Hugh's words hissed in the darkness. “Remember, they're to be slaves. No one is to die. Everyone lives.”
Sven's knife lunged, then stopped short of the guard's chest.
Catla's heart lurched.
The guard lifted his arms high into the air, then interlaced his fingers and placed them on top of his head. Hugh dragged the guard's hands down and tied them behind his back. Sven stuffed his mouth with soft batting. The other guards were gagged and bound like bundles of wool. The silence went undisturbed.
Catla watched the Covehithe prisoners as their eyes flashed in wonder and their fingers sealed their mouths. They gestured frantically to each other to keep silent. Catla's mother placed her hand snugly across Bega's mouth. Cuthbert and Dunstan had sealed their mouths with their own hands. Catla was proud of their quick understanding. The people were silent, but their faces split with grins of joy and their hands waved in celebration and thanks.
Catla made eye contact with her mother and father and bounced up and down on her toes with impatience to free them. Her joy threatened to burst into a long shout, but she managed to stifle her cries. Hugh, struggling to loosen the knot holding the gate closed, took his knife and sliced it through. Catla pushed the gate open and reached for her mother and Bega. Her father's hand rested briefly on her head, Cuthbert's arms hugged her legs, and Dunstan squeezed her waist. The tight little pack shuffled to one side and then everyone squeezed out of the prison. She heard muffled laughter and the words, “No killing,” muttered again and again. As quickly as the pen emptied, it was filled with the tightly trussed Norsemen.
Hugh whispered to Sarah and Brida to take the women and children to the clearing where they'd wait until the fighting was over. Catla walked with Sarah, Bega and her brothers. Her father caught her in his arms as she passed and then released her, whispering, “Later, Catla. We'll talk later.” He stood beside Hugh. Olav nodded to her briefly. Her heart stopped for a moment and she gaped at him.
No, I'll think about it eventually
. Brida wrinkled her nose and scowled; she'd come to fight, not sit with children. Hugh reached over, tweaked her arm and Catla's. “Come right back,” he whispered. “They won't need you, but we will. We'll wait.”
Catla led Cuthbert around the peat shed and into the clearing. It was a silent procession. Catla whispered the plans to Sarah, who said she'd fight too. Rebecca would take charge of the children and women. Catla's heart swelled and thumped at the prospect of walking into danger alongside her warrior mother.
When they rejoined the others, someone handed Brida and Sarah short swords. Everyone was armed, many holding Norse weapons. Catla tried to loosen the tension in her body by bouncing her knees.
Hugh raised his head and howled like a wolfâ the last signalâand a snake of chill slithered down Catla's back. Her eyes met her mother's.
She was ready.
Almost immediately, answering howls echoed back.
Hugh raised his arm. Forward.
The sun had not yet traveled to the earth's brim, but dawn was near. The pink and purple sky lit her mother's face with a rosy glow, and the predawn chill wrapped around Catla's ankles. Higher in the sky, wisps of fog broke loose from the offshore fogbank, twisted and dissolved.
Catla swiveled her head as they advanced toward the council fire, passing her cottage. The thatch was burned over the doorway as far back as the ridgepole. The little purple flowers were gone, and she felt a pang of sadness. Farther along, Martha's cottage was blackened, its roof completely burned away, the walls standing stark to the sky. The smell of smoke, acrid and nasty, caught the back of Catla's throat, and her sadness twisted into anger.
Several villagers left the group, searching inside and around each cottage. Muffled grunts and oaths erupted from inside one of the cottages and Sarah sped toward the doorway. A sword flew out and landed past her feet. She snatched it, turned and slashed, cutting the arm of a man in a black tunic fleeing from inside the cottage. Her sword immediately shifted to his chin and his shout was stifled as he stopped, eyes and mouth wide with shock.
Athelstan appeared at her side, clapping her on the back softly and whispering in her ear. She smiled a grim smile and nodded. He took a twist of leather from his pouch and batting from Sven, and in a twitch the man was on his way to the goat pen to join his comrades. Catla stood rooted, shocked at the suddenness of the action, until her mother took her elbow and urged her forward.
