Casca slept until after cock's crow. Rested, he rose, washed, and finished dressing. Taking from his pack a robe of blue silk trimmed with gold thread, he placed it over a light shirt of chain mail. The robe reached to mid-thigh over the leather trousers he had traded for. They were soft and flexible, having been chewed to the suppleness of fine cloth by the teeth of the tribeswomen and then dyed a dark blue. He put a wide leather belt set with large brass rings around his waist and slung his sword from a leather halter, to hang by his right side in the Roman manner. His face was as tender as a baby's fanny after the scraping, cutting, and tugging required to get rid of the scruffy inch-long beard that had sprouted on his face. Fanning his hand over his jaw, he winced at the memory of the barber they had sent him. The man could have qualified for a position as a torturer with any of the better dungeons and slave camps.
Finally satisfied with his appearance, he went down the rickety wooden stairs to the main room. His new appearance of wealth, as represented by the robes of silk, properly awed his obese host.
Beshar fawned over his new guest and tried to get him to eat at his establishment, but after testing the menu from the previous night, Casca decided to pass and try to get something better inside the city of Nev-Shapur. He knew it would be long before the local authorities rounded him up. He was thankful that he had the letters from Tzin in his pouch and his own decree of nobility. Those should serve to give him a good welcome. From what he had heard, those from Rome were less than welcome in the lands of the Sassanids and he had a long way to go before reaching the Mediterranean. It would be best if he could do that as a free man and not as a slave.
He didn't figure there would be too many problems finding someone to translate the letters he carried, for Nev-Shapur sat directly on the silk road, and on his way he had seen many caravans with merchants from Chin carrying goods to the west. He wished he had been able to learn to decipher the wriggling block script that served as writing for the people of Chin, but it had been too much for him to figure out. He felt lucky to have even a knack for spoken languages. Stepping out into the full light of day, he entered into a throng of people lined up to enter the gates of the city. There were merchants, farmers, tourists and pilgrims, and women carrying vases and packs on their heads who walked with long, graceful steps. The clothing styles were as varied as the people. Nomads from the steppes in their leather trousers blended among those in the almost universal peasant dress of a simple gray or brown homespun waist-length shirt, tied with a rope or piece of cloth about the waist.
Perfumed ladies, with elaborate headdresses and silken wear, reclined in their slave-borne litters beside the women of the fields. All waited quietly in line for their turn to be admitted through the walls of the city. There was no disorder or shoving, each awaited his turn, for such was the word of the King. The nobles of higher rank entered through one of the gates reserved for personages of noble lineage, but all others entered there passing through the inspection of the household guards, brilliantly dressed and armored warriors in the purple tunics of Persia that covered a scaledjazerant of armor, rippling in the morning sun like the scales of a carp.
Horses and pack animals were not permitted within the city walls. Only the warriors of the King rode through the streets; the rich and noble were carried on litters. Wheelbarrows and carts, pulled or pushed by human muscle, took care of such items as needed to be brought inside. The King disliked the odor of animal waste on the streets and it was also unsightly, therefore it was forbidden. When it was Casca's turn to pass before the inspection of the gate guards, he held out his packet of papers from the Son of Heaven Beyond the Wall That Runs Forever. The Guards inspected the sealed packet closely and questioned him as to its contents. Casca explained that it came from the Emperor of Chin to the King of the Persians and that he was its courier and a noble.
