Olaf reached inside the bag and pulled out, one at a time, items that each evoked a memory of Casca's past. First, there was a full set of Roman armor. It was the set Casca had in his pack when he and Olafs father, old Glam, had fought for and won the keep in which Olaf was born. It was well-used armor, but it had been even better cared for.
Olaf held up each piece of the armor for his leaders appraisal. The only new piece was the tunic of white linen with half sleeves and a skirt reaching to the knees. The cuirass was of three parts. The shoulder epaulets and the chest and back covering were all made of boiled, formed leather on which were sewn circular pieces of iron. The shoulder pieces were made of four plates, smaller than those of the cuirass to which they were fixed on the ends and passed over the shoulders like straps. From the waist were two thick borders of leather plated with strips of iron reaching almost to the knees.
As each piece was brought out and presented, Casca felt a rush of memories.
'One last item, lord,' Olaf said. 'This was dropped when the cat soldiers took you captive. For some reason they left it where it lay.'
Reaching deep into the sack, Olaf withdrew Casca's famous short sword. The weapon had been meticulously cleaned and sharpened. Not a spot of rust would dare make itself known on the shining surface. The blade had been honed on both sides to razor sharpness. There were, however, several deep notches in the blade that gave it a slightly serrated appearance. They had been too deep to remove without damaging the rest of the sword.
Casca took the weapon in his calloused hand.
The grip felt alive. He had carried this weapon ever since he had left the battlefield in Parthia where the city of Ctesiphon had been put to the sword. How many years had it been? Fifty? Sixty? More?
Casca put his free hand on the forearm of Olaf. 'Thank you. This weapon is more than a tool. It is the story of my life. It and my destiny are one. Thank you, Olaf Glamson. Now I must go. Even a god has duties, and several await me. You and the others, eat and enjoy yourselves. Tomorrow we begin to ready for the battle.'
That night, while the Norsemen slept, they were closer to war than they imagined. Even now, while they were tossing in their sleep and dreaming of the women they had left at home, Teypetel was being borne on a giant litter carried by eighty slaves at the front of his army. Thirty thousand strong the enemy marched. The litter bearers were changed and replaced by fresh slaves every three miles. Less if the going was rough.
In Teotah, the city of the Teotec, only Totzin knew what was transpiring, and he slept the best sleep of all. Victory was soon to be in his grasp, and the city and its people would be his, The few foreign devils who had come could make no possible difference in the outcome. Five days, and the king of the Olmecs and his army would be at the doors of Teotah. Then the god of the Jaguar would feed to the fullest. He, Totzin, would see to it that the one calling himself the Quetza performed no further tricks or illusions. He smiled as he slept. A warm, wet flash ran down his leg from the groin as he dreamed of what he would do to the woman of the Quetza. Not all his excitement was sexual in nature; the thought of feeding himself on her flesh was as strong a stimulant as the sex act itself.
Dawn brought no indications of the coming violence.
Casca sat and breakfasted with the king and Tezmec.
'Priest,' he asked, 'why do your cities have no walls for defense?'
Tezmec smiled and spoke in the same tone of voice he used in teaching novices. 'The jungles and hills are our walls. We have scouts out on every trail leading to our city. If an enemy approaches, it is from the walls of the jungle that we meet and strike them before they can reach us. In the event that the enemy manages to break through to the city itself, then our people use those same jungle walls to hide in, taking with them their items of most value.
'The enemy takes an empty city. From the hills and jungles we will strike down and attack his warriors. When they learn the cost is too great they will return to their own lands, and we will come back. At the most, they will have taken the items left behind, but these are of no real value. What use can they make of cooking pots? The value is in the people. Without them there can be no real victory. If they destroy our temples, then we will simply build greater and larger ones when they are gone, and when the time is right. We will avenge ourselves. Our people would never accept a foreign king. He must be one of our own.'
The young king nodded in agreement. 'Is it not so in the lands you said are across the waters, Tectli Quetza?'
Casca shook his shaggy head in denial. 'No,' he said, 'it is not. Perhaps your way is better for you, but the people I know are different. There we need the walls to defend ourselves. Perhaps even here you will one day find a need for them.'
The Olmecs and their grotesque king were now only four days away from Teotah. On this day the passes leading to the city were guarded by Serpent soldiers. Tomorrow the guard would change; the soldiers of the Jaguar would take over the duty of watching the far passes through which the enemy must pass.
Casca paid ever increasing attention to his troops over the next days. More and more he drilled them in new methods of fighting, methods new to them but old to the legions of Caesar. His Vikings would be the anvil against which any invader would smash themselves; his regular Teotec soldiers would be the hammer.
Totzin smiled, especially when he saw Casca with Metah. Enjoy the woman while you can, he thought. Soon it will be the trust of my loins that she screams out for.
Teypetel entered the valley, his army strung out behind, not yet in battle order. Cautiously his scouts proceeded and returned, prostrating themselves before their king and giving the word that the way was clear; the Jaguar soldiers of the priest Totzin had honored their word and were even now coming down to join the army. Their remaining brothers in the city would strike from the inside when the time was ripe. The way was open, and soldiers of the Olmecs poured through, faces, painted for war. Many had the same flat lips and noses of their king, for he and his fathers had spread their seed wherever they could. The cast of brutality was clearly stamped on them.
Casca sat late in his rooms. Metah walked softly so as not to disturb him. She knew that he had many things on his mind. He sat alone looking out over his city. The flat roofs and the temple pyramids seemed frozen in the light of the brilliant moon and the cloudless sky. His thoughts reached across the dark waters, far, far to another land, Rome. Rome… It has been long since I saw the city of Caesar Augustus. He still referred to it as the city of the man who sat on the throne of the world's most powerful nation when he, Casca, was young and first served in the legion. Who was emperor now? How much longer would Rome endure? Or had she already fallen to internal rot and the bright swords of the more vital peoples surrounding her?
Rome… Now he understood a little of what the Caesars must have endured. The weight of responsibility is heavy for a ruler. I wonder why they, the power seekers, crave it so much?
There were, of course, things that Casca could not know. While he ruled the Teotec not as king but as god, Rome was moving ever closer to her final days. It had been 253 years since the so-called 'Messiah' had died on the Cross. Valerian was once again trying to stabilize the frontiers of the Empire. He had made his son Gallienus emperor of the west while he marched to the east to try and restore order. He was too late. Ever increasingly, better organized and more violent rebellions had sapped the spirits of the legions along the Danube. They were now facing the new confederation of the Gothic Empire. The borders were crumbling. The Goths laid to the sword much of Asia Minor and even northern Greece. Valerian was taken prisoner by the persians.
This same night Valerian's son Gallienus sat with the thoughts of disaster foremost in his mind. He had retaken the Balkans, but his strength was so limited that Gaul, Spain, the Rhineland and even Britain paid homage only to their autonomous rulers. Gallienus sighed deeply. The weight of Rome was heavy. He pondered the responsibilities of power as he poured another draught of the famous Falerian wine, sipped slowly, and cut it with a touch of spring water. Finishing his cup, he called for his masseur to come and rub away some of the tensions of the day. Rome may be fading, but that is no excuse to live like a barbarian…
TWELVE
Casca clicked his eyes back open. He shook his head. He had been asleep and dreaming… Or had he? What was the matter?
Shit! I know something is wrong. Totzin is walking around like he is the cat that just swallowed the mouse. Something is rotten. Tomorrow I'll send out my own scouts to take a look around the countryside.
