Catla and the Vikings (4 page)

What had her mother and father said to her when they were proud of her? It was hard to remember just now. She surprised herself with a yawn. She was worn out. Her mind wanted to rest. She closed her eyes and said another prayer, gripped the piece of yarrow in her fist and fell into a fitful sleep, crooning the little lullaby she sang to Bega when she couldn't settle.

Suddenly, she was awake, her body still. What had wakened her? Peering at the sky, she saw a soft orange glow toward Covehithe. It was before dawn. She raised her head slowly and looked around, then clamped her lips together to stop a scream. Sitting propped against Thor's stone was a man, his legs sprawled. He snorted in his sleep and his head bobbed. His hat slid lower over his face. She looked closer. Did she know him? What should she do? She started to creep away, but her arm tugged her back. Fighting a feeling of panic, she saw that she was tethered to him by a thin piece of leather. It formed a noose around her wrist and it led to the man's side. She crept a little closer to slacken the thong so she could loosen the knot. As she moved, she looked at him more closely, but with his hat so low she couldn't see who it was.

Her heart pounded and her fingers fumbled in her haste to get away. Where had he come from and why had he tied her to him? Was he a slaver? Her panic grew and made her clumsy. It was hard to see how the leather was tied in the dim light. She glanced at him frequently. He slept. The leather had been taut, but now it loosened as she worked the knot. Calming herself and steadying her fingers, she wiggled the leather carefully. She tried not to pant for fear he'd hear. He remained quiet. She was kneeling on loose stones, and the longer she knelt, the more pain she felt until she thought she'd have to scream. Holding the leather carefully, she wiggled her wrist and bunched her fingers together so that her hand slid loose. Once free, she rolled over and was about to stand when she heard, “Pretty clever, Catla. You did a good job. The only mistake you made was in getting a little too close to me. Your breathing woke me up.”

Still flat on the ground, she lifted her upper body up and peered at him. She knew that voice. “Sven? Is that you?” It wasn't a stranger, or even a man. It was a boy from her village. Before he could answer, she rolled closer and punched him in the arm.

“Ouch! What's that for?” he said. “Oh, I suppose it scared you to be tied to me. I didn't want to wake you up last night, you were so sound asleep. But I didn't want you to leave without me. What are you doing out here anyway?”

Catla blinked hard. It really was Sven. He was an older boy—not one of her friends, really. He'd look at her sometimes and smile, and she liked that he noticed her, but they didn't talk much. Her father spoke well of him. Lately he'd avoided her and she wasn't sure why. Did he know Covehithe had been attacked? Suddenly she didn't want to tell him, to hear herself say it out loud.

“Didn't you see the smoke?”

He nodded. “Yes, I saw the smoke. Is Baldwin burning the old rushes? Cleaning up before winter? I've been to York. I'm later than I planned. What about the smoke?”

“It wasn't Baldwin. It's Nord-devils.” She watched his face change as she poured out the story: the smoke and flames, the ship in the harbor, the men and axes, and her decision to go for help. She spoke quickly, gasping for words, and when she was done she covered her face with her hands and shuddered. She felt as if her bones had turned to seaweed with nothing to do but wave in the tides.

“Ye gods.” His voice caught. “Vikings. It can't be true! Are they Norse, like we've been seeing on the sea this autumn?” He turned to her and gripped her upper arms.

She wrestled her arms free and said, “Yes, I'm sure they're Norse. And it is true. I don't know about my family, or anyone, whether they're safe. It was hard to see. The smoke shifted. Even on top of the hill the smoke blew into my eyes. Too far to see clearly. I didn't see anyone hurt. Well, one dog was killed, I think. I didn't see your father, Sven.” As she said this, she peered anxiously into his face.

“No, you wouldn't have. He's been in Scarborough the last few days. That's why I was in York, to see if he'd gone there after Scarborough was sacked by the Norse army, but I couldn't find him.”

Catla's hands clasped each other in sudden alarm.

“He'll be all right,” Sven said. “He's good at taking care of himself.”

