by Barry Sadler
Also, as was normal for new men, they drew the worst of the duty assignments: the late watches on the ramparts, going out on the wood-cutting details in the day, and anything else the senior warriors could think of to lay on them. All this, Casca and Glam tolerated. The winter was still too far from being over, so they swallowed their anger and accepted it.
Casca did find one person of interest, though thus far he had had no chance to talk to her. She was Lida, the daughter of Ragnar. He wondered how such a foul brute could have sired anything so graceful and delicate. Her hair was pale as winter moonbeams and her skin almost transparent. It was said, though not loudly, that Ragnar had beaten her mother's brains out while in one of his drunken rages, and most felt that was the easy way out for her. But Lida he kept near him. Though she was of age to marry and several times he had tried to trade her off for a favorable alliance among neighboring tribes, he could find no takers. None wanted to claim Ragnar for a kinsman, no matter how pretty his daughter was.
From what Casca had been able to find out, she was nearly twenty years old and could even read. This was something extremely rare in these parts, where only the few druids he'd met in his travels had any knowledge of writing, and that was in their own manner. They used a system of squiggles and marks that made no sense to him whatsoever. But then, who said it had to? Her being able to read and write gave her some value to Ragnar in keeping records of who owed him what-though sometimes she pissed him off when she pointed out that someone he had a hard-on for owed him nothing.
Chapter Seven
Lida had noticed the scar-faced stranger with his broad shoulders and strong back. She also noticed how he never used his strength to hurt anyone lesser than himself. The children, too, seemed to like the rough man and often came to play with him or watch him twist pieces of iron into different shapes for their amusement and then straighten them out again. Several times they'd met by accident on the beaches where he would be helping the men on the fishing boats or when he stood guard at night on the ramparts. He was always courteous and somewhat distant, as if afraid of frightening her; perhaps he was afraid of her. Yes, that was it! He was afraid of her!
Lida decided that it was time for her to take action.
One midsummer's evening, when the heat of the night was on them and men and women tossed restlessly in their sleep, Casca walked the guard mount, his shield on his shoulder and spear in hand, staring out into the darkness. A whisper of bare feet brought his head around.
"Good evening, my lady."
Lida stood pale and wraithlike in the dark, lit by the flames of a flickering torch set on the stairs leading to the inner courtyard.
"It's late and I think it would be best if you didn't wander about. Who knows what might happen?"
Lida had waited long enough, and that day Glam had told her of his friend's feelings. And as women often must, she decided to make up his mind for him.
"Casca," her voice touched him. "Do you love me?" The question made him lose his power of speech and he stood mute. Lida stamped her bare foot on the stones of the walkway. "Well, don't just stand there with your mouth hanging open. Answer me… Do you love me?"
Casca cleared his throat and managed to croak out, "I do."
Lida took a deep breath. "Good, then that's settled. Now, what are we going to do about it? I love you, too, and I'm going to have you for my husband." Casca was now completely confused.
At night on his pallet, he had been seeing her form in his dreams, walking gracefully, her pale hair let loose and flowing with the wind. She had been constantly in his thoughts and he was afraid that he was falling in love with her. Glam hadn't failed to notice the reason for Casca's distractions, which came only when the Lady Lida was about, and he had decided that in order to get his friend's mind back on business, it would be a good thing for him to play matchmaker. As the two were obviously in love with each other, he'd thought he would just help them achieve what they both really wanted.
When the Lady Lida was about, Glam had managed to arrange for Casca to be nearby too, and it had tickled him to see the only man he'd ever met that could whip his ass in a hand-to-hand fight act like a love-struck cow.
And Casca had finally admitted to himself that all along she had been the reason that he had talked Glam into hanging around long after the snows were gone. He had known it was wrong for him to stay, but he couldn't help it, and every day he had fallen deeper in love and tried to justify it. After all, wasn't he entitled to a little bit of happiness? Was it asking too much to be allowed to love someone? In his heart he knew the answers to both questions, and pushed them deliberately from his mind.
So now they found ways to be together, to meet while he was on guard duty, a touch of the hand when passing. Only Glam and Sifrit knew what was happening, and Sifrit tried to warn Casca away from the path he was following. If Ragnar were to find out, there was no telling what he might do.
Another pair of eyes were watching, too-sharper eyes than those of old Ragnar. They belonged to the druid priest, Hagdrall. He was a bitter old man with a gray beard, wrinkled skin, and the eyes of one filled with unrealized ambitions.
Hagdrall served as the teacher and counselor of the hold. He would cast the spells that told of the future and that supposedly brought luck. In the spring he supervised the sacrifice of virginal children to Mother Earth so that the crops would grow. He also sold bags of wind to those who went out on the fishing boats. If one of the bags had no wind in it and the fisherman complained, Hagdrall always blamed it on the purchaser's careless handling of the bag, and that he'd foolishly let the wind escape.
His eyes missed little, and he knew the signs of love. The way that Lida walked, with the new spring to her step and the way she held her head a little higher, the glow in her cheeks, and her laughter all served to tell the druid that there was a man in her life. It didn't take him long to find out who it was, and the news pleased him. He didn't like anyone who refused to acknowledge his powers, and this foreign warrior was dangerous to him because he had done just that. Even old Ragnar was careful of the priest and his spells.
