stone carvings of winged bulls and lions looked particularly menacing in the pre-dawn gray. His escort was silent on the trip. Not a word was spoken. Only the clatter of hooves on the paving stones of the street accompanied them. Cascafelt a chill run up his spine. He dismounted and was led into the great halls, escorted by the Palace guards. His sword was taken from him before entering the main reception room where the King handed out judgments.
Inside, lining the walls, were many officers of the Imperial armies, but most important were the priests ofAhura-mazda, including theMobed. Casca knew he was in trouble for sure, but still didn't know why.
Torches and braziers lit the scene, casting shadows long and dark into weird flickering pictures on the stone walls. Casca advanced to the prescribed distance from his King. Shapur was wearing full armor and holding his sword bared in his hand rather than the rod of justice. The sword meant he was dealing with a member of the military and as Casca was the only warrior in the center of the hall, he had no doubt that it was his ass that was in the sling.
Rasheed stood beside the King, the pleasure on his face as open and evident as was his hate. A flicker from a nearby bronze brazier bounced off a metal medallion on Rasheed's chest and Casca knew why. The medallion was in the spare, stylized form of a fish. Rasheed, he knew instantly, was a member of the Brotherhood of the Lamb.
Dawn was beginning to break over the city and the first light was seeping into the chamber. Casca understood the reason for his being summoned at this hour. The first light of day was the most holy time to the followers ofAhura-mazda and that was the moment when he was to be judged for some form of heresy. But why?
Shapur stood erect. Impressive, he waited for the precise moment when the light of the new sun would strike the prisoner. Then he spoke.
'You, Casca Longinus, who I took to my bosom and have shown great honor, have betrayed me and the Aryan peoples by treacherous plottings and the foulest of sacriligious practices. You have aligned yourself with the forces of darkness and have practiced the black arts. You are the tool of Rome. Rome, whose armies are even now preparing themselves to strike against us. But they shall be defeated and destroyed even as you shall be.' Casca started to respond and was cut off by the wave of Shapur's sword. 'You will not speak unless given permission.' At his signal, Rasheed stepped forward. 'My Vizier will give to the priests and the army, proof of this beast's dark powers and the pact he has made with evil, that none may say he has been unfairly judged.'
Rasheed grinned, his thin face sweaty from the self-control he'd inflicted on himself in this moment of triumph. He left the raised dais and walked to Casca, the sound of his minister's robes rustling over the cold stones. He stopped in front of the Roman, snapped his fingers, and Casca's escort pinned his arms to his side. Rasheed took from the folds of his sleeves a long, thin razor-sharp dagger and held it high for all to see. Slowly, carefully, he slit the bindings that held Casca's coat of chain mail together and exposed the bare chest beneath. As a surgeon would, he laid the point of the knife on Casca's flesh. The metal of the polished blade felt like ice to him.
TheMobed and one of his acolytes joined Rasheed to witness whatever it was that was to take place. The priest had the look of the fanatic about him, a full white beard and burning eyes that were strangers to compassion or mercy.
Rasheed forced the point into the flesh of Casca's bare chest. Slowly it sunk in until blood flowed freely. Casca said nothing nor did he make any expression of pain. He had felt pain a hundred times worse than that pinprick.
Rasheed then angled the edge of the blade downward slightly and began to draw the steel across his chest laying it open, a cut several inches long and about a half-inch deep.
Rasheed knew what would happen, as did Casca. Blood flowed freely for a moment down into the metal links of chain mail. Rasheed removed the knife from the wound. The bleeding had already stopped and the blood was clotted and dark.
Rasheed called for a basin of water. It was brought to him along with a clean white rag. The Vizier soaked the rag in the fluid and then washed the blood from Casca's chest, cleansing away the new scab from the cut. Casca closed his eyes. He knew what was going to happen.
TheMobed-mobedan and his assistant examined the spot where Rasheed had sliced into his chest. TheMobedan let out a low hissing sound between his teeth. The acolyte moved a brazier closer to them. TheMobedan looked again, then backed away, making a sign to ward off evil.
TheMobed-mobedan cried out, his voice thin, and wavering in barely controllable rage and hate,'Evil.. Evil!'
The cut was already closed and turning pink, as both Casca and Rasheed knew it would. Shapur himself stepped forth to examine the evidence.
Venom dripped from his words. 'Foul beast of darkness. You tried to trick me, but thanks to the wisdom and learning of Rasheed, he knew how to recognize the evil within you. You have proven your guilt. Let the priests make their judgment.'
Casca said nothing. The shock of the rapid change of his circumstances had left him feeling lightheaded and numb. There was nothing he could do.
The priests conferred for a short moment and spoke into the ear of the King.
Shapur nodded his head in agreement and turned to the entire assembly to pronounce Casca's sentence.
'There is only one way that true evil can be destroyed, and that isby fire. You shall burn beast! Burn! And your ashes shall be spread into the wind. Take him! Let the judgment be carried out this very day, that he may have no time in which to make additional charms of evil against us. Burn him! Burn him, and do it now!'
Shapur returned to his throne and sat upon it, his hand pointing with the bared sword.
'I have spoken. Let it be done…'
FIFTEEN
Casca was stunned by this unexpected turn of events. His mind hadn't really had time to register what had happened to him. Before he could voice any protest, he was surrounded by members of Shapur's Immortals, their lances aimed at his chest to restrain him while being chained, both hand and foot. A rope was tied about his neck and he was led from the hall. An escort of fifty Immortals were his companions as they left the palace and began the long walk to the square.
The reality of his sentence was beginning to register. Burn! I am to be burned. He had seen burnings in many places. He'd always thought that it was the most horrible of deaths. To be thrown to the beasts was bad enough, but at least it was quick and no comparison to the searing flames.
When they entered the streets, a drum began to beat, calling the people of the city forth to witness what was to be done. A court scribe, carrying the scroll that listed his offenses against the people, now joined their procession. He called out loud these offenses to the people as they marched forward to the place of execution.
Step by terrible step, he went on, the chainsdragging at his ankles as he walked. The mob gathered, the streets filled with leering faces, faces that mocked him and spat at him. Some were filled with expressions of religious fervor at seeing a heathen go to his just reward. Others bore the look of patriots who wanted this traitor punished for betraying their king. There were a few whose faces had the look of sexual excitement in their eyes, glassy and wet lipped. They were going to the burning to enjoy another's pain and suffering. He knew that they all, in their own ways, wanted him dead and individual motives didn't matter.
The abuse, filth, and spit being heaped on him as he stumbled his way forward, was familiar. Where had he seen the likes of this before? It came to him suddenly, and he thought of the irony of it. He tried to laugh, only to have it choked off by a jerk on his leash. Jesus! They'd done this same thing to Jesus as he walked to his crucifixion at Golgotha.
Is this to be my crucifixion? Jesus said that I must live until we meet again. Is He in the crowd somewhere, watching and waiting? Will he come forth just before they set the flames?
It was nearly three miles to the square reserved for special occasions such as this, occasions like festivals, parades, and state executions. A long three miles.
