Casca 2: God of Death (14 page)

The days were warm and good. Casca walked among his people, watching the women spin, watching them turn the spindles to convert the cotton wool into thread for cloth. The young children were learning the arts of their fathers ... to be either warriors or priests. But the ones who really made the city live were the farmers, merchants, and artisans. Casca took a special delight in the workers of stone and gold. Watching a goldsmith refining his precious metal, Casca noted that there was no difference in the method here from that of his own homeland, Rome. The gold was stacked in earthenware plates and placed in a pot, each plate separated by powdered stone or brick dust. Then the pot was covered and heated until it glowed red. The smith would build up the heat with a blowing bellows until the gold was hot enough to melt. The impurities would combine with the dust, and when the process was finished the gold was purified and ready to be worked.

Casca was thus absorbed in watching the goldsmith when the runner came and fell to his knees before the Quetza.

"Lord," the runner reported, "they come! The giant and the ones with the shining skins come as you ordered."

The Vikings had reached Teotah.

The sight that greeted the Vikings was one that they knew they would long remember. Those who lived would tell and retell to their children and grandchildren what they saw that day. To begin with, they were properly awed by the size of the great city, and by the buildings. But that was only the beginning. When they reached the great square and were surrounded by palaces and pyramids, the sight left them all with their mouths hanging open – unfortunately an invitation to the Teotec flies. Ten thousand warriors lined the square, each in the brilliant plumage of his sect. Foremost, by virtue of their allegiance to Casca, were the Serpent men. Then the Jaguar soldiers. Less prominent were the Coyote troops and the Puma sect, but even these were grouped together in a brilliant rainbow display of feathers and skins. Their faces were painted, their weapons edged with obsidian and flint, their shields bearing designs strange and wonderful to the Vikings and tasseled with exotic feathers.

Nor was the sight alone all. Then
came the sound of drums and reed flutes. The group of Serpent soldiers to the west drew back to form a lane – and the Vikings gawked in amazement. Here came a giant litter carried by fifty men, their faces black and each naked as the day he was born. They moved and chanted in step, carrying their enormous burden. The litter was protected by a canopy. Seated on a throne under the canopy was a monstrous figure in gleaming feathers, his face covered by a green stone mask, his hands holding a spear and one of the wooden clubs edged with razor-sharp obsidian.

People by the tens of thousands stood lining the thoroughfares as far as the eye could see. They were all quiet and well-behaved. When the palanquin approached, they would prostrate themselves to it.

The litter was definitely the center of attention. As it drew closer, the Vikings could see that it was covered with sheets of gold and decorated with blue and green stones. An ancient priest preceded it. His staff of office aided him to walk. His head was erect and proud beneath his coating of red and black paint. Closer the giant litter came. The drumming and the fluting reaching an ear-piercing crescendo as they neared. Ten feet from the Vikings they stopped. The sudden silence was impressive. It was broken for the Vikings only by the sound of their own breathing. Then a voice boomed out at them.

"Welcome!" it said in the language of the Norsemen. "Welcome to the lands and city of the
Teotec."

Olaf stared in amazement. "Is it you, lord, behind the green mask?
Aye. It must be. None of these people has eyes of your color. By Odin, lord, you look like some great green bird in all those feathers. Surely you sit in a strange nest. But we are glad to see you, lord, and, as you have ordered, we have come to do your bidding."

In the Roman manner taught them by Casca, the Vikings drew their swords at Olaf's command and with the wind whipping through the blond and red
mustaches cried out as one man: "Hail, Casca, Lord of the Keep! Ave! Ave!"

Casca
signaled, and the junior priests lowered their burden carefully to the ground. He stepped to the front of the litter.

His barbaric
splendor was a sight to see. On his arms and wrists he wore bracelets of gold in the likeness of serpents eating their tails, while around his neck a massive pendant of beaten gold inlaid with jade pictured the history of the Teotec.

He removed the mask. It was beginning to cramp him anyway. His familiar scarred face, red and sweating, smiled at his men.

Sweeping Olaf up in his arms, Casca roared with obvious pleasure. He thumped Olaf on his back until the young Glamson thought his ribs would give way.