The guards conferred among themselves for a few moments and then took Casca inside a small room that served as a resting place for the different guard shifts. Inside he was told to wait. Their attitude was formal and correct. There was no sign of discourtesy, and if they were curious about why a man with blue eyes would be carrying a message from Chin, they didn't show it. He was told that he would be taken care of soon and was left alone under the watchful eye of one guard who had the look of Arabistan about him. Dark, piercing eyes over a hooked nose and thin lips were set in a face that was all angles, as weathered dark as aged leather. Casca had to cool his heels for about an hour before a court official showed up with his packet of papers in hand. Following him was a middle-aged Oriental who questioned Casca about his mission to the court. It satisfied the official's inquiry as to the validity of Casca's papers when Casca showed him his seal of office, the Chu Hou Wang of the Baron of Khitai, as ordained by the Son of Heaven, the Emperor Tzin. The official told him he would be given an audience with the King on the following day. Until that time he would be moved from his quarters at the inn and shown to facilities set aside for such purposes. When Casca asked about returning to get his gear and horse he was told that all things would be taken care of for him. He was to come now. Casca was smart enough not to argue, even though his stomach was starting to growl. He hadn't had a chance to get anything to eat, but maybe he could get something wherever they were taking him.
Leaving the guards' shack, he found a military escort was waiting for him, and to his surprise, there was a slave-borne litter in which he was to be carried to whatever destination his host had in mind. "Why not? Might as well enjoy it." He settled himself in on soft padded cushions and drew the curtains partially closed to keep out the bright sun.
The slaves raised the litter off the cobble stoned street smoothly, with no jerking, and the escort formed up on both sides with a mounted horseman in front to break trail through the swarms of people crowding the morning streets. Casca reclined on one elbow and watched the passersby between the curtains.
At least he was off to an auspicious beginning.
At the horseman's command the streets emptied to either side of the litter and its escort, leaving a clear path for them to travel. This was a city that obeyed without hesitation. In due course, after many turnings and twistings, he and his bodyguard came to the inner city where the King and his court resided in opulent Oriental splendor reminiscent of Xerxes the Great. Tall columns and walls decorated with glazed bricks depicting hunting scenes and mythical animals brightened up the way. Once inside the walls of the inner city, the hubbub of the outside was effectively cut off and only came through as a distant murmuring. A light thump and the litter was set down. With some regret, Casca eased himself from his transport, and made a note to buy one for himself one day.
The Persian court official who had come for him showed him into a hallway lined with tall pillars of carved stone that held a massive roof painted with the glories of Persia's past. The Persians loved color almost as much as did the nobles of the court of Chin.
Only the Romans seemed to have an affection for sterile cold edifices. He supposed that it gave them the illusion of being firm and righteous, not giving in to frills. Passing numbers of the beautifully armored Warriors of Shapur, he admired the discipline in them, there was no sign of ass-grabbing at all. These were professionals who took pride in their profession. In short time he was completely lost in the maze of halls and passages that they passed through until they came at last to a halt. Casca's escort opened a door admitting him to a large, comfortable room with a sleeping cot made soft with down-stuffed cushions of red. On a table food waited; obviously his arrival had been anticipated. His host bade him take his ease, that he would be sent for in due time. The letters from Tzin were not returned. His host explained that a formal translation would have to be made of them and a copy entered in to the court records, at which time the King would look them over before deciding to receive the emissary from Chin.
Before leaving, Casca was requested to surrender his sword, though allowed to keep his knife. He was told that there was nothing personal in the disarming of him, it was just policy and his weapons would be returned afterwards. Backing his way out, Casca was left to attack with eagerness the rack of lamb cooked in mint and sage. There was nothing he could do now but wait for the King to send for him and who the hell could tell how long that would take. Kings moved in their own peculiar time-frames and the urgencies of lesser beings were seldom worthy of any consideration.
But then, kings, priests, and whores all wanted to do everything their own way. Kings, because no one else was really important to them; priests, because they wanted you to think they were important; and whores, because time was money. Cascaappreciated the whores' reasons more than the others.
After about an hour, the door to his chambers opened and a slave girl entered to take out the dirty dishes. Not a bad-looking piece. He eyed her up and down; she smiled back shyly at the scar-faced, blue-eyed barbarian who was leering at her with such obvious interest. As his eyes moved down to her thinly covered breasts, she could feel the nipples harden. A little reluctantly she left with her dishes and wondered if the stranger would send for her this night. As she went out of the door Casca noted that two sentries had been assigned to his room, one on each side, and from the looks on their faces neither one had much of a sense of humor. Well, he knew the type. There would be no use in trying to get any information out of them. Their minds were so locked up with being what they thought was the epitome of the good soldier that they probably went to the crapper by the numbers.