The sharp crack of wood breaking stopped her. Her foot lifted and hovered in midstep. She'd not seen the burnt stick on the path. The sound reverberated as her body turned to stone. Would the Norsemen hear that? Nothing moved. Her mother's hand edged her forward again. Then she saw them, the sleeping bodies of the Nord-devils. They were in the council circle between the cottages and the sea cliffs. They lay in a circle with their feet toward the central fire that had died to flickers and embers. There were only a few of them. Helgi's ship had not arrived.
Movement caught her eye and she glimpsed silent shapes gliding down from the hillside along Sven's path. The hill group came to a halt on the other side of the council ring to stop any Norsemen from escaping that way.
She looked across the fire and saw the fishermen stealing toward the sleeping Norsemen, carrying nets. The light increased as the morning sky glowed a pale blue. The pinks turned to rose, and details emerged. With soft air brushing her cheeks, the whole scene felt dreamlike.
One Norseman shook his head and stretched. To his right another scratched under his arm and rolled over to check for his sword. His wild hair stuck out at all angles. A knife blade gleamed, catching the fire's flickering coals. The invaders grunted and peered around, but there was no warning cry. Then three other men stretched and sat up.
Catla tightened her grip on her stave.
“For Covehithe!” Her mother's cry started the rush.
Shrieking, Catla joined her. A fishermen's net settled over the three men who were awake. They scrambled and tried to claw their way out of it, but the villagers tightened the net. Another net settled over two men still rousing from sleep and the third net whirled and trapped the last four who struggled to leap up, not yet fully awake.
“Grab them. Pull the nets hard now. Steady,” yelled Matthew.
Catla's stave whacked the nearest man. His howl made her grimace.
Villagers pushed past her.
The Norsemen roared in frustration and pain as the nets closed around them and kicks and blows rained down on them. More Norse shouting came from behind the villagers at the bottom of Sven's path. Catla had expected all the Norsemen to be sleeping together in one place. The new furor horrified her. Immediately, she jumped on a seating log in the council ring for a better view. A different group of Norsemen appeared, brandishing their swords and shouting.
“They're coming from the oven shed and grain storage enclosure,” Catla shouted and pointed.
The villagers at the bottom of Sven's path were taken by surprise, but they turned to face the enemy with swords raised.
A Norse voice shouted in English, “Die, you peasant dogs!” Voices roared as the group rushed toward the villagers. One swing of a Norse ax cut two Aigber men down. There was a crush of bodies as the Norsemen clashed against the villagers. Behind the villagers, the netted men had overbalanced and toppled out of the council ring, directly in front of the Aigber group. The villagers were caught between the two bands of invaders. The space they needed to wield their swords was limited. Many of them held short knives in their hands, but short knives were no match against war axes.
Athelstan had heard Catla's cry, and his teeth braced in a snarl. “Catla, to me.” He yanked her beside him. “Stay here. They'll not take us that easily.” He swept her around behind his back with one arm until she was half hidden.
With a leap, Sarah joined them, screaming an inarticulate war cry. A Norse ax lay in front of Athelstan, and he scooped up it up. He leaped forward as a Norseman swung his ax in a wild arc and another Aigber villager fell.
“Room, I need room.” Athelstan picked up the net on the path and threw it and the two men in it across the council ring. They rolled close to the fire.
The villagers opened a way for Athelstan, who raised the ax over his right shoulder with both hands and swung, shouting a curse. A Norseman fell, blood spurting from a long gash across his chest. The blade also caught his companion, who dropped to the ground, screaming and twitching in agony.
“No killing, you ox.” Hugh roared from behind Athelstan. “We need them all to sell.”
“Hold fast,” Athelstan shouted back. “I'm done. They needed to be taught a lesson. They took three of yours. Better their blood than more of ours.”
Catla could hardly keep track; it had all happened so fast. But now she was shocked anew to hear these two old friends, these fast companions, yelling at each other. Had her father just killed two men? She looked at her mother, who was smiling broadly. “Back in battle, like the old days,” she said and moved to take Athelstan's arm.
Catla shook her head, stunned by what she'd seen. She peered beyond her parents and saw other villagers disarming the rest of the Norsemen. They'd all backed away and raised their hands in surrender after their leader had fallen. Other villagers scouted the woods and fields to make sure none were hiding. Finally, all the invaders were captured and trussed.
