Catla and the Vikings (11 page)
“Good. We'll discuss any changes at the standing stones,” Hugh said. “Now, go and talk it over with everyone, especially the guards. Everyone should know the exact location of the peat hut, the goat pen, the clearing and the path.”
“If you think of anything, we need to hear about it now before we begin,” Edith said. “Don't keep your worries, fears or ideas to yourself. We have one chance to make this work. Everyone is part of it.”
“One thing has occurred to me,” Catla said. “When we reach the standing stones, we should gag our prisoners so they don't yell warnings.”
“That's the idea. This is what I mean,” Edith said. “Speak out if something occurs to you. It doesn't matter if others have thought it, saying it out loud helps us think of everything.”
“Catla, thank you,” Hugh said. “We'll see to that. Matthew, do you have wadding and extra lengths of leather thongs?”
At Matthew's nod, Hugh waved his arm in dismissal. “Aye. You know what to do. Make sure everyone understands what will happen when we arrive in Covehithe.”
Some people's eyes grew wide and wary, while other folks narrowed theirs to slits, but everyone seemed satisfied. They knew the dark would help them by hiding their movements, but Catla wondered if anyone dreaded being out of their cottages at night. Did they fear the unseen like some of the people in her village did? Catla had felt that fear last night. Thinking about her mother had helped her sleep, finally. This night many people would keep each other safe. Would she hear the wolves howl under the roof of the stars in a plaintive chorus? This would be her family's second night in the goat pen. Would they post their own watch? Would the women rub themselves with goat's turds so they were repellent to the Nord-devils?
Mother had told her stories of famous women warriors like Queen Boudicca, who had won battles against the Roman centurions. Mother said it gave her courage when she went into battle, to know other women had done the same thing. Aethelflaed, Queen of Mercia, had led her army to battle and won. Mercia lay some miles to the south of them on the other side of the River Humber, but close enough that Mother felt connected. Thinking about those brave women now gave Catla courage. Mother and Father would be doing everything in their power to keep the family and villagers safe. Surely the slave-raiders would keep them whole and strong. Oh, if only she knew for sure. Her heart pounded again, and she tasted bile. Tears threatened to gush until she shook her shoulders.
Do not give in to these evil fears. No one is aided by them
, she told herself. She turned her fear to anger and let it move her forward.
People talked over the plan so everyone would know exactly what to do each step of the way. Catla looked for someone to talk with, but saw only groups of older men. She supposed they would prefer to hear the details from their friends, so she walked alone with her own thoughts and gradually her anger subsided. Her chest expanded with hope as she breathed in the evening air. It felt good. She was on her way home! And they had a fine plan.
After a few more steps, she frowned as doubts came tumbling in. They didn't have a trap. They'd fight on level ground, face to face. Images of the marauders flooded in and swept her hope away. Then she recalled her father's words about holding an image in her mind. Resolutely, she created a picture, detail upon detail, of her family greeting each other: Bega's brown eyes; Cuthbert's hair, even curlier than hers; her mother's warm smile; and Stoutheart's big doggie grin.
Edith had reminded her that no one knows their own fate. When Catla had gone to the heath the day before, she hadn't known what that would mean for her village. What if she hadn't left the hill when she did? She might not have been as far as the standing stones and Sven might have missed seeing her. The idea startled her. This day would be different. He'd helped her tell her story in Aigber. He'd stopped her from running into the Norsemen by Elder Bush Hill. Without him, she could be on a slave ship instead of walking back to Covehithe.
Looking around, she saw two or three groups of Aigber folks talking to the prisoners. Every family had relatives or knew of someone stolen in earlier slave raids. They were trying to find out if those people were still alive and where they were.
Hugh had told the villagers that if they wanted to talk to the prisoners it had to be while they were walking to the standing stones; after that, the prisoners would be gagged. Even so, people kept a fair distance, and the prisoners' hands were bound so they could do no harm.
Loud voices and a sudden scuffle interrupted her thoughts.