He spent three days in his chamber with his meals being brought in by the same girl. He did manage once to talk her into a quickie, which, though fast, was still quite satisfying. The rest of his possessions had been brought to him the day after he had been taken to the palace. Since that time he had not been permitted to leave his rooms or even go out into the hallway. So like all men in forced isolation, he did the only thing one can do- he slept, waking for a time to eat and stretch, then, after a few hours, dozing off again. Anything to help use up the hours until he would be sent for.
On the morning of the fourth day an official, wearing a high-ridged plumed helmet of steel overlaid with bronze, came for him. The two sentries formed up, one on either side, with the officer leading. He was again taken through a labyrinth of hallways and corridors until he was admitted to an antechamber where a number of other visitors, diplomats, and emissaries were lined up, giving their names and their business to the court scribe who interviewed them. Casca waited his turn in line behind a Median governor who was trying to get a government subsidy to build some new public office buildings.
Casca wore the best of his two silk robes he'd brought with him. He knew that they would give him some stature in the eyes of the court officials; they were worth their weight in gold. When his turn came he stated his business as being ordered by the Son of Heaven, the Emperor Tzin, to deliver his message of good will and affection to His Royal Highness, the King of Kings of Persia, Shapur II. Also, to advise his royal cousin of the new threat developing from the savage tribes who inhabited the great wastelands of the steppes. The Huns were on the move again. Casca made sure the scribe included in his notes that he was a noble of the court of the Peacock Throne.
After he and the others had waited for some time they were finally led through one last corridor of the massive carved stones that reached ten times the height of a tall man, passing even more of the palace guards until they were finally admitted to the presence.
The Magnificent Hall of the King of Kings outshone anything Imperial Rome had ever conceived and was only second to the Court of the Imperial City at Chang-an. Massive carved bas-reliefs of winged bulls combined with vividly painted frescoes of kings hunting lions from chariots. Others depicted the kings of Persia and their conquests over the barbarian tribes. One showed the Emperor Valerian being forced to kneel, head bowed before his captor, Shapur I, Shahan shah Eran ut an Eran, King of Kings of Persia and non-Persia, one of the greatest of the line of Aryan kings.
In the hall, a thousand nobles lay prostrate on their faces before the throne; Casca and the new supplicants were made to do likewise. The feel of the stone floors was cool to his chin. Bronzed braziers gave off aromatic wisps of incense to be whisked away by the black slaves fanning the royal person, while his Vizier performed the ritual to open this day's hearings. In a high nasal voice, Rasheed cried out the glories of his master and called down from the sky the blessings ofAhura-mazda upon this proceeding and all those herein. Shapur II waved his hand and permitted those prostrate before him to rise and set eyes upon him.
Shapur sat upon a throne of alabaster; on either side the winged bulls of Assyria guarded the royal person from evil spirits. Casca whistled under his breath-Shapur was one hell of a man by anyone's standards. Instead of a staff of office, he held a sword whose point rested between his gold-sandaled feet. His sword arm was bare and Casca had the feeling that it wasn't too unusual for the King to administer justice himself, as he kept his sword clear from the robes that covered him to the knees. His robes were of woven silver thread and purplesilk, fringed with tassels of braided gold. His legs were bare except for a set of boots similar to the Romancaligulae. Both arms and legs were strong and knotted with muscle. The face of Shapur rested not under a crown, but under a warrior's Helm of Iron, set about with silver bands. A nasal guard raised to rest on the crest of the helmet.
