by Tony Roberts
The Viking snorted and looked at Casca in an unfriendly manner. “And just how do you measure yourself? You weren’t exactly successful back in that village, were you?”
“No, but I was outnumbered and not at my best.” He flexed his muscled arms, knowing it always impressed or intimidated, depending on who was looking. “I still say a true man doesn’t gang rape a helpless woman. Two of your men paid for not being men.”
“I’m starting to get pissed off with your pious shit,” the Viking snapped.
Casca grinned. Good, hope I make him so pissed he challenges me. “Shame. Want to hear more? Got plenty more where that comes from.”
“I think retying you up and knocking you out might be the best. It’d save me earache, for one!”
Casca didn’t want that. “Sounds like something you’d do. Not one to face a warrior in battle who’d rip your balls off.”
“Fuck me, you’ve got a really big mouth,” the Viking exclaimed. “I’ve a good mind to cut you into pieces and feed you to the fishes.”
“But no mention of a fair fight. I’m beginning to think you’re too frightened to face me, man to man.”
The other Vikings had stopped rowing by now and were grinning at the exchange of words. They wanted to see blood. “Hey, Ivar, give him an axe. Let’s see if he’s half as good with it as he is with his big mouth,” one of the big, blond Vikings on the oars suggested, smirking. “Or are you as piss-scared of Scarface here as he says?”
“You shut up, Erik, or I’ll have you scouring the deck all the way back to Husborg.”
Husborg. Casca now knew their destination. He’d never heard of the place but no doubt it’d be a typical Norse coastal village, a little like Helsfjord. They were heading east, slower now the men had stopped rowing, but the wind was as normal in this part of the world, coming from the west and blowing them on. The oarsman at the stern kept the boat heading in the right direction.
“So, you going to give him an axe or not?” Erik persisted. He was smiling at Ivar’s discomfort, clearly enjoying the whole situation. Casca sensed there was some rivalry here. Something to work on, perhaps? “Or shall I?”
“You get back to your oar, Erik Bjarnsson! By Odin, I’ll have you punished for this!”
Erik chuckled. “Hey, Scarface, here,” and tossed Casca a short-handled axe. “Do me a favor and cleave that shithead in two.”
Casca hefted the axe. It was a nicely weighted weapon with a keen, gleaming blade. He grinned a thank you to the rebellious crewman and faced Ivar. “So, scared?”
“That’s it!” Ivar roared, tearing off his long cloak and throwing it along the deck. He grabbed his sword and went into a fighting stance. “I’ll kill you, then Bjarnsson. I need to work off some frustration! Defend yourself!”
Casca knew the Viking had a longer reach, but if he could get in close, then the axe would be much deadlier. He moved slowly right, then left. Ivar closed, a smile on his bushy face. He’d not taken part in any of the fighting, having encountered a couple of young teenage girls the first door he’d kicked in, and by the time he’d levered himself off the first screaming sister the fight had been over, such as it was, and only Casca had remained. The two sisters he’d thrown into the boat and were now lying shackled together, sobbing and holding onto one another. Now here was a chance to get some action. This idiot dressed in rags would be a decent opponent but one that should be easily overcome.
Casca stepped forward, quickly closing the distance, his feet splayed, trying to keep balance. He’d not been on a boat since crossing the Straits to Spain with Tarik and his Moors, oh about eighty years or more back, and so he wasn’t used to the feel of the unsteady surface.
Ivar swung but he’d been overconfident, and suddenly his scarred enemy was inside his reach. Casca swung up under Ivar’s arm and the axe bit into the chain armor. Casca felt the thrill of getting in a good blow yet again. Ivar’s grunt of pain shot past the Eternal Mercenary’s left ear. Casca kept on moving. He stepped aside and turned to his left so that he was still facing his opponent. Ivar sank to his knees, his mouth open. His left hand was clamped to his wound and his face screwed up in pain.
“Finish him off,” Erik said indifferently. “He’s finished.”
