Outside the Hall door, guards had gathered, ready to attack. They had heard from the women of Ragnar's death at the hand of the Roman. They made no attempt to enter. With Ragnar's death, they owed him nothing. His daughter was now mistress of this house and, on her command, they stood silent, with the others, waiting.
Then came the sounds of battle, swords against axes, cries to the gods and Wotan to give them strength, and, inevitably, the sound of men dying. At first, there were the sounds of single combat only. Then came the cries of multiple voices joined in battle. Then silence, terrible silence that meant it was all over. Still, they waited until the door was opened by Glam, who was torn and cut in a dozen places, his arms and chest covered not only with his own blood, but with that of the men lying in broken profusion inside the Hall. His dripping axe left a trail of thick red spots behind him.
Casca was sitting at the head of the table, one of the dead men's cloaks about him, head between his hands, weary. It was over. The old warrior had been right about one thing. The corpses on the floor were men. At least, they had been. It was done with.
Glam spoke to Lida. "It is over. Go to your rooms. Now is not the time to talk to him, when he still has the smell of death on him. He would not wish it so. Go, and on the morrow all will be made right." He swelled himself to his full height and spoke to all gathered. "Casca, the Walker, is now lord of Helsfjord and master of all that was Ragnar's. He claims this by right of the sword. If any would dispute his claim, let him come forth with sword in hand or leave. Any who remain will serve him, as I do.
"What say you?" The waiting guards raised their spears and axes in salute. "We serve. Casca is lord of the Hold."
The Field of Runes was named for the stones carved with the angular strokes and squiggles of the northern folk writings. Only a few could translate their meanings, some of which reached far back into antiquity and were said to be the records of the deeds of great heroes and kings.
Of all present, only Hagdrall could read them with any degree of proficiency. Most had been written when the druids were highly respected throughout the northlands and even into Gaul. Now they were being driven back into a few strongholds. Here, in Scandia, and in Britain, they had their last refuge from the edicts of Rome and were determined to hang on to what remained of their influence as they competed with the other gods for the mind of the people.
Once they had controlled the destinies of kings. Now, in most places, they were little more than figureheads, and, like all priests of dying religions that were losing followers, they didn't like it a damned bit.
Hagdrall had spent years establishing his influence over Ragnar and his people, and felt no desire to return to the lesser position of just being around to bless weddings or say the funeral rites over the dead, though he wouldn't have minded doing those rites over Casca. Nothing had been right since the Roman had screwed up their plans to marry Lida off to Icenius-a vantage point from which the druids might have been able to begin to reestablish themselves in their former position of respect and power. Now, there were only a few each year that came to be initiated into the rites and to perform the mysteries.
He hadn't even been asked to perform the wedding ceremony for Casca and Lida. Hagdrall grumbled to himself beneath his beard, "That's all right, Roman, I've not finished with you yet." The wedding proceedings were nearing their conclusion.
The ceremony binding Casca the Roman and Lida of the sightless eyes had come down from the beginnings of the Norse past. At one time when those of the nobility were to wed, there had been much blood shed in sacrifices. In time, due to the unwillingness of the villagers to participate in these activities just to insure the goodwill of the gods and spirits, the practice was discontinued and animals took the place of humans. The ceremony remained about the same. Priests would chant and plead with the spirits, doing the secret things that made them priests, then the animals would be disembowled and the entrails inspected for omens. Naturally the signs were always favorable, as bad news would have reduced the amount of the gifting the priests would have received from the couples' families and friends.
Casca had nothing against the sacrificing of goats and cattle, as the flesh would be consumed by the wedding guests and not the flames of the sacrificial fires. For the rest, he had seen the same ceremony with minor variations among many peoples during his travels. The villagers didn't mind too much when he said he would use a village elder rather than bring in another druid for the rites.
This last night before his wedding looked like it was going to be a long one. Glam would hear of nothing else. He and the men of the hold would drink and feast until it came time for Casca to enter into the bonds of domestic servitude. Glam, as usual, had nothing good to say about anything concerning weddings. But Casca knew it was all show and that Glam would have happily beat the brains out of anyone who even hinted they would disrupt the ceremony. The old heathen was as happy as a child behind his gruff manner and well pleased to see Casca acquire that which he wanted most in the world, Lida.
A double row of maidens, dressed alike in flowing white robes and fall flowers in their hair, sang songs of love and devotion. A white ram was sacrificed and the senior elder of the largest village was asked to read the signs while its innards were dragged out into the open air.
"That should have been my job. That ignorant dirt farmer can't possibly know the first thing about divining." Hagdrall drew to the rear of the proceedings.
Under the elder's watchful gaze, the couple exchanged salt, earth, and fire-a simple ceremony, and then it was done. They were now one. According to the rites of Mother Earth, they were joined until Father Death separated them.
Casca took his bride into his arms and gently kissed each of her sightless eyes, then her mouth, marveling at the sweetness of her breath.
Glam sniffled in his beard. Being the sentimental slob that he was, he always cried at weddings.
Chapter Ten
It was not too long after Casca believed he had finally settled into the comfortable mold of married life, when he and Glam embarked on a hunting trip to get away from the mounting duties of the hold. Even Lida had insisted that Casca take off a few days and get rid of some of the tension that was building up in him from having to deal with the everyday problems of running even a domain as small as his. She knew that it wasn't the line of work he was cut out for, but he did do his best to be fair and just.
There was some reluctance on his part to leave Lida behind, but she assured him that she would be well taken care of and that it made good sense for him to get familiar with the terrain around Helsfjord in the event of trouble. Casca couldn't deny that. A good soldier always checked out the lay of the land-though in Glam's interpretation that meant the hottest-blooded woman he could find.
They set off shortly after sunrise, packs slung over their shoulders, swords at their hips, and boar spears held close at hand. It felt good. From the first step out of the gray confines of the hold, Casca could feel the weight of his responsibilities drop off him. As for Glam, Casca wasn't sure the man-beast knew how to worry. Each step out into the woods was lighter than the one preceding it.
Glam thumped his barrel chest and breathed deeply. "Ahhhhh! That's better than the smell of wood smoke and baby piss in the nostrils all day, is it not?"
Casca had to agree.
The day sparkled with a clear crystal sky above them, and the last of the ground fog of the morning rose to be whisked away at the tops of the pines and oaks. Forest sounds gently greeted them as they made their way with no real direction in the mind. The singing of birds and the quick rustling of small animals scurrying away at their approach were welcome sounds to their ears.