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. Waiters 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 re-formed 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 buried 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, let-, ting 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.
Twenty-One
