Casca 47: The Viking

by Tony Roberts

  Another check. The close-up skill of the Vikings had overwhelmed the defenders. Three Vikings had fallen, but now the building was theirs. Casca snapped out orders to clear the place of plunder and get it outside. Smoke was beginning to drift into the chamber and it wouldn’t be long before it caught alight.

  Two men came out of one of the upstairs chambers, triumphantly dragging an oblong box. Once down the stairs it was opened. Inside was revealed a pile of gold, jewels, trinkets, beads, amber and other valuable items. “Get it out. Hafnar, this is your responsibility from now on. If anything goes missing I’ll cut your balls off.”

  Hafnar grinned and waved a group of Vikings to accompany him. He had no worries about his manhood. Besides, he had plenty of pillaging of his fair young lady to do in the future.

  Within the building, men were shouting excitedly, looting and grabbing any object that could be picked up. Sacks and bags were found to carry them in, but all the time smoke began to thicken. Crackling of flames grew in volume and Casca finally shouted to the men to get out. One side of the building was now on fire and the flames rapidly shot up towards the roof.

  He encouraged the slackers out with kicks and curses, and he was last out, choking. Behind him the building was well ablaze. The heat drove them all away from the inferno and towards the harbor. Men were milling about here, some with captured horses, others dragging sobbing captive women and children behind them.

  The town was fully plundered before the Vikings left it to the all-consuming fire.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Their return was a happy one for many. There had been plenty of goods and valuables to be taken from the trading port, and each warlord, Jarl and Thane had plenty of riches to keep or share out to their men. The king would have a third share of everything but there was still much for the Vikings to take back to their Holds.

  Casca himself had little; he was happy for his men to have their treasure. He kept a little for himself and had a sack he carried over his shoulder onto the ship. Drakenskald took the merchants that had been captured and bound them together. His destination was Hedeby, where Prince Hemming was waiting for the outcome of the raid.

  Casca and his men disembarked at Hedeby and said their farewells to Drakenskald and the contingent from up the coast – they were due to sail north after disgorging their cargo of merchants. Casca and his men would walk overland to Husborg and Sundsvalk after a brief stay in the town.

  Casca was obliged to speak to the Prince. He stood in the main audience chamber, a stone-walled room with flags, swords, axes and shields hanging at regular intervals. Hemming was a stocky man with fair hair and a square jaw. “You have done well,” he said. “The king will be pleased. Reric is no more, and I understand you took care of Drozko.”

  “He died well.”

  “Yes, as all warriors should. My uncle the king speaks very highly of you, as do many Thanes and Jarls. I would have thought that one such as you, The Walker, would have wished to be close to the center of power rather than languishing in a Hold far away.”

  “I have all I wish for,” Casca said. “I don’t crave power, like many do. I’ve seen many empires rise and then fall, and I have learned that nothing is forever. Riches mean nothing to me, as does power. In my time I have been ruler, and ruled. It makes little difference to me. I am content with what I have, and as long as I have this, I see little reason for me to look elsewhere. Of course, one day things will change, and then I shall move on.”

  Hemming looked thoughtfully at Casca, then at one of his advisors who flanked him, one who was tall, grey-haired, balding. “I have been informed that you were formerly in the employ of the Frankish king Karl, the one known by many as Charlemagne.”

  “For some years, yes, but as with everything that came to an end. There comes a time when one becomes tired of constant warfare, becomes tired of the unending mission to Christianize the world.”

  Hemming grunted. “And you a non-believer. How odd. How did you survive your time there with your beliefs?”

  “I coped.” Casca twisted his face in distaste. “Let’s say I don’t wish to repeat that time.”

  “I can imagine. So, one day you will abandon us like you did the Franks.”

  Casca nodded. He wondered where this was going. “That is my way. I will leave behind me a stronger and more vibrant Husborg.”

  The prince smiled briefly. “It is only with the king’s will that you remain Jarl of Husborg. One day I shall be king, and I shall think hard on whether I want a Jarl under me who has little loyalty to the crown.”

