Casca 47: The Viking

by Tony Roberts

  “He’s an idiot,” Jürgen spat. “Only interested in being Jarl. He had no idea what it is to be one. He needs respect, and he hasn’t got that. He’s only Jarl because he is a better alternative in everyone else’s eyes to Thordein here. Challenge him. We will back you.”

  “You don’t have any support,” Casca reminded the old man. “Whereas Erik has everyone’s.”

  “Shit,” Thordein lifted his head. “You scared?”

  “No, but I want to know what I’m likely to be taking on if I do challenge him. Do I have to fight everyone else in the damned village? If that’s the case then forget it.”

  “I thought The Walker was afraid of nothing!” Thordein sneered. “It seems that bringing you here has been a waste of time. I ought to throw you back into the water.”

  “Now, Thordein,” his grandfather admonished him. “Let’s not be hasty. It’s still dark and I need my rest. Sun’s up in about three hours. Let’s get some sleep and maybe with breakfast inside us we can think a little more clearly.”

  Casca nodded. “And don’t forget I’ve had a sword run through me thanks to this young pup here,” he pointed at the scowling Thordein. “That’s something I owe you.”

  “And I owe you for killing my father,” the Viking spat back.

  “So what are you going to do about that?” Casca challenged him. “Fancy beating me man to man?”

  “Oh you lot, listen to you!” Freya stood up, slapping her hands on the table. “Get to bed, the lot of you! Go on!” she shooed the two Vikings to their rooms. She then tended the fire, adding a log or two to it and stoking it with an old iron sword.

  Casca watched her silently. He felt more than a little tired.

  Freya stood up, wiped her hands against her skirt, then came over to him. “You can sleep there,” she pointed to the bed Casca had woken up in. “Go on, you look awful.”

  “I feel it,” Casca admitted. He heaved himself up and went to the bed, slipping in under the fur blankets.

  Freya came up to him, looked at him intently, then unfastened her clothing and allowed it to slip to the floor. In no time she was naked, the orange glow from the fire highlighting half her skin.

  “Guess I’m not as tired as I thought,” Casca said.

  She smiled and slipped in under the furs with him. She kissed him, slowly, passionately.

  When she stopped he looked closely at her. “Any reason?”

  “Mmm,” she nodded. “I want to make up for the actions of my brother, and it’s not every day a legend comes into my household. You’re very – attractive.”

  “As are you,” Casca smiled. “Nothing to do of course with trying to influence me in supporting Thordein in future.”

  Freya pursed her lips. “I’m his sister. Do you blame me for trying?”

  “No. So, woman. I’ve been imprisoned, frozen, drowned, stabbed and treated badly. You’ve got some work to do in making up for it.”

  Freya grinned and slid over onto him. “Then I’d best start as soon as possible.”

  Casca put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Finally, something to smile about in this damned village. Her lips began kissing him all over, and he placed one hand on the back of her head and began stroking her hair. Yes, she certainly was trying hard.

  ___

  The morning came late for Casca. What brought him round was the smell of roasting pig. He opened one eye and focused on the bending figure of Freya stirring an iron pot by the fire. The other two were sat at the table, talking in low voices. He lay there for a few moments, relaxing. Amazing how different the world felt after a session with a passionate woman. He certainly hadn’t forgiven Thordein, and suspected the young Viking was only tolerating him because he saw Casca as a means to take control of Husborg.

  Well, damn him and his ambition. The youth was unfit to lead – Casca could see that. Freya, well she was a different matter. Could he live with her? Maybe, but he would have to see how the land lay with everyone else.

  He threw back the furs and three heads turned. “Ah, you’re awake,” Jurgen said somewhat unnecessarily. “Have you thought further on what we talked about?”

  “My clothes dry yet?” Casca asked.

  “They are,” Freya smiled and pulled them off the twine suspended near the open fire. “Sit. Have something to eat and drink.”