Several times in the past, men and women alike had died when they'd gotten on the bad side of Hagdrall. He'd put the evil eye on them, making his magical signs that brought forth the elemental spirits of the underworld to do his bidding. He always covered up the work of his poisons with a little sideshow display that took the watchers attention away from his quick hands.
It was he who counseled Ragnar and it was through him that Ragnar's brothers in Britannia had agreed to arrange a royal wedding between Lida and Icenius, the descendent and heir apparent of the warrior queen, Bodaciea. The youngster needed a place to quarter and try to rebuild his forces for a new war against Rome.
The druids were picking this time to make a try for power because of the internal difficulties present in Rome and on her frontiers. They claimed young Icenius was the direct descendent of the Queen of the Iceni, who had destroyed over seventy thousand Romans and their allies some 150 years ago. Even the boy didn't know any different.
The druids had taken him as a boy and raised him. He knew only what they had told him. His kingdom was small. It consisted of a few villages among the Scoti of Caledonia, to the north but well beyond the reach of the Pax Romana.
Icenius was unaware that when his usefulness to the druids was over, he was expendable. He would live only while they had a use for him. All other offers for an alliance with him had been refused. Ragnar was their last hope. If that fell through, the boy would die.
The druids of Britannia had sung the praises of Ragnar in his ear and thought that if Icenius left Britannia for the northlands, he would be able to rally forces there, using the strength of his mother's name and Ragnar's hold as an operational base. The fact that they'd told him of the beauty of Ragnar's daughter had also helped some.
Messengers between the two parties finally arrived at an agreement concerning the dowery, and the marriage was agreed upon. For old Ragnar'
s part, because of the youth of the princeling, he figured he ought to be able to control the youngster, and he himself would be the power behind the throne, that was, if the boy was successful in his attempt to regain the crown of his great-grandmother.
But if he married the Lady Lida and failed, still Ragnar was out very little. But if the young prince won and by chance put a child into Lida's belly, and should then suffer a fatal accident, say, then the daughter of Ragnar would be queen. And that was almost as good as if he wore the crown himself. All these possibilities had been carefully explained to Ragnar by Hagdrall.
On the day Ragnar was to make the announcement of his daughter's upcoming nuptials, Hagdrall whispered in his ear of her relationship with the Roman. Hagdrall was sore put to restrain Ragnar from arresting Casca and having him put to the stakes at once. Ragnar finally agreed with him that it would be better to make an example of the Roman at the announcement ceremony, and it would please his new allies to have him deliver justice to one of their hated enemies.
Ragnar gave the orders to several of his most trusted henchmen: bring Casca to him in chains that night at the feast and keep it a secret until then. No one was to know. He sent Glam and Sifrit out to the countryside on an errand that would occupy them for a couple of days. Ostensibly they were to gather up some oxen that were owed to him on a debt and bring them back to Helsfjord. By the time they returned, it would all be over. Hagsdrall had convinced Ragnar it would be better not to kill or punish the two Nordics if he could possibly avoid it. They had too many friends, especially Sifrit and his family, who were well connected with several other tribes. By the time they returned, justice would be done within the laws of the tribes and there would be nothing Glam or Sifrit could do but accept it. However, if they were there when it was taken, they might fight for him and that could lead to a blood feud that would defeat their purpose.
After Sifrit and Glam had left on their errand, Casca was summoned to the storerooms and was told that he would be picking up a new issue of clothing for himself and Glam as a reward for their good services.
When he got there, the lights went out and three men jumped him and clubbed him down to his knees, quickly locking him in arm and leg irons. He was kept there until the time came for him to be brought before Ragnar for sentencing.
Guests began to arrive with the setting of the sun. They had received invitations to attend the gathering, having been told only that it was for a great purpose. Not even Lida knew the true reason for the gathering, and when the opening toast and wassail was made, she sat as usual at her place next to her father. Ragnar waited until his guests had eaten and drunk enough to put them in good humor. They were well pleased at the amounts of food and drink Ragnar had set his table with. It was far better than anything the cheap old bastard had laid out before.
Ragnar finished stuffing his face with roast duck and venison, wiped his hands on his beard and bald spot, and stood. Hammering his fist on the table, he called out for the attention of his guests.
"Welcome and wassail, friends and neighbors… I have invited you here this day for two reasons. One is an occasion of celebration, the other to see justice done." Silence settled over the crowd. They knew the temper of Ragnar's justice and pitied the poor wretch, whoever he might be. Ragnar cleared his throat and spat a hunk of phlegm to the straw-covered floor. "On this day I announce the marriage of my daughter, Lida, to Icenius of Britannia."
Lida said nothing; she was stunned. Only the draining of blood from her face told that she had heard her father's announcement.
"The other is to see a spy punished. Bring in the dog," he roared. The doors to the Hall opened and Casca was kicked and dragged into the center of the room.
