by Tony Roberts
Cursing, Casca swung his ax at the second one to come at him, sinking the blade deep into its neck. The beast still managed to knock him off his feet, however, and thrashed in its death throes alongside him. Casca went to get up but the third jumped for his throat, teeth bared. Claws raked at his chest and Casca gripped the wolf’s throat in both hands and squeezed. The claws were causing him some damage so he kept the wolf off his throat with one hand and grabbed the hilt of his dagger sticking out of his boot with the other and slammed the blade deep into the animal’s chest, twice.
Blood ran out over his hand and the wolf whined once before falling limply across him. With a deep breath he pushed the wolf off him and rolled to his feet, looking around warily. Six wolves lay dead and the remainder were running off, clearly with no intention of returning. Their losses were too high to risk continuing to attack. Two of the Lombards were hurt; one badly, his throat and chest pouring blood, while the other was holding his injured arm that was wet with blood.
Karlobad grunted and kicked one of the dead animals. “We’ve given them something to think of.” He looked at the two wounded men. “Get those injuries seen to. We return home with the dead wolves shortly. First, though, I want a word with you,” he pointed at Casca. “You fucked up big time here. If you hadn’t been so damned clumsy we would have sneaked up on them all and killed the lot. Some warrior you are!”
Casca threw his ax and dagger to the ground and stamped up to Karlobad. “No, it’s all down to your shit leadership. You’ve no idea how to lead; you got us caught in the open. The responsibility is with the leader and you got these two men wounded,” Casca pointed at the two hurt men being tended to by the others.
“Don’t you dare blame me for your Roman inabilities! All you Romans are the same; shit. No wonder we pissed over you so easily.”
Casca saw red. One punch sent the Lombard blacksmith off his feet and into a clump of ferns. Karlobad groaned and lay there for a moment, then shook his head and got up, a little unsteadily. Growling dire retribution, he came at Casca, his eyes full of hate. The eternal mercenary blocked the lunging attack with his left and send his right fist deep into the blacksmith’s guts.
Karlobad tried not to throw up as he bent over, his stomach ablaze with agony. Nobody had ever hit so hard ever! His knees refused to support him and he sank down, clutching his midriff.
“You’re no leader. Go back to making swords and iron implements. Leave the fighting to those best suited to it.” Casca turned his back on the panting man and checked the others. They were patched up, but one was in a bad way so Casca got one of the others to support him, and to rotate the duty so as not to tire any of them out.
Karlobad got up and gritted his teeth. He’d get even with the Roman pig if it was the last thing he did!
CHAPTER THREE
Their return was greeted with anxiety, and the two wounded men were taken to their huts and the tender care of their women. The wolf pelts were thrown into a heap by the blacksmith’s forge; there was a tanning rack there so Karlobad would be busy over the next few days turning them into pelts.
He began complaining about Casca’s lack of performance but the two others who had returned and were unhurt shut him up with the truth; Gundomar grunted at the news. He would have been surprised at Casca not being competent enough for a simple seek and find mission like that, having seen him in action himself in Italy. Karlobad he wasn’t surprised at. The man was a braggart and frankly seemed to get through life on bullshit.
The way the blacksmith glared at Casca left no doubt as to how much he hated the scarred Roman, and Gundomar didn’t have to look too far as to why. Gretasuntha was sporting a marked face and a slightly blackened eye. She couldn’t stay home while the smith was out hunting wolves, as housework and vegetable gathering had to continue.
Her mother had come to Gundomar demanding something be done about it, but it was a domestic affair so unless someone stood up for the poor woman, there wasn’t much that could be done. Besides, Karlobad might be an asshole but he was a useful blacksmith and these sort of people were invaluable.
Greta could always seek a champion to protect her, since she was not yet wed to the bad-tempered smith, yet Karlobad already considered the young woman his property and anyone looking at her was subject to some pretty nasty looks, and if she showed any interest in any other male, then she got talked to in no uncertain manner. This was, though, the first time he knew that he’d hit her. Gundomar scratched his chin. Hmmm, perhaps there was something he could do, and it might also get the smith out of the way for the election of the new elder.
