Free Catla and the Vikings by Mary Nelson Page B

knives at the ready. Catla realized she hadn’t seen Sven during the fight. She was glad he was safe but felt miffed she hadn’t been told about his plan. Then she chided herself. He was with his friends, the older boys. He didn’t need to tell her his plans.
    â€œHow did you do that?” Matthew called to the boys in the ship. He sounded cross too. “Oh, never mind. Good work. Bring them here with the others and we’ll hear about it later.”
    Catla waved and Sven waved back. She grinned when she heard Matthew complaining to Hindley that the boys hadn’t told him what they were planning. It reminded her of Wulfric. No one liked to miss out on things, not even her.
    The boys hoisted the captives to their feet and then all the invaders shuffled up the path to the village.
    As Catla walked to council ring, Hugh said, “Put them into the goat pen for now.” The goat pen? In her mind’s eye, she saw her family pushed toward their own pen. Her hope for justice grew. These people of Aigber were more resourceful than she had dared to count on.
    Catla waited until most of the villagers climbed the riverbank before she did. As she headed to the council ring, a movement between the cottages caught her eye. One of the invaders raced down the path out of the village. Matthew and Hugh bellowed. Fergus and Sven sprinted behind the invader. People shouted, “Stop him! Stop him!”
    Fergus pulled his knife from his belt as he ran. He was ahead of Sven by a leg-length, closing on the fugitive.
    â€œGo, Fergus!” Sven’s voice broke the silence.
    Catla darted forward, caught in the drama.
    The Norseman sprinted between cottages and started along the path to the heath. As he passed her, she realized with a shock that he was about her age. The long leather strand that had hobbled him flipped around one leg. His face contorted in desperation. He veered off the path and dodged a low blackberry bramble, evading Fergus. The thong whipped around his opposite ankle. His body twisted as he tried to maintain balance, but he stumbled. His arms were still bound behind his back and he came down heavily on his shoulder.
    Catla caught the glint of a blade in his hand as he sprawled on his side in the dirt. Fergus and Sven were too close to stop. They landed on top of him, Fergus first, then Sven. There was no struggle. Sven pushed himself up and lowered his hand to Fergus, who pushed himself away from the boy, grabbed Sven’s hand and stood. The Norseman lay still. Blood glistened on Fergus’s knife and hand, and his face was pale. It was not clear to Catla if Fergus had meant to stab the prisoner or not. The crowd fell silent.
    One of the men said, “Good for you, lad.”
    Matthew said, “He deserved what he got.”
    â€œIs he dead?” Fergus asked.
    Catla’s stomach lurched.
    Edith and Hugh knelt beside the boy, and the crowd encircled them. Edith examined the cut. “He still lives, but not for long,” she said. “The knife caught his neck. The cut is very deep. He cannot be saved. He’ll die quickly.”
    â€œBring his lord before he dies,” Hugh said. Sven turned, but Erik and Rufus had already gone.
    The news had a sobering effect. This village shared Father John as their priest, and he preached “Thou shalt not kill.” It was a mortal sin to take another person’s life, but this was war. Some of the villagers crossed themselves. Some crossed their fingers and spat on the ground. All believed a lost soul could haunt their village if it did not find peace. Catla wondered if the warrior would find his way to his Norse heaven, Valhalla. She shivered in pity for both Fergus and the Norseman.
    The Norse chief arrived, and Hugh cut his hands free so he could comfort the boy. He spoke softly and closed the young man’s fingers more firmly around the knife still in his hand. He crossed the boy’s arms over his chest. Made a sign