Catla and the Vikings (7 page)

Hugh looked as though he wanted to argue, but he nodded instead.

“I'd like to see the hill fort someday,” Catla said, “but right now I'd like to help.” She looked at the wooden wagons piled with food, pots and sleeping robes. Some crates holding chickens were piled on one wagon. They'd be food for the foxes if they were left behind. She thought about the villagers separated from their loved ones in this time of danger. But they'd be safe from capture, she reminded herself.

One woman complained loudly to a dark-haired man who must have been her husband. “Why can't we stay? I'd be here with him. He's four years old. He'll not get in the way. He knows how to mind what I say. I want to stay and fight. You know I'm good with my stave.”

Edith took her arm and spoke to her softly.

The woman jerked her arm away and finished putting the items piled on the ground beside her onto a cart. “Come along then, Egbert.” A small boy climbed up on top of the pile and the dark-haired man gave both his wife and child a kiss.

“She's right, you know,” Wulfric said at Catla's side where he had watched the same scene. “Everyone wants to be here for the fight.”

Edith looked at him from across the path and said, “It is hard for you to go, Father.”

“Yes, it is. But someone has to be in charge. I've had a lot of experience. I'll make sure everything is all right up there.”

“Thank you, Father. That is important to us all.”

Catla kept her eyes on the ground to hide her smile at Wulfric's capitulation. She was glad she'd had this chance to know him a little. She'd look for him at the next Longest Day celebration—if there was one.

One of the young women said, “My friends and I will go and help our mothers settle the children and grandparents. But we want to go to Covehithe, so we'll meet you at the standing stones. Can one of the boys come and tell us when you're leaving? He could bring everyone news of the ambush.”

Hugh said, “Yes, Brida, good idea. You shall come. I promise we'll send for you and any others who want to join us at Covehithe.”

Brida called to Hindley, the village cooper. “Father, did you hear that? I'm to go to Covehithe. Hugh said so, just now.”

Hindley walked over to his daughter and said, “I'd rather you were staying safe, but I know how much you want to be there. You have my blessing, child.”

The twisty paths between the cottages filled with scurrying folks. Women's voices called to each other.

“I've got a few peas left.”

“I'll bring the bread I made.”

“I've got a pot of food ready, but I'll leave some behind too.”

People worked and chattered to each other, everyone intent on getting the jobs done.

Catla backed away until her legs felt the small stool beside Edith's cottage wall. She watched the bustling scene and all at once thought about home. What was her family doing right now? Were the Nord-devils giving them anything to drink or eat? Were the children safe? Everything was taking too long here. She wanted to leave for Covehithe now. She shook her hair across her face to hide her resentment. She knew she was being petty. Moment by moment she felt a deep isolation. Surrounded by friendly faces, she still felt much alone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A Swift Turn of Events

A haze of fine dust floating in the air above the bustling village caught the rays of the sun. It settled on the villagers eating bread with porridge. Some of them ate newly harvested onions, and everyone had some ale. Catla hadn't felt hungry, but when Edith appeared with a smear of porridge on bread and an onion, her stomach rumbled.

Edith smiled at the sound. “Eat now, Catla. No one has forgotten Covehithe. The hill-fort group is almost ready to leave.”

Eating made Catla feel guilty. Her family was hungry and suffering, and she had food and freedom. She looked into the blue autumn sky. Its calm provided a sharp contrast to the activity all around her. Suddenly, she felt exhausted and became aware again of the throbbing in her sore leg. She was glad for the sun-warmed wall and leaned against it as she watched bundles of fur and food grow higher.

Sven came around the corner of the cottage, his shirt gathered like a bag, holding stones. “For the Norsemen,” he said. At her questioning look, he explained, “We're making piles of rocks to throw at the Norsemen. They're all along the path.” He crouched beside her and chewed the bread Edith handed him. When he finished eating, he patted Catla's arm awkwardly and left.

The village dogs with wide chests and long legs were harnessed to the wagons with leather thongs and traces. Catla was used to these snarling, growling beasts, but she was glad that they were muzzled.

Wulfric passed, holding the elbow of an older woman who moved with difficulty. He treated her tenderly, and Catla could see why Edith had wanted him at the hill fort.