Anson, Rufus's son, strode beside a prisoner who had blood running down his face. “Why should we let these men live?” he yelled. “This swine had a knife and was cutting at his wrist straps. I got it away and knocked him one on the nose.”
Hugh strode to his side and said, “You didn't hurt him much. He won't slow us down. Good man, Anson.” He patted him lightly on the shoulder. “Now, you've got a new knife. It's a nice one too. We'd try to escape, too, in their position.” He raised his voice and called loudly, “Stay alert, everyone. Double your watch on the prisoners. Those of you questioning the prisoners, keep a good distance.”
Catla lagged a bit to walk beside Anson. He was pleased with himself and gave the man a quick jab in the ribs with the knife hilt. She said, “Is it as good a knife as Hugh says, Anson?”
“Yes, it's got a different piece of metal forged into it.” He raised it to show her the dark twisted vein running along the shaft of the blade.
“That gives the blade extra strength. It is fine,” she said. “My mother's short stabbing sword has the same look.”
“Even better. Everyone knows Sarah has good weapons. This one is mine now.” He tucked it into the leather belt that secured his shift. “Do you know the plan?”
She told him in detail and ended by asking, “What do you think?”
“That should work. It's better than charging over the hill yelling like banshees.”
“I agree, Anson, but I⦔
“You agree with this fellow? Don't listen to him. He's never right.” Chad came up behind them. “He makes things up to impress pretty girls. Especially those with red hair.”
“My hair is not red, not really!” Catla blurted the words and then blushed at her fib and that he'd called her pretty.
Chad jostled against her and said, “I suppose you don't have freckles either?”
“At least I'm not pigeon-toed,” she said. Her face flamed as she turned and stormed off, her hair swinging behind her. She tried to close her ears to Chad's teasing voice when he called after her, “It looks like it's on fire in the sun, Catla. Are you sure it's not red?”
She picked up speed, and when she was almost at the head of the line of prisoners, she heard her name whispered. She glanced sharply at an older prisoner who held her gaze. He was the one who had nodded to her back in Aigber when the prisoners arrived from the goat pen. Then softly, he spoke again. “Catla.”
“Do you know me? Do I know you?” she asked.
“I've been to your village and bought your mother's beer,” he said in English.
“So, it was you who brought the raid to us!” She was furious.
“Not so. I promise you. But listen. There's something you need to know,” he said.
Catla was interested but alarmed at the same time. “You know my mother and father? Where did you learn our language?”
“From our slave, when I was a boy.”
“You had a slave! To live as a slave is a wasted life. That's what I think of slavery!” She stamped her foot as she spoke.
“Ah, but isn't that what will happen to us prisoners?” he asked.
“Yes, it is.” Catla hated to agree, but he was right.
“What you mean is, you don't believe in slavery if your people are the slaves, but it's all right if other peoples are slaves?”
Catla didn't know how to answer. She felt confused but chastened. That
was
the way she thought.
“That topic is for a later day. Keep your voice low. I don't want my companions to overhear. The fellows in front and back of me don't speak your language but others do.” The words hissed out of him. “I have something important to tell you. Act bored. The others will think I'm just talking to a pretty girl. Nod once in a while to let me know you are hearing me.”
“Why should I? Who are you to tell me what to do?”
“As I said, I have important news for these people. That is, if they care about keeping their lives.”
“All right, tell me fast.”
“I will, but first, there's something for you to consider. If I help you, will you try and convince your father to let me join one of your villages?”
“Join a village? Are you mad?”
“I have some wealth. I'm too old for this Viking way of life. I want to settle someplace. Be a farmer.”
“A farmer?” Catla laughed as she appraised him. He was stocky, with powerful arms and shoulders. His face was half hidden by a beard. His eyes were blue and clear as the skies. “Who are you?”
“Ragnar,” he replied. “I'm a lord's son, but younger sons don't inherit land. We go raiding and trading instead.”
“What is it you've got to tell me? Be quick. Maybe I'll help you. What's so important?”