Casca didn’t need to be told. Centuries of combat had taught him when an enemy was defeated. The blow had gone in low and deep. It would be agony and Ivar would take days to die, but both knew there was little hope in a recovery. He stepped up to the stricken man and looked down on him. The edge of his axe blade was tainted red. He swung it idly, easily. Although Casca’s preferred weapon was the sword, there was nothing quite like the short viciousness of the axe for very close-up work.
Ivar grimaced and looked up at him. “You bastard,” he breathed, panting. “I should have killed you back in the village.”
“So why didn’t you?” Casca asked.
“I don’t know – something stopped me. Something told me you were something special.”
“I am,” Casca admitted. “I’m The Walker.”
Ivar’s eyes widened. “You? No – that’s a legend!” He screwed his face up in pain.
Casca was aware the others were all staring at him. “I have returned.”
“The fuck you have,” Ivar struggled to his feet. It would have been blindingly agonizing for him, Casca mused, but the man was tough. Ivar picked up his sword and hefted it, trying to keep his balance. The sword swung. Casca met it with his axe, deflected the blow away, then swung hard with his weapon.
Ivar took it across the throat. Blood sprayed out across the boat and the Viking staggered back two steps before falling onto his back. His eyes remained staring up into the sky. Casca stared at him for a moment, then tossed the bloodied axe at Erik’s feet. “Yours, I believe,” he said.
Erik picked it up, examined it, then grunted. “You could have cleaned it.”
“Sorry,” Casca shrugged. “Bad habit.”
Erik waved to two of his companions to put Ivar into a sheet and tie him up. The corpse would be given a proper send off back in Husborg. He stepped up to Casca and faced him, regarding the scarred man for a moment. “I ought to have you thrown overboard, but something you said makes me think I ought to wait.”
“That I’m The Walker?”
“Yes. You could be lying through your teeth, and you probably are, in which case I’ll take great delight in killing you myself, but there’s something that troubles me. We have a few at our village who know more about the legend and they’ll question you. In the meantime, well,” he eyed the corpse of Ivar being dragged off, “you’ve done me a huge favor killing that bag of wind. His family won’t like you but that’s your problem, not mine. I’ve been aching to get rid of him for a long time. Useless bastard. So, as a reward, you can go to the tent there and feel free with those two women he picked up from the village.”
“I don’t rape, I told you.”
“Well, talk to them about the fucking weather, then.” He waved Casca off, then turned to his men. “Alright, come on you lazy dogs, get back to rowing this piece of shit back to Husborg. I’m hungry and want a leg of pig!”
The others laughed and set to their oars, Erik included. Casca went around the mast and poked his head through the opening of the tent. Two young women were sat inside, holding onto each other. One was clearly in a bad emotional state and he surmised this was the one who had been violated by Ivar.
“Don’t fear,” he said softly, “I’m a prisoner too, and I’ve been told to sit here with you.” He sat by the entrance and looked at the two fearful girls. They would be about fifteen or sixteen, maybe, but it was hard to tell. They were clearly twin sisters, both blonde, leggy but not yet grown into an adult shape or size. They had big blue eyes but maybe that was down to them staring at him in fear. Whatever, they would be heart stoppers in a few years’ time. Casca looked away. Shame that pig Ivar had raped the one on the right.
He turned back to the duo. “I killed the one who violated yo
u,” he said softly to the one on the right.
“Good,” the other said bitterly. “I hope his shade never finds rest!”
“As do I. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect your village from them.”
“What is going to happen to us now?” the girl asked, hugging her sobbing sister.
“We’ll be taken to their village and, well, probably sold. You and your sister will fetch a fair price. Me, I’m not much use as a slave except maybe to do some manual work, digging, building, clearing out stuff, you know,” he shrugged. “I’m a warrior, not a farmer. I’d be too much trouble. Name’s Casca, by the way.”
“Gertrude,” the girl said. She squeezed her distraught sister. “Hilde. What – what happened to our people?”
“Sorry, but it seems they were killed. Small community, yes?”
