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? They'll be waiting for you in the morning if you don't drink."
Hagdrall steadied himself. He knew that Casca meant what he said and that at least the cup offered him a quick death. He had heard the screams of those tied to the tidal stakes too many times to have any illusions about what awaited him. He raised the cup and swallowed it all in one draught.
"There, it's done, Roman pig." Hatred filled his voice. "Curse you and yours. I curse you until the end of time."
Casca grinned, "You're a little late for that, old man. It's already been done, but nice try anyway."
Hagdrall slumped forward over the table. Casca prodded the body with his finger. "Well, whatever it was that he drank, it sure works damn fast."
He motioned for Glam to clear the old man's carcass off the table so that the feasting could continue. The silence around the Hall was broken by a laugh from Glam, and the rest of them joined in. Being good-natured sports, they appreciated a good joke and the one that Lady Lida had put over on the druid had been, "By Mjolnir," a good one. And besides, they hadn't really liked the old priest that much anyway.
Chapter Fifteen
When old Corio took the time off from building the ships Casca wanted, he would be teacher to the children of the hold. He was very patient with them and thoroughly enjoyed this task. In turn, the children grew to love and respect him. Corio would sit on the steps of the hold and try to press some knowledge into the heads of the children. It was hard going; the boys only wanted to hear of battles and glory. The fine art of mathematics was to them something they could see little use for. But they were ordered to attend the classes by the lord and as good little warriors they obeyed, if some what reluctantly. They made there marks on thin sheets of parchment from which the thin ink could easily be washed off and the parchment used over and over again. In spite of their inclinations, a few of them actually did learn to add and subtract.
For Corio it was a good life, although he sometimes missed the luxuries one could find in the boundaries of the empire. Certain foods he had had a fondness for he especially missed-oysters in clam sauce and some fish that could only be found in the warmer waters of the Mediterranean… and the wine. He sighed wistfully at the thought of how good a long draught of a cup of rich red Falernian would taste. Here he had to do with thin beer and mead. True, there was an occasional day when some of the scarce wine in the cellars of the hold would be brought out to celebrate some occasion or other. But those days were all too seldom.