The Barbarian c-5

by Barry Sadler

  They knew now that there was something strange about their foreign lord, and Glam had explained it in terms they could understand. Casca was one touched by the gods to walk the earth, and by that name, he became known throughout the northlands as "Casca the Walker." They had also made one blood oath to him. They knew that to disobey or break their oath would bring his full anger upon them, and not even the ones who had the touch of berserker about them wanted to face him in his full wrath.

  That oath, sworn on the heads of their children, was to never reveal to the Lady Lida that Casca did not age, that he was as he would always be. And this oath was kept by all-not only out of fear of him but out of love for the blind "lady of the hold." They had in their hearts a noble sensitivity that loved a good tale and legend and knew that they were participating in one of the moments of magic the bards sang of. Some of their songs would be of Casca and Lida. They were the hold's secret, and jealously guarded against outsiders. As their lord protected them, so they would die to keep pain away from his lady and kill any who attempted to speak to her of Casca's condition and curse. And indeed, several strangers that heard vague stories of the strange master of Helsfjord found their tongues silenced forever when they visited the domain of "the walker" and let their tongues wag too much in the taverns.

  As for Casca, his was the best life he had ever known. Sometimes he could forget for weeks what he was and just be a doting husband. He enjoyed the hours he could spend with Lida, walking with her in the spring through the fields and valleys while being her eyes. Telling all that he saw was a pleasure he didn't willingly share. And she taught him the meaning of strong gentleness. Their only sorrow was that there were no children. Casca wasn't sure, but perhaps that was best. Though Lida wanted his child, he was sure it would never happen. He often wondered if a child of his would inherit his sickness. That was too great a burden to put on anyone.

  But Lida never complained. There were the children of the hold for her to care for, and they knew that if they needed anything they were always welcome at the home of Lida. Indeed, it was not uncommon on the nights when the storms came and the thunder and lightning rumbled through the stone walls for Casca and Lida to feel one or two small bodies climbing into their bed and snuggling close to the lady and master for comfort. These were the children whose fathers and mothers had died. They were the children of the hold and would never know the want or the lack of love. There would be no beggars in the land Casca ruled, no children slaves. In his house, they would grow strong and not be cast out as were the orphans of Rome and the civilized world. Those outcasts were destined to roam the streets and alleys or be sold as slaves to the highest bidder, becoming the playthings of perverts and deviates who would contaminate them with their own sickness of spirit. In Helsfjord, they would grow as normal men and women. These were the children of Casca and Lida, and they were loved as such. Still, it was a little irritating on those nights when Casca and Lida wanted to make love to have to stop because of a small voice saying "I'm scared." But it was a small price to pay for the pleasure they gave Casca and Lida as they watched them grow and learn.

  Casca's beard grew longer, as did his hair, until he looked the part of a barbarian chieftain. If he was to live among these people and rule them, it was best that he looked the part. The beard served to conceal the fact that his face did not wrinkle with the passing of years, though Lida often remarked on what good condition he kept his body in.

  Winters came and passed and the young children became men and women and were replaced by others as they went to form their own households. Forty years of love and sharing went with the seasons, and each was better than the last. The fact that Lida was nearing sixty did nothing to lessen her beauty in his eyes and he took no other woman. To him, she was as ageless as he. And she still had the figure of a young girl and a mind as sharp as a Roman senator. She was beautiful, and even at her age she brought forth sighs from young warriors who admired her and even envied Casca his wife.

  One thing did eat at him as the years passed, and that was the knowledge that one day she would leave him and he would be alone again, even more than ever before. And he wondered if even centuries could ever fill the void he knew there would be when she left him. This thought bothered him more than anything else… When she left, he would be alone…

  Casca stood on the beach on rocks smoothed down by centuries of washing waves that came and went. He looked out to the deep waters and wondered what lay beyond. Several fishing boats were heading out to the open sea to hunt for seal or to spread their nets for fish. They were long, shallow boats that were easy to handle. He wondered how these same boats would do if he could have a couple made a little larger and rigged them with a single bank of oars. The shallow draft of the boats would enable them to go almost anywhere, and if they were large enough they would probably do all right in the open sea. He made a mental note to question Corio about combining some of the features of the galley with those of the shallow fishing boats.

  His meditation was interrupted by the druid. Casca didn't like the man much and knew he had been trying to stir up trouble for him among the villagers, claiming that Casca was a usurper and had no rights to the hold and the domains of Ragnar. The old bastard tried his best to carry off the image of a man of great wisdom and magical powers. Casca knew he was a phony and was only feeding his own ego, but others did believe in him and the fortunes he cast. Lately, he had been forecasting doom and misery in several assorted varieties if they didn't get rid of the Roman.

  The priest was still pissed off because Casca had stopped him from making the spring sacrifice to Mother Earth with the blood of a young virgin slave girl and boy. The fact that spring had come and the fields had yielded a good harvest in spite of their not being fertilized by innocent blood had really ticked off the old bastard.

  Carrying his staff of oak, Hagdrall made his way over the slick stones, slipping a couple of times and almost busting his sacred fanny on the rocks.