Casca was already mad enough at Karlobad to rip his balls off, and the news Greta had been struck by him for being friendly to Casca was sufficient for the eternal mercenary’s blood to boil. He looked hard at Gundomar. “So you’re saying she’s at his mercy whatever happens? Where’s the justice in that? I thought you people looked after your woman and children?”
“She lost her father two years ago to the Gepids. There’s an on-going war with them, and the king is getting really pissed off that it hasn’t been resolved by now. She had no brothers, so unless someone stands up to Karlobad, who’s going to stop him?”
“So why doesn’t anyone?”
Gundomar snorted and waved Casca to sit down. “Shit, brother, its all down to Karlobad being the smith and being up for election as elder. He’s a big bastard and had bullied enough of the village into silence, and frankly that’s the only way an ugly shit like him could ever get a woman like Greta; he’s scared off all opposition and he’s got the hots for that cute little lady. Now he’s up for election, nobody wants to risk earning his enmity as if he does win, he’ll kill or drive out of the village anyone who stood up to him.”
Casca slapped his thigh angrily. “Well I’m not worried on either subject so I think I’ll go sort this pig-ugly turd out. I hate men who beat women; cowards.”
“No argument,” Gundomar shrugged. “I would stand with you but it’d get fingers pointing since I’m his rival for the elder position. I’m in a no-win situation if I do anything. But you, well you can whip his ass good. Don’t injure the swine, since we need him to smith our ironwork and weapons, but maybe this is the perfect opportunity to teach him a lesson, take Greta off his hands and you can then take her away and run off to the king with her hand-in-hand.”
“You’re talking as if it’s a done deal with her, that she’ll jump into my arms just like that!”
Gundomar spread his hands wide. “Why not? She likes the look of you and you’re twice as good looking as that warthog, although you’d still cause a cow to stop producing milk if you want my honest opinion,” and they both grinned at that, “and you’re twice the warrior he’ll ever be. And you don’t seem the type to use your fists on a woman.”
“No, I’d rather use something else,” Casca admitted and snorted in amusement. Gundomar pushed him hard on the shoulder. The eternal mercenary chuckled briefly, then went serious. “I think you’d rather have me out of your way, and if I remove Karlobad’s woman too, then its another headache sorted, since that’d damage his reputation enough to hand you the vote. You’ve got loads to gain by this, haven’t you?”
“And so have you, my friend. You’d end up with Greta and man, what man wouldn’t fight for her?”
“Point conceded,” Casca acknowledged. “And we both know I’m out of place here; I need to go to the king and fight in this war against the Gepids. Oh all right,” he stood up, balling his fists. “I’m not to injure the man?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
They shook hands and Casca left the house, making his way over to the smithy. As luck would have it Greta was walking across his route, carrying a handful of root vegetables she’s dug up from the patch by the stockade. She saw Casca, and, distracted, dropped a couple of onions. She cried out with dismay and frustration and both knelt to pick them up.
Casca’s face was inches from hers. He could see the marks on her c
heek and eye socket and his mouth tightened. “I’m about to go speak to Karlobad about that,” he nodded gently at her. “And teach him a lesson.”
“Oh!” she drew in her breath. “Please don’t – he’ll be angry.”
“Too bad,” Casca helped her up courteously. “You deserve better than him. I’m leaving after beating him; I’m off to the king to the north and won’t be coming back.” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’d like it if I had company.”
She looked at him with wide eyes, and Casca had a tingly feeling run through him. She lowered them and looked miserably at the ground. “I-I can’t…”
He put his fingers under her chin and made her raise her head to look at him once more. “Why not? I’ll be your man, your protector, not your beater. You’re a beautiful woman, and being with that piece of filth will destroy you. Come with me, Greta. Come with me to the court of King Audoin.”
