Casca 47: The Viking

by Tony Roberts

  “He took a ship,” Freya said. “He left this morning. Took eight men of Sundsvalk with him who are his personal retinue.”

  “Where did he say he was going?”

  “Sundsvalk.”

  Casca released the old man who collapsed to the floor, wheezing. He massaged his throat. Freya stood there, her knife pointing up from waist level, her expression a threatening one. Casca gave her a look of contempt. “And what exactly do you think you will do with that? Put it away, woman. I’m not in the mood to play games.”

  “Neither am I!” she snapped, her eyes flashing.

  Casca stepped towards her, and she slashed the air before her. Casca avoided the swipe, seized her arm, forced her to drop the weapon by squeezing her forearm hard. She gasped in pain and tried to slap him across the face. Her other arm was taken by the wrist, then she was spun around and pinned to the table top. Casca grabbed one of the lengths of twine hanging about and tied her wrists together behind her back, then pushed her into a chair and used a stouter rope to tie her to that.

  Lastly he ripped a length of her skirt and formed a gag and tied it around her neck, effectively muffling out her protests. “Right, that sorts that out. Now you,” he pointed at Jurgen who was on his feet once more, “write a letter to your grandson ordering him back here at once.”

  “He won’t obey,” the old man predicted. “He fears for his life.”

  “I definitely will come for his head if he doesn’t. Tell him to be a man and face the consequences of what he has done. Tell him also I am Jarl of Sundsvalk by right of conquest. Their army is smashed. What was left ran away from the field of battle.”

  “You haven’t got much of one left, either,” Jurgen observed.

  “I have Jaegland at my side,” Casca said. “And I’m going to Hedeby to get my status ratified by the king’s son. So if your loving grandson wishes to defy the king, that’s up to him.”

  “The king has no real authority outside his own retinue,” the old warrior said. “He wisely allows the Jarls to rule their own holds. What goes on here is down to the Jarl, not a distant king!”

  “Who can call upon a large army to enforce his will if two Jarls fall out. If I go to Gudfred he’ll willingly back my claim.”

  “And you’ll lose any respect amongst the other Jarls.”

  “Think I give a shit about them? I killed both Eidursson and Henningsson in personal combat, and your son, don’t forget, and Erik. So what’s another couple to me? I’ve seen so much in my time, and know that this loose confederation won’t last forever. Sooner or later you’ll all need a king to protect your way of life against the Franks or Saxons, especially as they now follow the Christian ways. The sooner the Jarls submit to the king the better. It’ll come in time anyway.”

  “You talk about surrendering your freedom! What man would willingly do that?”

  “Oh wake up, you old fool!” Casca snapped. “Freedom and slavery go hand in hand. Look at this place. There are slaves, there is freedom, but there isn’t freedom, really. Jarls haven’t got true freedom; they are dependent on their retinue to keep their rule, and the people to trust in them. Jarls are not free to do what they wish. The people are not free because they have to follow the wishes of their superiors. Slaves aren’t free, but they have greater freedom.”

  “What? Are you mad?”

  Casca shrugged and nodded to Freya. “Is she free? No. She’s my prisoner. I have rule over her. But she makes me her slave. I now have responsibility over her, to decide what to do with her, whether to feed her, clothe her, house her, decide where she will go, whether she is to live or not. I’m not free until I rid myself of her. She is now separated from any responsibility of what to decide with her life as it’s in my hands. Therefore she is freer than I. I could free her and she could gain her freedom, and once more become enslaved by it.”

  Jurgen shook his head. Clearly it was beyond his comprehension.

  “Responsibility and choice makes slaves of us all, Jurgen. Ultimately where is freedom? In the mind, Jurgen. In the mind. It certainly does not exist in reality, although we fool ourselves that it does.” He stood over Freya who stared up at him, her eyes furious.

  “I give you slavery,” he said softly, and undid her gag and untied her. “Look after it; it’s yours to keep.”

  He made his way to the door. “I want that letter by midday. Else I’ll get one of my men to carve it on your ass and send you personally to Sundsvalk.” With that he left and stormed to his own house. Damn Thordein! He just couldn’t wait! Well, he had a damned shitload of stuff to do, so he’d best get to it. Maybe it would help take care of his anger and frustration.