Shapur's face was dark from years of campaigning: lean, with the muscles in his jaws constantly working; a thin, yet sensuous mouth with no humor in the lips. He watched everything and everyone with the gaze of a predatory bird. Unblinking, pitch-black eyes missed nothing. When he spoke his voice was not loud, but every word could be clearly heard to the farthest extremities of his court. It was the voice of one born to lead, the voice of Shapur II, King of Kings, and you could bet your ass no one who ever saw him would argue about it.
Casca stood silently as one petitioner after another was led before the King, his case to be disposed of in short order. Casca quickly learned the King had no time for the long flowery greetings and blessings so common in the Chinese court. When the petitioner started to drone he was quickly cut short and made to move on to his case without any hesitations. Shapur gave his judgments in the same voice, and each man who stood before him could not help glancing repeatedly at the bared sword in his master's hand. Several were sentenced to death for one offense or another. These thanked their lord for his kindness and went off to an appointment with the headsman's ax.
One who had stolen from the taxes was given anunusual sentence. Shapur, eyes piercing through to the soul of the thieving tax official, spoke softly. "You, who I have trusted, love gold more than me. When you came to me and asked for my favor your words were like gold and that shall be your punishment." The thief was led off, sobbing, to the torture chambers, where the royal inquisitors melted down ingots of pure gold, forced open the man's mouth, and filled it with the molten metal…
Casca waited beneath the bas-relief friezes depicting the glories of the Persian kings, listening carefully to the dialogue taking place between the hawk-nosed ruler and a thin, mild-mannered man from the Nile.
Imhept stood, head bowed before the King of Kings. He wore his thin robes of linen with an unmistakable dignity that seemed out of place in one so slight and mild in manner. Imhept's eyes were deep brown and behind them lay a sparkle that belied his advanced years. Shapur's Vizier had sent for him to come to Nev-Shapur to advise them on the construction of new edifices and also to aid them in their new program of expanding the networks of irrigation systems that had fallen into disrepair.
Shapur was somewhat puzzled by the Egyptian. He was used to overawing everyone about him, not only by the virtue of his throne, but also by his own strong personality. He was not just a king, but a warrior to be reckoned with.
But this calm, elderly man with his shaved head showed no sign of fear or apprehension. Shapur had known few that had not feared him and they were either mad or one of the holy hermits wholived in the trackless wastes of the desert. This man, like the holy ones, was at peace with himself. Shapur knew that here was one who would speak the truth, though it may cost him his head. And that was a man to be valued or destroyed-there was no middle ground for such as the Egyptian standing before him.
Shapur stroked his square-cut beard with long, graceful fingers. "Egyptian, it is told me by my Vizier that you are a man of great learning and wisdom who has devoted his life to study. Now I would pose a question for you."
Imhept raised his face to look in the eyes of Shapur. "I will answer if able, Lord."
Shapur pursed his lips, thoughtful for a moment, phrasing the question properly in his mind before speaking. "Scholar, the question is this: Of all the achievements of mankind throughout the ages, from all the known races and lands, what has been the single most significant achievement of man since his beginnings?"
Imhept closed his eyes and nodded slowly- once, twice-then opened his dark eyes and smiled as a teacher would to a beloved but wayward child. Shapur shifted uneasily on his throne. A small smile played around the lips of Imhept. "Lord of Hosts, King of Kings. The single greatest achievement of man, that has permitted all else to come forth is-the plow."
Shapur shook his head as if throwing off a bothersome thought. "Do not take liberties with me, scholar."
Imhept bowed his head again. "I do not say this in jest, Lord."
Shapur was still confused. "The plow? But what of the great pyramids and temples of your own land? What of the libraries where the knowledge of man is accumulated that others may learn from the past? What of the great kings who brought prosperity and glory to their nations? Do you say these are of less importance than the common plow that peasants use to till their fields?"