  Casca smiled slightly. He said nothing. What else could be said? Hemming was obviously warning him, the message clear: show more loyalty or else. To the fires of hell with him. He didn’t give a damn about the prince, the king, Denmark or the way of the Vikings. That was doomed as surely as the Roman world had been. He had Gertrude, a place he could temporarily call him home and people who loved him as much as he loved them. What else did anyone in his position need?

  The overland trip to Husborg was slow. Some of them had prisoners, women or children, who were bound either to serve in the various households or to be sold as slaves. Others were laden with plunder. Casca seemed unburdened in comparison.

  Gertrude greeted him with a wide smile and wider arms. She never liked him being away for long. The place buzzed with excitement at the men’s return. A few mourned, as losses had been light. A feast would take place that evening.

  Casca stood before his woman and opened the sack, producing a finely spun dress he had found in one of the merchant’s homes. She was overwhelmingly delighted and showed him just how much in the next few hours. They lay together in bed afterwards, quietly enjoying the moment, and looked into one another’s eyes for some time. Finally, Gertrude stirred and began updating Casca with the latest goings-on while he had been away. Much of it was about her sister Hilde, and the fact that Adalind had seemingly persuaded her to accept Christianity, this time for good.

  Casca shrugged. To him what anyone believed in was their own business and nobody else’s. “What about you? How do you feel about that?”

  “Oh,” Gertrude sighed. “I do worry about what happens when I die. It never used to bother me when I was younger. The Frankish priests came to our village when Hilde and I were very young, and people became more afraid. Some vanished, others were burned, and the rest converted out of fear. I pretended. Better that than being burned. When we were brought here we thought we could go back to our own ways, but this everlasting life has a lot of appeal.”

  “Seems they use that as bait. There’s no proof that it happens.”

  “But you can’t be sure. What about Jesus’ power? His blood made you immortal. What does that say about Him?”

  “Oh, He had power, to be sure, but I’ve seen many odd things already in my life. Doesn’t make him a god, does it? He died, so I’m keeping an open mind.”

  “And he came back to life.”

  “So we’re told. No proof of that. I was around at that time, don’t forget.”

  Gertrude played idly with his chest, running her finger down the great scar over his heart. “Hilde refuses to talk to anyone who is not a Christian, and it means we’ll never speak to one another again, unless I become Christian. It saddens me.”

  “You must follow what you believe, Gertrude, not what others want you to. For my part, I find no religion suits me. I’m here because I killed that prophet, so I try to avoid religions whenever I can. They always seem to bring me trouble, no matter what they are. Christian, Jewish, Zoroastrian or Muslim. As far as I’m concerned they’re all a pain in the ass.”

  “Don’t you believe in the old gods?”

  He shook his head. “I curse, blaspheme and use all the gods names in everyday speech, but that doesn’t mean I believe in any.” He then changed subject. He wanted to know more about what had gone on in the Hold. Gertrude told him the news that Adalind was keeping her son away from the other children again. Her conversion of
Hilde had encouraged her to become more radical.

  Casca decided to meet this head-on. Once he had gotten up, washed and dressed, he went downstairs and got Sigurd to summon mother and son to him. Within minutes they were stood there before him. “I gave a ruling about Baldemund’s upbringing,” he said ominously, “but I learn that you have decided to defy it.”

  “He’s not going to mix with unbelievers,” Adalind said. “God will damn his soul to eternal torment if you force him to do so!”

  “Stop talking that sort of shit. That’s a weak excuse you’re using to try getting your own way, and I’m not going to allow any dumb reason to defy my laws. If I gave in to you then I’d have all kinds of trouble from anyone who thought they could use those kind of excuses to have their selfish way. So, as it seems you’re not in the mood to be obedient, then I’ll not be in the mood to be tolerant. Baldemund will stay here from now on until the end of the year, when I will think again about it.”

