by Tony Roberts
Her eyes flickered open. She felt this incredibly pleasurable ache over most of her body. She saw him smiling at her and she grinned in response. “You ought to have more arm-wrestling bouts if this is what it makes you do.”
“I don’t need that for what I can do to you,” he replied. “Just you see.”
“Oh, promises, promises.”
___
That set the standard for their life together. For the next thirteen years they lived in blissful companionship. He became one of the senior bodyguards to Theudoald, and when the old Thegn passed away, to his successor, Rikhard.
The king, Audoin, died too, as did the old Byzantine emperor Justinian. Casca was kind of sad to hear the old bastard had gone. He had been a worthy Caesar, expanding the empire beyond all expectations. True, he had been served by great generals like Belisarius, and backed by a tough, ruthless empress whom Casca had bedded, but the man had lived too long and had outlived his usefulness. His successor was the emperor Justin, and the young man began to withhold payments to the various tribes, reversing his predecessor’s policies. Seemed like a dangerous policy, and this might make war a probability. But by whom on whom?
Casca’s main headache was Greta. As had happened so many times in his past, the longer he remained in one place with the same person, the greater the danger that his non-ageing would be discovered. And when that happened, how would they react? He was increasingly worried Greta would actually confront him and ask why he never changed while she was getting a few wrinkles here and there and a few grey hairs. He’d noticed them, and he was as sure as hell she would.
He was getting close to making a difficult decision.
True. They had enjoyed a great life together, and for Casca the years with her had been idyllic. To enjoy time with a woman he loved, and not to be called to war away from her, had been a welcome change to his nomadic life. If he’d been on his own, then he would have gone to war, if only to relieve the boredom.
The only cloud had been Widukind, who’d never gotten over having his ass whipped in the great hall, and he’d made it his business to be a nuisance until Casca had dragged the man off to a clear space outside the walls and whipped him again. After that, the bloody-nosed Lombard had left and never returned.
Casca sat outside his house on this particularly warm spring evening, slowly drinking an ale. Greta was asleep in the house, and he’d taken the opportunity to mull over his future. It was time to go. He hated his life, his immortality. He so desperately wanted to settle down with a woman like Greta and raise a family, but those pleasures were forever denied him.
He hated Jesus.
To have to leave this beautiful, tall, blonde, strong woman hurt so much. She was in her early thirties and was still capable of bearing children, so this was another reason for him to go now before it became too late for her to have them. She would miss him, that was certain, but he sincerely hoped she would recover in time and find a man who could give her a child. He was cursed and that was beyond his control.
He put his mug down and walked to his Thegn’s house. Night had fallen and the air was full of insects buzzing around his head. He irritably flicked the mindless creatures away but they returned instantly. Rikhard welcomed the man. Casca was a dependable, loyal man who he relied on to perform his duties without complaint. The Thegn bade Casca sit down before him, and grinned, dropping a boulder into Casca’s lap before the scarred warrior could speak. “I’m glad you came to me, it avoided me having to summon you.”
“Oh? You want me for some service, my lord?”
“You and everyone else. War has broken out. King Alboin has declared war on the perfidious Gepids and we’re to invade their lands and conquer them.”
Casca thought for a moment. “But the empire backs the Gepids!”
“And so that is why our king has sealed an alliance with the Avars. Those mad bastards are aching for a fight and absolutely have no love for the empire. I think their payments of gold have been stopped. Between the two of us, we should crack the Gepids like an old skull before the Greeks even manage to get their heads out of their asses.”
Casca was full of conflicting emotions. He felt war calling to him, and even sat there in the Thegn’s quarters, he felt his pulse quicken. Good as his life had been with Greta these years, the continuing peace had become dull. The Curse made him look towards war, and he was what he was, a warrior. The final reckoning between the two mutually antagonistic tribes was coming and he wanted to be part of it.
He returned slowly to his house, and crept in. Greta was still asleep in their bed, and he sat in the darkness, by the doorway leading to the living quarters, silently watching her. How he wished he could make the choice here and now, between becoming mortal and spending what life he had left with this woman, or to walk out and remain immortal and go to war. He’d stay if he could.
What else could he do? He couldn’t stay, for very soon Greta would ask that dreaded question – why did he not age when she did? Then what would he say, and how would she react? All too often in his life already he’d faced terrible consequences from people who believed him to be an evil spirit, most horribly in Persia where he’d been burned. He didn’t want anything of that ilk – and the Christian element among the Lombard would definitely not see him in any favorable light, that was for sure. The pagans might, but even then there was no guarantee.
He would leave her, even though it hurt him so much. He’d done that with Neda, the first woman he’d lived with, down in Thrace, leaving her one night, with a farewell letter as her only comfort. Now he was going to have to do the same again. He bowed his head and let the bitter tears flow from his eyes, falling onto his arms. Why did people wish for immortality? It was a dreadful, lonely existence. So, so lonely.
He wiped his eyes. Standing up, he went over to the bed, took off his clothes, and slipped under the blanket. Greta murmured happily and put her arms around him, half asleep. He kissed her, gently, lovingly, giving to her all the love he could drag up from his bleeding heart.
