Casca 47: The Viking Page 5

  Casca stood four steps from the bottom, his blade dripping blood onto the floor. “Now, Jarl,” he said clearly and evenly, “if you value your life and those of your surviving retainers, I suggest you step aside or you, too, will go to Valhalla. I told you – the gods have touched me and I cannot be defeated. I’m taking these two women with me, and if anyone tries to stop me I’ll kill whoever it is. Got it?”

  Erik slowly got to his feet. “I care little whether the gods have touched you or not. I am Jarl and what I say goes. You will not defy me!” With those words he struck hard, his sword slicing through the air.

  Casca met the blow above his head. He countered, cutting down sharply. Erik moved aside hastily, the tip of the blade narrowly passing his face. The room went quiet, apart from the breathing of the combatants, and the noise their feet made on the ground. Each man slowly circled, seeking an opening, watching the other warily. With a sudden cry of ‘Odin!’ Erik swung into the attack, seeking to cleave Casca’s skull.

  The scarred immortal took one step to his left, struck the Jarl’s blade aside and countered, coming up inside his reach and slicing deep into his chest. The blade exploded out of his back, red and steaming from the heat of Erik’s body. Casca held him for a moment, then jerked the blade free and allowed Erik to sink to the ground, coughing in pain.

  As he curled up at Casca’s feet, shaking in agony, the remaining four men gripped their weapons. With their master on the way to the afterlife theirs were forfeit. They might as well take this thing with them, if they could.

  The first gritted his teeth and raised his blade, beginning a war cry deep in his throat. Not waiting for him, Casca turned to the attack. He was damned if he was going to politely wait for them to move first. Strike first or be struck first went through his mind. Where had he heard that one before? The school in Rome, perhaps?

  Whatever. His first strike took out the nearest man, cutting through his shoulder down to his sternum. Spinning to avoid the swipe of his companion, Casca ducked under the sweep of the man who had roared out his battle cry and came up with a thrust that went in through the Viking’s guts and ended somewhere deep in his chest. Using the dying man as a shield, Casca blocked two attacks and then pushed the man into the two remaining men.

  One slice took one of them out and then he was facing the last man. He felt a stinging pain down his left side. The bastard had managed to wound him. Screaming in rage he pounded the man back, two, three, four. The desperate Viking tried to stop the relentless blows but he couldn’t. He’d never faced such a man before.

  “Odin!” Casca screamed and his fifth attack broke through the weakening defenses and pierced the man’s heart. He fell at Casca’s feet and lay there, eyes wide in horror.

  The eternal mercenary slowly turned around and threw his sword onto the floor. The place was littered with bodies and the smell of sweat and blood filled his senses. There was a chair still upright to one side and he wearily slumped into it. He put his head in his hands.

  “Master – are you alright?”

  He looked up. Hilde stood before him, a look of awe on her face. Gertrude was behind, looking warily at the seated man. “I’m wounded. I need tending. Don’t get my blood on your hands, or if you do, wash it off immediately. It won’t do you any good.”

  “Are we staying here?” Gertrude demanded, looking about at the scene of carnage.

  “I don’t give a shit,” Casca groaned. Now the adrenaline was fading, he felt terrible. “I need rest. Go get someone to clear this mess up, then let me sleep.”

  Hilde went off to fetch some water and cloths, while Gertrude opened the door and called out to someone.

  Casca was too tired to worry about anything at that moment. What became of this fight would have to wait until the morrow.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He woke in a bed, comfortable and warm. His back was stiff but not too painful. Sunlight was streaming in from the skylights, holes in the upper walls designed to allow the smoke from the fires to escape.

  He was at the back of the chamber, on the wooden platform where the Jarl would normally sit at mealtimes. The table and chairs had been pushed aside and a single bed had been put there. Casca tried to recall what had happened after the fight but it was beyond him. Something to do with being led by the two women away from the fire. Nothing more.

  “You’re awake,” Hilde said to one side.

  Casca looked at her. “How long have I been like this?”

  “Best part of one day,” she said. “We tended your wounds and washed you. You healed very quickly.”

