Copyright © 1994 1995 David F. Norman
All Rights Reserved
Coward's Curse Part 2
Straw in his eyes and his nose was making him sneeze. Clapping his hand over his face, Claudius stifled the noise. Sanchez could hear the Roman soldiers clanking about the square in their armor. Their horses' hooves rang on the cobblestones as the so ldiers searched door to door for him. His offense was robbing and killing a drunken soldier for the soldier's purse. As Sanchez/Claudius lay in the straw beneath a dung heap, the few gold coins he had taken were heavy in his pocket.
Trying to orient himself as Claudius wet his robe in fear, Sanchez discovered he was in Jerusalem. A prophet from Nazareth had been put to death a few days earlier. Always one to seize any opportunity to enrich himself, Claudius Malachi, bastard son of a Jewish woman and a Roman soldier, took advantage of the resulting chaos to go on a crime spree. When he had pawned a bauble taken from the soldier, he had given himself away. Now the Romans and their Jewish lackeys were searching the city for him. H is only hope was to escape into the surrounding countryside.
After an eternity, Sanchez/Claudius heard the soldiers and their horses clatter away. Cautiously poking a small hole to the surface of his odorous hiding place, Claudius took deep breaths of fresh air. It was still quite light outside his dung cave. H e decided to lie as he was and make his escape over the city wall after it was good dark.
Darkness came to the city hours later. Sanchez marveled at the physical power of Claudius. Climbing with the strength of his fingers and toes, Claudius made it to the top of the wall and down the other side. Fear of a Roman patrol lent urgency to his efforts. Claudius ran until he was exhausted and dropped to the ground.
As Claudius rested, too tired for fear, with his Sanchez knew that pursuit would soon follow. The fear Sanchez brought with him on his swings through the ages had not gone away. Trying to remember how the Romans executed common murderers, Sanchez was r elieved when Claudius stumbled to his feet.
Another hour of walking away from the city put Claudius in isolated desert, broken only by clumps of shrubs and stunted trees. While Sanchez was too frightened and disoriented to consider the needs of his host body, Claudius was not. The smell of smoke and spiced food came on the cold night breeze. Following his nose, Claudius almost walked into the camp.
Alerted by the restless shuffle of a horse's feet, the thief crept forward with his dagger in his hand. The camp was illuminated by starlight, but there was enough light for Claudius. Without hesitation, Claudius plunged his dagger again and again into the sleeping form. Caught by surprise in his sleep, the victim put up no struggle as Sanchez watched Claudius go about his grisly work. As soon as he was certain the former owner of the camp was dead, Claudius dragged the body out of the camp and rolle d it into a nearby ravine.
That done, he built up a small fire from the embers and took inventory of his new possessions. Claudius was now a man of means. Saddlebags and bundles were filled with rich cloth and spices. A well-equipped larder gorged Claudius and a small bottle of wine completed his repast.
Deciding the man must have been a traveling merchant, Claudius decided to take everything and put as many miles as he could between himself and Jerusalem before daybreak. He loaded the packhorses and climbed into the comfortable saddle on the finest hor se. Feeling every bit the prosperous merchant he would pretend to be, Claudius had even dressed in the dead man's spare robe.
The flight and exertion had taken its toll on Claudius. Sanchez could do naught but stew as his host fell asleep in the saddle. A jingle of harness brought Sanchez/Claudius to apprehensive attention. There ahead on the trail were three well- dressed m en on horseback leading a train of heavily laden pack animals.
Quelling his rising fear, Claudius returned the men's friendly hail. Realizing how tired and stiff he was, he did not try very hard to decline the polite invitation to breakfast with the men. Three servants came forward to take the horses and soon a fi re was built. Sanchez understandably was still wary, but Claudius in his insatiable greed was watching for an opportunity to kill these men and their servants and steal their goods. They certainly looked rich enough.
When the taller of the three men spoke, he thought his moment might come.