“They won't hurt slaves they plan to sell, will they?” she asked. Her body trembled as she spoke, but she tried to keep her voice level.

“No, they'll want to get a good price and they won't get it if someone is injured and can't work.” After a moment he spoke, so softly Catla almost didn't hear him. “No one is going to turn my village-folk into slaves.” Then he bit the knuckle of his forefinger as if to seal a vow. He was quiet for a little while before he said, “You're very brave, Catla. I couldn't have done any better.” He sounded so solemn, like one of the elders.

Catla realized how little she knew of him as she watched his action. “I'm going to Aigber to get their help. Will you come with me?” she asked. “We can plan along the way.”

“Yes,” Sven said. “Let's go. We'll get a good start to the day.”

The sun threw their shadows before them as they left the circle. Morning dew wet their feet, and the sky lightened from a rosy purple-red to mauve. Moving in front, Sven said, “I've traveled this way before and know the path. We'll move faster if you follow me.” The sunrise filled the sky with glory. Catla was glad for Sven's company as her fear urged her on to Aigber.

CHAPTER FOUR

Headlong into Trouble

Catla's stomach rumbled. “I'm as empty as the oat bag before harvest,” she said as she watched Sven's back on the path in front of her. “I didn't eat last day. Did you?”

Her mind's eye replayed images of the invasion. The sight of the dog's small body flying from the end of the sword, the smoke and the shadows of people moving through it. She frowned and looked back toward Covehithe. A wispy column of smoke still rose in the air, but much of it had disappeared.
I have to stop thinking about the Nord-devils and my family. It's too awful.
She blinked hard and thought again about food.

Sven dropped back to walk beside her. He reached into the leather pouch swinging from his belt, took out a small piece of hard bread and gave it to her. “Oh, thanks,” she said. “When we started walking, the ghosts were out of their graves. The cock will have crowed by now, so they'll be gone. They don't like the sun. Mother and I always say this, but Father laughs and says we must be light in our heads. We don't care. We say it anyway. Besides, I like to hear Father laugh. He's so stern most of the time.” She stopped talking and looked at Sven. “When I talk, I feel better. Do you mind?”

“No, talk all you like. The ghosts won't care if we talk or not. I ate at York last day, and that's what's left. Eat slowly. It's not much.”

Catla's mouth watered as she started to gnaw small bits from the chunk of bread. She glanced sideways at Sven. Was he teasing her about the ghosts? He was looking straight ahead, so she couldn't tell. She glanced up at his face in the morning light. Strong nose and jaw, heavy sandy-brown eyebrows, brown eyes and long ears that didn't stick out as far as her father's. A leather thong caught his brown hair at the nape of his neck. Over the winter it would grow long. Come summer, village men and boys cut their hair when the sheep and goats were shorn, with the same shears. It looked shaggy and strange until it grew a bit, but it was cooler in the heat.

The rising sun behind them pushed their shadows out in front, over the grasses and plants wet with early dew. A spider's web, spanning branches of the boxwood to the right of the path, sparkled with silver crystals as sunbeams lit it.

“We've got a good start,” Sven said. “Are you afraid of ghosts?”

Catla glanced at him and lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “Aren't you? Ghosts come out after sundown and follow people's voices.” She turned her face away.

“I know many folks believe those tales, but I've spoken to Father John and he is not happy with that kind of talk,” Sven said. “He told me so. He says once a good man, woman or child is buried, they stay in the ground, except for their souls, which go to heaven eventually.”

Catla heard more than a hint of instruction in his words, and she turned on him, glaring. “Who do you think I am? Bega? I know it's not their bodies! Ghosts don't have bodies. They have, um, ghostliness. Father John might not know everything. What if they were bad people, like the men who are in our village right now? Do you think Father John would think they would stay under the earth or would their spirits go looking for human blood, or even human souls?”

“You're making me feel creepy.”

“You started it.”

“All right. Peace. We'll not argue. Let's plan. We should be in Aigber before their short-shadow meal. If the villagers come back with us right away, we can be back to the standing stones before nightfall. That is, if everything goes well and they agree to help us.”