Catla looked back to the council ring. The wounded men from Aigber lay there. Edith bent over them and was ripping lengths of cloth from her shift to bind wounds. Catla ran to her side. “Let me help, Edith. I'm Rebecca's apprentice. I can help.”
“Good, Catla. I wish we were home. I suspect Rebecca's herbs and ointments have been burned. We'll do what we can. After the prisoners are secured, we'll get Rebecca from the grove and she'll help too.”
The prisoners were released from the nets, disarmed and bound. These new prisoners were marched, with swords and short knives at their necks and backs, to join their companions in the council ring. Hugh and Athelstan moved after them.
Rufus arrived with Ragnar. The scowl on Ragnar's face deepened when the Norsemen jeered and shuffled past him. He looked at the men, sneered back at them and spat on the ground at their feet. He showed them no sympathy.
Sarah joined Edith and Catla to help bandage the villagers. Then she said to Catla, “You must be shocked, my daughter, to see the way of war.”
Catla nodded. “Yes, yes, I am. When we left Aigber we were sure there would be no more killing, and now, all told, there are three dead Norsemen and three wounded men from Aigber. I know war kills people, but seeing it makes me feel sick.”
“That is exactly the right reaction. Killing is never a good thing. Your father and I have killed in order to save our land and the lives of our own. We'll talk about this later, but now we need some chamomile tea to settle you.”
Catla agreed. Then Sarah pointed to Ragnar. “Who is that?”
“That's Ragnar, Mother. He's a Norseman. It's odd, but I think he's a good one. I met him crossing the heath on the way back.”
“Really, Catla? We have many things to talk about. My dreamy daughter who lives in the clouds has indeed landed on earth!” She snorted when Catla rolled her eyes.
Quickly, the council ring filled with happy laughter and the joyous high-pitched voices of the women and children from the grove. Rebecca hurried to Sarah, Edith and Catla to examine the wounded villagers from Aigber.
“You've done well here. These men will need looking after, but their wounds are clean.”
Catla said, “There are Norse prisoners who need tending to as well, Rebecca.”
“You're learning the healer's role,” said Rebecca. “This is part of healing, to tend any who need help.”
Catla went with her to the two men who had stopped moving. Blood pooled on the ground beside them. Rebecca placed her finger on each throat to feel for any life force. She shook her head. “The wounds were deep. They have left this world, but they died fighting, so a place in the warrior heavens will be theirs. We will prepare them for the ground.”
As Rebecca was speaking, Hugh raised his arms in the air. Victory! He grabbed Athelstan's hand, and Catla felt a surge of love and pride for her father. A mighty cheer split the sky, and the heavenly witness, the pole star, though fading, jiggled in front of Catla's eyes.
Sarah whirled Catla around in a lively jig.
“Let's dance and sing. Put the gloom and fear away. Let's be happy and celebrate, my warrior daughter,” Sarah said, blinking the tears away. “I'm so proud of you.”
“You are? Thank you. I am proud of you too, Warrior Mother.”
“Oh.” Sarah laughed. “I'm not really a warrior any more, although the fight did stir my blood this day. You need to learn how to handle the short sword. That lesson is long overdue.”
“But, Mother, I'm a healer's apprentice.” Catla wasn't sure she wanted to be a warrior.
“Nonsense, Catla. You should see Rebecca handle a sword. She does it well. It's a necessary tool for life.” Then she broke off and held Catla at arm's length. “Everyone in the village is so grateful to you. I am too. Grateful and proud. You and the people of Aigber have saved our village.”
“But anyone would have done what I did, and don't forget Sven.”
“No, no, my child. It was you. You saw the savagery and still acted. That's what matters. You did it! And I am going to have to stop calling you
my child
, for you have truly passed into womanhood.”
Conflicting emotions flooded Catla's mind. “Won't I always be your child?” she asked. Was she a woman now? She didn't feel different. Part of her hoped things could remain the same, but too much had happened in the last two days. Her mother was right: she had changed. Suddenly she knew she could not marry Olav. She didn't know how she would do it, but she knew she had to break the betrothal. But what about her vow? What about that? There were things to sort out, that much was clear. Olav was one. Helgi was another.