  A little disgruntled at the interruption, Casca spoke to him. "Well, what the Hades is it now, you phony son of a bitch?"

  Hagdrall drew himself erect, his eyes flashing over his large hooked nose. He waved his staff at the Roman. "Have care. It is not wise to speak with disrespect to the representatives of the gods. They could strike you dead for such insolence."

  Casca laughed. "That's one thing I'd like to see them do. Now, what is it? Can't you find anything more to bitch about?"

  Hagdrall was furious. He was used to having his own way. Even with old Ragnar, he usually got what he wanted. But this foreigner refused to show him any respect. Pointing his staff straight in Casca's face, he said, "You have not heard the last from me. Your troubles are just beginning. Before I'm through with you, you will go on your knees and beg the forgiveness of myself and the gods."

  Casca slapped the staff away from his face and grabbed Hagdrall by his gray beard, bringing tears of pain to the old fraud's already watery eyes. "Now you listen to me. If you open that gap-toothed mouth of yours once more, I'll take that staff of yours and ram it so far up your ass, it'll push your tongue out far enough to kiss your butt." Casca gave the beard a jerk and sent the priest to his knees.

  Hagdrall continued to curse between pain-clenched teeth. "I have powers, spells to strike you with."

  Casca had had just about enough. "Powers? You old faker, I'll show you some power." Releasing the old man's beard, he drew his sword and put the edge to the druid's throat. "The magic I have is such that with one easy movement of my wrist your head will lie on the stones and no power on earth could put it back where it belongs."

  The druid began to whimper. "Mercy, lord! I meant no harm. I am just an old man whose mind wanders at times. Mercy, lord."

  Casca gave the blade a delicate twist and cut a thin mark across the druid's throat. "If your mind wanders, priest, then I would suggest that your body do likewise while it still can. If you're still within our borders by dawn I'll personally feed you to the sea crabs
for breakfast."

  Hagdrall swore to do as Casca ordered, anything… if he would only remove the sword from his throat. Casca let the old man go and made his way back up the path to the hold.

  That night he entertained several of his chiefs of the villages and they talked over their plans for the coming winter. The details of administration had always been enough to send him packing; only Lida's being there to guide him got him through the process. She had a mind that forgot nothing. Not even the smallest detail escaped her attention. Tactfully, she would whisper the proper answers to Casca when he had to make decisions on matters he was unfamiliar with; the chiefs usually left well-satisfied that justice had been done.

  This night was no different from any of the others they'd spent since he'd become lord. Lida sat on his right, the spot usually reserved for visiting nobles. The left was reserved for Glam, and next to him, Sifrit, who had long since become a good and loyal friend to Casca.

  Hagdrall sat at his customary place next to the mistress of the household, careful to avoid the gaze of Casca. After the duties of rule were dispensed with, they settled down to eating and feasting as only the men of the north can do. Great platters of roasted meats were set before them and the trenchermen attacked them with gusto. The horns and cups were kept filled with beer, mead, and wine. Toasts were made and given back time and time again. Almost anything served as reason enough to empty and fill the cups; around the table they took turns wishing the lord and his lady and themselves good fortune and happiness. Even old Hagdrall put a smile on his shriveled face and, reaching over, filled cups for Casca and Lida. Casca, already half-stoned from the various brews he'd consumed, paid little attention when Hagdrall sat the fresh-filled cup of honeyed mead before him.

  Rising, the druid hoisted his cup and called upon the elemental spirits of the earth and sun to protect all in this place of friendship. Casca raised the cup given to him by the druid, but before he could set it to his lips, Lida whispered firmly, "Stop!"

  Reaching out a hand, she found his arm and traced it down to the cup he held. Taking it from him, she held it close to her face and breathed in. Moving her other hand, she grabbed the sleeve of the druid and placed the cup in his hand. "Drink."

  Casca watched with growing awareness. Lida was blind, but she'd learned other skills to replace that of sight. Her hearing and senses of touch and smell were three times as keen as any seeing person's, and she could read the truth in a voice, as well as the lies. Behind the softness of her words there lay raw steel. "Drink, druid."

  Casca rose from the table to give added strength to her words. The old druid's hand trembled, threatening to spill the contents of the cup meant for Casca.

  The Roman spoke softly. "Don't spill it, priest. It could save you a lot of pain. Remember the sea crabs? They'll be waiting for you in the morning if you don't drink."

  Hagdrall steadied himself. He knew that Casca meant what he said and that at least the cup offered him a quick death. He had heard the screams of those tied to the tidal stakes too many times to have any illusions about what awaited him. He raised the cup and swallowed it all in one draught.

  "There, it's done, Roman pig." Hatred filled his voice. "Curse you and yours. I curse you until the end of time."

  Casca grinned, "You're a little late for that, old man. It's already been done, but nice try anyway."

  Hagdrall slumped forward over the table. Casca prodded the body with his finger. "Well, whatever it was that he drank, it sure works damn fast."