“Leah, here's a place on these soft wolf pelts,” Edith said. Leah settled herself on one of the wagons and lifted her arms to hold a baby. Mathilda and another toddler climbed up beside her.

One of the younger boys appeared with two milk goats harnessed together.

“Good thinking, Daniel. You'll need nanny goats. I see you have tied them well.” Edith bent to examine the knots that held the goats, and Daniel's face glowed under the praise.

“I've let the rest out to graze. We'll find them when we come home. Matthew told me to let the pigs find their own food too.”

“Well done, Daniel.” Hugh patted his shoulder.

Mathilda had skidded off the slippery bedding robes and was crying. Wulfric picked her up, gave her a short hug, then settled her on a shorter pile beside a knot, which he put in her hand. Holding her doll among the folded furs, she waved to Catla and called, “We're going on an adventure, Catla. I'm holding on to this knot.”

Catla smiled at her, but suddenly tears threatened to spill. She stammered out a faint, “Good luck,” and turned her face away, afraid she'd cry if she looked at the eager little girl any longer. Her red cheeks and trusting eyes reminded her too much of Bega.

Hugh moved among the women and children, speaking quietly, stooping to tighten a rope here or tuck in a piece of fur there. “Brida, you'll lead? You know the way? Wulfric will point you straight if you need help.” Hugh draped his arm over Edith's shoulders and pressed her close in a short hug. “Thank you. I'll see you soon.” Then he faced the assembly. “Thank you for your quick work. Go in safety with blessings until we meet again.” The small procession of walkers and four wagons set off toward the haven in the hills.

Hugh turned to Catla. “I'm glad you are resting. You're tired.”

“I suppose I am.”

“Edith will go part of the way and then come back. She likes a good fight, and she doesn't want to miss the Norsemen.”

Catla smiled at this fierce side of the woman who treated her so gently. She closed her eyes and tried to envision Covehithe as it had been, with everyone safe and happy. Then she moved her mind forward to see into the future. She'd meet with the women in their circle at the next Longest Day celebration. Girls were invited after their eleventh summer. She'd been invited last summer but hadn't been interested. Now that she was thirteen and almost betrothed, she'd be expected. She wished she had gone last summer. Maybe she'd know better what to do about Olav.

The next thing she felt was wolf fur tickling her nose. She rolled over and saw she was on a pile of sleeping robes inside a cottage. She stretched and sat up, lifting her skirt to check her sore leg. The bruise was turning yellow at the edges and was less tender when she touched it.

Outside the cottage, people were talking. She listened. Had the Nord-devils come?

No one shouted. Nothing seemed wrong.

She left the cottage and approached the council circle.

“How do you feel?” Hugh asked. “Better?”

“Yes, I do. Was I asleep long?”

“Not long. I was afraid you'd topple off the little stool, so I moved you inside.”

“Thank you. What's happening now?”

Hugh gestured to some weapons lying on the ground. “We've collected all the village weapons. Everyone needs to be armed, including you, Catla. You can choose when the villagers are done.”

She felt for her catapult in the pouch which hung beside her drinking horn, and wished for her own short knife. She eyed a slim stave of ash. She'd choose it, if someone didn't take it first, and a knife, if one were left.

“Peter, you've got your short sword,” Hugh said. “Go stand watch and send the boys back to choose their weapons.” Peter nodded and trotted off.

Hugh touched his sword. “I've got what I need. Matthew, have you got yours?”

“Aye, and I'm keeping it too,” Matthew growled.

“Fair enough. Claim your weapons, everyone,” Hugh said. “Edith has her knife, stave and catapult with her.” In the end, three skinning knives and a few staves, including the one Catla liked, were left.

“Catla, choose a knife and a stave.”

“All right, Hugh. I like this stave. It's not too heavy.” With a knife in her belt and a stave in hand, she swallowed hard, hoping she was ready, hoping she would know what to do when the Nord-devils came.

Fergus explained the strategy. “Lie on the path behind the plants and bushes, close to a pile of throwing stones. Pelt them with the rocks after I give the signal. You men who are the pullers, position yourself beside the ropes.”

Several men shifted next to each other. Catla focused on Fergus.

