by Tony Roberts
“Any.”
“Then I will claim all five.”
Gudfred stared at Casca with disbelief, then began chuckling. He broke out into raucous laughter, stood, and raised his mead. “I’m almost inclined to let you win to see this!”
Casca grinned, stood, raised his drink and downed it. “Then let the evening begin!”
CHAPTER NINE
Casca led the dragon ship towards Sundsvalk. Gudfred had lent the Eternal Mercenary eighty men, enough for one warship’s complement, and grudgingly requested that he didn’t get too many killed. Casca guessed the prince was pissed at losing to his Jarl and having his five women pleasure his guest. A night of whoring and drinking had left the scarred warrior groaning in the morning, feeling as if a regiment of Persian Cataphracti had ridden over him. But damn, it had been worth it.
So now they were nearing Sundsvalk, intent on subjugating the place. Thordein had sent back a very insulting reply to Casca’s demands so now it was war. Sundsvalk had maybe thirty-five warriors to defend the settlement. Thordein was even demanding his grandfather and sister be given the run of Husborg as theirs. Magnus, left in charge of the Hold, had sent a short, sharp reply that had made it clear to Thordein that he wasn’t going to get anywhere asking for things like that.
Magnus had, in fact, put both Jurgen and Freya under house guard and had threatened Thordein with a gift of the old man’s head unless he shut up.
Casca waved the steersman of the sixteen-bencher warship, the drekar, to swing to the shore. Thirty-two rowers bent their backs to pull the thin, sleek, oaken warship through the grey water of the coast. Sundsvalk had been passed, its small harbor full with ships and fishing boats, and they had to sail on until the next available landing spot.
Men could be seen running from the settlement in alarm, shouting a warning, but the ship would beach and the men get off before anyone could get near. With a grating, shuddering noise, the ship came to an abrupt halt and the fur-clad Vikings jumped overboard into shallow water. They flooded ashore and spread out along the coarse grass-topped sand dunes, swords or the more ubiquitous skeggox, the axe, ready for use.
For a tactical approach, there wasn’t much to it. Sundsvalk had a wooden stockade but it wasn’t much and could be scaled without too much bother. Some of the defenders had ventured out but now fled before the approach of the war band.
They stopped a little distance from the stockade. The gates were shut, the towers manned, bowmen ready. Casca stood with the biggest of the loaned warriors and grunted with annoyance. “Can’t that annoying little turd just die? He’s been nothing but a real pain ever since I met him.”
“Why didn’t you kill him earlier, then?” the big man asked.
“Why indeed? I thought he might end up useful to me somehow, but he’s just full of himself and has no grasp of what it means to be a leader. His sister is pretty, though.”
“Oh,” the Viking laughed, “I see. Had her, did you?”
Casca grinned weakly. “Something like that.”
“Kill the bastard, screw his sister. She’ll get over it.”
The Vikings had a simplistic approach to life. Casca got one of the men to tie a white cloth to a pole and together, the two walked closer. A man raised his head in one tower, a conical helm crammed atop his hair, and told them to stop. “No further. Go away and leave us in peace.”
“We both know why we are here, so surrender the boy. This Hold is mine, and I intend having it. It is promised to Gudfred, the king’s son, and these are his men. Fight them at your peril.”
“You lie,” the Viking snarled.
“Then read this,” Casca produced a scroll Gudfred had handed him back in Hedeby. It was a royal sealed proclamation of ownership. He was permitted to step up to the stockade and pass it up to the outstretched hand of one of the defenders. The scroll was given to the spokesman who unsealed it, read it, looked at the scarred warrior once more, then allowed it to be handed back.
“Very good,” he conceded, ”but we have given our pledge to Jarl Thordein who has commanded we hold this place at whatever cost.”
“And where is the little shit?”
The Viking didn’t look amused. “The Jarl is not available.”
“He’s no Jarl,” Casca snarled, “and it’s time we got this over with.” He returned to his men. “Get ready to smash this stockade in. Shields, axes. I also want those bowmen in the towers taken care of.”