She stood motionless as he walked on, staring at his back. Her heart was beating furiously. She was torn, torn between going with him and being too fearful of Karlobad, and wondering about her mother. Even as she thought that, a hand touched her shoulder and she turned to see her mother, smiling at him.
“Go with him, Greta.”
“But, Mother! I can’t leave you all alone!”
She shook her head slowly. “I’m alright; I have my cousins here to look after me, and I’d be much happier you went with him rather than staying with that brute of a blacksmith.”
Greta stared at her mother for a moment, then sobbed and flung her arms around her, dropping the basket to the ground.
Casca, meanwhile, had arrived at the smithy. He stood there outside, eyeing the carelessly abandoned wolves. Someone would have to skin them pretty soon or they’d start smelling rank. “Hey, Blacksmith,” he bellowed, “I see you’re more adept at beating women than facing wolves in the forest!”
Karlobad appeared in the doorway, leaning against one of the posts, glaring out at Casca. “You asking for trouble, you Latin girl? Stay out of my private affairs.”
“Or what?” Casca snapped, fists on hips. “Beating up women is just about your limit, isn’t it? You sure as hell can’t deal with wolves or someone man enough to beat your sorry hide. You planning on getting elected on the promise of passing a law in the village that allows everyone to beat their women black and blue? How many votes do you think that’ll get you?”
“Right, that’s as much as I’m going to take,” the smith pushed himself away from the doorway. “I’m going to shut you up for good.” He picked up an iron bar that was lying close by, one of the tools he used at the forge and made for the eternal mercenary.
Casca stepped sideways. He had no weapon in his hand, as he was following Gundomar’s request not to injure the man, so he would now have to take special care. Not that he was too worried; once the bar in Karlobad’s hand was used, Casca could counter. “Come on, then. I see you’re not man enough to take me on without a weapon.”
The smith snarled and launched into the attack, bar high, sweeping down for Casca’s head. His timing was not quite right, however, as he was too angry and eager to get the job done. Casca leaped aside and the bar struck the ground with a cloud of dust. Instantly Casca’s boot was on the bar and he swung his right fist, which connected with Karlobad’s mouth.
The smith was sent staggering back, his mouth already flecked with blood. Casca followed up with a left to his jaw, jerking his head sideways. As the smith tried to keep his balance, stars exploded through his vision, and as he reached out for another of his smithing tools, a slamming punch under the jaw put him up against the wooden planked wall of his hut, his eyes rolling.
Casca sent a left into his guts and Karlobad sank to the ground, trying not to throw up. The scarred warrior rubbed his knuckles, looking down at the beaten man. There came the sound of footsteps and he turned to see Greta stepping up to him. She looked at the downed man and breathed out mightily. Not so scary now, seeing him vanquished.
“Karlobad, you and I are finished,” she said softly. “I’m going to leave in the morning with Casca for another life, far away from you. Don’t come after me, if you know what’s best for you.” She looked up at Casca, a slight smile playing with her lips. “Come, let’s go see what we can pack for tomorrow’s journey.”
Casca grinned and turned his back on the smith. It seemed as if his time in the lands of the barbarians was turning out alright after all!
___
As evening came, and the well-wishers made their ways to their homes, the two were left in Greta’s hut holding one another. It had been a rushed farewell celebration, but Greta had been well-liked by the villagers and they were sad to see her go.
“Last chance to back out,” Casca said, his eyes twinkling. “Its not going to be an easy walk to the king’s court.”
“Are you saying I’m not up to the journey?” she challenged him. “I’m young, fit and strong!”
Casca ran his hands over her sides and hips. “Mmm, you certainly are.”
She gasped and slapped his arms. “Oh, you men! One thing on your minds!”
“Of course,” Casca agreed, kissing her.
She kissed him back for a moment then pulled back. “and don’t go thinking I’m merely a vessel for you to sate your lust on, Casca!”
“Of course not, but my body is a vessel for you to sate yours on,” he answered, kissing her throat.