"We are weary of riding all night to get through the mountain pass. Bandits have been working that area during the last few weeks. The reports are that they are Christians who reverted to their old ways when their leader was arrested. Would you do us the courtesy of standing watch for a few hours while we sleep?"
Claudius graciously assured the men that he would be happy to do so in repayment of the meal he had just been fed. He was certain his moment would come when he saw the men chain their servants to a tree some distance from the hasty encampment. The man explained that these were rather new slaves and thus not completely trusted. Claudius was satisfied with this explanation; Sanchez was only curious about one slave's activities. As soon as he was chained to his fellows, this slave smiled at his master a nd began to chop away at a stick some three inches in diameter and about as tall as a man. His tool was a small axe of peculiar design.
For something over an hour, Claudius watched faithfully. Then he quietly stood and stretched and walked to relieve himself. The three slaves were asleep on the ground under their tree. He drew his dagger and approached the sleeping merchants. A shril l whistle behind him brought a resurgence of fear. Grim-faced servants armed with sabers backed Claudius against a rock wall. His intended victims approached, grinning broadly and shaking their heads in mock pity.
"Come now, Claudius. Drop the dagger and lie on the ground. Excellent. Did you really think you could kill us all as you did poor Jacob? Oh yes, we recognized his robe and his horses. A Roman patrol leaving the city gave us a description of you. Yo u have been a very bad citizen and as wealthy merchants, the patrol thought we should be alerted in case you escaped the city."
As the servants bound Claudius at wrist and elbow, the spokesman explained how the servants--who in fact were equal members of the group--had pretended to be sleeping. They had loosened the shackles as soon as Claudius had left and put bundles of clothi ng on the ground in their places. They concealed themselves and waited for the game to play itself out.
With an awful certainty, Sanchez realized that these "merchants" and their servants were the band of brigands they had warned Claudius about--the victim of the night before was likely also a member. After his arms were bound, strong hands pulled Sanchez /Claudius to his feet, leaving his legs unbound. Still plotting his escape, Claudius suddenly sagged as he was brought a short distance from the camp. One of the "slaves" was tamping the stick he had been sharpening into the ground.
Sanchez remembered how murderers of this age had been dealt with even before he could get the information from Claudius' numbed brain. Struggling frantically, Claudius was briefly held upright against the stake. It came halfway up his chest. With a mi ghty heave, several of the men lifted Claudius by his arms and legs. Ignoring his terrified screams and entreaties, he was pulled onto the stake. As the stake entered his fundament, Claudius was released by his tormentors.
They laughed at his frantic efforts to get a grip on the stake with his feet. In his concentration, Claudius forgot to scream. Sanchez was helpless to do other than fully appreciate the ravages and pain inflicted by the stake deep in his host's bowels. Sanchez had a moment to wonder if the horror happening to him would ever end when the head brigand spoke again. Claudius had managed by superhuman effort to stop his downward progress and was even straining to lift himself a few inches.
"We will go now and leave you to the serious business of dying. According to that centurion, there is a reward of ten gold pieces for your sorry carcass. Besides fattening our purses with Roman gold, you will help establish us as honest travelers when we tell them where to find you."
Laughing, the men walked to their horses. As they mounted, Claudius lost his tenuous grip with his feet. His feet scrabbled to regain their purchase. The increasingly feeble efforts were to no avail as he slowly slipped down on the stake until his fee t were almost touching the ground. A bursting pain in his chest told Sanchez/Claudius the stake had pierced his heart. In a fog of awful fear and pain, Sanchez saw El Magnifico wheel his horse back and spit in the dust at his feet.
"As you can see, Sanchez. There are many ways to die. However, there is only one way to face death. Have you learned anything?"
Unable to answer, Sanchez had a vague sensation of floating. For the first time since his arrest, somehow he was not afraid. He had a vision of El Magnifico before him. Or was the sorcerer really there? He was too confused to care much. One thing he had learned.
Dying violently was always bad; dying as a despicable, craven coward in a degenerate's body was infinitely worse. If death meant a cessation of this torture, he was almost ready to welcome it--almost but not quite.
