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with torches in iron brackets to a table laid with food and wine, he said:
 You see we have been waiting for you. We cannot perform the miracles of our
Lord Jesus and turn water into wine or make one loaf of bread feed thousands,
but we do have some small fields not far from here that provide enough for the
brotherhood and the few guests who come this way. He seated Casca at the head
of a wooden table designed to seat some twenty or more, in a room projecting a
feeling of great emp-tiness. Casca looked around, noting he had seen no one
but Elder Dacort since entering the place.
Dacort observed Casca s look and replied,  The rest of the brotherhood are at
rest or at prayers. We rise quite early to say our devotionals, then go to the
fields. The smell of roast goat and fresh bread con-vinced Casca to sit.
Elder Dacort handed him a plate piled high with food and sat watching. Casca
started to take a drink of wine and then hesitated, putting the cup back on
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the table.
Dacort laughed gently and took the cup in his hands and drank. Smiling, he
then ate a small por-tion of each of the foods on Casca s plate.
Casca smiled, embarrassed. Dacort halted his protestations with an up lifted
palm.  No need for explanations my son, it is a cruel world and there are many
pitfalls awaiting the unwary.
While Casca ate, Elder Dacort talked of Rome and the world. Casca found this
gaunt man quite well informed on happenings in Rome, as well as what lay
beyond to the east and other lands Casca had never heard of. The man s voice
was soothing and soon Casca s limbs felt heavy, his eyes like leaden weights.
He began to feel the first distant tinge of fear and tried to stand. His legs
were like water. All the while, Dacort talked to him softly of the world and
its happenings as if not noticing the wine being overturned and the wooden
plates crashing to the floor as Casca fell, face first, into a left-over mess
of
goat and bread.
Dacort smiled to himself as he stood over the sprawled out figure of the
former legionary. Reach-ing into his robes, he took out a small vial in the
shape of an amphora and took the remaining fluid with a grimace of distaste.
 The antidote was bitter as green figs, he thought.  Prior planning pays
off, he smiled as he had when he had dosed him-self long before Casca s
appearance at the steps of the Temple of the Lamb.
The next day, Casca lay as one dead to the world. His host and the rest of the
brethren were preparing for the most holy day of their year. Prayers echoed
throughout the halls and chambers. Soon it would be time.
Dacort trusted no other than himself to watch over his unconscious guest.
Casca lay on a skin-framed cot wearing only his tunic, his sword on a shelf
nearby. Dacort knew well the strength of his potion. The
Roman would sleep for yet another day, but it paid to be careful.
Administering anoth-er dose to his guest that would guarantee his re-maining
in a comatose condition for another twenty-four hours, Elder
Dacort went to prepare himself for the great day ahead. Giving Casca one last
look and satisfied that the man would remain as he was, the elder left.
Casca s mind filled with images leaping across and then fading, images of
ships and pyramids, Sax-ons and Parthians, mountains and deserts. His stomach
turned inside out, spewing out the fluids given him. Consciousness returned by
millimeters, Head aching, he rose to his elbow and ran his tongue over his
gums.  By Mithra, it tastes like a camel just shit in my mouth. His stomach
turned again and the last of its contents spilled onto the stone floor.
Weaving on unsteady legs, he rose trying to focus. His sword. Where was it?
Stumbling to the shelf, he held the blade in his hand and pulled it from its
scabbard, the feel of the familiar grip restoring him.  Now I ll give those
psalm-singing, drink-dopers something to pray about.
They better pray I don t carve all of them into legs of lamb.
Breathing deeply through his mouth, he let his strength return. Shaking his
head from side to side to clear the fog from it, he moved to the door.
Rais-ing the latch, he stuck his head out and glanced down the hall. The lamps
in the iron brackets were out; cracks of bright light told him it was day
out-side.
 Where in the Hades are they? Is everyone here mad? What do I mean by
everyone? He stopped and thought,  The only bastard I ve seen is that damned
so-called Elder and that sucker certainly doesn t behave in a Christian
manner. Where are they?
Making his way on still unsteady legs, he held his short sword ready,
wondering if Jugotai was still on the loose.
 Probably, thought Casca.  The little desert rat has more sense than I do.
The large door swung open on greased hinges and Casca slipped out looking to
see if his horse was there. No luck. Staying close to the sides of the
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building, he kept to the shadows until he came close to a patch of boulders
and brush. Bending low to the ground, he raced across and threw himself to the
gravel behind the boulders leaving a skin mark running from his ankle to his
knee.
He saw nothing. Only the dry wind whispered through the brush and the rocks.
It was close to midday. Crawling backwards, he kept his eye on the temple
until he was certain he couldn t be seen from that direction and headed for
high ground. If Jugotai was anywhere around, that s where he would find him.
Climbing over rocks and boulders, he reached a small plateau and there lay
flat on his stomach, let-ting his gaze run over the countryside, searching for
any sign of movement. As far as he could see from his aerial perch, there was
nothing but the wild country and the temple in the gorge below.
 There! A movement. Wiping a trickle of sweat from his eyes, he saw something
move again. One man and then another and another, all in brown robes, their
hands moving and bodies twisting, came into view. The man in front was
carrying something on his shoulders. A log? The trail made a turn and Casca
started. The man in front was carry-ing a cross. Distant sounds reached him,
but they were too far away to make out. Watching their di-rection, Casca
looked ahead and picked up the trail where it reached a small mound. Working
his way carefully, he sped ahead of the group and found a sheltered spot
underneath some brush that also pro-vided protection. From this spot he could
see where the trail [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]