"Pray, lord," he pleaded, "if you would have me in any condition to fight later on, go easy now."

Casca's rolling laughter echoed around the square, and the sound of his mirth set the native people to smiling. All was well. The Tectli was pleased. Passing through the ranks of his men, Casca called each by name. He asked about the faces that were missing and frowned at their loss. But the life of a soldier is death, and they had died like men. When the living returned to their home fires even the dead would become immortal in the telling and retelling of great feats.

Returning to his litter, Casca called out to the city: "These are my men! They are to be your friends! They shall live among you! But, remember, they are not of your ways and customs. Be patient with them, and they will learn. If any offends, you tell me, and I will administer justice. These are my words. So let it
be. I am the Quetza."

Turning to Olaf, he said, "You will be made welcome. Quarters are prepared. You and your men must rest after your journey. Come to me for the evening meal. Bring your officers, and we will talk of what must be done here."

Olaf was properly astounded. He bowed his head. "As you wish, my lord." Then he turned to his hairy band, and his voice boomed out in command – very much like Casca:

"Let none here offend our hosts by bad manners. Though these people appear to be savage, I think we could learn much from them. The first one of you who gets his ass in trouble – particularly over a woman – will find himself singing his death song a helluva lot quicker than he thought. Understand? Good! Then follow these men." He indicated the priests who had stepped forward at Casca's bidding. "We will rest."

Once at their assigned quarters, the Vikings settled down to an excited chatter about their new surroundings and about what had happened to Casca. While this was going on a group of women slaves, heads bowed, demure, entered. Each went to one of the warriors and put a necklace of gold and turquoise about his neck, then a bracelet of gold set with jade on his wrist. Shy and fearful, they then withdrew. After getting a good look at the asses of the slave girls, several of the Vikings were immediately ready to trade their gifts for a quickie.

"All right, settle down." Olaf's voice came through the excitement. "You men hit the sack. But before you go to sleep, make sure your weapons are clean and ready for use. Also, I want three men posted at the entrance at all times. We may be guests here, but we should be careful as always."

Totzin had watched the proceedings with the bile bitter in his mouth.
Well enough
, he thought.
More of these paleskins for the altars
. His eyes caught a glimpse of Metah as she joined Casca on his litter for the return to the palace. Totzin ran his tongue over his lips as he watched the rich sway of her hips and the bounce of her ripe breasts.
When I am done with the Quetza, I shall take her for my own as long as she pleases me. When she no longer amuses me, I shall feed her to the Jaguar ... except for those parts I take for myself....

Olaf followed his painted priest guide across the way to the palace of Casca. His quick gaze missed nothing. He was taken past guards in elaborate headdresses and with strange weapons. The walls were covered with murals depicting the life and culture of the people of
Teotah. Behind Olaf his officers followed him in awe. Finally they came to a massive door of carved wood. Two Serpent soldiers opened it and ushered the Vikings into a more familiar presence.

Casca stood in the
center of the huge room wearing only a loincloth. His arms and wrists were covered by massive gold bracelets. Casca welcomed the Vikings. They stood for a moment looking around the room. In the center were benches and a table covered with many foods – even the flesh of the small dog that these people prized so much.

"Before we talk, eat and drink," Casca commanded. He indicated for them to take their places with a sweep of his muscled arms. The movement of his arms focused attention on the jagged scar on his chest, the raised red welt that had not yet had time to pale into the many other faded scars that limned his body. Olaf eyed the jagged wound but said nothing. Casca would tell of it when he was ready – but now for the food. The Norsemen fell to with their normal
vigor, though most of them carefully avoided the red peppers and spices. They had met those on their journey, and just looking at them they could remember how they had burned their mouths ... and even later the burning was renewed when the chiles made their exit. The meat they favored most was that of a large bird resembling a giant chicken, but with drumsticks twice the size of that familiar domestic fowl.

The men showed a definite liking for the local wine, once they got used to the taste. Casca told them it was called
octli. There was also the more pungent mezcal. A few of the Vikings even swore to its good effects. Both, Casca explained, came from a fleshy, long-leaved plant with sharp spines that was known as the magucy.