His name was Dennis Quang. He was afraid to die. His platoon of Rangers was cut off from the rest of the battalion by the enemy. The enemy's accurate small arms fire and superior numbers had kept the platoon pinned down in a small pit for hours. Desp ite radioed assurance that help was on the way, the situation was nearly hopeless. As the charges in their weapons were depleted, the small group of warriors knew they were about to die on a planet no-one had ever heard of light-years away from home at t he hands of any enemy none of them had ever seen.
The most terrified of all was Sanchez/Chang. Despite promotion to sergeant recently, this was his first taste of actual combat. He did not like it. While his comrades were manning the rims of the rock-filled pit in which they were all trapped, Quang w as back in a little nook tending the tactical radio. Its power source had failed an hour earlier, but Quang told himself he was keeping morale up by giving his men encouraging messages: messages he had been faking for over an hour.
His last reception was one of those "Hang-in-there-men-the-Calvary is on its way" numbers, but he hadn't heard a word since. In another few minutes, it would be dark enough for the enemy to sneak within grenade range and it would all be over. For a bri ef moment, Quang considered the idea of a bold break out of the shelter and trap. His orders, however, he interpreted to mean he should stay where he was. Hating himself for being a coward, and hating the idea of death even more, Quang was a young man i n turmoil. Sanchez, on the other hand knew he was there to die. For the first time, Sanchez began to try to calm his young host. Unfortunately, Sanchez was unable to make a dent in Quang's panic. Sanchez was no longer afraid of death; he was actually beginning to relish the idea.
As he felt Quang's self-loathing eat at the boy, he could see himself in prison and on the pyre. He tried again to make contact. Darkness fell like a shroud over the pit.
Just as the last glimmers of light were leaving, a "ping-thud" sound shook Quang from his dark thoughts. As the thought, "grenade!" impinged on Quang's brain, Sanchez attempted to grab control of Quang's mind and body. It was not to be.
Without a sound of warning to the others, Quang turned his lightly armored back to the grenade and closed his eyes. As Quang's head turned away from his friends and life itself, Sanchez saw El Magnifico standing by the grenade. This time he neither smi led nor spat. With a flash almost too fast for pain, Sanchez/Quang disappeared with the rest of the platoon as time ran out on the grenade.
When Sanchez realized his own existence next, he was sharing a body with Jerry King. King was on his way home from a hectic day. One more week and he would retire as his wife wanted. Jerry King was the most senior officer on the Los Angeles Bomb squad .
His radio sounded a special tone which put the hair on the back of his neck on end. The call was a bad one.
An international terrorist group, had just called in to claim responsibility for a fire bombing in a crowded mall. Unable to believe the dispatcher when she said there had been no fire, the terrorist on the telephone managed to convince the dispatcher t hat there soon would be. She immediately sent a patrol car to the mall to check. At the same time, she dispatched the duty bomb squad and alerted King.
Reluctantly, oh so reluctantly noted Sanchez, King turned on his siren and lights and headed for the mall. Bulldozing his way through traffic, he got there just as an excited pair of officers emerged.
"It's there, Sir. We began to check the storage rooms as soon as we found someone with a key. The bomb is in a maintenance cart. We were afraid to touch it but it looks like the real thing. It's alive, too. At least there is a light blinking on the side."
King instructed the officer to go to the mall office and order the mall closed on the pretext of plumbing problems. The officer was cautioned not to mention the real nature of the emergency, but to close off the area near the bomb immediately. An emerg ency evacuation would surely result in many deaths as thousands of panicked shoppers tried to leave all at once.
As Sanchez watched from within, King advised the dispatch office of the situation and unlocked the trunk of his car. He lifted out a heavy bag and followed the other officer inside. The officer opened the door with the keys he had commandeered and star ted inside. King shook his head.
"Go on, Riley, and get this area cleared. This is my job." He closed the door on the young officer's protests. He leaned against the door to catch his breath.
I'm too close to retirement for this crap, he thought. What if . . . The thought trailed off as he bent to get his gear from his bag. King did not bother pulling on his protective gear. If the bomb went off with him in this little room, it would make no difference what he was wearing.