The experienced Vikings got ready. They knew what to do, having been in similar actions before. Amongst their numbers were four bowmen who now proceeded to loose against the three in the towers. While this exchange went on, three groups of Vikings armed with axes advanced in three waves. With shields raised for protection, they ran hard at the stockade, screaming war cries, enduring thrown spears, rocks and a few axes. As each got to within throwing distance, a hand axe was hurled at the wooden stockade, and the warrior turned to run back to the main line.
In no time the stockade was spouting dozens of axes. Those would be the climbing steps for the attackers. Three had been hit in the process, one seriously, but now it was time to storm the palisade. Casca arranged three lines, each one of three men in width and seven deep. They were to climb to the top, which was only eight feet high after negotiating a steep-sided ditch, and clear the way. The others would provide support by hurling spears and axes at anyone who tried to stop the attack.
He himself strode to the front of the central group and breathed in a few times. “Let’s get over the top. What lies within is yours, except for the Jarl and the two women with him. They are mine.”
The men roared. Plunder! Pillage! That’s what they did this for. On Casca’s wave of his sword, they began advancing, clashing their blades on their shields. He trusted these fierce warriors to do their job. He would concentrate on doing his, which was to get the two women and slice Thordein into tiny little bits.
The ditch was a man’s height deep and two wide. It was grassed, and at the top the stockade stood. Facing Casca were a number of defenders, but he was confident that he and his men could break through.
Now the attackers ran. As they got to the top of the ditch men rose up from behind the fortifications to throw projectiles at the onrushing mass. Casca raised his circular shield and something struck it with some force, making him wince. He rushed down to the bottom of the ditch, aware that others were with him, hollering out wildly, and then he was forcing himself up the other side to the bottom of the stockade.
Men were behind him and his fellow assault group hurling axes at the defenders. They must have done some damage for suddenly the missiles coming at them ceased, and Casca grabbed one of the axes stuck in the wood and pulled himself up, planting his left foot on a lower one. His shield was loose, hanging from his wrist by the leather loop on the inside, and he raised his sword in a protective manner as he climbed up and stuck his head over the top.
He ducked back instinctively as an axe came down from high, and buried itself in the top of the jagged stockade. Swinging his sword in reply, he made the defender edge away, leaving his axe stuck fast. The Viking grabbed a second axe from his belt, and Casca pulled himself over the top, aware of others around him swarming over, blades flashing.
Casca landed on both feet and gripped his shield firmly once more. The axeman smashed down at him but Casca met each blow with his wooden shield and then countered, using centuries of experience and know-how to drive his opponent back, down the earthworks the stockade was built upon and towards the first of the huts and houses of Sundsvalk.
Slash. Block. Step. The Viking was getting desperate. He knew he was outclassed, so tried to put everything in one huge side swipe that was aimed at coming up under Casca’s shield and into his ribs.
The Eternal Mercenary stepped back, and, as the axe blurred past his chest, stepped forward again quickly, his sword thrusting deep into the chest of the warrior. The Viking gasped, closing his eyes, and sank to his knees.
Sounds of
battle were all around Casca and he swiftly checked left, right and behind. Bodies lay sprawled on the ramparts but more and more of his men were swarming up and over the top, and the defenders were being driven back by sheer weight of numbers. The battle was already decided.
Not wasting a moment, Casca ran in between two of the wood and thatch huts into a wide space that acted as a through-fare. A bigger house stood ahead so he ran up to it and kicked it in, sword and shield ready just in case. All that met him was a frightened scream and he saw a woman cowering towards the rear, a small girl in her arms.
“Don’t hurt me, please!” she beseeched him.
Casca wasn’t into rape or anything of that nature. “Just tell me where the Jarl’s house is, and I’ll go!”
She pointed over her shoulder. “By the waterside. Big house, you can’t miss it.”
Casca nodded. He’d ideally want to protect her but he didn’t have time to waste. Besides, Gudfred’s men were on a mission and they weren’t his. They expected spoils of conquest and they were going to get them, whatever happened.