Imhept nodded. "As you have said, Lord, so it is. One must not start at the end of a thought but at the beginning. All that you have said would not have come to pass without the lowly plow to till the fields. For with the plow man began to grow. With the plow man was able to plant more than he could eat and the threat of starvation was removed for the most part. This gave man time to organize, to build cities over which kings could rule. For with cities there had to come law and order.”
"And from the plow came many of the other achievements of man. For example, if there is a surplus of grain to be stored, then there is need for containers to store it in-hence pottery. From storage there had to come a means to count and determine how much would be needed to last a village until the next season and how much would be available for trade. Hence, mathematics were needed. And writing, so that one could keep track of what went where and what agreements were reached between buyer and seller. This is naturally a simplification, as the actual total of arts and sciences that came from the plow would take days to enumerate. But suffice to say that the leisure time the plow afforded man gave rise to those sciences and arts by which the great temples and structureswere built. For the early village beginnings, where leaders were needed to rule, did give rise to the great houses and empires. Lord, all this would not be if the ordinary plow had not been."
Shapur was impressed. The logic behind the thought progression was clear, the extrapolation easy to follow. The very simplicity of the idea made it complicated. Shapur was satisfied with the answer.
"Scholar you have pleased us. It is by my command that you are made advisor to the court and given jurisdiction over the fields and waters of my lands. I will call on you from time to time. Do as you have done now and always speak the truth and you will find your rewards will be great.” He regretted instantly the automatic promise of reward and the next statement would have been the threat of punishment for failure or lying. He knew that neither would have any effect on the Egyptian. He was what he was, a man committed to the truth and to learning. He could not be induced to be other than that.
"You may go scholar. Travel where you will and return to me in three months, and tell of what you have seen and what needs to be done to the plains and sands so that Persia may bear fruit again, as it did when Cyrus the Acmeanid ruled. The land has been too long barren. Go and help bring back the fields and orchards." The Egyptian was dismissed and left the hall. Casca watched the thin figure leave and wondered at the minds of men who saw things so clearly without emotion or pride.
It was his turn. The Vizier, reading from a scroll, called out his name and motioned for him to step forth in front of the throne and kneel. While on his knees, the Vizier read off his titles and honors accorded him by the Emperor of Chin.
Shapur snapped his fingers and motioned for Casca to rise. Casca stood at attention as Shapur looked him over. He felt as if the Persian king was eating into his soul with his dark eyes, and he knew something of what the thief had felt. This man would order you sliced into pieces without a second's hesitation.
Shapur spoke. "You are Casca Longinus, Baron of Khitai and warlord to the Emperor of Chin." A statement, not a question. "It is strange that one from Rome would have such honors. I welcome the Emperor's words and the warning about the resurgence of the Hephalites. We will tend to them. But what of you, Roman?" The last word was spoken bitterly.
Casca knew he was walking on thin ice and picked his words carefully. "I am what the missive from the Peacock Throne says. A man who has served his master well with loyalty and the sword."
Shapur grinned thinly. "And what of Rome? Is not your first allegiance to the Caesars?"
Casca shook his head. "My first loyalty, Lord, is to those that show the same to me. True, I have served in the legions of Rome but have been ill-rewarded for it." With that he pulled his silk robes down over his shoulders and bared his back to the King.
Shapur wet his lips at the sight of the crisscrossing of scars on the muscled back, mixed with deep cuts from edged weapons. Casca turned backaround to face the King. "Those, and my years on the slave bench of war galleys, have paid off any debt I have to Imperial Rome. I am my own man."
Shapur liked the scar-faced man's answers. That he was a warrior was obvious and as one fighting man to another, Shapur had to respect him. "Where would you go from here, Casca, Baron of Khitai?"
Casca shrugged. "I but follow the threads of my fate, Lord."
Shapur thought for a moment. "I would speak further with you. As a warlord it might prove of interest to learn how the warriors of Chin conduct their battles. You will dine with me this evening."
