by Tony Roberts
She shook her head thoughtfully. “no – I would only have been a child barely able to walk…you’re very young-looking for your age.”
The Vikings present looked at Casca sharply. They knew full well his unique condition, as he was The Walker, a living legend amongst them. He had made them aware however that the Christian faith would not tolerate such stories or legends as it went against the teachings of their church, so he has asked that they did not speak of it if any Christians were present as guests. Adalind was clearly one such.
Gertrude and Hilde were Frisians, nominally Christian, subjects of the Frankish realm, but they had a more relaxed attitude as they had been brought up pagans, and it wasn’t until they had been around ten years of age that conversion had been enforced. Their fear of being burned had receded once they realized the Vikings couldn’t give a damn, and so the two sisters had reverted. It was one thing insisting you were good Christians at the point of a sword or the fear of being burned alive, but once those encouragements were gone, well, their background came to the fore. The new generation were Christians, and Frisia would be so now for as long as the faith remained.
Gertrude, sitting next to Casca, took his hand and squeezed it gently. He responded in kind. “I’m older than I look,” he said by way as an excuse.
“You were a Count, didn’t you say?” Adalind said.
Casca nodded.
She frowned. “But not one born to that title? Then you must have proved yourself to Charles to be awarded so. How can this be? You’ve not many more than thirty years of age, and that Saxon War you speak of was more than fifteen years ago… no, this is impossible!”
Casca sighed. “I’m someone you don’t really want to look too closely at. Just accept that I am here, Jarl of Husborg, your protector, and the protector of your son. I will remain here for as long as I am needed, and as long as I wish to stay. Then, I shall move on to another life, another adventure. It is my way.”
“I have heard a few call you The Walker. Is this significant?”
Casca drained his cup, then slapped it down hard on the table. “Gert,” he said softly to his lover, “go prepare our bed; I shall join you shortly. The rest of you – I have to ask you to go now. I have something of importance to speak to our guest about, for her ears only.”
The room emptied. Adalind sat apprehensively, looking warily at Casca. “What is it? What are you going to tell me?”
“Something that will amaze you, but it is true. Look into my eyes, into my soul,” he said softly, taking her hands in his and staring deeply into her eyes.
She couldn’t help but he drawn into his light blue orbs, falling into some kind of abyss. She wanted to scream but couldn’t. A prayer to the Holy Virgin popped into her head but her tongue refused to utter the words. She saw a dark shape rise before her, with three crosses upon it, and realized with heart-stopping certainty that this was the crucifixion. She came closer and saw that indeed, Jesus was upon the middle one, nailed as the bible said, but not through his palms. No, through his wrists!
Standing or sitting around were Roman soldiers, and one came up to Jesus, his spear in both hands. Adalind gasped. It was Casca! It was! That scar, those eyes, that nose. He was the one who had speared Jesus, just as the bible said.
She saw the thrust, the withdrawal, and Jesus’ terrible look. “Soldier,” Jesus spoke, “you are content with what you are, so shall you remain, until we meet again…”
The vision faded and Casca released her hands, leaning back. He looked drawn, tired, sad. She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh dear sweet Jesus! You! You were there! But – but, it’s not possible. How?”
“You heard Him,” Casca said softly. “He cursed me. I cannot die. Cannot age. I was alive all those centuries ago, and I shall be alive for centuries yet to come. Until the Second Coming.” He got up. “Go to your son. You’ll need one another this night.” He leaned over, kissed her cheek, then warily left to go to his bed and Gertrude.
Adalind sat stunned for a while, then, with goosebumps all over her arms and down her back, made her way to her room, her mind whirling.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
There was no further trouble from Adalind in the weeks following the revelation to her. She busied herself with Baldemund, trying to keep him as far away from Casca as possible, and he saw fear flicker in her eyes the few times they exchanged looks. The Eternal Mercenary shrugged and got on with his two main responsibilities – the first to make sure Husborg was being run well, and also through Magnus Sundsvalk as well, and secondly in pleasing Gertrude.
