Catla and the Vikings (15 page)

“Look at Father.” Catla spied Athelstan across the council circle standing a little apart, shoulders slumped and face weary. “Let's cheer him up.”

She grabbed her mother's hand, and they ran and leaped into his arms. He staggered under their weight but laughed. “You two great bears. Get off before my back breaks.” Under his gruff words Catla heard the same joy and relief she felt coursing through her body. “Catla. We prayed you were all right. We were afraid for you, afraid you might have been captured too.”

“I was afraid for me too.” She laughed and hugged her father back. “But I was more frightened for you, every moment until the pen was opened and I saw you. Are Bega and Cuthbert and—”

“Nay, child. No worries. We are hungry and still shocked, but unharmed,” Athelstan said.

“The men didn't touch us women,” Sarah continued. Then a twinkle came to her eye and she added, “I'm not sure why. Perhaps the smell of goats was not to their liking.”

Now Catla's tears swelled down her cheeks in relief.

“I want to hear it all,” her mother said. “You got help in Aigber. Where did you meet Sven? I sensed you were safe even as I was afraid to hope. We have much to tell each other.”

Talk, laughter and more greetings mingled in the fresh morning light as people from both villages greeted each other in thanksgiving.

“We did it.”

“We beat the Norse bullies!”

“Let's hear it for the people of Aigber.”

Catla joined in the cheers and laughter. She felt content. The sun's rays broke through the fog bank, and the sunrise colors paled and dissipated. The slanting light lit people's faces, most of them grimy from the dirt used to blend into the dark night, others filthy from goat droppings. They pointed and laughed at each other, then washed using water collected from the rivulet on the far side of the cove. Other folks jumped right into a small pool in the stream created years before for that very purpose.

The devastation of the village showed plainly now in the new light: small cottages with burnt thatch, blackened and half-burnt walls. The Covehithe women went to their hearths and started their fires from the council fire embers, gathered what little food they could find and prepared it for the pots. In the midst of the destruction, people still needed to be fed. Catla hadn't looked closely at her small cottage when she'd passed it in the dim morning light except to see the burnt thatch and missing flowers. Now she wanted to inspect it carefully. Black soot framed the opening and covered part of the outside walls. She swallowed past a lump in her throat and went in. All the sleeping robes were there, scorched and covered with ashes. Catla lifted her robes and checked for her knife and golden coin. The knife was there. The coin was missing.
Spoils of war
. She felt a pang of regret but shrugged and took the robes outside, wrinkling her nose at their odor. The fur had been burned away in a few places where thatch had fallen, so the hide showed, blackened and brittle.

She raised her eyes to the walls, dark from the smoke of years of cooking over the central hearth fire. Toward the roofline they were even darker. The small clay lamp was missing from its niche. The tanned goat hide, used as a summer door cover, had been torn off, crumpled in a heap and kicked aside.

“Heathen devils,” Catla said. Even so, she felt relief. Her home was standing, and everything could be fixed.

“I expected worse,” Sarah said beside her. “Did you give the robes a good shake?”

At Catla's nod, she continued, “Then look to see if there's anything in the kitchen garden we can put in the pottage. The broth will be thin if we can't find enough vegetables to thicken it and give it some flavor. We'll need oats too.”

In the small garden the herbs and vegetables were trampled. “Nord-devils,” Catla muttered aloud in anger, pulling at shoots of garlic greens mashed into the dirt.

Catla and Sarah worked, adding to the pottage. Then Hugh called Catla's name. Catla looked down the pathway that led from her home, through the grove of aspens and alders, to the council ring. He waved at her. She waved back. He beckoned her and called, “Catla, come here.”

She waved again to show she'd heard.

Her mother said, “Go. This is part of your story now. We have days and days to talk.”

As Catla started to walk, a warm little hand grasped hers and she looked down.

Bega smiled up at her. “Catla, where were you?”

“Oh, Bega, come with me.” Holding hands, they walked toward Hugh. Folks smiled at her and moved aside so a narrow path opened before them all the way to the council ring. Catla felt pats on her back and arms as she moved. Sven was already standing beside Hugh, and as Hugh's hand beckoned her forward, her face started to burn. She gulped and squeezed Bega's hand. She hated fuss. Of any kind.

