He made excuses to them for his absence, knowing that they were actually unnecessary. Most of them thought the little Egyptian was strange anyway and didn't really care where the man from the Nile went, or for what length of time, as long as his reports were sent in periodically, satisfying the bureaucratic processes.
Imhept was finally able to leave Casca alone and return fully to his duties. Still, he remained in the close vicinity of the cave and was able to check on his patient now and then.
For Imhept, everything was coming to an end at the same time. Soon, his contract with Shapur would expire and it would be time for him to return to where his real work was.
SIXTEEN
Casca stayed in the dark of the cave by the sea for four months, going out only at night to lie in the healing salt waters. Ever so gradually, the red, wrinkled skin sloughed off, first in flakes and then in strips, leaving new, bare, red tissue exposed. Hair and eyebrows returned to cover the bald patches of his scalp and brow. By the end of the third month, Casca resembled an oversized newborn babe more than he did a grown man.
Imhept was the only one who came to this desolate region and his visits were few. He came only often enough to bring fresh supplies.
Casca's strength had returned. He spent the days inside the cave exercising, stretching out the tight skin and twisting the muscles until flexibility and ease of movement returned to them. Often the sores on his hands would break open and bleed from the strain, but Casca knew they would heal fully in time. His wounds always did, the curse of it!
Imhept was astounded at his patient's recovery, but Casca told him nothing. The less Imhept knew of his capabilities the better. Let everyone find explanations that pleased them. From him, they would get nothing.
At last, Casca felt ready to go. For the last few weeks he had ventured out into the light of day for increasingly longer periods of time, letting his skin grow dark under the Arabian sun. As far as he could see, his one and only benefit from the burning was the fact that some of his lesser scars had come off with the dead skin, leaving the total carcass slightly less scarred on the whole.
Imhept agreed that it was time for Casca to strike out on his own. Every day that they spent in the land of the Great King was one of danger. He provided Casca with a sum of money, enough to provide him for some time to come if he was careful. Imhept had never had much use for money or wealth to any degree. Though he had acquired great amounts of it in his time, he never kept it for himself. He gave it instead to those that hungered, not only for bread but also for his kind of knowledge.
The last time Casca saw the Egyptian was as his thin frame jogged uncomfortably up and down on the back of the ass he used for transport. The two of them had disappeared from Casca's view and over a hill, heading back to Koramshar. As for Casca, he hitched his pack a bit higher on his shoulder, wincing a little as the straps rubbed his still tender skin, adjusted his sword belt, and struck out, heading west. He had a long way to go. He would again follow the old road along the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates and through what once was known as Babylonia, now known as Asuristan. He would follow the Euphrates past Firus Shapuruntil reaching the borders of Syria; then on to Calinicium, the first Roman city of any size, and from thence to Barbalissus. At that place, he would leave the river and strike out straight across the hundred odd miles to Antioch.
He wrapped his robes around him and adjusted the turban. Wearing this clothing and carrying his sword and spear, he looked to be no more than a lone wandering nomad, which was his actual intent.
But he still had over a hundred miles to go before he came to the twin rivers and could leave the nearest city to this place behind. He had no desire to enter the confines of Bisshapur. Casca wondered if the King himself knew exactly how many cities had been named after him.
He walked the first fifty miles, then decided to part with a portion of his hoard and purchased a spavined mare at a village near Biramkubad. It was true that the beast had not the strength nor grace nor the attractive appearance of the mounts of the Imperial stables, but it sure beat the hell out of walking every step over heated rocks and sand. As long as he didn't push the animal too hard, it would surely take him at least as far as the rivers, where he could perhaps arrange passage on a ship heading up river.
At Ahvaz he sold the horse and managed to book passage on a trader headed in his desired direction.
The boat was a shallow draft affair built of reeds, and had a single sail. Its only advantage was that it was light enough to use the favorable winds and sail upstream against the river.
Casca stayed to himself, avoiding any contact with the three crewmen other than to take his share of their meager meals of fish and millet. They, for their part, were content to leave their taciturn guest alone. If the fellow chose not to converse with them, then that was well enough. He had paid for that privilege, and he just might be one of the King's inspectors, out doing surveys on the rates charged for passenger services by the independent boatmen.
He stayed with the small craft until they'd bypassed the fabled city of Babylon, now no more than a deserted series of mounds and decaying ruins, showing little of her former glory.
Other eyes watched Casca's small craft as it sailed past the city. They were eyes that were hidden under a dark robe of homespun wool.
The Brotherhood was having a special meeting this night. A serious mistake had been barely prevented.
It must not have a chance to happen again.
Rasheed, head bowed, stood before the Elder of the Brotherhood of The Lamb. The rest of the Brethren, gathered here for this occasion, stood in two silent rows along the walls of the cavern, their faces hidden in the shadows of their hoods. They all wore the same rough homespun robes of brown wool, tied about the waist with a cord, from which suspended the sign of the fish.
Rasheed waited for the Elder's words. He was certain he would be promoted to the inner circle of the Brotherhood, for his accomplishments were great. Then there was the manner in which he'dhad the bestial killer of the beloved Jesus punished for his sins.
The Elder sat upon a plain wooden curule chair. Behind him, hanging from leather straps, was the Holy of Holies, the Spear of Longinus, the instrument that had plunged unmercifully into the side of the living God, and had taken Him from this world before His work had been completed. The Elder himself was not pleased with the efforts of Rasheed and could show no emotion for the fool's error. If Casca had died, then the trail to Jesus could be lostforever. For had not Jesus said to the Roman, 'As you are, so you shall remain until we meet again?' Surely this meant that one day the Roman would come face to face with the Messiah once more. He was the road. To punish the beast, as the Elder Dacort had done years before by cutting off his hand, that was one thing, but to turn the Roman into dust that could not move was plain stupid. They, the followers of the thirteenth disciple, Izram, must know patience and good judgment. Rasheed had exceeded his authority.
The Elder spoke softly, nearly whispering. 'Brother Rasheed, I have decided how to honor you for your service. On the next holy day you shall be the one blessed, the one permitted to feel the pain and suffering of our Lord, Jesus Christ. As He did, you shall carry the cross and be placed upon it. Then, when the time is right, you shall experience the blessed agony of the Christ, and the Spear of Longinus will send you to join the others who have gone before you. You, as they, will sit at the foot of our Master.'
Rasheed was ecstatic. This was a greater honorthan being admitted to the Inner Circle. He was to be one with Jesus. He wept tears of joy at this honor that was being bestowed upon him.
The Elder merely looked upon him as a fool, but this was the easiest way out of his quandary. Let the fool die.
Rasheed was taken from the chamber, escorted by two acolytes. At his signal, the rest of the Brotherhood filed out of the chamber, leaving the Elder alone.
His face still hidden by the folds of his hood, he sighed deeply. He was tired and old, and soon it would be time for another to take his place and continue his work.
He'd been frightened when he'd heard of Rasheed's actions, and for a time had thought they'd lost Casca. It had been the worst moment of his life. But now, all was well. The spawn of Satan was still alive. He was not lost to the Brotherhood.
The Elder wearily raised his aged body from his chair and pulled back the hood of his robe. His hands were delicate and finely shaped; the hands of an artist.