Casca was dismissed. Bowing, he backed away from the imperial presence and was taken back to his quarters, a feeling of relief surging over him. He knew that it had been close and perhaps wasn't over with yet. He would find out his fate tonight.
An hour after the sun had set, he was sent for and escorted once more through the winding labyrinth, then up several flights of stairs and finally out onto an open courtyard, set three stories above the main floor.
Shapur waited in loose robes of cool linen. Full-grown palm trees and other flowers and plants Casca couldn't name decorated the rooftop garden. He understood why the King preferred the rooftop garden to take his evening meal — the evening breeze cooled the air. Guards remained unobtrusive at their posts, just out of earshot. Slave girls came and went, setting the low table with sweetmeats and delicacies. Shapur motioned for Casca to join him on the couch opposite the table. Torches and lamps lit the scene and Shapur was at ease. "Sit down, warrior, and we'll talk of the things men do."
Casca obeyed and reclined on the couch. Shapur motioned toward the food. "Help yourself, Roman."
Casca tried a couple of jellied plover's eggs, washing them down with a wine he hadn't tasted before, smacking his lips over the taste. "Good, damned good.'' Tearing off a piece of roasted antelope, he sunk his teeth into the meat and chewed slowly as Shapur looked on and ate nothing.
Shapur watched his guest eat, noting through veiled eyes, every detail about the man before him — the way he moved, the thick cords in his wrists, the scars. How could he use this man who came from behind the Wall of Chin? For him to carry letters stating he was a noble of the court and a warlord of the Hosts meant he had value. True, he was of Roman origins, but Shapur would not deny himself the usage of capable men. If the Roman became troublesome, he could always be easily removed. Shapur rinsed his mouth with a sip of spring water. Patiently, he waited until his guest had finished his meal.
"Tell me of the land behind the Wall. Take your time, we have all this night. Tell me of the land, the kings, the women, and especially of their methods of warfare." He noticed a slight movement on Casca's part when he mentioned speaking of the Chinese way of war. Good. The man was reluctant to give away information concerning those to whom he had given his loyalties.
Shapur eased Casca's mind. "I have no designs on Chin. It is enough that I can control my own lands and keep the barbarians at bay. If ever Iturned my armies to the East, how long do you think it would be before I had another Roman invasion force coming at me from the rear? Only a fool fights on more than one front."
Casca understood what the King meant and began to talk, telling him of the Court of Chanang, of the cities and rivers, of lands reaching so far that a man could not ride across them in a year, of high mountains and deep valleys. And he spoke of the thinking process of the Chinese and of their tacticians. One in particular was named Sung Tzu.
Casca regretted again his inability to read the ideograms of the Chinese, for he would have liked to have brought with him a copy of Sung Tzu's writings, theArt of War. He had had the book read to him by slaves and friends and much of it he remembered, but not all. The Chinese were the world's best record-keepers and he had also heard of other stratagems that showed how the Chinese loved to use the oblique approach to battle and delighted in outwitting their opponents more than they did in killing them. Shapur was also interested in the Huns, so Casca related a tale about how a Chinese general used three thousand condemned men to defeat a Hunnish army of fifty thousand.
Shapur, for the first time, broke into a short laugh of appreciation at the tale. His dark eyes sparkled with the closest thing he had to a sense of humor. "Lord Casca, I have been most pleased by you and your stories this evening. I would make a bargain with you. Are you interested?"
Casca said that he was. There was power about Shapur and his curiosity about the man made him reluctant to leave Persia.
Shapur nodded. "Good. This is what I wouldhave. Stay in my court and render me the same service you did to the land of Chin. We have many of the same enemies. I would put your mind at ease where Rome is concerned. In the event of another war with Rome, I will release you from your oath so that you may not be divided in your loyalties. I know you say that you have no great love for the Caesars, but it is still best if I relieve you from ever having to make a choice between us. It is true that a child may speak harshly of his parents and even rebel against them, but the child will, even if he feels he has been badly abused by the parents, more often than not, come to their aid when danger threatens. And you are still a child of Rome."