This in fact caused the next problem. Gertrude happily made the seamless transition from housekeeper to bed warmer and thus the Jarl’s woman without a hitch, but it caused a rift between her and Hilde. The two sisters began snapping at one another, mostly because Hilde saw it as a betrayal and resented having to do both hers and Gertrude’s cleaning and housekeeping jobs while her sister started giving out commands.
Eventually it came to a head, deep in midwinter, with the two sisters screaming at one another in fury, fists clenched, no more than two feet apart. It left Hilde in tears and Gertrude needing additional comfort from an exasperated Casca. It poisoned the air, in only the way competing and feuding women can achieve, and Casca finally had enough.
He knew there were a couple of houses still vacant so he ordered one to be cleaned up and made habitable, and then handed it to Adalind and Baldemund. Casca’s real solution though was to appoint Hilde as Adalind’s personal servant which in one fell swoop got rid of the bad atmosphere in the house. Gertrude smugly rewarded her man for a whole night thereafter. Others, too, breathed with relief, none more so than the steward Sigurd.
As winter began to fade, Casca got new household staff in. There was a teenage girl, whose father had died in battle recently, and she was taken in to replace Hilde. She was old enough to do such jobs and her mother badly wanted the girl to get some life experience. The other newcomer was a seventeen year old young man, with a simple mind but a kind heart. He was not very fast in his duties, but if he was given one task at a time, he could do it, given enough time. Therefore he got the heavy carrying tasks, like bringing in firewood, and tending animals, which he took to like a duck to water.
Hafnar was pleased that the girl was now working at the house, and took special interest in her. One early spring evening Casca returned home from a tour of the stockade, marking where repairs had to be made, and he was hanging his cloak on a peg by the door when he thought he heard a stifled moan.
Cocking his ear, he listened intently, then heard it again, from beyond the storeroom door which was slightly ajar. He crept over to the far left and peered round the frame. Lying with her legs spread was the girl, and Hafnar on top working hard. One look at the girl’s face was sufficient. Casca grinned and returned to the center of the room. Her look of utter pleasure had told him enough. She may well have been around fifteen but who was he to intervene if both were enjoying one another? He knew of girls as young as twelve getting married in the Christian kingdoms, and she was much older. Perhaps she saw getting intimate with the senior bodyguard a way to get status, and why not? Of course, Hafnar would now have to marry the girl, but surely he wouldn’t be upset at that. Then he could do what he was doing to his heart’s content without anyone raising an eyebrow.
The seasons turned. Husborg was once more bustling. Ships sailed up and down the coast between there and Sundsvalk. The two Holds were recovering well, but Casca knew war was never far away. One day it would come again, so he busied the blacksmith to get more weapons and shields made. Gudfred himself was overseeing the improvement to the Danevirke, a series of defensive earthworks to the south of Hedeby. The River Treene to the west formed part of the barrier, and the Slei to the east formed more, but the central part needed to have earthworks and here was where the prince was improving already existing barriers.
While this work went on, using slaves captured recently in raids and wars, Casca began to sett
le into his role as Jarl. Husborg finally began to look like a prosperous hold, with ships and wagons plying to and fro, and the fields beyond producing wheat, crops and fodder for the animals. Nobody challenged them and no foreign enemy came their way.
There were just a couple of things Casca would have not wanted to happen, but he knew all too well that life was rarely if ever idyllic. Gertrude was no Lida, but she certainly made his time with her pleasant, and if she lacked the skills to help run the Hold, she was always there to organize the household, which she did with more than a little relish.
One problem was the continuing simmering feud between the sisters. Hilde clearly resented Gertrude’s new position, and saw it as a betrayal, both in abandoning her, and in taking Casca as hers. Hilde may well have had designs on him herself but her reluctance in committing to a relationship had cost her big time. Therefore she took out her frustration and bitterness in ignoring Gertrude and staying clear of her. If they did come into close contact, Hilde spat on the ground and walked off.