  Magnus was in the house with a couple of others. The burial details were sorted. The mourning would go on for days, and many others were too injured and incapacitated to be of much use. They had twenty-three fit men to carry out any raid.

  “Can’t go leaving the hold anymore to anyone who decides to walk in,” Casca said. “I’m going to have to go to Hedeby and do a deal with Gudfred.”

  “What kind of deal?” Magnus looked concerned.

  “Submit to the king as his loyal vassal. In return Gudfred will give me a warband to go after that little shit.”

  “All for two women? You’d end our independence?”

  Casca glared at the three men. “Let me tell you how it is. When Thordein realizes we’re too weak to come after him, he’ll gather what’s left of Sundsvalk’s army and come here to take what he sees as his rightful position, and we’ll be under Sundsvalk’s iron fist for the gods know how long. We don’t have enough men to defend Husborg, even you can see that! So we swallow our pride and take a step which we will have to do before long anyway. Rather now on our terms than at the point of Gudfred’s sword in ten or twenty years’ time. I have some goodwill to exchange with him for killing Henningsson, who I understand was not liked in the slightest by the king or his son. Better to have this place defended while I go after Thordein with a crowd of mercenaries.”

  Magnus scratched his beard. “The men here won’t like the thought of bending their knee to a king or Gudfred.”

  “Then tell them what their choice is. We aren’t strong enough to stand up against anyone. The Saxons could come up and take over; Sundsvalk could come down. Thor knows even Jaegland could decide to take us over. With twenty-three men what can we do? You need to rest and recuperate, defend this settlement and get the injured back up on their feet. How many of those are likely to be fit in, say, a month?”

  “Don’t really know. I think ten are definites. Another five-six?”

  Casca grunted. Just enough. “I’ll take two with me to Hedeby. I’ll send a messenger to Sundsvalk requesting they hand over Thordein and submit to us.”

  Magnus laughed briefly. “As if they’ll take any notice?”

  “I know, but it’s got to be done. I want Thordein’s head, the two girls returned and Sundsvalk under my vassalage. The sooner we begin the better. Get Husborg defensible in my absence. I want wooden stakes on all approaches, the ships protected from both land and sea – stick spikes in the mud at low tide – and this place reinforced in case they are too many to keep out.”

  “You really think Sundsvalk will attack?”

  “No, but I don’t want to take any chances. The sooner we get going the better.”

  Magnus and the two men left. Casca thought about relaxing with an ale but the door opened and Freya appeared. Casca muttered an expletive and faced her with ill-concealed irritation. “What in the name of Thor’s gonads do you want?”

  “To plead for Thordein’s life. Grandfather is too proud to do so, and I think what’s happened these past few days has broken his heart. If my brother dies our family does too.”

  “Rot. There’s you, and you’re marriable. Find some handsome strong warrior and raise a family of your own. Your brother has gone too far. He and I are going to settle our differences once and for all.”

  She drew her knife. “I can’t l
et you do that, Casca.”

  Casca shook his head. “Oh put that thing away! What do you seriously think you can achieve with that?” He grabbed her wrist suddenly, surprising her, and wrenched it clear. She gasped and stood, holding her aching wrist. He held his palm up and ran the blade down it.

  She looked on spellbound as blood flowed, ran down his wrist and sleeve, then stopped. He presented his palm to her and she saw the edges of the cut reknit and close. Her eyes went wide as he rubbed the blood away to reveal a slight reddish scar but nothing else. He returned the knife to her. “I’ve been touched by the gods, Freya. You cannot go against their will. Your brother and I are going to do what we are going to do, and the gods alone can stop it if they so choose. You can’t.”

  She stared at him, then the knife. Her lower lip trembled. Casca stood waiting. Finally she looked up. “I will offer you my body if you spare his life.”

  Casca took her hands in his. “I won’t do that because I’m in no mood to spare him. He’s taken my two women and that’s on top of betrayal and what he did to me on the shore. Enough’s enough. Go back to your home and look after Jurgen. Think of your own future, not that of Thordein. He has none.”