  Her expression was unclear to him. She was unsure about him, that was certain. He nodded. “I’ve gotten used to it. Tell me, how are you and your sister? What of the others? Is anyone looking to be Jarl?”

  She put a finger to his lips. “Worry not, Walker. Things are happening. The elders will wish to speak to you when you are able to in the main hall. As for Gertrude,” she smiled and looked across to the fire.

  Casca followed her line of vision and saw her sister stirring a broth. He grinned. It seemed the two sisters were on the way to making a home out of the house. He flexed his back. Stiff but not a problem. Yeah, he’d have a new scar but what the hell? He had loads already. “Smells great,” he said. “I think I’ll get up.” He flipped aside the fur blanket. He discovered he was totally naked.

  Hilde gazed at him without saying anything. Casca sat on the edge of the bed and grinned. He asked her if she had ever seen a body like his before and she went a little red, shook her head and then picked out of a wooden box a pile of clothes. She said she’d cleaned and repaired his ripped shirt.

  Casca thanked her. He gave her a long, considered look again and she colored again, dropping her eyes. He thoughtfully made his way to the table near the fire. He’d gotten wise to many signs in his eight centuries or so, and knew when a woman had the hots for him. Hilde hadn’t been the one he’d expected to find him exciting; he’d’ve bet on Gertrude.

  As for her, she spooned some broth into a wooden bowl and placed it before him with some bread. Casca gratefully ate his fill. As he did, Hilde came to sit next to him, eating her own meal. Gertrude sat opposite. After he’d finished, he gave the two women a level stare.

  “Alright, so what are you thinking? I can sense you’ve got a lot on your minds.”

  Gertrude straightened. “Hilde and I, well, we’ve been talking, and we’re wondering what our futures are. Do we stay here with you, or what? And what is your future here? We’re linked with your fate, aren’t we?”

  Casca nodded. “So have any visitors happened by?”

  Hilde nodded. “A couple of people, but the elders want to speak to you. I shall tell the men outside that you’re up and ready to attend the meeting in the hall.”

  Casca grunted. They weren’t hanging about, but he guessed the matter needed sorting out fast. Erik’s death had left a power vacuum and somebody was going to make a move sooner rather than later. It wasn’t long before he was there, facing the three men, the warriors of the village crammed into the hall. Predictably, Thordein was there, parading up and down, angrily asserting he should be Jarl now Erik was dead.

  “Walker, what do you have to say on this matter?” the staff-elder asked.

  “Thordein may one day be Jarl,” Casca conceded. The memory of Freya’s offering to him was still fresh in his mind. “But he is too young and inexperienced at the present. If he learns and studies, and gains practical experience in battle and proves his worth to the warriors here, then perhaps in a few years he will be worthy to attain the title.”

  “Years?” Thordein yelled angrily. “I refuse to wait years! I want to be Jarl now!”

  “Quod est demonstradum,” Casca said, almost to himself. He nodded to Jurgen who was stood close by. The old man understood and took the shouting youth by the shoulder and spoke urgently to him. While this was going on, Casca waved at the assembled men. “You have lost so much recently. Land that is rightly Husborg�
�s is currently under the heel of your neighbors. It is my intention to wrest that land back from these people and return it to you.”

  The warriors muttered and nodded. This was what they wanted to hear. One, a tough looking old buzzard with one eye and a ragged scar down his face, stepped forward one pace. “But how, Walker? We have tried in the past, yet have been defeated. They are more numerous than we are.”

  There were rumbles of agreement. Casca planted his fists on his hips. “I will need to learn of your past efforts, and where all these other holds lie. Once I know everything, I shall select our first victim.”

  Thordein shook off his grandfather’s hand. “You can’t seriously just stand there and let him take over?”

  “Thordein, shut up,” One-eye snapped. “We’ve been waiting for a proper leader for a long time, and The Walker, Casca, here, is as good as anyone I can think of!”

  “And what would you know of leadership, Magnus Jonsson?” Thordein spat back, red-faced. “You have no experience in leading anything!”