  Casca did so with a grin. As he dressed and gratefully accepted a watered-down mead handed him by the old man, he spoke slowly, thinking hard. “Before I challenge Erik I have to know what he’s all about. What support does he have? I think you ought to sound out the village to see who really is happy at Erik being Jarl and who isn’t. No good making a move before you know who’s prepared to stand by your side.”

  “So what are you going to do then?” Thordein asked testily.

  “Speak to Erik.”

  “What?” Thordein’s eyes bulged. “No way! You don’t go seeing him!”

  Casca raised an eyebrow. “Kid, don’t tell me what I can or cannot do. I’ve got to check out the opposition, you know. And I want to see his face when I turn up. How will he react to me being The Walker? I might persuade him to back down, you never know.”

  Thordein scowled. “I don’t like it. We’ve taken you in and fed you and this is how you repay hospitality?”

  Casca eyed Freya who briefly smiled and concentrated on stirring the broth. “Look, you tied me up and stabbed me, so don’t fucking go all outraged on me. I’ve a good mind to tie you up on that damned beach for that. Shut up and let me do what I know is the right thing.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence after that. Casca finished his drink and light meal. “I’ll return after speaking to Erik. Got to clear up exactly what he thinks about the fact that I’m here.”

  With that he left, glad to away from Thordein.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The walk across to the new Jarl’s residence didn’t take long, but he got a lot of attention. Villagers stopped and gaped. He was supposed to be dead, yet there he was, as bold as day, striding across the damp soil as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  One of the thickly-built men on guard outside the house scampered inside. Casca took the four wooden steps to the front platform in one bound. The remaining guard put out a hesitant hand. “N-now, uh, Walker, you can’t go in until…” He tailed off as Casca fixed him with a glare that shriveled his heart on the spot.

  As the guard’s hand dropped, Casca opened the door and passed inside. Two men stood in his way, men who were Erik’s inner guard and who would die to protect his life. Casca stood facing them, arms folded, until a door up on the landing above opened and the new Jarl appeared, fastening his belt irritably. “So it’s true, he grunted, leaning forward on the wooden rail. “You have returned from the dead, just like The Walker.”

  “That’s because I am The Walker,” Casca said evenly. “Can’t you understand that?”

  Erik laughed. He descended to the ground floor and came swaggering up to Casca. “So you escaped the idiot Ivarsson’s hands? I doubted he could manage to kill you, and you standing here is proof of that. I might as well do the job myself,” he said, grabbing an axe from one of his retainers.

  “Kill me if you can Bjarnsson,” Casca said evenly, his hands spread wide, “but you’ll find I’ll keep on coming back, and next time I won’t be this friendly. I’ll rip your balls off and feed them to you before I allow you the luxury of dying.”

  Erik sneered. “I’m Jarl here and I am the law.” He waved to the two men with him. “Tie him up and fix him to the main pillar there,” he waved at a stout oak pillar that held up the roof, rising from the center of the floor. “I feel some axe throwing practice coming on.”

  The two retainers grinned and advanced, hands reaching out to subdue the scarred mercenary. Casca was having none of it. He stepped away, then to one side. One foot scythed through the air and took the guard on the right through the back of his left knee and the man grunted in pain and toppled over, suddenly un
able to stand. The other grabbed for his sword but it took time to withdraw from the scabbard and space to wield and Casca was too close and too quick.

  One solid blow to the face and a second to the guts and the Viking was sinking to the floor retching, both hands clamped to his stomach. Erik snarled an expletive and swung at Casca. The Eternal Mercenary sprang back, and the blow missed him by a hair’s breadth. Wasting no time, Casca jumped forward and grabbed the swearing Jarl’s wrist and wrestled him to the ground. Erik was no weakling but he’d never faced anyone as strong before. He ended up underneath the scarred warrior, his wrist caught in a vise-like grip.

  “Now, asshole,” Casca hissed at him, “you will listen to me. I have no wish to take on the entire village. I want this feuding between you and Ivar’s family to stop. It’s doing nobody any good, certainly not Husborg. The sooner you two groups make up and fight together, the sooner we can retake the lands lost to the other tribes.”

