full swing by the time Casca had been released from duty for the rest of the evening. Although Verianus, Sporus's assistant, had warned him about messing around with the Sarge's girl, Casca paid no heed. After what Salome had done to him he was not about to let something like Sporus's hurt feelings interfere with his getting some of that good Armenian pussy. That luscious thing had one of the prettiest heart-shaped asses he had ever seen…
The tavern was crowded with a blending of the humanity to be found in this region… legionnaires from around the world… merchants from Asia Minor… and even some of the desert dwellers with their flowing robes and wrapped headdresses. The Arabians gave the Roman Casca an unfriendly glare, but they were smart enough not to start anything. The Tenth Legion had a reputation for kicking ass and killing, a reputation that was well-deserved. The troopers of the Tenth were all around about as tough a group of men as you could hope to have in any army. Most of them were tough guys and troublemakers who had been shipped out here to get them out of their original outfits.
Judea was commonly known to be a punishment tour-but it beat the normal punishment for minor infractions such as fifty strokes with a reed cane across the soles of your feet for not rising fast enough when an officer entered your barracks. No, there were worse things than Judea… and it would not last forever.
Casca glared back at the Arabians and took a seat close to the door, his back to the wall. Most old soldiers sat the same. Cover your back was one of the basic laws for survival in an occupied country. You could never tell when a case of liberation fever might strike one of the locals and have him or them try to remove your liver with a fish knife.
The little Armenian still had one more show to do before she could take off, so Casca just kind of sat there and laid back, letting his mind and senses absorb the sounds and color. Jerusalem wasn't the best liberty town in the Empire, but it did have a lot of different types come through it, and that was entertaining if you were a people watcher. Right now he was getting off on watching Rheza doing her number on a tourist. The dummy really believed that he was turning her on because she smiled at him while dancing.
It never changes… but tonight's my night. While old Sarge protects the honor of Rome, I'll be doing my number for Astarte.
He had had just enough wine to mellow him and make the night seem warmer than it was as he and Rheza made their way through the narrow, winding streets. A beggar called to them: 'Alms. Alms, noble Roman. Alms for the lame.' He showed an incredibly filthy leg twisted under him, obviously a terrible deformity, and Casca ignored him completely.
As Casca and Rheza passed out of earshot, the lame man stood, spit at the back of the noble Roman, and nimbly moved on to a more likely place.
As they walked, Rheza's breast formed a sweet, warm spot against Casca's side. He put his arm around her and pulled her close, taking advantage of a doorway to get in a little preliminary loving.
Rheza jerked her body against him and sank tiny white teeth into his lower lip and slipped out of his encircling arms. Teasing, she ran away from Casca, not fast enough to lose him, just fast enough to get him aroused. 'Little she-devil,' he gurgled through a leering grin and took off after her.
They played their game until she ran into the doorway of the building where she lived. The old man watching the doorway for the tenants while they were out gave a knowing smile at seeing the Roman soldier follow the dancing girl up to the second floor where her room was. The smile was toothless, but the old man leaned back against the wall to dream of long lost youth, long gone but not forgotten. Women, he sighed in his mind…They are the only thing really worthwhile.
Entering Rheza's room, Casca closed the door behind him and took from his pouch his flint and iron striker. He struck off on a piece of flint and lit the oil lamp in the room. The light of the single flame cast a soft red glow over the place. Casca caught his breath as Rheza slipped out of her clothing and let it fall to the floor. She was well aware of the power she had in her body. Casca removed his tunic, still watching her, comparing her to Salome. She didn't come out too bad.
He reached out for her.
This time she didn't run away, but melted into him, letting her body mold itself to him. Casca reached behind her and took one firm cheek of that lovely ass and began to squeeze… while she tried to strangle him with her tongue.
Then 'What the hell is this, you slut?'
Where the caved-in door had been, Sporus' s bearlike frame stood, his face livid with rage.
