Free Catla and the Vikings by Mary Nelson Page A

tighter and tighter, drawing the Nord-devils closer together. The invaders scuffled and shifted as the ropes pressed them inward. Yells and curses filled the air. The trap was working. Catla shifted her grip on her stave, checked that her knife was still in her belt. Now her heart pounded in excitement, not fear.
    The invaders used their knives to hack at the webbing. The villagers used their staves to knock the weapons away from the prisoners’ hands and jabbed at them through the netting. A few villagers picked up the fallen weapons, until Hugh bellowed, “Leave them. You’re too close. Some still have their knives and swords. We’ll get them later.”
    Catla had been eyeing a short sword with an intricate hilt, but she backed away from it when Hugh spoke. The ropes were pulled and the trap tightened.
    When the Norsemen were a tight bundle, the villagers claimed the fallen weapons. Catla darted in and picked up the sword she’d seen. I’ll take it home . Maybe Bega will like it when she grows older . She smiled and tucked it into her belt.
    The prisoners’ struggles slowed. Catla was reminded of a net full of squirming black smelts. Hugh bellowed for quiet, but a few of the villagers continued to poke at the prisoners with their staves.
    â€œThat’s for my brother,” one man yelled. He thrust his stave into an opening. “He was a good man, taken one winter evening when he was alone.”
    Others cheered, jabbed and called out the names of family members and friends who had gone missing in slave raids. Catla was looking for an opening for her own stave when Hugh raised his arms again. “Stop! Stop now. These men will be slaves. Don’t blind or maim them. They need to be strong to bring a goodly price.”
    The jabbing and jeering stopped.
    Hugh said, “Good work, everyone. Good work! Let’s get them to the council ring.”
    A cheer burst from the crowd of villagers.
    Then Hugh yelled something in Norse. Catla wasn’t surprised that he knew some words of Norse. She remembered her father saying that part of Hugh’s family had helped build York over one hundred years ago.
    There were more struggles from within the net, more jabbing and whacking with staves. At last, one Norse voice rose above the growls and snarls, and the struggles stopped.
    More cheers filled the air. Catla’s voice was drowned in the tumult.
    â€œThey’ve been told to drop out their weapons and stand still,” Hugh said. “When you see a weapon, whoever is closest, run and pick it up. Be on guard. They’ll try to keep their knives.”
    â€œDo we get to keep the weapons, Hugh?” asked Hindley.
    â€œYes, we’ll keep them and divide them by the oak tree. The spoils of war will be shared equally.” Catla wasn’t the only one who coveted a strong and skillfully made Norse weapon.
    Angry words still came from inside the net, but slowly knives and swords appeared through the webbing and dropped to the ground. After the last knife dropped, the villagers darted in and pulled the weapons away. The Norsemen stood still. The villagers raised another cheer, slapped their neighbors’ backs and pranced about in glee and relief.
    Catla danced too, her heart filled with joy.
    The mighty Nord-devils were captured. There was hope for Covehithe.
    One Norseman at a time was untangled from the net, searched for weapons, and bound, hands and feet, with thin strands of hide. He could take short steps but would topple if he tried to run. More short knives were discovered, and the men who had hidden them received a whack for their trickery.
    Then Catla remembered the ship in the harbor and the two guards. She looked at the river and her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Sven!” she yelled. Other people turned to the ship and saw two more prisoners sitting in the bilge, their bodies wrapped with rope. Sven and three friends stood behind them, short stabbing