Casca 3: The Warlord Read Free

turban of red linen protecting his balding pate from the elements.
    "Welcome aboard the Naida. I can see you got your sea legs and from the way your hide's been burned by the sun, you have spent a long time in the eastern regions of the empire, right?" "Aye, Captain. I was on a trader out of Pireaus for the last few years and this trip was the first for me to these waters."
    The captain nodded, pleased his deduction was correct, "Your name, man?"
    Casca caught his balance as the ship crested some white water, "Longinus, Casca Longinus."
    Lucanus Ortius prided himself on being a judge of men. "From the looks of you, Master Longinus, I would say you have been around a bit; those cut marks on your hide look to be enough for five or six men to have died from."
    Sea spray whipped over the deck, freshening Casca's face. "Aye, Captain, I have been carved up a bit, but they are not as bad as they look. Dull blades don't cut deep, just gouge out a lot of meat, and I still have some to spare."
    Ortius liked the look of the man before him, a strong looking rascal and one you could not easily scare.
    "Good enough. As a courtesy to a castaway, you will be my guest. Just don't start any trouble and we'll make port tomorrow. We lost some way in the night and the damned winds have shifted again; my oarsmen could barely keep their own against it and we couldn't set sails until just before dawn. Now, I have duties to attend to, make yourself comfortable and perhaps we'll talk later. I used to have some shipmates who worked out of Pireaus, perhaps you'll know them." The bandy-legged barrel chested little Sicilian laughed at the memory. "Remind me to tell you about the whorehouse in the south of the village where a Greek whore tried to castrate me for short changing her."
    Casca laughed; the scar running from his left eye to his cheek seemed to tingle.
    The day turned bright and clear as they tacked first to port and starboard working against the cross angles of the wind as the sea miles dropped steadily behind. Casca spent the rest of the day cleaning his weapons, wiping the salt from his blade and honing down the edge of his double-edged dagger he kept in his leggings. During his years in the north countries, he had grown used to having them on and continued to wear them.
    He looked out seaward back across the distance he had come on the Viking longship, wending its way to the safety of the Keep at Helsfjord. "Another part of my life gone. . . Wassail, Olaf Glamson, take my ships home, and if your father lives, tell him I still walk this earth – though I believe he would know it anyway, that great ugly bear of a man. The wheel of life turned again."
    In the flickering waters, for a moment, he saw the face of Shiu Lao Tze, the sage from the lands of far Khitai, who had taught him the way of open-hand fighting. Automatically, he turned his head to face the East. "Khitai, perhaps it's time for me to see the lands beyond the Indus."
    "Sail off the starboard," the lookouts cried.
    Instantly, every head turned to see what vessel was approaching. Unable to make her out, the captain cried up to the lookout perched on top of the single mast, can you make her out?" "Aye, Captain. I will wager my bonus she's a Saxon; the cut of her sails tell me that and the wind is with her. She'll be on us in less than an hour."
    The captain spit, "Saxons, damn them all to the bowels of the darkest pit in hades. One more day and we would have made port. Keep your eye on her and tell me if she changes her course. All hands on deck, prepare for boarders!"
    The crew rushed to the weapons rack taking out their personal preferences from pikes to axes. Several had bows but not enough; with enough archers, they probably would be able to keep the raider at a distance until nightfall and lose them in the fogs that always came to the coast of this land when the dark settled.
    "A good crew, no panic," thought Casca as he watched the look of grim determination set in on the faces