Corio scratched his bald pate and leaned back to take his ease in the thin sunlight while the children did their lessons. This was the time when he could let his mind flow and thank the gods for the day when Casca found and bought him and then set him free. He had in turn tried to do as much as he could to make the confines of the hold more tolerable.
His greatest achievement was the toilet he had built, which used rainwater collected in cisterns on the roofs to wash away the human waste. To the villagers of the region this was an unheard-of luxury; on any given day you could find a number of them lined up outside the one he had built for general usage patiently waiting their turn to use the device. Corio knew that many of them didn't really have to go; they just liked to listen to the sound of the water flushing in the crapper. That and the baths were his proudest accomplishments. True, they did not equal the bathhouses of imperial Rome, but they did serve to relax and cleanse the body. And after the lord of the hold had set the example, there were even several of his warriors that had tried the hot soaks themselves, although they had been warned by their friends that washing off their outer layer of dirt would leave them more susceptible to sickness and bad health. It was also well-known that a good coating of grease and ash helped keep the body warmer in winter.
Lately Corio had been eyeing the shallow boats the northmen used for fishing and trading, thinking about how much more graceful they were riding in the wind than the cumbersome lumbering galleys of the empire. Their only fault was that they were of little use in the open sea and were confined to the rocky coasts, never going out of sight of land. But the design was sound; if there was just some way he could figure out how to combine some of the strength of the galleys with the handling capabilities of the long boats.
Often he and Casca had sat watching the sea otters off the rocky beaches, lying on their backs in the kelp beds or twisting and sliding their way into the waves. The sea otters didn't fight the water-they twisted their way through it. If only he could figure out how to make a ship do the same thing. Perhaps there was a way in which the planks could be joined that would give them at least some of the flexibility of the otters, even if the movement was only slight. In a ship like that a man could sail to where the oceans themselves dropped off the rim of the world into the abyss. Twisting? He must give that some more thought; perhaps a way could be found.
He roused himself from his reverie and returned his attention to his charges. He gave them only a halfhearted quiz on their lesson and then dismissed them. They went running off to the sea to gather crabs.
Crabs! He gave a shiver. He had heard about Casca being staked in the tidal pool for the crabs to feed on. It gave him a queasy feeling every time he ate one of the things.
Corio went back inside to find Casca sitting by Lida playing with some of the children in the Great Hall. Corio excused himself to Lida and took Casca off to the side to discuss the idea of building some completely new ships with some form of interlocking planks that would give them a tiny portion of the flexibility of the sea otters. Casca agreed and told Corio that he could start on the project the following spring. But he could give the orders now for a detail to cut trees and set them out to be cured so they would be seasoned when the time came for them to be used in laying the keels and decking.
Corio left Casca to Lida and the children and on his way back to his quarters he passed Glam heading out to do what he called a little raping and ravaging in the village below. He claimed it helped in clearing up the zits. Corio sometimes worried about Glam. He never knew how to take the bearish hulk. Glam would sometimes affect the most outlandish postures and you could never tell for sure if he was serious. One such example was that Glam considered himself to be an accomplished songwriter and poet, but what he claimed to be one of his best works was a filthy little ditty he titled "You Broke My Heart Then I Broke Your Jaw." Glam continued on his way and left a baffled Corio behind to return to his own spartan quarters where he began working out the design problems of his new ships.
Glam, on the other hand, was having problems of his own. His latest paramour was trying her best to get him married and he wasn't having any of it, so she had cut him off. Sulking over his lack of ability to change the lady's mind, he did his usual number and got blind staggering drunk and wrecked the tavern. It took seven of Casca's largest warriors to haul him off when they responded to the call for help from the terrified innkeeper.
Glam was properly remorseful the next day for the outrages he had performed on the hapless innkeeper, and his three serving wenches who were so sore that they wouldn't be able to serve anyone else for at least two days. However, no one could say that Glam wasn't a fair man and he made proper restitution by presenting the innkeeper with two kegs of wine and one of beer, which of course he borrowed from the hold's cellars. He helped his throbbing head by draining off at least a quarter of another keg. Burping, he made a mental note to tell Casca to put the stuff on his bill. But, as he knew, he was dreadfully absentminded and would probably forget before nightfall. But then, it was the thought that counted, wasn't it?
Glam stumbled his way upstairs to the main hall from the cellars to see if he could get anything to eat when he met Sifrit and conned him into going back into the village with him for another round. He complained all the way about his latest ladylove's lack of understanding and compassion for a high-spirited eagle such as himself.
Sifrit liked the hulk, but personally thought that Glam was carrying things a little too far and thought at his age that he should start to settle down and leave the hell raising to the younger men. Glam snorted so hard when Sifrit suggested this that he almost sucked his mustache up his own nostrils when he inhaled his next breath.
"Sifrit, I am wounded that you would even think of making such an observation. Leave it to the younger men indeed! Why, the mewling things barely can figure out how to mount a dead horse, much less a lively wench. No! It is my duty to set an example for the young to follow and emulate. Not that any of them could ever come close to matching my abilities with wenches or the bottle. But still, the darling little boys have to have some goals in life, don't they?"
Sifrit sighed deeply. There was no way to get through that bony mass that served Glam for a head and reach his brain with any kind of logic. Sifrit decided that he would just have to play dirty. After all, it was for Glam's own good. The bear was bound to kill himself one day if he wasn't taken in by a firm hand. Sifrit smiled to himself as he helped Glam down a gallon of mead in record time. And he knew just the person to do it. Poor Glam.
Chapter Sixteen
All this time, Glam had been happy for Casca and Lida, but still, he missed not having the free life and the togetherness that they had given up with Casca's marriage, although, he felt he personally had not forfeited as much as Casca. He still haunted the taverns and countryside, hopping into the sack, a pile of hay, or a grassy field with every willing-and some not so willing-maiden. No! By Thor's great hammer Mjolnir, the married life was not for him! It would be a crime to deprive the women of the world of their greatest experience, and selfish beyond reason to restrict himself to just one female when he could satisfy the dreams of dozens.
No! By the holy Aesir, it was his duty to spread his seed among the tribes and improve the bloodlines of the race. And Glam was not a selfish man.
Farmers took to locking up their daughters, wives, and maiden aunts when word got out that Glam was in the region.