Gertrude nodded sadly. “So Hilde and me are the last two of our people.” She put her cheek against her sister’s, closing her eyes in sorrow.
“I’m sorry,” Casca said, looking out onto the deck where the Vikings were once again hauling away on the oars. “I’ll try to see that you’re better looked after when we get to where we’re going.” He felt somehow responsible for the two young girls. He’d been unable to save the villagers from death, yet these two who were the last of their community represented a chance for him to atone for that.
“How? These people take what they want, and you’re their prisoner too. But you’re wearing no shackles,” she added, suddenly noting he was untied. “How is that possible?”
“They’ve let me remain loose as a reward for killing the man who violated Hilde, here. Seems he was not that popular a warlord. I’ve given them something else to think about, too, but I’ll see whether it makes any difference to me being a slave or a freeman. If they allow me my freedom I’ll do what I can to free the two of you.”
Gertrude looked at her sister who shook, wiped her eyes, and for the first time spoke. “Why would you do that for us? You’ve never met us before. Are you wanting us for yourself?”
Casca sighed. It was an understandable point. “I feel I’ve let your people down. With you two being the last, I’m going to try to protect you as much as I can. Against an entire village it might be difficult, but I’ve seen some odd things in my lifetime. Is there anything you need? I mean to clean you up?” He noticed Ivar had left Hilde with the stains of his violation on her.
She shook her head proudly, lifting her chin. Casca nodded in approval. Clearly she came from a strong people. Pride was one thing, though, and what should be done was another.
He leaned out and sought out Erik. “Hey, Erik, can you arrange for a bucket of water and a cleaning cloth for one of the girls?”
Erik looked over his shoulder, then nodded at a small pail on a rope in one of the scuppers. “Cloths by the steering oarsman.”
Casca waved a thank you and filled the bucket and carried it to the tent, then grabbed a small cloth, ripped from a shirt that had seen better days, clearly, and brought it to the girls. “Here, Hilde, to clean yourself. I’ll sit in the entryway, then get rid of them when you’ve finished.”
Hilde looked at him for a moment, then gave him a ghost of a smile. “Thank you.”
Casca sat with his back to the girls, thinking hard. Would these Vikings really remember the legend of Helsfjord? The place had been destroyed and abandoned a hundred and fifty years after he’d left it, about three and a half centuries ago. Nobody would be around now who even believed in it. The people of Helsfjord would have gone long ago, either to their deaths or been absorbed into the tribe who had destroyed them. He knew Olaf Glamson had got back from the lands of the Teotec, for he’d found a medallion in the long-abandoned hold with the image of the serpent and jaguar upon it. The tales of that voyage would have been told in the hold and spread far and wide, a saga to tell over the winter fires when the snows and ice came.
The Walker, he had been called. He knew his tale had survived for when he’d killed the Saxon in the fight at sea after being fished out of the waters near Britannia, the Saxon had recognized his legend just before Casca had killed him. Maybe traces of his existence remained. Perhaps. Gertrude called softly to him. He turned, took the cloth and threw it over the side, emptying the water as well. He returned to the tent and sat just inside, facing the girls. Hilde looked a little better and Gertrude was no longer holding her as protectively, yet they sat with their shoulders touching for comfort and security.
“We wish to thank you, Casca, for your kindness,” Gertrude said. Hilde nodded. “And I’m sure you’ll do all you can to help us, but I think one man can do little against these people. We’re young girls; we will fetch a fair price and our value will mean we’ll get sold on. I hope we’ll stay together, but…” she bit her lip.
“Don’t give up all hope,” Casca said. “I may yet persuade them not to sell either of you. Stranger things have happened, believe me.”
The two girls looked at him with hope, more than anything else. Casca smiled once, then settled down for the journey onwards to Husborg. He just hoped to hell, or Hades, or wherever, that he could keep his vow. He owed the two girls that, at least.