  He looked at the ten year old boy. “You will now be under my care for the remainder of the year. I will consider what will happen beyond that at that time. As for you,” he glared at Adalind, “you will remain under house arrest until I say otherwise.”

  “You will bring down the wrath of God upon your head for this unspeakable act! What just ruler separates a boy from his mother!”

  “If you persist in this stupid manner I’ll keep him here permanently and ask Hemming to send you back to Cologne where you can denounce me from the rooftop of the fucking church there for all I care.”

  “Please,” Baldemund said, speaking up. “I don’t want to be separated from my mother.”

  “Let me think on it; I’m not a cruel man, but your mother is testing me sorely. You can see her every day, under supervision of course, but you will not go into her house.”

  Adalind was sent away, clenching her fists and fuming mightily. Casca regarded Baldemund. “I’m sure any divine judgement on me will come, but since I’m already cursed I hardly give a shit. In any event, you won’t be punished since this is none of your making or decision. Whatever, I fully intend showing your mother I’m not someone to mess about with.”

  “She prays to God a lot of the time, asking him to punish you.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me, boy. Listen; I’m already being punished for killing Jesus, so I think I’m beyond further punishment. She’s wasting her time.”

  Baldemund was silent. He was thinking again, something he seemed to do a lot. From that time onwards, the boy was cared for by Casca and Gertrude. Baldemund told Gertrude that her sister had said unflattering things about her and that he shouldn’t trust her. Casca had to placate Gertrude for a while after that. Spiteful opinions of women who thought they had been wronged was something he wanted to avoid as much as possible.

  It wasn’t long before another raid was called for. This time it was the coastline of Frisia, and a large flotilla took part, sailing from the west coast ports, Husborg included. The entire fleet rendezvoused at sea, around two hundred altogether, and they descended on the shores of Frisia, plundering and laying waste as they went. The Frisians submitted and acknowledged Gudfred as their overlord.

  Charlemagne was incensed, apparently, and word reached the Vikings that he was assembling a mighty army in Aachen in retribution. Just as all the Holds were put on notice that they may have to call up every able-bodied man, Gudfred died. From what Casca could tell it was one of his own Huscarls who’d done the deed. Why, he didn’t really know but he had an idea it was probably intrigue, instigated by Charlemagne. Whatever the reason, the Frankish army disbanded and the Frisians went back to accepting the Franks as their lords. All very convenient for Hemming, too, for he now became king.

  He wasn’t that popular and there were many who rumbled about getting a king they didn’t want. It seemed Charlemagne had managed to upset the Viking realm without having to invade it. Two of the royal line, Sigifred and Anulo, nephews of the dead Gudfred, began to vie for support.

  Casca send word to Drakenskald. The two met at the Stones along with Magnus, now the proud father of three. Freya had done him proud. The three sat around a fire, their retainers and supporters in the background, and discussed the situation.

  “Hemming isn’t in a strong position. Too many liked Gudfred and see Hemming as being involved with his removal.” Drakenskald nodded to give emphasis to his words and downed a horn of mead, wiping his bushy grey beard with relish.

  “Not Karl the Great,” Casca said thoughtfully. “Or maybe Hemming made some agreement with the Franks? I hear there’s going to be some great peace ceremony on the Ejderen River to the south, right on the border. Maybe you’re right,” he said leaning back, “Karl and Hemming made some secret agreement to get rid of Gudfred and have the Frisians returned to Frankish control. Makes sense.”

  “Too damn’ right it does!” Drakenskald growled. “If anyone thinks I’m going to support that backstabber they’ve got another thought coming.”

  “You’re going to defy him?” Magnus asked.

  Drakenskald nodded. “There’s two cousins of his gathering support. Not sure yet which one I’m going to back, but we’ve got to agree on one because I’d hate to have the three of us going to war with one another. So, Sigifred or Anulo?”

  “Shit,” Casca put his hands on his knees. “Just what we didn’t want. Civil War. You know anything about either?”

  “Not a great deal. Both have equal status, and a lot of men backing them. Someone’s going to remove Hemming before long, so we’d best make some kind of move before someone decides for us!”

