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?