  Heartless and cold but Casca wasn’t in any mood to be anything other than that. She left sadly and he cursed once more. Sometimes he wished he was mortal and had mortal ambitions and hopes. One like he who dished out death so often developed a carapace to ease the mind and make killing that much more acceptable. He wondered sometimes if he would end up an uncaring, cruel figure. He hoped to hell not.

  The following day he left with two men, one of whom knew the path to Hedeby. It was on the end of a long fjord called the Slies. It was located at the southern edge of the Viking lands and was a huge trading center, handling goods from all directions. To the east amber came from the Baltic. To the north both Norway and the lands of the Swedes provided many furs, timber and ivory. The Saxons, Obotrites and Franks just over the border could trade, but Charlemagne’s recent victories and imposition of Christianity over the Saxons had cut that. The Christians refused to trade with pagans.

  Gudfred was already talking about raiding to get the goods if the followers of the Cross refused to trade. They had the ships, the men, the free spirit and the weaponry. There were miles and miles of vulnerable coastline ripe for the picking. If the Christians wanted a war, Gudfred had declared, then they’ll get one.

  Casca agreed. It was dumb cutting off trade. It only hurt everyone, and when one side was prepared to go to war then trouble was never far. The Vikings had all the advantages, he could see. Those ships, the snekkja, skeid or drekar, were perfectly designed to slice through water and take a warband to wherever they chose. They had such a shallow draught that they could go up many rivers for huge distances, and raid any shoreline.

  He recalled his days at Helsfjord. The ships he helped design with old Corio had given birth to these with their interlocking planks. Instead of fighting the sea they rode it.

  The journey to Hedeby took three days. The route wasn’t too difficult, especially as they passed through lands belonging to Jaegland. There were no awkward features to cross, like wide rivers or mountains. The roads, or what passed for them, were dry and firm and the three made good time.

  In the early afternoon of the third day they emerged from a small copse of birch and saw the earthworks that surrounded Hedeby on three sides. The fourth side, east, opened onto the fjord. Gatehouses stood in two places and they approached the one set in the northern wall.

  They were permitted entry and were sent to the great hall of Gudfred. As Jarl of Husborg, Casca was given deference, and it wasn’t long before he was presented to the young heir to the fledgling Kingdom of Denmark. Gudfred had shoulder-length blonde hair and wore a bushy mustache and beard. He looked pretty tough and stared at Casca through bright blue, intelligent eyes.

  “I have read your letter, Jarl Casca,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. “We thank you for ridding yourself of the troublesome Jarl Henningsson. The acquisition of Mittenmark by Jaegland has yet to be recognized by my father, as is the matter of Sundsvalk. Tell me, what is your intention toward this hold?”

  “My liege,” Casca knelt once, then rose. “I wish to pledge Husborg to the crown of Denmark. We have a harbor and ships at your disposal. Following the battle with Mittenmark, we are temporarily unable to bring Sundsvalk to heel, and the rebellious Thane Thordein has taken up refuge there. He was loyal to Jarl Eidursson whom as you are aware was allied to Jarl Henningsson. I slew both Jarls personally.”

  “Impressive. I also am told you slew Jarl Ivar, Thordein’s father. Do you make a habit of killing Jarls?”

  “Only when the need arises, sire.”

  Gudfred looked thoughtfully at Casca. “Go rest, Jarl. I have things to think over, and other matters to attend to. I shall summon you later for a much longer talk.”

  Casca and his two guards were shown to a couple of rooms. Casca had one to himself. He lay on a comfortable fur bed and put his hands behind his head. From what he’d seen briefly there were things going on that required the prince’s attention. Casca was relatively unimportant. Maybe a war had broken out?

  He thought about the Vikings’ situation. There were three regions these northmen lived in, what was now called Norway, here in the lands of Denmark, and further east, the lands of the Swedes. Norway had a king, and so now had Denmark. The Jarls were jealously trying to retain their independence but time was coming to a close on this. Raids to neighboring holds were becoming less popular, and the destruction of Mittenmark had been welcomed because Henningsson had been one of the chief opponents of the king. If the now dead Jarl had been supportive, then it was likely Casca would not have been allowed to attack him.

