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The trees closed around them, and once more the Rhine was left behind them.
Chapter Five
The two men stood, dark figures in stark contrast to the blinding white of the
snow-covered fields and valleys below. From their aerie in the heights,
overlooking the sheltered valley, they watched with wary eyes.
The ice wind from the sea, racing in from the frozen waters to the far north,
whipped at their fur robes and leggings. Both men wore beards and mustaches.
What skin was exposed was darkened from the months of exposure to the
elements. Wisps of frozen breath rose from their mouths and nostrils, small
steaming clouds of vapor that rapidly disappeared in the gusting winds of the
Nordic winter. On the horizon, dark clouds were gathering to once again
assault the rocky crags and valleys with new waves of snow and ice.
Casca pointed to the stone buildings below, his words punctuated by renewed
bursts of frozen breath.
Do we go down?
His companion grunted, as was his habit, in the affirmative. Aye, we don t
have much choice in the matter. There s nothing behind us but that which we
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have left endless woods and starvation. And I m hungry enough now to consider
boiling down my own furs for supper.
The thought of Glam trying to digest his own louse and flea-infested robes
brought the beginning of a smile to him, but it passed as rapidly as it had
come. I don t know. From what I ve heard, the old bastard that rules here at
Helsfjord is not the most gracious of hosts.
Glam nodded. Aye, but still one thing he has to do is honor the laws of
hospitality. Anyone from outside his lands who claims shelter before he can
kill or declare them enemies must be given three days of shelter before he has
to leave. In that time, the master of the hold may not give him injury without
just cause.
Casca responded, And just what might those below consider just cause?
Glam reflected a moment. Almost anything that would remotely resemble an
affront to his honor. If we go down there, we ll have to walk slowly and speak
carefully. These weapons of ours, made of good steel, are wealth enough for
Ragnar to, have us killed or fed to the crabs at the tide stakes.
Casca eyed the walls of the hold, built with native stones quarried from the
sides of the surrounding fjord. Smoke rose from several fires and chimneys and
in his mind, even from this distance, he thought he could smell the odors of
roasting meat. They had had none in the last four days since they had killed
and eaten their last horse, a bad-tempered semi swaybacked beast that tried
more often than not to take a plug out of Casca when he came too close. Casca
enjoyed the thought that he had at least had the last bite where the
foul-minded beast was concerned. It had been tough and stringy, with too
little fat on it to give a man strength. True, the soup they had made from the
marrowbones had been satisfying, but with
Glam at the table, there wouldn t have been much left after one or two
feedings even if they had been eating an elephant.
Glam put his long, double-bladed, two-handed sword back into its sling on his
back and hitched the battle-axe, hanging from a thong at his waist, a little
higher.
Well then, if it s settled, my little Dago titmouse, we might as well get our
asses down there and see what kind of greeting we ll get at the gate.
Casca shifted his pack up on his shoulders a little higher, bitching at the
weight, and Glam responded with a lack of understanding as to why Casca hadn t
long since sold the contents. He could see no good reason for the Roman to
hold onto the legionnaires breastplate of boiled leather with heavy iron rings
sewn to it. True, it had come in handy a time or two when they had pawned it
for enough copper or silver to see them through until they could get their
hands on some money or find a job. But the Roman always went back for it. Why?
Casca said nothing about his reasons, though he sometimes questioned himself
about his holding onto the armor. Perhaps it gave him a sense of identity
that he needed from time to time. The legion, for all its
faults, had been the only home he had ever known. It was where he had grown
into manhood, those years when his personality had been formed. No matter how
far away from the legion he might run or for how many years or even centuries,
it was the same for him as for other men who were raised in a settled home
with family. You could never completely lose them. In the remote recesses of
the mind, home would always be with you, and the legion was his home.
Stumbling and sliding, they worked their way down through thigh-deep drifts of
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