He made love to her with all he had, trying to memorize every contour of her body, her smell, her sounds of pleasure, the softness of her skin, the taste of her mouth and the sweat on her throat, breasts and stomach. He took his time, pleasuring her with every fiber of his being.
She whispered softly into his ear afterwards that he had surpassed himself, and once more fell asleep, this time in his arms. He gently removed himself once she was well gone, and wrote a farewell letter, leaving it on the dining table. He left his main armor behind, taking a poor set of leather that he used for practice and messing about with. As he walked through the still dark streets, he decided he hated everything. His curse, his existence, Jesus, Jerusalem, Christians, the lot.
He would join the army on their route to the Gepid lands as an ordinary man-at-arms, one of the mass of warrior-farmers who answered the tribe’s call to war. He would be anonymous amongst the rank and file as long as he avoided the retinues of the nobility. They wouldn’t be too hard to spot.
As he left the settlement, passing through the south-west door, shutting it behind him, he went over what he’d written. Greta, I have gone to follow my fate. I have spent so many wonderful years with you which will stay in my memories forever. But the time has come for me to go, for I cannot remain with you. I have seen the looks you’ve given me recently, wondering. I know what you are thinking, and you are right. I do not wish to risk facing the consequences, so I have to go. I don’t wish to, but circumstances out of my control have decided otherwise.
Now, my life goes on a different path. Please don’t try to find me, for I cannot change, and no matter what I wish, it will never. I am going to war, and will not return. My biggest regret is not giving you a child, something which is beyond my ability to do. Please don’t feel too badly towards me, for if I were a normal man, I would have stayed with you till my dying day.
I hope your heart will find a new love after me, someone who can give you that whi
ch I cannot.
I will always be your Casca.
He trudged on, his chest full of pain.
Now for war.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The new day was coming, he could tell. His outdoor sense had grown over years of his existence, and he had awoken just before dawn. The waking birds were what usually set his senses going.
Poking his dead fire with a stick, he tried to elicit one last piece of warmth from the ashes without much success. Therefore he unenthusiastically chewed on a piece of over-cooked pig meat for breakfast, having speared the young boar the previous afternoon. He washed it down with tepid water, grimacing.
The road he was watching through the thin stand of trees he was amongst he knew led to the frontier, and it would be along this that Alboin’s Lombard army would march. Well, not so much march, rather progress. A Roman army had marched, a ‘barbarian’ army mostly walked in groups and knots with plenty of stragglers.
Washing his face and performing his ablutions, he sat on a fallen tree trunk and waited, cleaning his sword and making sure his shield was clear of chips and splinters and the straps tight.
After an hour of waiting he heard it. An unmistakable sound of people coming his way, and not just a few. The clinking of metal, the tramp of feet, the low rumble of conversation, the squeaking of leather and wheels. The splash of color, the movement off to the right. He watched quietly, regarding the men passing in the near distance. Scouts rode ahead, and roamed wide across the grassland that rolled away beyond the limit of the woodland. Then came the vanguard, a smart, well-armed and disciplined group that looked like a noble’s elite unit. Then came the levy, poorer in discipline, armor and arms, but formidable warriors nonetheless.
That would be the group he’d join. He sighed, put on his low-quality mass-issue conical iron helm, and stood up, stretching, cracking his shoulders and legs. He wandered up to the road’s edge and waited, leaning on his spear, as a column of men passed, one or two glancing at him curiously, then passing on. He’d tag onto the back of this lot.
He watched as warriors of all description, shapes and sizes passed, then peered down the column to see where he could slip in. Not yet. There were a few supply wagons approaching so he’d nip in before they got to him. There was a gap in between them and the men walking before them.
He swung his head to look the other way. The Lombards were marching into the distance. One of the chain-mail wearing figures that had just passed stopped and stepped off the road. A mass of long blonde hair obscured the face but Casca knew who it was without seeing it.
“So you think you can run from me so easily?” Greta asked, hands on hips, belligerently staring at him.
“Greta, I can’t stay with you,” he replied, torn between wanting to walk off and hugging her in utter delight.
She put a finger to his lips, then withdrew it and put her own lips there instead, her arms linking behind his neck. He sighed and held her, kissing her back lovingly. She had him, and damned good, too. After what seemed all day, he broke the kiss and held her at arms’ length, staring at her ludicrous appearance, wearing the overly big armor and helmet. “What are you thinking of, joining this damned army?”
“Looking for you, you imbecile. Do you honestly think I’d let you go that easily?” She knocked his arms off her shoulders and sent a full-blooded slap across his face. “That’s for leaving me!”
He rubbed his face ruefully. “Guess I deserved that. Oh shit, how do I explain it all to you?”
She waved at another fallen tree, a small one but enough for the two of them. “Like to tell me straight?”
They sat down and he stared at the ground, frowning. Where to start? How to start?
She helped. “Alright, is it something to do with you not ageing? Its not hard to notice, especially these past couple of years. I thought I was imagining it, but its become quite obvious. Is it magic? A god’s blessing or something?”