Olaf swallowed a long draw of
pulque, wiped his blond mustache clean with the back of his hand, and said, "Well, Lord Casca, it may not be beer or mead, but it does set your head feeling as if all were well. Is it?"

The question cut through the
clamor.

"Well enough, Olaf
Glamson."

They all stopped eating. Casca looked around at the waiting, expectant faces of those who had followed him so far from their home waters. One by one he gazed into their eyes, into the faces of these, his officers. They were rough men with the blood of heroes in their veins, not the refined cultured officers of the Roman nobility
nor of the princes of the East. These men could spend a lifetime without sleeping under a roof and feel no sense of deprivation. They could eat anything that walked, flew, dug, or swam – or that could eat them, and they'd even take that on if they got in the first bite. Their form of courage was basic and primitive in its origin. They had been raised on a steady diet of what they believed to be the manly virtues. Courage and loyalty to their own came first. Their own lives were less important to them than being faithful to what they considered to be their honor as warriors.

Beside Olaf sat Vlad the Dark. His hair was coal black, with traces of blue lights in it. His skin was deep bronze from the sun. He could almost have been taken for one of the
Teotecs had it not been for the piercing blue eyes that watched all about him in quiet study. Quiet he was, and the most mannerly of the barbarians seated here. Seldom did he get into the piss-binding drunken stupor that his comrades seemed to enjoy so much. Nor was the Viking habit of boasting his. He never sang his own praises nor boasted of his prowess with the great axe. Yet few intentionally offended him. The foolish ones who did soon found themselves without their uppermost appendage, for Vlad's quiet manners belied his swiftness with axe and sword. Only to Olaf – whom he loved like an elder brother – and to Casca, the Lord of the Keep, did he show deference.

The other Vikings were cut more from the cloth of rude violence and boisterous spirits. Bjornson,
Olvir, and Swey were very much like Holdbod the Berserker. When Holdbod fought, the rage would come over him. His lips would froth. He would scream in what seemed an unknown tongue, literally crying for more to come, and slaughtering those who did with his great two-handed blade that was larger than one most half-grown youths could even raise to the waist. With this great sword he could split a man from crown to the waist as clean as a butcher would carve beef.

Casca completed his mental survey. These, then, were his men. He addressed them.

"Olaf, we will soon have work to do. Messengers have come to me that the king of the lands adjoining Teotah is preparing to march against us. And, while I have the loyalty of most of this city, there are some whose mouths speak well, but whose eyes and actions lie."

Olaf broke in, "But, lord, why should we involve ourselves with these people's fights? Why don't we just take what we will and set sail for home? Surely from what I have seen here there is gold and silver enough to make us all rich as kings. What are these people to us?"

Casca caught hold of his temper. His voice dropped a register.

"Olaf, I love you for yourself and for your father. But this is my will. These people and this city are now mine and they are my responsibility. They have the makings of a greater nation than any I have ever met, but they must have time to grow. Here I have stopped the sacrificing of human beings to their gods, and they look on me as a god. I have taken away from them something they held sacred for centuries. And more ... I have found a woman. There are other reasons, but these will suffice."

Casca's gray gaze forced Olaf's eyes down.

"Aye, lord.
We have sworn to obey you in all things. If this is your wish, then so it be. We are your men," Glamson replied.

Pleased, Casca responded in gentler tones: "Olaf, after the fighting is done, those who wish may take the
longships and sail for home. And, as you say, each man will have enough gold to make him rich as a king. But before that time, each must earn his reward. When the Olmecs are beaten, I will release you from your oath of fealty."

"Very good, my lord.
But, if there will be slaughter, then perhaps you will have need of this."

Reaching under the table, Olaf pulled the sack he had been carrying when they entered into full view. It was bulky. It clanged as he set it on the table, sweeping aside trays and plates with his arm, clearing a spot.

Olaf reached inside the bag and pulled out, one at a time, items that each evoked a memory of Casca's past. First, there was a full set of Roman armor. It was the set Casca had in his pack when he and Olaf s father, old Glam, had fought for and won the keep in which Olaf was born. It was well-used armor, but it had been even better cared for.