Casca was dismissed, leaving Shapur to watch the dawn rise over the flat roofs of his city. Casca knew that before he left the rooftop, Shapur's mind had already left him far behind and was now on some other matter.
But Shapur had by no means forgotten what he had spoken to Casca about. The next afternoon a messenger delivered a scroll carrying Casca's commission in the royal forces and assigning him to the Household Guard with the rank of regimental commander. He was moved forthwith into new quarters. It was a small house, sparsely furnished, but already staffed with four slaves, consisting of a cook, a personal body slave, and one who was to advise him on the customs of the land and to oversee the household. The last was a soldier from the armies of Shapur who had been given a reprieve from death in order that he might familiarize Casca with the order of battle of the Persian forces. He was given no immediate duties, other than to keepin readiness for whatever his new master might require of him.
Shapur was a solitary man given to spending long hours alone. Even his favorite concubines knew not to disturb him when he was in his thoughts. Most of these had to do with retrieving the lands still in the hands of Romans or any others that he felt were his. He knew in time he would move to the west after he had secured his borders to the east and north. Then he would be free to mount a major campaign against Rome and regain the lands granted Rome by the treaty of Narses. Shapur would never forgive his grandfather for giving in. True, Narses had suffered a severe reverse when he had lost a major campaign in Armenia, in which the Romans captured not only his treasury but also his harem. Narses had ceded to the Romans, Armenia and the steppes of Mesopotamia with the hill country, and Singagara, on the west side of the Tigris and reaching as far as Gordyene. In exchange for this outrageous payoff the Romans returned his household to Narses.
If Shapur had been in the same situation, there would have been no doubt in his mind that he himself would have slit the throats of his children and wives before surrendering one yard of land to anyone.
Shapur grinned bleakly at the rememberance of how fie came to the throne after the death of Ormized II, the son of Narses. A rebellious clique had put all the sons of Narses to death with exception of Ormized, who escaped to the Romans. They'd used him as pretender to the throne for their ownpurpose, to counter this threat from what many of their people would consider the legitimate successor to the throne, and used him as a rallying point for rebellion. The clique brought to the throne Shapur II, himself a son of Ormized, but born after his father's death.
In Shapur, they thought they had a perfect figurehead. The young man would be easy enough to control. But Shapur was cut from stronger cloth than his so-called advisors would have thought. At fourteen, he organized among young men of the nobility a secret guard sworn to him alone. One by one, these young nobles came into positions of power inside the infra structure of the palace and when the time was right-and Shapur not yet seventeen-they struck. All that long night riders went forth carrying the sword and torch. Each of the young men had recruited five others who, in their turn, did the same until there were over five thousand young warriors, the oldest of whom had not reached twenty.
These young lions removed for all times any threat to the throne of Shapur II. He himself took the heads of the Vizier and his sons, then personally supervised the torture of all surviving prisoners. In an act of piety he permitted them to die by the lightof Ahura-mazda. He staked them out in the courtyard, forced water down their throats to prolong the agony, and let them bake in the sun until their flesh cracked open. The sun blinded them (he had also cut their eyelids off so they could look directly into the glory of God).
Shapur was king and none who contested his will would be permitted to live, not anyone, not his wives or eventhe flesh of his flesh. A king cannot rule by compassion where power is concerned. Power is the only reason for living-to be weak is to give up that reason. And one could always sire more children.
Casca was taken by members of the household guard to the armory, where he was fitted for his armor of gilded iron scales. The rippling metal resembled the scales of the golden carp. The helmet was likewise decorated with a steel mesh neck guard; the helmet was of one piece, basically no more than a round conical cap with ear flaps of steel that could be tied under the chin. A cloth of green silk was wrapped around the brim of the cap to show his rank in the Guard. The armorers, and others present, gave him questioning, slightly hostile looks, as if his fair hair and light-colored eyes didn't belong. With the casting out of the Greek Parthians, those with his features were not readily welcomed in the armies of the new empire. But they also knew better than to question one that had obviously been favored by the King.