  Sundsvalk had seemingly gone ahead because they saw a chance to ally themselves with Mittenmark at Husborg’s expense. Drakenskald, that wily old buzzard, had seen a chance to take land with royal approval and not shed too much blood. He would be one to watch.

  Casca wasn’t stupid. He’d been around too long to be fooled into thinking the Holds could remain free for much longer. The Franks were too powerful and organized to the south, and other kingdoms were getting stronger and developing under the banner of the Christian God. Best to unite together and fight the outsiders, or else they’d be overrun in no time.

  He was called as darkness fell, and sat on a stool with piles of furs on top. Gudfred sat opposite, finishing his meal and downing mead. He indicated Casca could take some meat for himself. “So, what is it you intend doing?”

  Casca took a draught of mead, wiped his mouth as custom dictated, then jabbed a finger into the table top. “The son of the former Jarl, Thordein, allied himself to Henningsson when I led my men into battle against Mittenmark, and when we returned victorious, he fled to Sundsvalk with two women who were under my protection.” Casca allowed some anger into his voice; partly to impress the king’s son, partly to give vent to some of the feeling he had held within for a few days. “As we suffered grievous losses in battle, we no longer have the men to both protect what is ours, and to bring this dog to heel, subject Sundsvalk to my overlordship and free my women!”

  Gudfred nodded in understanding. “So you wish for my help, Jarl Casca.” It was not a question. “You have already pledged Husborg to my father. I’m sure he will be delighted. But I propose something slightly different.”

  Casca leaned back in his seat. The meat was excellent as was the mead. “I’m listening, sire.”

  “As my father has more pressing matters further north, it is I whom you should pledge allegiance to, as I command and control the south, and as I am subject to my father, any pledge you make will ultimately be to him.”

  Casca wasn’t fooled. Gudfred was building his own power base here, and should any conflict arise between king and heir, then Gudfred would be able to call upon his own subjects to his side.

  “I also thank you for the offer of Husborg, but this is a far too gener
ous offer. I shall be happy enough with Sundsvalk. In return for your gift, I shall ennoble you Jarl of Husborg, Thane of Sundsvalk and rule in my name. Of course, you would have to be ready to come to my assistance whenever I command it.”

  Casca thought it an astute piece of diplomacy. For ‘handing back’ Husborg to Casca, he had in reality made him honor-bound and taken control of two Holds. Casca bowed. “It shall be so, my liege.”

  “Good!” Gudfred said with delight, a toothy grin lighting up his face. “We shall seal the accord tomorrow. To celebrate this pledge, I want to see how much you can take. How much of a man are you? I don’t want weaklings under my rule. So, tell me, can you hold your drink? Can you wench? Can you out-wrestle me?”

  Casca roared with laughter. For too long he’d been in the sober lands of the Franks, subjugated by Christianity and it’s ten don’t-do-this commandments. It was such a relief to be once more in a place where people were freer of mind and much simpler of rule. “My liege, don’t expect me to let you win. I’ll pin your arm to this table as if I’d stuck it there with my dagger.”

  Gudfred chuckled. “Oh, a wager, perhaps?”

  “Why not? Coin?”

  The Viking prince waved a disgusted hand in the air. “Pah! Coin? Be adult, Jarl. Children bet with coin. No, I propose we bet with women!”

  Casca smiled. “We have none here.”

  Gudfred clapped his hands. “Bring in the slave women!” he bellowed.

  Moments later a line of five women were shown in, all scantily clad in furs, all young. Clearly they had been captive for a while and had gotten used to their situation. None looked scared, and all had a confident air. Casca looked up with interest. “Ah. So what is the wager?”

  “If I win, I get those two women of yours that Thordein has. If you win, you can have any of these for the night.”

  Casca thought it a totally unfair bet, but decided to take another tack. He gazed along the line. All were good-looking, and were probably trophies from raids further north. “Any, lord?”