“Another ship is coming to Covehithe. Its crew is to have first choice of you. You are all to be slaves.”
“We've beaten you once and we can do it again.”
“Nay, Catla. That's foolish pride talking. There's something you don't know. The new ship belongs to the king's commander, Helgi. His crew is tougher than this pathetic group and there are more of them. Our group was supposed to capture everyone in both villages. They want everybody.”
At his words, Catla's head jerked up and she looked right at him. “Do you think anyone has died?”
“It's hard to say. These are slow-witted men, some of them. All I know is that Helgi wants everyone. The men are afraid of the commander. They do what he tells them. Get this information to Hugh. Your people need to know it. I'll talk to him. I can speak for myself.”
With a quick backward glance, Catla hurried past the rest of the prisoners.
Ragnar
. She repeated his name so she'd remember.
Where was Hugh?
A new ship.
Helgi.
What would that do to the plan?
Her heart quickened. Was this a trap? The new ship might be in the cove already. Is that why the prisoners had seemed ready to make the trek? Could Ragnar be trusted?
She needed to find Hugh. She hurried forward and spotted the standing stones. She'd never come at them from this direction and they looked different. She was halfway home. She longed for her parents' warm arms and Bega's smiles. Soon she'd see them. Soon. She pushed down the voice that warned her not to be too sure. What if the other ship was there already? She thrust that thought aside.
Where was Hugh?
People straggled into the circle of standing stones, but Catla didn't see Hugh among them. She pressed both hands against her breastbone to slow her heart and stepped past the long entrance stone. The purple flowers that grew along its easterly side were going to seed. Standing still for a moment, she sent a silent hello to the stones, her old friends. She imagined their low greetings rumbling back to her. Odin stood to her left. At her right was Thor. Her fingers traced the roughhewn surfaces, plucked at mossy crevices and trailed over planes and angles. She looked for the stone she called Mars, standing a bit aloof, as if he couldn't mix with the rest of them. The thought made her smile. As she moved closer to the center, she remembered Sven telling Edith he noticed a difference in the air when he was inside the circle. She paused to sense if she could feel anything. She didn't.
Her legs were tired, and the sore one pulsed. She struggled to keep her balance on the uneven ground. The belt holding her pouch, knife and drinking horn had loosened; she pulled it close again and tucked in the leather ends. Running her hand across her shift she wondered if it could ever be clean again. Across the circle, Hugh sat with his back against Ravensclaw, the large stone across from the opening. She moved toward him, stepping around resting villagers, nodding greetings. The boys and men who sat surrounding Hugh took no notice of her, but Ragnar's words urged her on. “Hugh,” she said. “Hugh, I need to tell you something.”
He turned and beckoned to her with his raised arm. “Come. Sit here, Catla.”
A few men grumbled.
“Make room for the girl, you big oafs,” Matthew chided them. Catla glanced up at him, surprised by his help. The men shifted to make a small space. She squeezed into it and stretched her legs out along the ground.
When she was settled, Hugh said, “Are you comfortable?”
She nodded.
“What's bothering you?”
“I was talking to one of the prisoners, or rather he was talking to me.” Hugh's eyebrows rose and a couple of the men snickered.
Her cheeks burned, but she stayed quiet. Hugh frowned at them and said sternly, “All right. Let her speak.” He patted Catla's shoulder. “What did he say?”
“Ragnarâhis name's Ragnarâlearned English from a slave when he was a boy, but that's not the most important thing he said.”
“Go on,” Hugh said.
“He wants to talk to you, Hugh. He said another ship's coming to Covehithe with the commander of all their king's ships.”
“Helgi.” The name burst from Hugh's mouth.
“Yes, that's what Ragnar called him,” Catla said.
“You know of him?” Hindley asked Hugh, interrupting Catla.
“By reputation,” Hugh said. “He's a fierce fighter. This is important but grave news. I wonder how he's connected to our prisoners? Anything else, Catla?”