“You sad, Catla?” Bega asked.

“No. I am not sad, but I'm not happy. Everyone's looking at me.”

“Be happy. I hold your hand.”

Catla smiled at her little sister's wisdom and felt the muscles in her face relax slightly. Pulling Bega close to her side, she stepped up beside Hugh and Sven. When she looked out at the faces of her friends, she couldn't help but smile. Edith caught her eye. Now her smile broke into a genuine beam of joy.

Hugh engulfed Catla and Sven in a huge hug, one to each arm. When people hushed their talk, he said, “These two quick-thinking, brave young people have saved our villages. We're here to celebrate because of them. Their warning came in time for us to capture the Norsemen in Aigber. They knew by helping us, Covehithe would get help. Together we won against brute strength. Today we are not slaves. We are free. Thank you, Catla and Sven.” He gripped her left wrist and Sven's right one and lifted their arms high.

A mighty whoop rose into the morning air. Pleased but still embarrassed by the many eyes on her, Catla smiled back at her friends. A feeling of contentment and thanksgiving settled inside her. The Covehithe dogs ran around and got in everyone's way. Catla saw Stoutheart. Her heart thudded. He was safe! She'd been so afraid he'd been killed. “Stoutheart,” she called and as soon as he saw her, he waved his plumed tail and trotted over, grinning, his tongue hanging over the side of his mouth. He stuck his nose into her open hand, and she knelt with Bega as they both threw their arms around his neck. People clapped, hugged their neighbors and patted each other's backs.

Hugh raised his arm for silence once more. “Before we get too far into our celebration, let us remind ourselves we have things to discuss at council. Helgi will arrive with a crew of warriors, today or on the morrow, by our reckoning. You don't know Ragnar, our Norse friend, but he will tell us what he knows. Athelstan, will you call a council?”

Athelstan nodded. Hugh held up his hand and said, “Come to Athelstan's council at the wolf's call. We'll find our answers. Talk to each other. What can we do to foil Helgi? Soon we will have our food and ale.”

Catla made slow progress, winding her way to her cottage through the crowd as people thanked her with hugs and pats on the back. The council circle emptied as cottages were inspected. Debris was being cleared from hearths and fires had been lit. Pots filled with water to cook the short-shadow meal hung on the metal supports.

Women's voices called back and forth as they explored their cottages and shared what they needed. The women from Aigber helped, and soon the cottages hummed like a honey tree full of bees.

As Catla handed garlic, onions and a cabbage to her mother, she remembered her unpleasant decision. “Mother, where's Olav? I thought he'd be anxious to see me.”

Sarah avoided her eyes as she handed Catla some cut up cabbage for the pot. “There's been a change.”

“Is he hurt? He seemed fine when I saw him outside the goat pen.”

“No, but—”

“I'm sorry, Mother,” Catla interrupted. “I don't mean to be rude, but I cannot marry him. I thought I could, and I even made a vow that I would go through with the betrothal if you were all safe when I returned home. But, Mother, I can't. I just can't.”

“Father John thinks Olav would be kind to you, Catla. You'll grow to like him. Our lord has agreed to the match.”

“Would you have married someone you didn't like, Mother?”

Sarah was silent for a moment before she said, “So that's how things are. Is there nothing about him you find attractive?”

“No. I really don't like him at all.”

“Your father will be upset.”

“I'll talk to him as soon as I have the chance.” Catla squared her shoulders and turned her back on Sarah.

“Well, there is something that may influence things. I was just going to tell you. During our time in the pen, Martha was hysterical.”

Catla turned back to face her mother.

“Olav was the only one who could calm her. She clung to him. It was disgraceful.”

I can see her doing it
, Catla thought.
She always cries for what she wants
. “Didn't Father tell Martha that Olav had spoken for me?” Catla was surprised at her indignation. It was all so confusing. She didn't want Olav, but she didn't want him to be with someone else. It made no sense.