For Casca's part, he didn't give a rat's ass if they liked it or not. He had more on his mind. On his way over from his quarters he had run into the Vizier, Rasheed. The way the sneaky-looking little bastard smiled and bowed to him gave him shivers up his spine. He had been around long enough to know that the kind of look he had been given didn't mean anything good for him. But what had he done to earn the Vizier's enmity? Well, as the saying went, time would tell. For now, he just wanted to know what Shapur had up his sleeve.
It was three weeks before Shapur summoned him to his presence again. This time they were to meet on the city parade field where Casca had been told a small ceremony was to take place to finalize his acceptance into the ranks. As ordered, Casca appeared in his new armor and was given a bay mare to ride to the grounds, escorted by twenty of the King's own personal guards.
Once on the parade grounds, Casca saw the field was lined with mounted troops, all fully armed, lance heads held erect. There were two ranks facing each other. In the center was a burning pyre, about which were gathered what were obviously priests and nobles of the court.
Casca went to face whatever it was they had in mind for him. He didn't think they were going to jail or try and kill him; there would have been no need to go through this much trouble. His escort guided him to a pavilion of multicolored fabrics where Shapur waited. Once there, he was permitted to dismount and kneel before the King. Shapur rose from his field chair and stood before him, dressed in plain soldier's armor.
"Casca Longinus, my Vizier has made a request that before you are permitted to command troops of the Empire it would be well if you would now reject the gods of Rome and all others, including the gods of those who follow the Christ. For in my lands, the supreme deity is the Sun in the manifestationAhura-mazda. All others are lesser entities and onlyAhura-mazda is supreme. Will you reject all worship of any other gods and put none else before the holy light of Sun?"
Casca thought to himself, this is really dumb, but if that's what he wants, why not? Raising his face, he vowed, "I will, and gladly, my King, for as you know the gods of Rome have served me ill." Rasheed stood to the King's left, wearing ceremonial robes of deep green decorated with gold emblems of the sun set in geometric patterns, smiling as he had before. Casca wondered what the sour-faced wretch found so damned amusing about the proceedings. After acknowledging his willingness to do sacrifice to the Sun, Casca was led by two Magi to the burning pyre.
It was large enough to set two full grown steers inside it to be roasted. Following the wisemen's lead, he bowed three times as he approached and then knelt before the altar. A lamb had its throat cut and was given to him. This, Casca consigned to the flames, thankful it wasn't something worse. The despised Phoenicians, worshippers of Baal, gave their first born child to the flames to prove their loyalties. The lamb was accepted by the flames, as if it had any choice. Omens were read and forecasts given. All was expected to be favorable and Casca was given leave to rise.
Shapur came to him and embraced him before the mounted troops. Casca felt again a twinge of uneasiness. He liked, but also feared Shapur. The man was strong and wore the mantle of power about him easily. But Casca hadn't expected this aspect of the King, that he was also a religious fanatic. That could prove dangerous. For when anyone was too involved with gods, it spelled trouble for everyone else around him. No matter how smart the King might be, the gods would always have the last laugh.
Shapur escorted Casca back to his mount. "I am pleased that you have not been reluctant to give your oath, for I have need of you now and in the next week you will be given your first assignment. I will send for you. Go now."
Dismissed, Casca was relieved that the ceremony was all there was to the day's proceedings, and as he rode off wondered what plans the king now had for him.
The Vizier smiled and bowed to him in a most friendly manner. For some reason this disturbed Casca.
Casca spent the next days keeping pretty much to himself, avoiding the desire to visit some of the gambling and wenching houses of which the city of Nev-Shapur had an abundance. He still felt uneasy and decided that it would be better to keep away from anything that might possibly give an enemy anything to use against him.