Gertrude complained to Casca about her disrespect but Casca wasn’t going to get involved in a cat-fight. He told her to sort out the differences between the two of them herself. Gertrude sulked but was too proud or afraid to even try.
The other issue was Adalind. She was obviously fearful of him and kept her son well away, telling him of the evil powers he had. Casca had heard it all before and was tired of the same old shit, but again, he couldn’t really do much. He did speak to Gudfred when the prince visited on one occasion, and Gudfred spoke to her privately. What came out of that was a command from the prince to keep the noblewoman in his Hold, for she was a Frankish noble and therefore had value in the event of any political negotiation.
Therefore her request to be returned to her father in Cologne was turned down. She was upset and did her best to keep to herself, and Casca had to waste time and money in having two guards watch her all the time.
As the years began to roll by, Casca grew a beard and adopted the Viking ways, much as he had before. The folk of Husborg were proud to have The Walker as their Jarl and often told visitors that Husborg was the best place to be.
Magnus and Freya had a child and Casca went north to spend some time with them. It was while he was there that news of the old king’s death reached him, so he returned to Husborg and read a message from Gudfred, sucking thoughtfully on his teeth. Hafnar asked what the problem was. He was soon to be a father, for Elena, the domestic, had married him and now was with child.
Gertrude listened attentively while Casca read out the message. “Gudfred is now king, and is moving north to take up his crown. He’s leaving his brother in charge in Hedeby, but thinks we’ll soon be at war. The Obotrites are looking at our lands with greedy eyes – his words, not mine – and the lands Charlemagne recently gave them from former Saxon territories has made them want more. The Danevirke is being improved so that if there is an invasion, it will form our defensive line to stop them.”
“What of us? Are there to be any changes?” Gertrude asked.
“No, just carry on as before. That’s it, really. I think someone will try to test out the new king, either beyond our borders, or maybe some ambitious Jarl within. Who knows? We’d best make sure all our warriors are fit and equipped.”
Hafnar said he would take care of that. Casca decided to pay Adalind a visit. Time to see how the boy was doing. As he sat in the house, he became aware that Baldemund was staring at him with wide eyes. “Does he always look like that or is he standing on something sharp?” Casca asked testily.
“Baldemund, stop staring!” Adalind scolded the boy. “It’s bad manners!”
“But Mother – you said…”
“Doesn’t matter what I said, he is Jarl and our guest. You will at least show manners and welcome him accordingly.”
The boy, no more than five years of age, bowed stiffly. Casca waved him to sit. “Now, you’re wondering why I’m here. Well, as you know there’s been a change of king. He’s making a few changes, and one is he’s trying to form treaties with our neighbors. This includes your people, the Franks.” Casca hadn’t bothered to tell Hafnar this as it was hardly his business.
Casca saw Hilde looking furtively from behind a curtain. He ignored her. “So he’s sent a message to your father, saying you are here and can be returned if Charlemagne is willing to sign an agreement, promising no hostilities for five years.”
Adalind gasped, and put her hands to her mouth. “Is this true? Really? Oh, that’s wonderful! Baldemund, we might be going to see your grandfather!”
“Provided Charlemagne agrees to it, of course,” Casca wagged a finger. “He’s not that happy with us at the moment, so there’s no guarantee.”
Casca had little faith in the Franks accepting such a relatively minor noble in exchange for a treaty. He knew the Frankish king very well, having campaigned alongside him for so many years. Charlemagne would rather go to war or force Christianity on the Vikings rather than do any deal with them, unless he was forced to. Adalind just wasn’t important enough.
The scarred immortal kept quiet about that, though. Rather let her have some hope than none at all. For the moment, she would remain under a loose kind of house arrest. She could move around Husborg, but only under the watchful eye of two or more Viking warriors.