Casca nodded, grinning in relief. So much easier dealing with pagans on this issue than a Christian with their narrow visions. He tried to explain it in as simple a way as he could. “I’m five hundred and fifty years old, and was thirty when I was cursed by a demi-god to immortality.”
Greta listened, nodding. To her, it was one of those things that could not be explained, and when that happened, surely it was the work of a god or gods.
“So, while all those around me age and eventually die, I will carry on as you see me now. I cannot father a child, and that is something I am truly sorry to you for; if I left it would at least give you a chance to find another who could.”
Great smiled sadly, then kissed him tenderly. “I understand, but I will never want you to go. Till the day I die, we will be together. Do you understand me, you idiot?”
“Idiot, imbecile, a slap on the face,” Casca said, “anyone would think you love me.”
She looked at him for a moment, then dissolved into a fit of giggles. He grinned and hugged her tight.
“I’m glad you came looking for me; I wasn’t pleased with myself, I can tell you.” They kissed once more. He stared at the army, tramping their way along the road. “I think we ought to swap outfits; yours does not fit you at all.”
“Neither will that,” she pointed out.
“True, but you can adjust this a little, and cut some off. You can’t do that with metal links.”
“So, we change here, in the open?”
Casca grinned, and began unfastening her clothes. He pushed her down onto the ground, so that they were hidden in the undergrowth, and reacquainted themselves properly.
Later, he eyed her propped up on one arm, admiring her beauty. “So, now you’ve found me, are you going to return home and wait for my return?”
“Oh no,” she shook her head emphatically. “I’m coming with you. I’ll fight along your side, Casca, and don’t try to stop me. The women of our tribe have fought alongside their men previously, and I’m just returning to the old ways.”
“Really? And do you know how to use that thing?” he pointed to the sword she’d brought, and the axe lying next to it.
“You can teach me. On the way. I’ll be by your side, and there’s no way I’m going to leave it.”
They dressed, and tagged onto the rear of a group of men who turned in curiosity at the sight of a woman in their ranks. Casca stared at them, as if daring anyone to say anything, but they all shrugged and resumed their walk.
As they walked behind the group of men, Casca went through the basics with her. He said he wanted her to his left, his shield side, for two reasons; one, he didn’t want her anywhere near his sword, and two, his presence to her right would protect her own non-shield side.
As with all armies, groups and bands took their time out to rest, drink, and deal with any ailments. None wanted to miss the glory of battle, so nobody worried about the number of warriors resting on the side of the road as the main force walked past. They would fully rest at the end of the day. During the occasions Casca and Greta rested, he took her through the important function of blocking with the shield. Once he was happy she could do that, he would move onto her using the axe, since it was an easier weapon for her to use. It was lighter, shorter and she needed less room to swing it and so there was less chance she’d hit Casca.
She wasn’t as strong as a man, but she was tough and determined, and more than willing to learn. She found the lighter leather outfit easier to move about in after making a few adjustments to her differently-shaped body, and soon got the hang of where she was to stand in the battle, to the left of him and slightly behind.
The matter of re-joining his old comrades was addressed when they came up to him during one of his rest periods and told him the Thegn wanted to speak to him. Casca reported, and Rikhard shook his head in disapproval. “I thought you’d run away rather than go to battle.”
“No chance, my lord. I had a domestic and wanted to get away and get my head together before coming along for the fight; rather that than beating the
shit out of one of my comrades.”
“And have you sorted out your problem with the beautiful Greta?”
“Yes, lord, the best way possible,” Casca grinned rakishly.
Rikhard spat onto the ground and swung a foot at him which Casca dodged. “Get back to your unit, you rogue, before I punish you for desertion!”
Both laughed and Casca settled in with the rest, Greta alongside. She got a few comments about handling Casca’s weapon to which she waved her axe threateningly at them. “I’ll use this on you to knock some respect into you,” she warned.
The others laughed; many had been children when Casca ad Greta had arrived, so they were looked on as two of the senior people and given respect accordingly.
They marched for days, and during that time she got to use the axe more and more. Some of the others sparred with her too, and Casca found that useful, pointing out a few adjustments to her stance and posture, and making sure her shield was in use even when striking. Once her blisters had healed, and she gained calluses, it was almost like second nature. Casca was happy she could at least defend herself, which was all he could reasonably hope for.
The march ended once the scouts reported the Gepid army under King Cunimund was approaching, and so the Lombards halted and made camp, keen to refresh themselves before battle commenced.
It was the next morning that the two armies lined up opposite one another across an open expanse of grassland, with a river winding through the countryside against which the Lombard army pinned its left flank and the Gepids their right. The other flank was open, so any flanking maneuver anyone tried would be there.
There was no sign of either of their allies; nobody had expected the Byzantines to appear, but the absence of the Avars was a disappointment to Alboin and his men. No matter, the fight would be won or lost today, here, close to the great river Tissa. Behind both armies lay their respective camps, a safe distance away so that any breakthrough wouldn’t instantly swallow up the supplies or followers. The Gepid camp was in sight in the distance, as a field of tents and animals, while the Lombard one was hidden behind a screen of thin trees that grew to the rear of the Lombard lines.