He ran around the house and saw the waters ahead, and by it one huge house. Stood by the doorway was a solitary guard which confirmed that it was, indeed, the place where Thordein was. Casca went running hard, the shouts and screams of pillage beginning to start up behind him. The guard was armed with a spear and he wasted time lifting it, aiming it, and throwing.
Casca hammered it aside with his shield, staggering a few steps, but righting himself. The guard now hastily grabbed the hilt of his sword but realized he’d made a huge mistake. Casca was at him too fast and left the guard sinking to the ground, grimacing in pain from a deep wound in his chest.
Another door to be kicked in, and Casca almost sent it off its hinges. “Thordein, where are you, you little shit?”
A figure stood towards the rear on the other side of the fireplace. Winter was coming and soon the snows and ice would be here, and every home had a fireplace in the center of the main room. The smoke rose up and vanished through a gap in the roof. Casca slowly circled it and kept his eye on the slight figure of his quarry, who was armed with a sword. A decent sword, Casca noted, one far too good for the likes of the sweating would-be Jarl.
“I-I might have been a little hasty, Walker,” Thordein said. “I didn’t mean all I said.”
“What you said was one thing, you bastard. What you did and have done is something else. Where are they?”
“The sisters? In-in there,” he nodded his head over his left shoulder.
Casca glanced that way and saw an open doorway. “Gertrude! Hilde! It’s alright now, you can come out. I’m here.”
Nobody emerged, and Casca’s mouth turned down as he faced the apprehensive Thordein once more. “They – are safe,” Thordein said.
“Really? Well I’m going to see for myself, and you are coming with me. Drop that sword!”
Thordein shook his head and raised it. Instantly Casca came for him, his blade slamming down at the youth’s face. Thordein blocked it but the force of the blow sent him staggering back against the wall. Casca’s shield came up and hammered into Thordein, stunning him.
A kick, and the sword was sent from Thordein’s hand. Casca grabbed him by the throat, releasing his shield, and pulled him up. “Now, you little bastard, we’ll see exactly what’s been going on, shall we?”
With his captive mumbling some kind of excuse or entreaty, which Casca couldn’t work out nor did he give a damn, the Eternal Mercenary dragged him through the open doorway into what was a bed chamber. Three beds dominated the room, a large triple-sized one in the middle, and a single-sized one to either side. Casca took one look, then send the pommel of his sword into Thordein’s neck, stunning him. The youth sank to all fours at Casca’s feet, and the immortal took the opportunity to kick him hard in the ribs, sending the Jarl to the ground with a screech of pain.
Both sisters were tied to their respective beds, naked, gagged. They were on their fronts, and their backs showed multiple marks where they had been beaten. Casca pulled out his knife and slashed the bonds of Gertrude, the nearest one to him. He moved across to Hilde. While he was freeing her, Gertrude sat up, painfully rubbing her wrists, and pulling out her gag.
“This swine beat us, raped us.”
“I know,” Casca said. He’d seen this kind of thing before. Hilde curled up into a fetal ball once more. Gertrude painfully slid over the big bed to her sister and began reassuring her, uncaring about the fact she was totally undressed.
Casca looked about. The girls’ clothing was on a stool so he tossed them onto the bed. “Get yourselves covered up; there will be others here in a little while.”
“We will. What about him?” Gertrude pointed savagely to the moaning Thordein.
Casca looked down at him, then pulled him up onto the big bed. Memories of other women’s revenge came to him. Perhaps it was the best outcome? He tied Thordein to the bed, spreadeagled, wrists and ankles bound, then he gagged him.
Next he stuck his knife into the bed post. “I’ll leave you to thank him for his tenderness towards the two of you,” he said. “I’ll sit by the door to the outside. When you’re finished come join me.”
He went out of the room, not wanting to see what Gertrude, and possibly Hilde, were going to do to him. A jug of ale stood on a table so he picked it up and found a flask, and went and sat on a three-legged stool by the doorway and slowly began to drink, his sword across his lap. He’d told the pillaging Vikings that they weren’t to touch this particular house, but once they got drink inside them and the occasion of plundering and pillaging got into their systems, who knows whether they would remember or restrain themselves? Best he sat there and kept sentinel.