“Oh, you… you…” she closed her eyes, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “You trying to seduce me even before we set off?”
“Yes,” he mumbled, his lips caressing her skin.
“But – we – shouldn’t,” her voice faltered into a groan. “We’ve – only – just met – ahhh!”
“Best way,” he kissed her neck, making her shiver, “of getting to know each other better.” His mouth completed the journey around her neck and returned to her throat.
She arched her neck and closed her eyes. To the afterlife with it all! She was burning with need and this man was just doing everything right. It was as if he knew exactly how to excite her the best and quickest way. She began to realize her dress was on the floor by her feet, but she had no memory of him unfastening it. Now, as well as his mouth and tongue doing incredible things to her, his fingers were stroking her skin and as soon as they ran down her back and an icy thrill raced all over her, she cried out softly, shuddering. That was her most erotic spot! How did he know to go straight there? He was clamped to him, her skin heating up like nothing she’d known before.
Casca smiled as he ran his tongue down her neck towards her chest. It was always exciting discovering the pleasures of a new woman, and five and half centuries of pleasuring and being pleasured by women hadn’t left him bored or tired of them. He always looked forward to each experience. Women were so different; they were unique in the way they reacted, the way they smelt and tasted. Some were wild, some quiet, some submissive, some dominant, some aggressive, some soft, some hard. Whatever form they were, he enjoyed them all. And he enjoyed even more they way he managed to pleasure them. It was an ego thing, he knew, but the sound of them crying out his name when he was making love to them was the ultimate delight.
He eased her down onto her bed, totally naked, and she looked up at him, her eyes full of desire and lust. Her fingers fumbled to relieve him of his clothing and he paused in his pleasuring of her to let her get her way. Once he was naked, he went to resume kissing her but she put her hand on his chest to stop him. He looked at her, surprised then saw that her eyes were staring down below; she’d wanted a look, and her eyes went wide and she couldn’t help but gasp.
He grinned before pushing down on her. “Pleased?” he whispered in her ear, then sucked on her lobe.
“Ohhh!” she managed to gasp.
He guessed that was female-lust-talk for ‘shit, yeah’. He traveled down her throat to her breasts, and took his time to bring her to an even greater heightened state of pleasure. He felt her hand move, and
it found what she was searching for and grasped him firmly. The growl in her throat gave him such a flush of pleasure. The way she began playing with it left him in no doubt she wanted him now.
“Please,” she whispered, “please.”
He adjusted himself and obliged, sinking into her slowly. Greta sighed deeply, her head back, her fingers tight on his shoulders. He paused and she opened her eyes to peer into his intently. “Show me how much of a man you are.”
Casca chuckled. “Don’t worry about that, Greta. I sure as hell will.”
Sometime during their lovemaking the bed broke but neither of them noticed, so involved they were, and it was only afterwards as they lay together in one another’s arms that they realized it, the middle of the bed sagging to one side. She giggled softly. “I think you passed the test, breaking my bed.”
“I was only doing what you asked, to do it harder.”
“Mmm, I seem to recall saying that,” she smiled. She ran her hand over his muscled body. “You’re so strong, yet you never resort to brutality. I like that in a man.”
“I only use it against those who deserve it,” Casca said. “And never women. Unless they ask for it, of course,” he added with a chuckle.
Greta laughed softly. “I feel safe with you, Casca. Unlike with him,” she added with a scowl. “You don’t strike me as being someone who would ever force himself on me. There’s a streak of nobility in you.”
Casca blew forcefully through his lips. “Nobility? I’m a common soldier. Don’t need to be a noble to know how to treat women properly.” Sure, he’d been a noble in the past, and in fact he’d been a god once. “I’ve seen so much death and destruction in my time, that ties like this mean so much to me. To be able to love and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman makes it all worthwhile. I think I’d go crazy if I didn’t have this to look forward to.” He remembered he’d been crazy a while back, before he’d come face to face with Attila.
Greta murmured and settled in deeply to his chest. “I’m happy to be with you, Casca.”