  He motioned for Glam to clear the old man's carcass off the table so that the feasting could continue. The silence around the Hall was broken by a laugh from Glam, and the rest of them joined in. Being good-natured sports, they appreciated a good joke and the one that Lady Lida had put over on the druid had been, "By Mjolnir," a good one. And besides, they hadn't really liked the old priest that much anyway.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When old Corio took the time off from building the ships Casca wanted, he would be teacher to the children of the hold. He was very patient with them and thoroughly enjoyed this task. In turn, the children grew to love and respect him. Corio would sit on the steps of the hold and try to press some knowledge into the heads of the children. It was hard going; the boys only wanted to hear of battles and glory. The fine art of mathematics was to them something they could see little use for. But they were ordered to attend the classes by the lord and as good little warriors they obeyed, if some what reluctantly. They made there marks on thin sheets of parchment from which the thin ink could easily be washed off and the parchment used over and over again. In spite of their inclinations, a few of them actually did learn to add and subtract.

  For Corio it was a good life, although he sometimes missed the luxuries one could find in the boundaries of the empire. Certain foods he had had a fondness for he especially missed-oysters in clam sauce and some fish that could only be found in the warmer waters of the Mediterranean… and the wine. He sighed wistfully at the thought of how good a long draught of a cup of rich red Falernian would taste. Here he had to do with thin beer and mead. True, there was an occasional day when some of the scarce wine in the cellars of the hold would be brought out to celebrate some occasion or other. But those days were all too seldom.

  Corio scratched his bald pate and leaned back to take his ease in the thin sunlight while the children did their lessons. This was the time when he could let his mind flow and thank the gods for the day when Casca found and bought him and then set him free. He had in turn tried to do as much as he could to make the confines of the hold more tolerable.

  His greatest achievement was the toilet he had built, which used rainwater collected in cisterns on the roofs to wash away the human waste. To the villagers of the region this was an unheard-of luxury; on any given day you could find a number of them lined up outside the one he had built for general usage patiently waiting their turn to use the device. Corio knew that many of them didn't really have to go; they just liked to listen to the sound of the water flushing in the crapper. That and the baths were his proudest accomplishments. True, they did not equal the bathhouses of imperial Rome, but they did serve to relax and cleanse the body. And after the lord of the hold had set the example, there were even several of his warriors that had tried the hot soaks themselves, although they had been warned by their friends that washing off their outer layer of dirt would leave them more susceptible to sickness and bad health. It was also well-known that a good coating of grease and ash helped keep the body warmer in winter.

  Lately Corio had been eyeing the shallow boats the northmen used for fishing and trading, thinking about how much more graceful they were riding in the wind than the cumbersome lumbering galleys of the empire. Their only fault was that they were of little use in the open sea and were confined to the rocky coasts, never going out of sight of land. But the design was sound; if there was just some way he could figure out how to combine some of the strength of the galleys with the handling capabilities of the long boats.

  Often he and Casca had sat watching the sea otters off the rocky beaches, lying on their backs in the kelp beds or twisting and sliding their way into the waves. The sea otters didn't fight the water-they twisted their way through it. If only he could figure out how to make a ship do the same thing. Perhaps there was a way in which the planks could be joined that would give them at least some of the flexibility of the otters, even if the movement was only slight. In a ship like that a man could sail to where the oceans themselves dropped off the rim of the world into the abyss. Twisting? He must give that some more thought; perhaps a way could be found.

  He roused himself from his reverie and returned his attention to his charges. He gave them only a halfhearted quiz on their lesson and then dismissed them. They went running off to the sea to gather crabs.

  Crabs! He gave a shiver. He had heard about Casca being staked in the tidal pool for the crabs to feed on. It gave him a queasy feeling every time he ate one of the things.
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  Corio went back inside to find Casca sitting by Lida playing with some of the children in the Great Hall. Corio excused himself to Lida and took Casca off to the side to discuss the idea of building some completely new ships with some form of interlocking planks that would give them a tiny portion of the flexibility of the sea otters. Casca agreed and told Corio that he could start on the project the following spring. But he could give the orders now for a detail to cut trees and set them out to be cured so they would be seasoned when the time came for them to be used in laying the keels and decking.

  Corio left Casca to Lida and the children and on his way back to his quarters he passed Glam heading out to do what he called a little raping and ravaging in the village below. He claimed it helped in clearing up the zits. Corio sometimes worried about Glam. He never knew how to take the bearish hulk. Glam would sometimes affect the most outlandish postures and you could never tell for sure if he was serious. One such example was that Glam considered himself to be an accomplished songwriter and poet, but what he claimed to be one of his best works was a filthy little ditty he titled "You Broke My Heart Then I Broke Your Jaw." Glam continued on his way and left a baffled Corio behind to return to his own spartan quarters where he began working out the design problems of his new ships.

  Glam, on the other hand, was having problems of his own. His latest paramour was trying her best to get him married and he wasn't having any of it, so she had cut him off. Sulking over his lack of ability to change the lady's mind, he did his usual number and got blind staggering drunk and wrecked the tavern. It took seven of Casca's largest warriors to haul him off when they responded to the call for help from the terrified innkeeper.