The man he’d run through lay dead just to one side. He’d tried to crawl away but his strength had given out after a few paces. He sat contemplating his immediate future. Sundsvalk was now his, or to be more accurate, Gudfred’s. Gudfred wouldn’t be present though, he’d rely on Casca as his Thane to keep law and order. Casca himself would return to Husborg and begin to rule there, so he would have to appoint someone reliable to run the place. Magnus came to mind. Yes, the tough old swine would be a good man to have here. Magnus had sworn fealty to Casca just as Casca had sworn to Gudfred. That was the way it worked.
Both Holds needed time to recover and settle down after all this. Too many men had died and it would need maybe ten years or so before the next generation of young men and boys grew into warriors before they could safely be able to stand on their own two feet. Maybe they would have immigrants to boost their numbers. Populations in this part of the world were growing fast, so he’d been told, and maybe a word or two in a couple of other Jarls’ ears around the immediate area might help. They might be glad to shift some of their surplus numbers. Casca would have to go visit the entire holdings to see where villages or settlements needed new blood.
For the moment he was glad to rest and allow the sweat to cool, the aches to subside, his blood to calm down. Thordein had been a real pain in the ass and whatever the two sisters were doing to him inside the house would end that. Good riddance.
Screams rent the air. The unfortunate women of Sundsvalk were paying for the betrayal of their men. He sighed. A price to pay for having to rely on the prince’s mercenaries. He closed his eyes and leaned back. War.
Footsteps from the doorway brought him out of his reverie. Gertrude and Hilde were standing there, dressed, looking disheveled and tired. “All done?” he asked.
Gertrude nodded heavily. “He won’t do that again to anyone ever. Can we leave this place?”
Casca got up with a grunt. “You can sleep in another house. I shall make sure nobody touches you. We won’t be able to leave for a day or two, but once the men have blown off their desires we’ll return to Husborg.”
Hilde shivered and cuddled into her sister. Casca could see blood on their skin. Not theirs. He looked away. He guessed he would have to break the news to Freya that her brother
was no more. Maybe he’d make his death vague. Wouldn’t do to tell her the gory details.
He led the two women away from Thordein’s place of death. Now maybe things would settle down for a while.
CHAPTER TEN
In a perfect world things go the way you want. Casca had lived long enough however to know this rarely happened. Something always came up to screw over all the best-laid plans.
Initially things went how he wanted. He returned to Husborg with the two traumatized women and they settled into their home, the Jarl’s house. Magnus was sent to oversee the recovery of Sundsvalk, now just a shell. The prince’s mercenaries left with their plunder of goods and women. Only a dozen people were left in the Hold, and so Magnus went with five others to form the core of a new beginning. He took Freya with him, much to Casca’s relief. He’d told the woman he’d burned Thordein after the battle, which he had. His remains weren’t pleasant, and fire hid all the sins that had been inflicted upon him.
Freya had grown to enjoy her time with Magnus and the two settled down as man and wife once she had gotten over the grief of her brother’s death. Casca was pleased for them. A few newcomers passing by settled into Sundsvalk, and Husborg slowly got back on its feet, too.
The winter was harsh and long, but once the snows retreated and the days grew longer, people began to return to a normal cycle of life. Some of those wounded in the battle against Mittenmark got back to health and that helped, too.
Gudfred was pleased with how things had gone and Casca was confirmed as Jarl of both Holds. Drakenskald was also confirmed with his new enlarged holding, too. Both corresponded frequently and a few landless men came from Jaegland to farm land in Husborg with their families.
Casca soon found he had his hands full with the complexities of being Lord of the Hold, much as he had at Helsfjord, but he didn’t have a Lida by his side. He cast his eyes at the two sisters. Neither had been comfortable when they had first gotten back to Husborg, and Hilde in particular had found sleeping difficult, but Gertrude’s care and comfort gradually eased her nightmares.