  Erik twisted but he was caught fast. He slumped, defeated. “They’ll never accept anyone else as Jarl other than one of their own.”

  “Have you tried?” Casca got slowly to his feet, allowing a rueful Erik to get to his.

  “What have you got in those fists of yours?” Erik asked, eyeing his two slowly recovering men. “Ivar should never have been Jarl. I’ve been waiting for years to get the chance of taking over. You gave me that chance.”

  “Yeah, then you try to get rid of me. Dumb move,” Casca said.

  “Do you blame me?” Erik asked, rubbing his sore wrist. “You’re here to take over; it’s clear to everyone. I’m damned if I’m going to let you do that.”

  Casca grabbed a sword from the wall. “That remains to be seen,” he said, testing the sword, flicking it through the air. “If the Jarl proves not to be up to the job, then I’ll do something about it.” He gave Erik a level stare. “I’m taking this as mine by right of combat. Unarmed I defeated you and two of your men. I’m going to set up home here, and you and the Ivarsson family will have to sort yourselves out.”

  Erik growled. “I say who does what here, nobody else.”

  “So try to stop me.” Casca stepped up to Erik. “You still think the gods favor you? Then look and understand.” He held up his left palm and slowly, deliberately, sliced into it with his sword. Blood ran from the cut for a moment. Casca had to steel himself from not reacting to the pain. Then, as Erik and the two others looked on in amazement, the bleeding stopped. Casca didn’t have to look to know what was happening; he could feel it. The skin was re-knitting and sealing itself up. The Curse was working once more.

  “Still wish to defy the gods? I have been touched by them, made to walk the earth until they grow tired of their games. You cannot kill me. Now stop being a fool and get this village united, or I’ll do it myself. In the meantime, I want to go speak to the two women from the plundered village.”

  “They are mine,” Erik snapped. “By right.”

  “Right of what? Conquest? You didn’t conquer them; that was Ivar, and I killed him, so by any ‘right’ you quote there, they fall to me. Right as Jarl? I piss on that right, and if you want to dispute that, then face me here and now. Now get out of my fucking way.”

  He pushed past a red-faced Erik and climbed the stairs. He entered the room he’d seen the Jarl come from. Here was a bedroom, draped with furs and decorated to the hilt. The eternal mercenary guessed Erik had taken over Ivar’s room and not yet changed it to his taste. As he suspected the two girls who had been taken prisoner with him were there, huddled together looking scared on the large wooden bed. Casca shut the door and stepped halfway to the bed. “Did he hurt you?”

  “What are you doing here?” Gertrude asked, her eyes wide. Like her sister she was wearing nothing, and the two were huddled together. “We were told you were dead!”

  “I’m not that easy to kill,” Casca replied, looking around the room. He spied the girls’ clothing, piled on the floor, picked them up and threw them onto the bed. “Your captor was misinformed. I’m now taking you two away from him and to a place of my own. Get dressed.”

  Hilde said nothing; she was too scared, but Gertrude handed her sister her dress and shrugged her own on, wriggling off the bed. “Won’t he try to stop you? He’s Jarl, after all. What’s really going on, Casca, isn’t that your name?”

  “It is. I’m someone they call The Walker. A long story, but it’s a Viking tale, and it means I’m regarded as being touched by the gods. If he tries anything he may well lose his position as Jarl. You two are now to live with me, away from this bastard.”

  Gertrude gave him a very unamused stare. “I don’t care for that kind of talk,” she said. “If we’re to live with you, then cut that out. Also, if you’re going to take and use my sister and I like he is, then we might as well stay here.”

  “Have no fear on that,” Casca grinned. “I’m not that kind of man.”

  Gertrude helped Hilde who was looking at Casca with a white face. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Oh? You prefer men?”

  Casca snickered. “Oh no, I didn’t mean that! I mean I don’t take women against their will.”

  “And what’s so funny?” Gertrude turned to face him, fists on hips.

  Casca half-turned away, trying not to laugh. “Sorry, but you touched a humorous nerve there, telling me this and that.”

