They had their fair share of enemies, and after Ragnar's death, several of his old enemies decided to try their luck, much to their regret. Though Casca couldn't get his warriors to obey the discipline of the legion, they still followed his orders better than they had anyone else's, and tried to do as he wished. It was just when the berserker rage came over them that they lost all control. He had managed to keep his young men out of the occasional call to arms for war against the Romans, knowing full well they would have little chance against the legions, even if they weren't as good as those he had served with so many years ago. The legions were still too well trained for these raw warriors to be able to deal with any hope of success. Besides, he still felt a sense of loyalty to the Eagles, even if they had treated him badly on more than one occasion. In his mind he was still a Roman soldier. No, he could best serve them by keeping them out of the wars, which came almost every spring.
Shields and spears on their shoulders, he marched his men out of the stone walls of the hold to the site where he had taken Lida as his bride. It took two hours to reach the clearing. This was a holy spot. Not so long ago, when the druids still practiced human sacrifice, it was here that each spring, before the first wild flowers appeared or the ground was broken for planting, a virgin would be sacrificed to Mother Earth. Indeed, the grass did seem to be a little richer and the leaves of the brush waxier in this spot. Now, the druids were no more than soothsayers and teachers. Before long they wouldn't even be that.
Casca walked over the ground they would soon be fighting on, looking at the way the Saxons must come, analyzing what he knew of their method of fighting. The Saxons had little use for archers; they preferred the sword, spear, and axe. They would form in a rough tine at their end of the field and then start working themselves up to a killer pitch. Then they would start their advance, slowly at first, gaining speed until they charged, trying to overrun the defenders in a rush. Casca knew they would not rush until they were fairly close. He also knew they were pretty damned good with the throwing spear, and especially with the axe. They usually carried at least three or more axes. They would throw these in a wave, then rush. That would be the moment for him to win or lose.
Helsfjord was far enough away from Gaul so that there was little chance of any Roman army ever approaching them. His biggest worry was some of his neighbors, in particular, the Saxon tribes to the north of him. Every spring they made more advances. If they'd had a strong central leader, Casca was sure they would have been able to take over almost all of Germania. But lucky enough, they, as with the rest of the tribes, were factionalized into small tribal groupings-often no more than individual households that would come together only for a short time in order to make raids and then would return to their homes with their booties or their dead to wait till the next time.
His first real confrontation was with his Saxon neighbors along the coast. He had twice sent their emissaries back with his rejection of their offer for an alliance to raid other tribes. Casca desired no more land. The more you had, the greater your problems. Mostly, he wanted to have a time of peace to be able to stay with Lida. But each season, this was denied him, as he had to take to the field to protect his small domain. The Saxons had called him a usurper who had no right to the hold, and were determined to rid their lands of him and all who supported the foreigner.
The Saxons were on the march. He had known for some time that matters must come to a head, and had done the best he could to prepare for it. By now, most of the ten and twelve-year-olds were grown enough to fill his ranks. True, he had only about fifty of them, but they would be his mainstay, the rock upon which the rest of his small army would depend if they were to have any hope of victory against the larger forces that were even now only two days march from his borders. The youngsters were eager as only young men can be for the coming battle. As in the legion, he formed them into units of ten. For the last seven years, he had drilled them endlessly in attack and defense. Corio had made for them his finest weapons and shields. The swords were longer than his own Gladius and the shields were smaller than the Roman models. He had found a preference for the smaller round buckler. The large shields were of more use when you had greater numbers and were fighting from a predominantly defensive posture. He didn't have enough manpower for that luxury. He would have to rely on a more mobile approach to warfare than that.
His scouts reported that the Saxons would be coming from the long end of the valley through the field of Runes.
He decided that was where the battle would take place. That morning, his small force moved to take up positions. To guard the hold, he left behind the older, more headstrong warriors with orders that if they lost the fight, they were to take Lida away and sail to Britannia.
He had fielded 175 of his men, taking only the best and the most fit of his warriors. The rest were either assigned to the protection of the hold or were herding his villagers into the mountains to await the outcome. The warriors escorting them were those he considered to be too old or incapacitated for tomorrow's work. They would have been all right if the fight was to have been from the wall of the hold, but it wasn't. He would need young arms and lungs for the next day's slaughter. He chose to fight in the field away from the walls of Helsfjord, because to do otherwise, he would have had to bring in all his villagers to protect them, and there simply wasn't enough food in the storerooms to be able to withstand even a short siege before starvation would set in. He had seen the results of sieges before and knew the terrible suffering it would have on the women and children inside. It would be better this way. At least, those that died would not have to suffer long. Better a quick cut than lingering hunger and sickness.
His warriors grumbled when, upon arrival, he made them take out hoes and shovels from the supply packs. Hoes were for women, not warriors. With a few quick words in which he threatened to send back anyone who didn't instantly obey, Casca silenced their protests-especially when Glam took one out and at Casca's directions began to dig. The others quickly followed suit.
As Casca judged it, the Saxons probably wouldn't attack until they were at least fifty feet away. That was the maximum distance they would be able to throw their axes from. They would advance to about two hundred feet, then rush. At fifty feet, would come the first wave of axes, and then the attack would begin in earnest.
Casca was strict in his instructions to keep the top layer of grass whole and had his men cut it out in squares and lay it aside. The trench was only to be about thigh-deep, dug in a straight line across the field with the ends going up along the sides of the tree line to form an open-ended box. If the Saxons tried to flank them by attacking through the trees, they would have to cross his small trench first. Inside the trench, he had sharpened stakes placed and then branches were gathered to interlace over the top. The squares of grass-covered sod were then placed on top of this and carefully arranged to give no hint that there was anything but solid ground beneath. His warriors, once they understood the idea, worked even harder to make sure everything would be right. Casca moved back out to the front and looked over their handiwork, making a change here and there until from a distance of twenty feet, it was impossible to detect his trap. It was on this that they would win or lose.
By nightfall, all was ready. He sent scouts out to keep him informed of the enemy advance, and ordered the rest of his men to settle in for the night. They were permitted to build campfires. This night he wanted it to be no secret where they were. With the Saxon forces outnumbering him by at least five to one, he felt confident they wouldn't hesitate in their advance.