Pointing a dirty finger at the Roman, Ragnar proclaimed, "This dog here, who has eaten at my table and claimed the laws of hospitality, is a spy for Rome. He knew of the talks between my emissaries and those of Icenius, and has tried to subvert the alliance by disaffecting the loyalties of my daughter, turning her young head with smooth words and lies. Only the sharp eyes of the druid, Hagdrall, have prevented him from being successful in completing his plan to kidnap my child and take her to the slave pens of Rome." He called upon the priest to stand.
Hagdrall did so.
"Is this not true, priest?"
Hagdrall drew his scrawny frame up as erectly as he could and raised his staff. "By the Holy Oak and Sacred Tree of Life, I so swear."
An angry murmur ran through the listeners. Ragnar took a deep pull at a horn of beer and continued. "Then, if no one can offer defense in this dog's favor, I will give judgment."
None did. Lida's attempt to rise was halted by the grip of the druid's hand over her mouth.
"I sentence you, spy of Rome, to the tide stakes!"
Lida bit through the druid's fingers, almost taking off the little one. The priest hopped about, holding his hand and cursing. Lida stood. Her face regaining its color, she faced her father. "He lies and you lie. Casca is no spy. He is my lover."
Ragnar was astounded. His daughter had never stood up to him before.
He roared for her to be silent, anger building at the edges of his mind, his eyes narrowing. The bitch was just like her mother, ungrateful.
Lida stood her ground. "You lie and this filthy old faker lies and you know it. I will not marry Icenius."
Ragnar was losing control.
"You will do as I say." His eyes had turned red and his hand trembled with barely controlled rage. The guests began to move back to put some distance between them and Ragnar. They had seen him go into one of his rages before.
Lida screamed at him, "I will not obey… I will have no other man for my husband… You may kill me as you did my mother, but you can't make me take another to my bed. I have eyes for Casca and none other."
Ragnar broke, froth foaming at his mouth and staining his beard. He moved to face his child. His hand reached out and took a burning brand from its iron wall socket and held it above his head.
"What did you say?"
Lida repeated her words. "I have eyes for none but Casca."
Ragnar thrust the burning torch straight into her face. With his other hand, he held her steady as she screamed under the flames. Ragnar laughed an insane cackle. "Then by all the gods, you will have your wish and have no eyes." He released her to fall on the floor in a faint. The smell of burnt hair and scorched flesh floated through the Hall.
Casca howled and tried to lunge forward, only to be beaten unconscious by the clubs of his guards.
The guests were silent and slowly began to leave, until only Ragnar sat at his table, breathing heavily, eyes red-rimmed, and mad, cursing to himself as he had done when he'd smashed the brains out of Lida's mother.
Even Hagdrall left. There was no dealing with Ragnar when he was like this. But the brute had screwed up his deal with the druids of Britannia. The prince would not take a compromised woman, especially a blind one.
Lida's housemaids carried her to her room and put warm poultices of herbs and saltwater on her burns to help heal the blisters on her face. These would fade with time, but when she opened her eyes, they would be only clear milky orbs looking out at nothing. She was blind and would be until the day she died.
Casca came to, his head feeling as if it were trying to burst from the inside out. He tried to move his hands, but couldn't. Slowly, the realization of his predicament came to him as the smell of the sea hit his nostrils. He was chained to a tidal stake. He was completely alone, just him and the waters a few feet away. The tide was coming in and with it would come the flesh-eating crabs with pincers and their hungry, constantly opening-and-closing mouths.
Thoughts of Lida plagued him. Those and his hatred for Ragnar were of more concern to him than the approaching waters that now tickled the toes of his feet and rushed back, only to come again, each time a little higher.
He wondered when the crabs would come and how long it would take for them to tear him apart, one tiny nip at a time. Even more
important was, would he die if they did dismantle him?
How powerful was the curse of life put on him by the crucified Jew? He had received wounds that should have killed but yet, he lived. When he'd tried to commit suicide outside Ctesiphon, death had again been denied him. But what would happen now?
There was nothing he could do but wait. He knew the answer to his questions would not be long in coming. The water had reached his waist and he felt the small things of the sea slithering and crawling over his feet and legs. The water was reaching his chest and waves were lapping up to touch his chin. The worst was the cold, which numbed the body and brain.
Then he felt the first tentative nips at his flesh. The crabs were there. He felt a large one crawl over his bare feet then another using his claws to creep up his thigh to his waist. One sting, then another, and another. He knew he was bleeding into the water, tiny rivers of blood from a dozen pincer cuts. He waited for the rest of the crabs to come in, for they would come in dozens and even hundreds to pick his bones clean. The waiting was the worst part, but the crabs did finally come. Like herds of lice they swarmed over his body, each taking one tiny bite and no more.
And then, as blood stained more of the water surrounding him, the crabs began to leave, as did the small fish that had come with them to claim what scraps they could. They went back to their holes in the crevices and rocks of the fjord. There was something about the man on the stake that wasn't to their liking. The fish kept their distance, too. The scent of his blood served as a shield to ward off even a cruising shark, who opened his gapped, thousand-fanged mouth, took one taste of the blood, and fled back to deep water. This one was not to be touched.
