Glam mumbled to Casca to watch out. These were Saxons and they were too far from their own lands to be nothing more than tourists. And they were still inside the boundaries of Helsfjord. The five scowled at them from under shaggy brows. They talked in whispers among themselves when there came another movement behind them and several women and children came into view with another Saxon behind them. Glam spoke softly. 'They're slavers. Perhaps the smoke we saw yesterday wasn't from campfires,'
Casca agreed. If the captives were from one of his villages he would have to do something about it. It was his duty.
He called out to the Saxons, 'Peace, warriors, and welcome to my lands.'
The Saxons talked among themselves a moment, and then one stepped out to the forefront. He was a few inches taller than the others although still shorter than Glam, but he made up for what he lacked in height with the width of his body. Even under his fur robes, thick bands of muscle were easily visible, especially those that led from his neck down to his massive, thick, sloping shoulders. As with all his companions, he had a full growth of reddish- blond beard with a fierce sweeping mustache. He responded to Casca's welcome. 'And whose land is that?'
Casca shifted his boar spear to his right hand.
The motion did not go unnoticed by the slavers. They too loosened the thongs holding their axes and shifted their spears to a handier position.
'It is mine, Casca of Helsfjord.'
The Saxon called back, 'You lie. Helsfjord is ruled by Ragnar.'
Glam chose that time to speak up. 'It was ruled by Ragnar and Ragnar was killed by this man, who has claimed all that was Ragnar's and has taken Ragnar's own daughter to wed.'
Casca cut Glam's oration short with a wave of his hand. He eyed the Saxons opposite him. 'Where did you obtain your captives?'
The Saxons preferred not to have any trouble if they could avoid it, and their leader said, 'Some day's journey from here where we paid good silver for them.'
A woman in the back cried out a name before the rope around her neck choked off any further response. But it was enough. The name she spoke was Lida. Upon closer inspection, Casca discovered that this slave was indeed one of the Lady Lida's personal handmaids.
Glam moved to present a smaller target by turning his body slightly to the side.
Casca called back, his voice friendly. 'Why, then, we have no quarrel if you bought and paid for your slaves like honest men. Travel on, Saxons.' Casca turned from them only to lower his body down. In the next instant he whipped back around, hurling the boar spear underhanded. Before the Saxon leader had a chance to react the spear had implanted itself in his chest. He wondered briefly about the pain in his back. He died not knowing that the head of the spear had torn clear through him and was sticking out a foot from his spine.
Glam bellowed and hurled his own spear, which entered a warrior's stomach and kept on going until at least half of its own length penetrated out the Saxon's back. He always had to try and outdo Casca. Grinning, he spoke to his friend. 'Two down and four to go, so don't you get greedy now. Remember to save a little for me.'
Glam rushed to the front and blocked the trail with his body, his axe already swinging with irresistible force, smashing down the guard of the two Saxons facing him. One had barely managed to swing his buckler off his shoulder when his face disappeared in a bloody whirl. The other suffered a quicker death than his gurgling comrade when Glam split him from pate to chin.
Reluctantly he had to let Casca in on the fight when he stopped for a moment to work the axe out of the skull by stepping on the Saxon's face to hold him still while twisting the thick blade free from the bone.
Of the remaining Saxons, one came on with a half-hearted sweep of his long sword, but Casca could see in the man's eyes that he was already dead in his mind. So to save the poor soul from any further confusion, Casca dispatched him with little effort, blocking the long sword. Then with a single long step inside the man's guard he thrust his own short sword up at an angle where it could reach the doomed warrior's heart with little trouble. The man coughed up a spurt of blood and died without further ado.
The single surviving Saxon gave up completely and released the rope holding his string of captives together. He chose the better part of valor by leaving his weapons behind and disappeared back down the way he had come as fast as his hairy legs would take him. Glam wanted to go after him now that he had his axe clear of the bony mess it had been stuck in, but Casca stopped him with the comment that the survivor's story might deter others from coming to Helsfjord on slave raids.
After releasing the captives to return to their villages, he and Glam continued on their interrupted journey. Glam was in high spirits after the day's bloody work. Casca was a little less so but he did have to admit that a good fight did wake up the blood.
The trouble behind them, they wandered on for two more days until they were near the boundaries of the Helsfjord. From there they would go no further. It was time to return to Helsfjord with the regret that always comes when one has to give up the free life and return to the pressures of normal life. They were just about ready to turn back and head for home when Glam told him to stop. He had heard horses and voices from across a small glade. Glam crept up a little closer and called Casca to him.
The noises came from a band of traders bringing goods from Gaul to trade for whatever they could find of value in Germania. Gold, silver, and amber were the most sought-after, but they would take amounts of rare furs back with them and nearly anything else the tribesmen might have acquired on their occasional forays across the Rhine or Danube. Glam asked Casca if it was all right to see if the merchants had any wine in their packs.
Casca agreed; they looked to be legitimate traders. True, they did have a couple of tough-looking Marcomanni with them as bodyguards and guides, but that was only natural.
He and Glam made their way to the encampment walking through knee-high grass damp with dew. They called out their coming to avoid being speared by an overanxious guard. They stopped while still out of spear range and called out once more, requesting permission to enter the camp.
Permission was granted, and Casca, followed by the hulking Glam, entered the camp. They were greeted by wary but not necessarily hostile looks. After all, there were only two of them and the camp guards could surely handle them if the need arose.
The merchant whose expedition it was came forth to greet them. 'Ave, brave warriors. I am Lucius Decius, an honest merchant of the world come to exchange my wares for the goods the people of these parts may wish to part with. I'll take almost anything-gold, silver, slaves, amber, or what have you. Now, what have you need of, my friends? Thread, needles, or cloth for your womenfolk? Or perhaps fine blanks of Roman steel from which your smiths can fashion blades to your own taste?'
The balding stocky merchant went on with his spiel. Casca could tell the man was a confirmed horsetrader. He asked to see some of the bolts of cloth. Perhaps there would be something worth taking back to Lida. Glam asked if there was by chance any wine in the casks and kegs he could see lying about the camp.
Decius replied that certainly he had brought with him, at great personal expense, a few kegs of good wine which, as he was sure the noble German knew, helped to make a day's trading go easier. And for a man such as he, Decius had even stashed away a few flagons of an especially fine and rare Lesbos.
Glam rattled his purse, which gave off the clear tinkling sound of silver coins, and gently requested that he might be permitted a sip of the good stuff before buying. The tinkling of hard cash brought an immediate affirmative response from Decius, who quickly regretted his action, as Glam's sip could take in more than most grown men could in two full swallows. Decius grimaced at every bob of the German's Adams apple as first one skin then another went flacid. It was only after a bout of hard haggling that Decius was able to just break even on selling Glam two small kegs of his cheapest wine.
Casca was ready by then with his choice of material. They settled down to dealing over the price of some of the blue damask interwoven with threads of silver, which Casca thought would go well with Lida's fair hair and complexion. Casca made his offer on the cloth and Decius agreed. They spit in their palms, slapped hands, and the deal was closed.
Casca had just packed the cloth away in his kit when he heard a voice just out of sight in one of the merchant's tents. A man's voice was pleading in Latin. Casca walked over to the tent before he could be stopped and threw open the flap. A small balding man with only a fringe of gray hair surrounding his pate was on his knees trying to clean up a mess where he had spilled a bowl of stew. One of the merchant's hirelings was laying it on with a staff across the man's shoulders and cursing with every thump of the club. His efforts were halted by Casca's hand grasping his wrist and squeezing, though not too hard; he didn't want to break the bones. The hireling grunted
