Casca set about reforming the small group of warriors that served him. He kept forty warriors on full-time duty for the security of the hold and the valley.
They also served as a backup force for any of the villages that might come under attack. There were four villages in his valley and about two thousand people that paid him fealty. Out of that two thousand, he could field four hundred warriors if the need arose. That included males from sixteen to fifty. Casca restored the villagers the right of enforcing their own civil laws by the ancient tradition of a council of elders. He reserved the right of appeal for himself and was the only one able to pass down a judgment of death.
The villages were run under the tradition of village ownership of the tillable land. Each year, the elders would meet and decide how much each family needed for its purposes. The houses were mostly of stone and thatch; many of them were half under the ground, this serving to keep out the worst of the winter chill. They were a tough people with rough rules of honor and chivalry. Of slaves, there were few. Casca himself only owned a half dozen.
His best acquisition was Corio, the Roman shipbuilder, who helped redesign the shallow draft fishing boats and make them better able to deal with the wild currents and storms of the northern waters.
The older warriors were hard to train in new methods. Too long they had fought in the manner of their fathers. Like most of the barbarian tribes, they had little or no armor and went into battle protected at best with shields of wicker or wood with metal rims. Most of their swords were poor things of iron. Casca had more than once, in battle on the Rhine, seen a barbarian have to stop and try to straighten out his blade by placing his foot on it and bending it. The only blades of any worth were sold by traders and were jealously guarded by their fortunate owners. There were still quite a few of the old bronze swords with leaf-style blades around. But Corio also had a knowledge of metal-working, and soon had a small foundry started to produce better blades for Casca's warriors. He just about gave up on trying to discipline the elder warriors and concentrated most of his efforts on their children. It was easier to take a young mind and mold it. Selecting boys of ten to twelve, he made it an honor to be accepted into training. They were to be his insurance for the survival of Lida's people.
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.
Later that night his scouts informed him that the Saxons had also made camp and were no more than five miles distant.
Casca conferred with Glam and they both agreed that it would probably be at least midday before the Saxons reached their positions. Glam was, as always, ready for whatever would come. He honed down the edge of his sword and axe, stuffed half a lamb down his gullet, and went to sleep, snoring and wheezing. One thing about Glam that old bastard didn't seem to have a conscience or a worry about anything. Nothing ever interfered with his eating or sleeping unless it was a quick roll with some sweet young maiden who wanted an experience to remember by coupling with a human bear.
The day broke clear and sharp, ground fog hugging the low spots and hiding in the hollows of the valleys. Before long, it would burn off, leaving the field clear for this day's bloody work. Casca rose with the sun and dressed.
One thing he had learned a long time ago-don't make yourself stand out. Men who affected fancy dress or even armor that was too different from the mass of the men, suffered higher casualty rates. They became selected targets and he had no desire to have a dozen axes and spears coming his way at one time. No, he was a barbarian with the conical helmet with horns. True, he wore his breastplate, but kept it well-hidden under a tunic of gray wolf skin. He kept his short sword in its scabbard for now. A broad-bladed axe, like the one he had killed Ragnar with, would be of more use this day in battering through the wicker shields of the Saxons. He called his captains to him after they had eaten their morning ration of meat and grain.
To Glam he assigned command of the right flank with orders to hold there for his signal unless he saw the center, which he would command, breaking. The left he gave to the proud young warrior, Sifrit, who looked the part of a Nordic hero, blond shoulder-length hair and eyes the color of high mountain lakes. His face was unscarred by battle, not because he had avoided fights but because he was good enough that he won them before he got all cut up. The young man wasted no time on theatrics. When it came to killing, he was all business.
Casca wished he might have had a few of the engines of war that were standard issue in the legions; even a couple of arbalests would have been a comfort. Old Corio could have built them. But his rough crew was not ready to handle such sophisticated weapons of destruction. It would be all he could do to keep them in their positions long enough for the Saxons to fall into his trap. It was probably best, after all, to arm them with the weapons they were most familiar with. He felt he was lucky that he had managed to get a dozen of his young men to take up the use of the bow. Most of the tribes of Germania disdained the use of it, claiming the sword, spear, and axe were the only weapons for a man. That type of thinking had cost them more than one battle. Honor is a fine thing so long as it doesn't get you killed.
He called over the two teenage warriors he had selected as his trumpeters. They only knew three calls: a long blast on the ox horn, two short blasts, and three short blasts. Casca had remarked more than once to Glam that communications were more often than not the secret to success in battle. The leader that could get his orders to his troops the fastest had the best chance of success. If only man had some way to communicate instantly with his forces… but that was likely never to be.
The field was silent. Small animals had taken to their borrows; the larger ones had fled far away. Even the birds were silent, staying in the branches of the trees or in their nests. They knew somehow that violence would soon break the silence. Casca often wondered how the dumb beasts could anticipate the actions of man. But they knew. More than once the sound of silence had warned him of an enemy's approach.
And it would be soon now. The last of the scouts were racing across the field. The Saxons wouldn't be far behind. One of the scouts leaped over the camouflaged trench and saluted Casca. "They come, lord. Led by Hrolthar Bluetooth."
Casca laughed at the name. Bluetooth. These Nordics took things literally and named themselves so. Hrolthar did indeed have a tooth that had died and turned dark in color, sitting right in the front of his mouth.
Glam whistled and pointed with his long sword to the far edge. The leading elements of the Saxons were coming out of the trees, first one, then another. They were big hard men with the look of those who enjoyed slaughter. Most, like his own men, had only bare skin for armor. They were a little fairer in color than his own men and more of them were blond or red-headed. All affected beards or long sweeping mustaches that reached below their chins. Only the young men who did not have enough years to grow face hair were clean-chinned.
Casca had wanted his men to shave, but an order like that could have caused rebellion, even after he'd explained how handy a beard was for an enemy to grab onto and hold a man down while he beat his brains out. But it was no use-they had such an affection for hair on the face that it was best to leave it alone. Maybe he could do something about it later with the younger men. Right now they could have their way. It was worse to give an order you couldn't enforce than not to give one at all.
Glam and the other captains had smiled in anticipation as they understood the reason for Casca ordering the women to make up large wicker shields. They were large enough to cover two men, but light enough for one to hold. They made sure their men also understood the use of them and would wait for the command. And the time would be soon.