Casca 47: The Viking
Page 16
Once she’d died Baldemund had nobody else to look to other than Casca and Gertrude, who had adopted him without question. They all knew one another well, and even if Baldemund would end up a Christian, something that wasn’t certain even now, he was happy enough being with the two.
Casca had gotten back to the Hold as fast as he could, but even then he’d been too late for a rider had turned up in Husborg to bring the news that Jarl Casca The Walker was no longer Jarl and that the new ruler, Harald, brother of the slain Anulo, wanted his head for killing his brother.
Casca had taken the rider aside and punched him to the ground, leaving him dazed, and then had told the shocked people of Husborg that he had to leave. He had no choice, for Husborg would suffer if he remained. He had bidden them farewell, and taken Gertrude and Baldemund with him before anyone could even think of to stop them. Harald’s rider had watched, rubbing his aching jaw, ready to pass onto his master the news of Casca’s flight. Perhaps it was for the best, given his reputation.
So now they were at this spot with the reed beds, on the eastern coast, looking out onto the Baltic. Casca had wondered where the fates would take him, and he’d decided Europe, or the western part of it anyway, was not for him for the time being. The growing power of the Franks was something he’d taken part in, but was tired of it all now.
Italy was Charlemagne’s as well, as were the Saxons. The Obotrites and the other Slavic tribes nearby were too heavily influenced by the Frankish king and his new ‘Empire’ – what was he calling it? Oh yes, the Holy Roman Empire. Casca snorted in disgust. A collaboration between the king and the pope. It was Roman insofar as that was where the coronation had taken place, but that was all there was to that. The south of Italy was still what he regarded as being properly ‘Roman’, or in effect Eastern Roman. They were Greek, ruling from Constantinople, and were outraged by the creation of a rival empire. How long the Franks could rule such a large area was open to conjecture, but each of his three sons were already seeking to gain an advantage over the others. It seemed likely the empire would be split into three.
So that really left the east for Casca. Who was there? More Slavic tribes, such as the Pomeranians and Prussians. He wanted to be away from religious wars – they were particularly nasty with people being burned. He had a thing about that, having suffered a burning himself because of religious fanaticism.
Maybe north, to Norway or maybe even Sweden? They were Vikings, too, and not concerned about wars with the Franks. Perhaps north, then. Whatever, he would need a boat. A village was not too far away, a border village, nothing more than a fishing settlement. There were eight to ten houses on the shoreline, on stilts, and wooden steps that led from doorways to semi-permanent jetties were boats were moored.
Dusk was approaching and it would be then that he would steal a boat. With the three of them it wouldn’t have to be a big one, just enough to have a sail, a rudder and a couple of oars. He was confident of feeding them, for he had a pack that contained fishing line, hooks, a knife for gutting and so on.
They paused in the shadow of a house on the edge of the settlement. The smell of cooking fish nearly drove them crazy, but finally the sounds of activity died down and he motioned for them to remain where they were, hidden from the moonlight, until he came by with a boat. He left them his pack and wandered off, creeping under the house, his boots squelching in the mud and water of the seashore.
He came out by a jetty and sized up the three vessels moored there. Two were too small but the third, the one furthest away, had a sail furled in the thwarts. It was long enough too, a twenty-footer by the look of it. Two sets of rowlocks. Better. Maybe he’d get Baldemund to learn how to row on the voyage. Not a bad thing.
He swam in the water, not wanting to be seen or heard, and silently got to the boat. The water wasn’t too deep and it was debatable whether it was deeper than he was, but he wasn’t going to test it out. Untying the rope, he began to guide the boat from the water, along the jetty, and then around the end and along past the house, using just one hand and both feet to propel it. His feet touched the bed a couple of times.
Then they were there and he got into the boat, steadied it, helped Gertrude in and then let Baldemund get in himself. The sooner he learned the better. If he fell in he’d learn the hard way. The boy struggled into the boat, flopped in the bottom for a moment, then on Casca’s silent urgings got up and sat at the tiller. Casca got two oars and fitted them, while Gertrude knelt at the prow and watched as they nosed out into the Baltic Sea. Casca kept his eyes on the houses but nobody moved.
They had successfully stolen a boat and now could make their way eastwards away from the wars of Charlemagne, the Danes, the Obotrites and Saxons. One day he’d return, yes, but not for some time. He wondered if things would be the same or radically different. No matter, he had time on his hands, and for now he had a life with these two. At least he was leaving with others rather than on his own as had happened all too many times in the past.
He was actually looking forward to what they would do next.
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