Catla gasped and her words sputtered. “Why wouldn't they help us? We'd help them. Of course they'll help us.”

“Sorry, Catla. I don't want to fight. It's just that…”

“I'm not fighting! Why do you think they wouldn't help us?'

“They will if they can.”

“If they can? Of course they can! There are plenty of people to help.”

“Catla, what I am trying
not
to say is, what if they've been captured too?”

“Oh.” Her stomach felt like it had been hit by a billy goat. When she'd had the same thought earlier, she'd pushed it aside, but now, coming from Sven, it sounded even worse.

Sven put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him in a quick squeeze. “Don't give up.” Then he added, “That's just a friendly hug. Olav won't mind, will he?”

“He has nothing to say about it. Not yet.”

“This one is for good measure.” Sven squeezed her shoulders again.

Catla's cheeks grew warm. She liked Sven's arm across her shoulders. It comforted her and for a moment she felt safe, as her body leaned into his. She hadn't thought about him as a friend. He'd always just been one of the older boys. Old Ingrid would have said their fates were being spun together. The Norms, Fate's three goddesses, were creating her future as they walked. She hoped fervently it would be a good spinning, but she felt frightened and hollow when Sven echoed her own dark thoughts.

“So,” he said, giving her a playful push away, “if they get organized to help us, we should be back to our village to rescue our people before the next sunup.”

“I was hoping it would be like that,” Catla said. “I know some of the way in the dark, close to home. Was there a moon last night? I didn't look for it.”

“It rose while you slept. See, it's still there before us. Won't you worry, walking in the dark? What about those ghosts?”

“Oh, if we're together, I'll make sure you're in front. They'll get you. I'll slip away. Father John will rescue you, after I let him know.” She smiled.

“It's good to laugh,” he said, “but we need to stay alert for trouble.”

Catla felt a spurt of anger. “I am alert. You didn't see what I saw. I don't moan about it every minute, but it's always with me, and I am alert. Maybe it's easier for you.”

“Maybe it is. I hate what's happened. Now you're upset again. Look, why don't you tell me everything you saw?”

“You think that'll help?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and flounced her head away from him. “It'll make it worse.”

“Nay, Catla. Talking helps. A shared worry becomes smaller. You'll see.”

Sven should know what she'd seen yesterday. It was his village too. But his comments had made her angry. “I've already told you. Do I have to tell it again?” she said.

“Not the part about you seeing the smoke and running up the hill, but could you tell me what you remember about the village?”

“Cottages were burning, and smoke covered everything. Dogs were barking, and there was a Norse warship in the harbor. Two boys, maybe my brothers, herded the pigs, and…”

“Hold on a bit, Catla. Slow down. Draw me a word picture. Can you remember how many cottages were actually in flames?”

Catla took in a slow deep breath to steady herself and uncrossed her arms. She thought harder about what she had seen. She told him again about the Nord-devils and their axes, cottages on fire and the way people were hidden and then revealed by the swirling smoke. “Do you think the Nord-devils will have killed anyone?”

“I don't know.” Sven shook his head, looking sad.

“The Nord-devils pushed everyone toward the goat pen. It would make a good prison. They'd only need a few guards.”

“I agree. How do you know the Vikings were Norsemen? Maybe they were Danes.”

“They spoke Norse. I heard it but was too far away to hear what they said. I know a few words. Old Ingrid taught me a little Norse, and Father and Mother speak it some. Besides, the ship was a warship like those that sailed past the cove on their way to battle some days ago.”

“All right. How many Norsemen were there?”

“I couldn't tell. I tried to count but I just don't know.”

“Did it seem like a lot? More than our village?”

“Maybe so,” Catla said. “There was one ship in our cove. I don't know how many men it takes to sail one of those. It was really long.”

“Not many or quite a few, depending on how far they go. They'd plan on using captured slaves to work the oars. They'd get about thirty rowers from our village. They might be planning to raid other villages as well.”

“Aigber.” They said it at the same time.