  “Neither do you, you child. Now shut up or we’ll all get sick and tired of your infantile bitching and spank your ass,” Magnus growled.

  Thordein’s nostrils flared but he shut his mouth. He glared at everyone, arms folded. Jurgen looked apologetic, but the kid had done Casca’s job for him in alienating everyone against him. Casca was clearly the only one who they were looking to.

  Magnus waved Casca to the nearest table. The men cleared a space. “Look,” Magnus said, placing a flask on the surface. “Husborg. To the south, two reasonably large-sized holds, and on their other border are the Saxons.”

  “We leave them alone in that case.”

  “Why?” one of the men queried. “They would be the easiest to take!”

  “Easy,” Casca pointed to two small cups placed to represent those two holds. “While the Saxons stand on their southern borders, they won’t be able to move against us. And if we conquer these two, then we have the Saxons on our frontier and won’t be able to move north or east. So, who’s to the north and east?”

  Magnus placed three more mugs down in a shallow arc. “Here, just to our north along the coast, is Sundsvalk. They are similar in size to us, and have two ports and five villages inland. To our east is Jaegland, a small hold constantly threatened both north and south. Then, finally, in between Sundsvalk and Jaegland, is Mittenmark. They are the ones who kicked our asses a few years ago and took our lands. I bet they’ll be looking at us already once news comes of Ivar’s death. Can’t keep that kind of news quiet for long.”

  “Very well,” Casca said, “we move against them first.”

  “But they’re too strong!” a few men objected.

  “Bah!” Casca straightened. “What if we ally ourselves with Sundsvalk and Jaegland? Offer them a third each of the spoils?”

  “A third each? What about our share? Surely we deserve more than one third!”

  Casca eyed the speaker, a florid-looking red-haired man with a bushy beard. “Tell me, would you go to war against a powerful enemy with no allies? They will only join if the rewards offered are big enough. Sundsvalk we can leave be for the moment, but once we destroy Mittenmark, I want to review our options.”

  The meet broke up, the warriors excited that at last they had someone who was prepared to take on those whom they saw as having stolen their land, villages and people.

  Casca spoke to the three elders further; messengers would be sent to both Sundsvalk and Jaegland, offering an alliance couched in cautious terms. Nothing specific would be mentioned, and a meet would be suggested, either in Sundsvalk or Jaegland. It would put their prospective allies at ease being on their territory. At this point no mention would be made of the other hold, for fear of alerting anyone else. A war would drag others in if it was known in advance, for spoils of war were always sought after, and advance warning would give Mittenmark plenty of time to gain allies of their own.

  Casca straightened and stretched. It had been a hard day and he had not quite recovered fully. He saw Thordein standing by the doorway, a scowl on his face. “What do you want?” Casca asked, his mind more on a warm fire, meal and bed.

  “You are not Jarl,” the youth stated. “I shall challenge you.”

  “You really are stupid, aren’t you?” Casca said wearily. “You’re not up to the task and nobody wants you as Jarl. You’ve got too hot a head, and don’t think things through at all. You’ve also got a big mouth and you really should learn to think before shooting it off.”

  “Anything else, Walker?” Thordein snarled. “We take you in under our roof, and you still spit in our faces! You’re no Viking. You have no understanding of the rules of hospitality.”

  Casca went up to him and smashed a fist into his mouth, sending the young man onto his ass. “Seems you need a reminder, kid. That’s for tying me up on that beach. I haven’t paid you back for stabbing me, so don’t go irritating me or I just might find a use for my sword.”

  Thordein looked at the blood staining his palm. He hissed in pain. “You killed my father,” he responded thickly. “I was in my right to do that.”

  “And I reserve the right to slaughter your sorry ass at any time. Now if you’ve not got anything sensible to say, I’m off home. I suggest you do the same and think on why nobody can stomach the thought of you leading these men.” He walked past a sitting Thordein and returned to his new house. Two guards on duty acknowledged his arrival. It seemed that the village had readily adapted to him being the de facto Jarl and the warriors had aligned themselves to him.

