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only she could. In a crowd of a hundred women he could recognize her from the
back instantly just by that sweet, tantalizing roll of hips.
But even idylls have their endings.
The time came when he found her looking at him strangely. Traces of silver had
begun to appear in her own hair, but none in his When she asked him how he
kept from going gray he knew that the end of his first and only home was in
sight.
So the night came when he lay with her for the last time and took her with a
gentleness that would not have been possible before he met her. He gave her
the full measure of his love and lay in the dark, -
listening to her breathing, her head on his chest. He could imagine her dark
eyes closed, a small smile on her lips as she slept the deep sleep of a woman
who knows she has been loved with all the intensity of soul a man can know.
Her long, soft, brown hair -smelled of the sun and fields, fresh and clean. It
was a dream-light blanket covering them both. Casca leaned down and kissed her
softly, fearful that she would wake. He eased gently out of the bed and crept
out of the house and crossed the fields to where the foreman of his workers
lived with his woman. Waking the man, he gave him a letter for his woman, then
turned his face to the East. He was walking away from the only woman he had
ever loved. Where would he go? There was word that there would be another war
with Parthia. His face darkened. The wheel would turn once more.
The foreman gave her the letter the next day, and it read:
Woman. All things must end. As I came to you from the hills, so I have to
continue the journey I am on. Know that all is in your name, and the property
is for you, and the money. I have need for little, and took only enough for my
journey.
Know that I have loved you as I have never loved anyone or anything in my
life, and I am older than you think. But I am driven, and cannot escape my
fate. A great and wise friend of mine once told me that he believes everything
is a great circle. All that was, will be again, and when one dies he will be
reborn in the future. If he is right, then if the gods are kind, perhaps when
the circle turns far enough we will meet again. I love you now, and will love
you a thousand years from now.
I am
CASCA
The legion accepted the services of one so ably qualified without question. In
his time in Greece, Casca had acquired new identity documents, so there was no
difficulty there. He was immediately inducted. The fact that he was in need of
no-or at the least, little training, was welcomed, and Casca prepared himself
for a time in the legions of Rome. Here at least he knew the routines and how
to deal with most of the problems that would come.
He had enlisted in Sidon. From there, after a refresher course, he was sent to
join the army of the general Avidius Cassius in Damascus. He had returned to
the legions arid the eagles of Rome. Marcus Aurelius was emperor, and it was
one hundred and fifty years since the Jew had been crucified in Jerusalem.
Casca was amazed when he looked at his reflection in the brass mirror when he
shaved. Well, old boy, you don't look a day over one hundred and forty. I have
outlasted them all. Even Jerusalem has been destroyed and the temple of the
Jews torn down, yet I remain. The emperors of Rome turn to dust. How many have
come and gone since my birth? Let me see. Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula,
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Claudius, Nero that slug, Galba, Otho, Vitellus, Vespa sian, who started the
war on the Jews, and then his son Tftus who finished them off and scattered
them throughout the world, Domitian, Nerva, Trajan (now there was a hell of a
man), Antoninus Pius, and Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus, but now that
Lucius is dead there is just Aurelius-Eighteen emperors have come and gone,
but I'm still here and the same. At least, I think I'm the same. How would I
know if I have changed. Anyway, who cares?
TWENTY-FOUR
Casca watched his commander. Avidius Cassius was gazing out toward the desert,
a look of intense concentration on his hard face. He seemed a living copy of
the stone bust that might be made of him should this campaign succeed and the
emperorship be within his grasp. That's what generals thought about, wasn't
it? What they would get personally out of a battle? Shit! Was there any real
difference between a general and a trooper? For the soldier, rape and plunder?
For the general, laurels and honor... and riches? Oh, hell no. Sure, you
thought about what you could get-but wouldn't a general also plan the battle?
Plan the whole campaign in this case? What was it like to be a general? What
went through a general's mind? The thought sniffed idly at the edges of
Casca's brain: The Jew said that what I am, I shall remain. Did he mean I will
always be a trooper and never a general? But would I want to be a general?
Would I know what the hell to do if 1 were a general? If I were Avidius
Cassius, what would I be thinking of right now? He looked at the stone-faced
bastard, but he could read nothing in the marble features. Hell, that's his
job. Mine is to do what I will be told.
Avidius Casius was indeed thinking about the campaign, and his mind was a
complicated pattern of history, facts, possibilities, problems, and plans.
Across the desert lay Parthia, the enemy he intended to conquer, and one not
to be taken lightly. The Parthians themselves were direct descendants of the
great empire of Persia that Xerxes had led so magnificently. Then, when the
great Alexander's generals divided his empire among themselves, Ptolemy had
taken Egypt and the Seleucids had taken Persia. Thus the Parthians combined
the best of the Greek and Persian world in their armies. For hundreds of years
they had held off the Roman eagles. Many times the Roman armies had invaded,
and even destroyed Ctesiphon, but like the phoenix of their legends, Parthia
always rose again. And again. Only the Germans equaled the Parthians for the
amount of trouble they gave Rome.
Details of the Parthian military organization ran through Avidius's mind . . .
formidable heavy cavalry... the cataphracti. . . wearing armored scales and
armed with the great lance, the contus... using shock tactics to break their
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