  “And I’m not supposed to?” she snapped, eyes flashing.

  “No,” Casca shook his head, “I didn’t mean that either. I admire your guts. Here you are, a prisoner of these people, you and your sister have been taken against your will, and yet you’re still telling me how things will be in our household.”

  “And would you prefer me as a submissive, whimpering vessel to sate your lust on?”

  “I like a woman with fire. Now shut up and help your sister. Gods’ teeth, I think you’ll do enough talking for the two of you.”

  Gertrude twisted her lips in an unimpressed way and took hold of her sister around the shoulders. “Come on Hilde, I think we might be better off with this ugly specimen.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere,” Casca said, opening the door. He got to the top of the stairs and stopped. Down in the main chamber, Erik was stood there, arms folded, and ten men were stood crowded behind and to the left and right of him.

  “Not even The Walker is going to be able to defeat ten of my hand-picked men,” Erik said smugly. “Now give yourself up to my justice before my men remove your arms and head.”

  Casca took one step down and stopped again. “This reminds me so much of Helsfjord,” he said. “The asshole there, Ragnar, thought he could kill me and it cost him his life, and then I took on and wasted a whole room of his retainers. After I was finished I took over running the place. Seems like I must do the same again.”

  Erik looked left and right. “These are real men, real warriors. Your words come from stories told over late-night fires by old fools trying to entertain children with fantastic sagas. I don’t believe you. These men are sworn to follow me and obey my commands, and I now command them to hack you into little bits.” He waved lazily at them. “Dispose of this pain in the ass for me.”

  Casca gripped his sword tightly and waited for the first man to come to him. He had the advantage of height, and being on a narrow staircase so only one could come to him at a time. He wouldn’t move down yet, or else one of the others could hit him from the side.

  Casca had immense strength. He also had centuries of martial knowledge. The first Viking came at him, his circular shield protecting his left side, and a hand axe swinging from high to the right. Casca swung hard, blocking the down swipe of the axe. He cut back across the first strike and opened the man’s windpipe.

  Blood flew. The next two were hindered by the falling man. Casca stepped down one. He thrust hard into the throat of the next man who was pushing the fallen man aside. Step back. The blow from the third missed. It bit into the stairs so Casca trod on the blade. Defenseless, the third Viking was easy to sm
ash off down to the floor below, his neck almost severed.

  Numbers four and five pressed upwards grimly. Behind Casca Gertrude clutched hold of Hilde. “Worry not, sister,” Gertrude whispered to her. “If he falls, we just surrender to the Jarl.”

  “He’s a brute,” Hilde sobbed.

  “Yes, but aren’t they all?”

  Hilde squeezed Gertrude’s arm. “This one seems different.”

  “You might be right, although he’s argumentative.”

  “So are you,” Hilde replied.

  Gertrude chuckled. That was more like her sister of old. The two crouched together, holding one another’s hands at the top of the staircase while Casca fought a few feet below.

  Two more Vikings were sliding back down on their way to Valhalla. Casca flailed left and right with his sword, his face fixed with a severe expression. Erik took a couple of paces backwards, bafflement on his face. These men were his elite! Yet they were being slaughtered like wild pigs.

  His chief bodyguard, a brute of a man called Svein, grunted in dissatisfaction. “Weaklings and children. Let me show you how it’s done!” He pushed two men out of the way and roared at the two fighting Casca to step back.

  Casca took a couple of deep breaths. Alright, this lump of a warrior meant business, so it was time to watch his step. He looked as strong as Casca and wielded a huge chunk of iron. With a snarl Svein bounded up and swung with all his might.

  Casca ducked under the blow and slashed hard, his blow rising up from ankle height across Svein’s body. The giant Viking took the blow and grunted, staggering back down the four steps he’d gone up, his furs slashed apart. As he sank to his knees, a look of disbelief on his face, Erik came to his side. His faithful retainer was finished, all could see that.

  “Kill him, my lord,” Svein gasped, before falling flat on his face. Erik looked up, his expression one of fury.