  The house was warm and welcoming. Hilde smiled as he shut the door and threw his fur cloak onto the nearest table. “Everything in order?” she asked.

  “Looking good so far,” Casca grunted. He eyed Gertrude who was standing by the foot of the staircase. “Yes?”

  “Come up here,” she said, turning and walking up to the bedroom.

  Casca raised an eyebrow and followed, shrugging at Hilde who didn’t seem in the slightest concerned. Shit, what kind of home is this? He thought to himself. The bedroom was slightly changed from the morning. A couple of the wall hangings had gone. “What is it, woman?”

  “Calm down,” Gertrude said. “I’m not going to jump into bed with you. And you can stop looking disappointed. I’m not yet ready for that, and neither is Hilde, so you can forget any thoughts of pleasure with either of us for the time being.”

  “You haven’t said never,” Casca grinned.

  Gertrude paused for a moment. “No, but I want to be sure you’re the right one before agreeing to anything like that. And don’t try it on with Hilde. She’s not emotionally settled yet.”

  “Shit, woman, don’t go setting rules here. I’m running this sorry little village, and I think I can decide who I sleep with in my own home!”

  “This is our home too, and since you’re going to be out most of the time, its Hilde and myself who’ll be doing most of the housework. If anyone runs this place, it’s us, not you. You want feeding, your clothes washed, your bed made? Then respect us, or else do it yourself.” She tossed her head defiantly.

  “Dear God,” Casca replied, “a real amazon you are, aren’t you?”

  “Amazon?”

  “Oh, an old Greek legend,” Casca waved a lazy hand. “Warrior race of women.”

  “Sounds good,” she nodded. “So?”

  “Alright, woman, give my ears a rest. No screwing about with either of you.”

  Gertrude nodded in satisfaction. “So, a clean set of clothes. We found a number scattered about the house and selected a few we thought were your size. Try them on. I’ll be downstairs.”

  “Not going to watch then?” Casca quipped, unfastening his jerkin.

  “Male bodies are fine until about halfway down.” She left with that echoing in Casca’s head.

  Casca chuckled, shaking his head slowly, then got into his ‘new’ attire. He was impressed. Gertrude had done well. Perhaps she had gone looking for a more suitable outfit
for him now he was more or less the chieftain of Husborg. However she had found it, the set of clothing fitted reasonably well.

  He had a long-sleeved woolen tunic of light blue that reached to mid-thigh. This he put on over his existing light shirt of linen. He didn’t want to get cold, and his previous experience of the north left him taking no chances. He slipped on a pair of baggy light brown trousers and tied them at the waist. Gertrude had taken no chances with the size, getting him baggy style. Casca had seen close-fitting ones worn by some men, but Casca was larger than many and so it was best he had this style.

  There were a pair of soft leather shoes with wooden soles, tied at the ankles. They were comfortable enough. There was a cloak, too, but Casca decided not to put this on. That would have to wait for the outside. To complete it all, there was a set of fine chainmail armor, which the Vikings called a brynja, resting on the bed. It was the type that reached just before the elbow and just up to the hip.

  There were leather belts and a scabbard. The eternal mercenary nodded in satisfaction. He was certainly being looked after. He wondered what Gertrude was really looking for; was she serious about what she said, or just teasing him? She certainly hadn’t ruled out a possible relationship in the future – but that would mean pushing aside Hilde who was definitely interested.

  He cursed under his breath. He still wondered over some of the villagers’ attitude towards him at being chief. Thordein definitely wouldn’t accept it, and Erik still had a few who refused to bow to the man who had cut down their man. Two competing factions in the village. Two possible competing women in his house. Give me war, he thought to himself.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The stones had witnessed many meetings in the past, a small collection of man-sized grey stones arranged in a rough circle. They rested in the soft ground overlooking the sea on a headland, and had for years been recognized as the border between Husborg and Sundsvalk. Here many disputes had been resolved, and so it was no surprise that the chiefs of Jaegland and Sundsvalk had agreed to meet Casca here.