It was the real thing. What appeared to be European plastic explosive was covered by what had to be fifty pounds of thermite. A particularly nasty explosive, thermite contains finely ground aluminum and magnesium. Intense heat from a fire or explosion would ignite the thermite which didn't have much of a bang, but burned hotter than the fires of Hell. To gild the lily, the unknown terrorist had apparently replaced the drums of cleaning solution in the room with gasoline. At least, that was what King had to assume; the room reeked of gasoline. Even as these thoughts flashed through King's mind, his hands were busy.
Gently, King searched the thermite for booby traps. There was a simple toggle switch near the blinking light, but King dared not touch the switch. These things were never that simple. As Sanchez watched in awe of King's courage, King quickly bored a h ole in the metal top of the detonator case.
A few seconds later, King inserted a tool through the hole. With his "proctoscope," as the guys called it, King spotted the microswitch held down by the lid. A few drops of glue fastened a small block of steel to the side of the case, the thin stiff sl iver of steel on top of the block sliding through the crack and over the switch. Another quick check with his scope to be certain the "feeler" was holding the switch depressed and King removed the eight screws holding the case cover in place. Now he was sweating. He had to assume a timer device was attached to the detonator and he didn't know how much time he had. He began to think of the fresh air outside. Sanchez knew the feeling; Jerry King was close to panicking after all these years. Jerry King was so scared he wanted to run. Now. Right Now!
Until now Sanchez had merely watched. Sanchez was no longer afraid of death, but he certainly understood those who were. He began to try to reach King to calm him. Kings hands were shaking so badly he did not dare touch any of the bundled wires crissc rossing the mechanism in the bottom of the case. He stood and reached for the door.
"No," screamed Sanchez. "You can't run. You will hate yourself forever. It is better to die here as a man than to run and live the rest of your life as less than a man." Over and over, Sanchez battered at Jerry's fear.
In a moment, Jerry looked back at the mess of wires and cocked his head as if he heard a noise he could not quite identify. As swiftly as it came, his paralyzing fear was gone. Bending quickly to his task, King was now calm enough to concentrate on his job. King soon had the detonator harmless on the floor.
He then began the tedious chore of disconnecting the thermite and plastic explosive to eliminate any possibility of an undiscovered booby trap. His chore completed, he replaced his gear in his bag and walked out, locking the door behind him. He looked at his watch and saw the whole ordeal had taken less than fifteen minutes. The mall was still filled with people slowly wandering to the doors as if they had all the time in the world. Thanks to King, thought Sanchez, they do.
King walked up to the young officer moving people out and dropped the keys into his hand. Explaining that the bomb squad had been delayed by a serious accident ahead of them, the officer took notes as King dictated instructions for the bomb squad whenev er they would arrive. Feeling pretty good about himself and his hand still smarting from the officer's grateful handshake, King walked to his car. He threw his gear in the back seat and headed for home. Sanchez was no longer with him.
"You have come a long way in a few hours or a few thousand years," said El Magnifico as he strolled beside Sanchez. "You now have some purpose in your miserable existence."
Sanchez had no idea where or even when they were, but he was grateful for the respite of the peaceful garden where they walked. Sanchez was sure he was dead, but it didn't seem to matter. He could still feel and he could now feel for others. He had go ne into the fire and come out the other side. Sanchez knew he had paid his fare and there was work for him to do.
"Go now and help men and women die bravely when they must and live with pride when they can. When you need a rest, all you have to do is think of this place and you will be here. When you need me, look over your shoulder."
El Magnifico held out his hand and Sanchez took it. A brief touch and El Magnifico was gone.
The earth was trembling and Lucius Marcus of Pompeii was torn between the cries for help coming from beneath the rubble and his desire to run as he had never run before. All around him, men and women were coughing in the poison gas released by the angry mountain. His head went to one side for a moment. He shuddered and began to dig into the rubble toward the pleading voices
Copyright ©1994 1995 David F. Norman