  They talked long into the night, and eventually decided to send emissaries to both, so see what each could offer the three Holds. Before they got a reply back, however, Hemming sent word that he wished the three Jarls to attend the peace negotiations at Heiligen. Casca groaned; he would be known to the Frankish Court, and Charlemagne, now getting on in years, clearly was not able to make the journey from Aachen, but he would send plenty of magnates. One would recognize him for sure.

  The winter was harsh and the roads impassable, but when Spring finally came, both sides met at the river settlement called Heiligen, and a sea of tents sprang up across the fields on each bank. This river was recognized as the boundary between the Viking lands and those of the Saxons, or the Obotrites, or the Franks who ruled both.

  Casca had dressed up in his best outfit, as decided by Gertrude. She insisted he would be the best looking one there to which he quipped he was already. She slapped him and then got his hair trimmed neat, his beard the same, and his new set of smart clothes to wear. He also had his armor repaired, cleaned and rubbed until it gleamed. She accompanied him, leaving the Hold to the steward to run in their absence.

  When he emerged from his tent to stand by one of the senior Vikings there, one of Hemming’s brothers who went by the name Hankwin, he cast his eyes over the Franks assembled before them, on the great bridge of wood that had been built especially for this event, so that they could meet on the mid-point.

  The Franks were introduced. All were Counts. Casca had been one in his time in the court of Charlemagne, so he eyed them as an equal. And there, sure enough, were two whom he recognized. Bernard and Egbert. One he’d liked, the other he couldn’t stand.

  Moreover, both had recognized him.

  He grinned at the shock on their faces. Even with a beard, his eyes and scar were a giveaway, along with his build. Hankwin introduced his Jarls and Thanes, and pointed to Casca. “Here is one of our most distinguished Jarls, Casca The Walker of Husborg.”

  “Count Casca?” Bernard was still gaping. The negotiations were being translated by those versed in both languages, but Casca knew both and Bernard addressed him in Frankish. “It’s been fourteen years – but – you do not look any different!”

  “Norse life suits me, Bernard. You should try it.”

  “And give up God? Heaven forbid! So, have you?”

  “Never believed in the first place, Count. Ni
ce to see you again, though.”

  Bernard grunted. Egbert glared at him from his position three to the right. “Always thought there was something bad about you, now I know why. God will send your soul to hell for turning your back on him.”

  “Going there already, you hypocritical lying turd. How many boys have you molested since I last saw you?”

  “How dare you!” Egbert exploded.

  “Jarl Casca, please!” Hankwin said. “This is a peace negotiation, not an excuse to goad your former acquaintances!”

  Casca grinned and stepped back a pace, pleased he’d insulted the prig of a man. There were plenty of formalities to go through, and Casca contented himself in smiling unnervingly at Egbert throughout. Eventually the Count, never one to allow something to rest if he didn’t like it, demanded Casca be removed.

  Left with no choice, Hankwin waved the Eternal Mercenary away. Glad to be out of such a tense situation, he returned to his tent and Gertrude. She was intrigued as to what had happened. “Your past catches up with you a lot, does it?”

  “Yes,” Casca admitted, gratefully downing a drink. “Which is why I move on so much. I make enemies as often as friends, and it takes a long time for me to be forgotten in a place. I do return, but only after a hundred years or more.”

  “You are still remembered in the north lands,” she said.

  “Yes, as a legend. There were plenty who thought me a fake at first.”

  Gertrude put her arms around him and hugged him, her jaw on his shoulder. “You’re no fake. You’re as real as anyone I’ve met.” She frowned for a moment. “One day I will grow too old for you.”

  He pulled her around and sat her on his lap. “Never. I was the same with Lida the Sightless. It’s the ones who have a belief that immortality is evil that makes me leave them. I can never be too careful, Gertrude. You have accepted me for what I am, and I’m happy to remain with you, but one day I’ll have to leave Husborg. You will have to decide whether you wish to stay or come with me.”