Gudfred went about consolidating his power base almost immediately. It was the year 804 by the Christian reckoning. The new king appealed to the Viking spirit by vowing to raid the hostile Christian states to west and east. He used the Jarls and Thanes who were unsure and had dubious loyalty to him to go on these raids. The booty and plunder gained pleased them immensely and they of course looked more favorably upon Gudfred. Frisian and Obotrite coastlines were raided, and even the east coast of England on one or two occasions.
For Husborg things were quiet. Adalind kept on asking if a reply had come back from Charlemagne and Casca always shook his head. Baldemund grew, and he was six when the next clash came. Adalind refused to allow him to attend the teaching groups Casca had arranged. He wanted Baldemund to join in with the other boys and girls of his age group, but because they were pagan, Adalind refused to allow her son point blank to join in.
It was a red rag to Casca. He sent a squad of big Vikings under Hafnar into the house and Baldemund was brought to Casca while Adalind was locked in her house, screaming and raging in anger and fear. The boy stood before Casca, shaking and fearful. He didn’t however, burst into tears which was something Casca approved of. No potential warrior ought to cry like a new born the moment something bad happened. The Eternal Mercenary sat in his chair, pondering what to say, stroking his beard. “Do you know why I have brought you here today?”
“No sir. Are you going to eat me?”
Casca sat up with incredulity. “What? Why in the name of all the gods would you ever say that?”
“Mother said pagans eat Christians.”
“That’s a load of shit,” Casca retorted. “I can tell you your mother’s got some very odd beliefs. Pagans do not eat Christians. Let’s clear some things up, shall we? I’ve brought you here to show your mother that I rule this Hold, not her, and if I wish you to sit with the other boys and girls and learn things you should be learning, then that is what you will do. Shutting you away will not do you any good.”
He drew in his breath deeply. Go careful with the boy – direct your temper to his mother, not him. He smiled. “I think you will become a fine warrior, but you will need to learn how to do things that everyone else is learning to do. I don’t think you’d like being the only one here who doesn’t, do you?”
Baldemund shook his head. “Even if they are pagans?”
“Even if. They won’t eat you. They may try to fight you, but you just fight back. Sound fair to you?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Tell me, what is your understanding of what a pagan is?”
“Uh,” he frowned, “someone who does not believe in God.”
Casca p
ursed his lips. “They don’t believe in your God, but they do believe in other gods.”
“Mother says they will not have eternal life.”
Casca felt his guts squeeze for a moment. “Baldemund, you know that I’m a pagan, right? Good. So, I’m supposed not to live for eternity, yes? Well, I am eight hundred years old and I will live for many, many more years until the end of eternity, whenever that is.”
“I was told you killed Jesus.”
“Yes.” Casca briefly told him the story. “So, I am to live for eternity, yet I am a pagan. That proves your mother is wrong.”
Baldemund said nothing, but Casca noted he was thinking.
The Eternal Mercenary sighed. “Young man. I have no problem in what god or gods you or anyone else worships. What I wish is for you to grow up here in safety but with a respect for all of us. We will respect you too. Learn of the world, learn of things we know. Now go to the tutor and be with others of your age.”
Baldemund was escorted away. Casca then had his mother brought to him. She was still clearly furious. “How dare you…” she began.
“Shut up! You will listen to me.” He began talking loudly over her, drowning out her protests. “Your son will be taken away from you permanently if you continue in this behavior. I won’t take this shit from anyone, let alone you.”
“You can’t take my son away from me!” she wailed.
“Then let him live a normal life, and not one attached to your breast! He’ll grow up a milk drinker and of no use to anyone, man or beast.” Casca dismissed her with an irritated wave of his hand. He had far more important things to think about and worry over than one over-protective mother.
Although it did little to lessen Adalind’s temper and attitude, at least she stopped trying to bar Baldemund from the hold’s normal child’s activities. Gertrude commented that Adalind could spend her time bitching to Hilde, for the two were becoming as sour as two vats of vinegar. Gertrude was hardly going to be charitable to her own sister.