“She knew. We didn't say anything. Everything was so uncertain. No one knew what would happen to us all. And it seemed to solve everyone's problems. And now you tell me you don't want him after all.”

“I don't, but what about Olav? Won't he feel obligated to complete his betrothal promise? Aren't people talking about this?”

“Yes, now that you're home, Olav will consider himself betrothed to you. He will say he was comforting Martha as a friend, but he'll still expect to marry you.” Sarah and Catla continued cutting up vegetables as they paused to think.

“Well, now I feel pushed aside like some…some spoiled onion,” Catla said. “What kind of a man is he? Do you think he'll be anxious to be rid of the betrothal? Martha already knows how to behave like a wife. Maybe he'd rather have her. They are closer in age.”

“Ah, you are definitely a woman now, Catla. We don't like to be passed over. We want to be the ones to decide our own fates. And I see your point about Olav. We'll see what your father has to say. He has to be considered as well. I don't know the way Olav thinks.”

“Father's not the one who will have to live with Olav in York…” Her voice died as she looked at the frown on her mother's face. She knew her mother was right. She grew quiet. The talk with Mother had gone better than she had anticipated. Father had to be considered. She wondered if there was some way out of this mess with everyone getting what they wanted, and no one appearing to have lost anything important.

“I hope Martha feels guilty,” Catla said. “Stealing a betrothed man. I'd like to see them both squirm.” Even as she said it, she realized it wasn't true. She wanted to be free of Olav, and Martha was doing her a favor.

“Nay, Catla. Your kindness is stronger than your pique. We have to live with them, remember. Besides, if you act in a nasty way, Martha will feel justified and righteous in saving Olav from you, not uncomfortable. She'll be able to say she saved him from a shrew.” Sarah grinned at her daughter.

A wail arose from Martha's place, two cottages away. Catla raised her eyebrows. “There she goes again. Shall we see what it's about this time?”

Mother and daughter found Martha sobbing. “I can't live here. Look at it.” The front wall was in one piece, but the top half of the back and south walls were burned away. Everything was blackened and burned. The thatch was gone from all but the northwest corner of the roof. Charred timbers and clods of thatch lay on top of the sleeping robes and pots on the hard-packed earthen floor.

“Oh, Martha,” said Sarah. “Those horrible men!”

Catla watched her mother pat Martha's back and realized that the scene was familiar. She'd witnessed Martha's wailing all her life.

Olav, you'll be getting more than you bargained for
.

As if she had called him with her mind, Olav appeared in the doorway of the cottage, then stopped abruptly when he saw Catla and Sarah with Martha.

“Hello, Olav,” Catla's voice was cool. “Martha is upset about the state of her cottage. Are you well?”

He gulped but he hurried forward and clasped her hands. “Very well, thank you. Catla, you have done a wonderful thing for these two villages.” Then he paused and gulped again, but Catla spoke before he could continue.

“I need to talk to you, Olav. But now is not the time or the place. We'll get Martha settled and then I'll come and find you. We'll walk down to the grove and back. Is that all right with you?” Catla kept her face clear of expression.

“That is…I want to talk to you as well. That is…” He sputtered to a halt.

“Fine then. I'll be along soon. Martha is calming down.”

After they got Martha settled, Catla took a deep breath for courage and stepped onto the path toward her home. Once there, she gave the pottage a few more stirs and glanced at Olav lingering outside the door. Catla stepped out to join him, smiled and said, “Shall we walk down toward the grove? We'll cut through the trees and avoid the goat pen.”

Olav nodded in agreement and moved to take her arm, but Catla sidestepped his hand, turned and walked beside him. She said, “Mother tells me that you helped Martha when you were all imprisoned in the goat pen.”

Olav's hard gaze lingered on her face as he said, “Yes. The poor woman was in great distress. It seemed to everyone there that I was most able to calm her and restore some peace. The guards were threatening to gag her if she couldn't be quiet, and that terrified both her and her sons.”

“I can see that would have been nasty. But tell me, Olav, have you found feelings for Martha?”

“Well,” he sputtered, and his face turned a dull red, “she appreciates me, which is more than you have ever done.”