“When they land,” Fergus continued, “let them get close to the oak sapling on the upriver side of the path. That's when you rope-pullers will release the ambush. The rest of you, throw your rocks as hard as you can. Really pelt them! Then the nets will trap them.”

Hugh said, “Good, Fergus. We'll follow you.” Then he turned a somber face to the people of his village and said, “Our lives and those of our friends in Covehithe are at risk. This is the way we will win. They have better weapons, and killing is what they're trained to do. We put in our military time fighting for our king and lord, but mainly we are peaceable folks, but clever. It's wits, not weapons, that will win this day.”

Villagers elbowed each other and smiled grimly. Catla wished she could smile, but her mouth would not budge.

“To the cliffs!” Hugh's voice was calm and firm. “Be wary. They'll believe we are easy pickings, after taking Covehithe so easily, so they'll be confident. But when they're caught by the nets they'll be angry, so stay out of reach of their weapons.”

Catla turned to the river path, her eyes searching for stones to add to the cache in her apron. The knot in the pit of her stomach was back, and her heart knocked against her ribs. Her eyes sought Sven, but he was not looking her way. Then her resolve took hold and her mind steadied. She would show everyone that Athelstan and Sarah's daughter had valor.

Peter arrived, red-faced with excitement. “They're coming up the river,” he called in a hoarse whisper. “They're closing on our beach.”

“Into position. Out of sight. Lie still!” Hugh took command. “Let them think we're napping.”

Fergus silently pointed Catla to her place and others followed his directions. Like shadows, they stooped and crept to their spots. Flat on her belly, she peered down to the river, the beach and the ship drawing close. Her mouth was dry, and a shiver coursed through her body.

Catla selected a stone from the pile by her head and held it, easing her catapult into her other hand. The river sparkled. Terns called and wheeled against the sky. The actions of the Norsemen seemed doubly grim on such a peaceful day. But so it had been last day on the heath. She whispered a hurried prayer for everyone to be safe. Her ears thumped with the beat of her heart and her shoulders tightened.

The long ship turned with a sweep of the oars and drifted toward them.

Out of the breeze, the sail flapped like an old shawl. The red stripes were clear against the silt brown of the river. Sunlight glinted off the knobs of metal pounded into each black shield, piled in the bottom of the ship. Leather helmets and leather straps covered the invaders' faces, shading their eyes.

One sweep of the oars brought the ship to the beach.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Eyes of the Dragon

The rasp of scraped pebbles carried clearly in the still air as the Norse ship landed by the water's edge.

Catla's throat felt full of grit. Flattened into the worn hollow of the path, she peered between a juniper bush and some feverfew, her mind racing with questions. Could they defeat the Nord-devils? What if she died? Or Sven? She blinked to erase the fear. She recalled her father's words
: Hold a clear image of the end result you want—then work to make it so.
She pictured her family together, Bega on her lap, her chin resting on Bega's head. She gripped her rock and catapult and stared at the ship.

Arching heads—half dragon, half snake, sinuous and lithe—reared from both bow and stern. The sound of villagers sucking in their breath comforted her. She was not alone. Her eyes focused on the dragonheads. Some people believed it was the eyes of the dragon that sought out villages to burn and rob.

Her father had roared with laughter when she'd told him that. “Nonsense,” he'd said. “Nonsense.” She smiled at the memory but ducked her head and lowered her gaze, unwilling now to take his word.

At new sounds, she looked up again. The Nord-devils sat on rowing benches in the wide bilge. Some of them scooped up their shields and vaulted over the side into knee-deep water. They pulled the shallow, rounded hull onto the land. It tilted on its keel and everyone clambered out.

Two Nord-devils kicked at the small leather fishing boats, overturned and drying on the pebbled beach. One slashed at the leather hulls and muttered harsh-sounding words. Sword hilts protruded from leather scabbards. Knives flashed at belted waists. Some men carried axes. Catla peered at their weapons and black tunics. She thought they were the same men she'd seen below Elder Bush Hill and in her village, although their faces were obscured by their helmets. Snatches of muted laughter floated up from the path. The Nord-devils huddled close together, but they seemed relaxed and confident, unaware of the trap.