CHAPTER TWO
They reached Husborg on the second day. The sun was beginning to set behind them as the coast came into view ahead. There were sandbanks, which was different to the rocky shores of Helsfjord, then a flat, grassy panorama came into sight. There was a river towards which the boat headed, possibly twenty feet in width, with mudbanks on either side. Long, spiny grass grew thickly from these, and as the boat nudged into the river, the oarsmen redoubled their efforts, chanting with every stroke.
Casca and the two girls watched from their position in the center of the deck. The tent had been taken down, Casca’s hands tied behind his back as a precaution now they were near land, and two men assigned to watch him, swords drawn.
The river ran straight ahead, but to the left a small inlet appeared and around this stood a series of wooden houses and huts, the settlement of Husborg. Other dragon boats were beached here, along with some smaller vessels, and fishing nets hung out drying, suspended from poles by the waterside.
Those houses near the water’s edge stood on wooden stilts with steps leading up to the front entrance. Behind them Casca could see what was clearly the feasting hall, a long, curved-roofed construction that dominated the settlement. A quick count by Casca made twenty houses. A fishing village, then. People were beginning to crowd the water’s edge, watching as the ship slowed and edged towards the bank. There was a gap available in between the ship on the right and the end of the sloping, banked area.
The dragon ship slid effortlessly through the water and came to rest on the bank. A plank was thrown onto the rail and the crew began to disembark, either hailing or being hailed by some of the villagers. One of the Viking guards beckoned to Casca to move. The two girls were ushered off by Erik who decided he was the best man to take care of the young sisters.
Curious faces watched as he was led, hands behind his back, onto dry land. The air was cool and the sun was setting as he walked up, away from the river. The villagers seemed to be wearing very much the same kind of attire he’d known those in Helsfjord had all those years ago. Although Helsfjord was far to the north, the people were the same.
Women could be identified if they were single of married very easily. Maidens wore their hair long, some having ribbons in their hair. Those who were married either had caps or scarves over their hair, or had it tied in a knot. Most of them were blue-eyed blondes, and more than a few quite stunning. Most of the men wore beards. Their hair was invariably long, sometimes plaited, or tied, but it reached to their collars or beyond. Beards were loose, plaited or forked.
“Go get the elders,” Erik commanded someone behind Casca. “And Jürgen. Tell them Ivar is dead.”
Casca and the two girls were taken to the long hut and made to stand alongside one another on the raised area at the end, so that they could be seen much more easily. The
villagers began filing in, sitting themselves on the long benches running down the sides of the many long tables. The warriors who had just returned came in with loved ones or family members, laughing or chatting.
While he waited, Casca cast his eyes over the interior. Banners hung at regular intervals, as did shield-and-sword arrangements. Cloth tapestries were dotted about here and there, and gruesome trophies of animals slain on wooden plinths were hung in places.
“Where is the motherless scum that killed my father?” a youthful voice demanded. Eyes swung to see a young man, perhaps twenty years of age, striding towards the stage. He saw Casca and gripped the hilt of his sword. “Untie him, so I can send him to the afterlife!”
Erik held out an arm. “It was a fair fight. Your father accepted the challenge, and was bested. There’s something else that needs to be sorted out with this prisoner, much more important than your sense of vengeance, Thordein.”
Thordein glared hotly at Erik. “I care not! I claim blood feud. His life is mine!”
“He’ll slaughter you, lad,” Erik said. “You’ll be the lamb before the wolf. No, I want the elders here because there’s something else we must clear up. This man claims to be The Walker.”
Thordein stared at the silent Casca for a moment, then blew through his lips in contempt. “What a joke! He’s no more that than I’ve got tits. I command you as Ivar’s son to release him into my hands.”
“And I say no. You have no authority over me or anyone here. We need to elect a new Thane, and if you wish to be considered then put your name forward along with all the others who’ll do so, and they have many more honors and achievements than you have. You’ll have to earn the right to be Thane.”
Thordein ground his teeth together and went red in the face. He was playing with the hilt of his sword and Erik was wondering whether the youth was going to do something stupid, when the assembled people parted and three elderly men walked past them up to the dais.
