Catla and the Vikings (16 page)

Catla sighed as she thought,
This is going to be tedious
, but she nodded and said, “Perhaps you'd rather be with Martha. I am willing to release you from your promised betrothal if we can arrange an agreement.”

“Agreement?” The scowl lifted from Olav's face. “What kind of an agreement?”

“Both of us need to maintain our reputations in this village. It is my home, and my father is headman. He cannot appear to have a foolish daughter. Soon it may be your home too.”

“My dear child, I have never thought of you as foolish. Perhaps you are dreamy and carefree, but not foolish. What are you suggesting?”

Catla grated her teeth at his choice of words. She was certainly not his dear child.

“I will say I approve of your choice of Martha for a wife, if you tell everyone that because I have a gentle and kind spirit, I have allowed you to choose Martha and will make no demands over the broken betrothal. And in return you are gifting me with a length of cloth, large enough to make a new apron.”

This last part had just occurred to her as she spoke, and she held very still to see what he would think of it. Her heart pounded as he kept his silence. Catla could not imagine what he was thinking. Her mind was racing as it skirted over many possibilities: that he would tell her father that his daughter was demanding payment to get out of an honorable agreement, or that he would decide he wanted her after all, or that he didn't want either of them and he'd tell everyone that Catla was a little schemer. None of these possibilities would suit her. She dug her fingers into the palms of her hands while she waited, holding the inside of her cheek with her teeth to prevent herself from speaking first.

Finally, Olav stopped walking and faced her, but still he did not speak. After a moment she lowered her eyes so as not to betray her nervousness. Then he finally spoke. “You are a clever girl, Catla. I think I have underestimated you. But I also think you have come up with a way that will please us both. We will all maintain our dignity here in Covehithe. I agree to your plan. And just so you know, I had already purchased a length of cloth, enough for a robe. It's from Italia, so you know I have chosen it for you carefully.”

“Oh, Olav, perhaps it is I who has underestimated you. But I thank you.” She put out her right hand, and he solemnly took it and raised it to his lips.

“I think we should both tell my parents, don't you?”

Back in her own cottage, after Olav had left, her father and mother looked at her and smiled, their pride showing in their eyes.

Catla hugged herself and said, “I feel lighter than goose down right now. I was so worried about everything— the Norsemen, Olav, all of you, me.”

“Nay, Catla, you did well.” Athelstan was clearly relieved. “That is the happiest breakup of a betrothal I have ever seen. He and Martha will do nicely together.”

As Catla scoured some fresh parsnips for the food pot, she realized that she bore Olav and Martha no ill will. Her father was right: they were well suited.

A great cheer went up outside. Elene had found some ale.

Catla foraged in the gardens again and found more onions, a few more parsnips, turnips and another cabbage. Her heart lightened as she tugged them out of the earth, dusted off the dirt and took them inside for the pot. Food was cooking, and it smelled of the dried herbs her mother had added. Her hollow stomach rumbled as she cut the vegetables into small pieces so they would cook quickly.

“I've not found any ale,” Elene's neighbor, Chelsea, called out. “Has anyone, besides Elene, found any?”

The Norsemen might have drunk all they could find, but Catla knew her village. There would be more than one barrel cached away someplace.

“Mother, did you check the root cellar? I'll do it, if you like.” She put her arm around her mother's waist, gave it a squeeze, and said, “I'm going to help more. And I've eaten more than you have in the last two days.” At her mother's arched eyebrows, Catla thought,
Just you wait and see. I'm different now.

“Yes, check the root cellar. See if there are more oats too.”

Chelsea called out again. “I've found a piece of ham. It was curing under the eaves and it's still there. The Norsemen missed it in the gloom. I'll cut a chunk for each pot. That'll improve the taste of things.”

Catla collected the meat from Chelsea and watched her mother cut it up and add it to the pot.

Sven approached with a determined stride and called to her. “Catla, I've had an idea. I'd like to talk about it.”

Sarah said, “There's Sven. You two have much to talk about. Your father is there with the others. Go join them.”

Catla gave her mother a quick hug and slipped out to meet Sven, who said, “Your brothers and Martha's sons want to use Martha's cottage as their new holding pen. It's not fit for any other kind of shelter. So I've given our cottage—father's and mine—to Martha and her sons. Most of the roof is still there, so it will give some shelter. Father was already talking about moving to Chester. He won't want to live here again, I don't think.”

“You mean
Olav
and Martha and her sons.”

“Olav? I thought he and you...”

Catla shook her head.

“It's over?” Sven asked.

Catla nodded.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I never wanted to marry him, but I wanted to please everyone: my parents, our lord and Father John. Olav's giving me a piece of cloth from Italia, enough to make a robe, as a token of his respect.” She smiled. What was it about Sven that made it so easy for her to talk to him?

He stepped closer. “I'll need a place to stay. I'd like sleep in your cottage, now that Martha and Olav will have mine. Of course, I'll have to stay on the far side of the hearth from your sleeping robes.”

“Yes, with Cuthbert and Dunstan.” Catla smiled at the thought of their thrashing legs and elbows bumping into Sven all night. “I'm not sure how you'll like it.”

“Let me decide. I think it will suit me.”

“It might suit you, but I think Father will have much to say about it. You'd be better to ask Rebecca.”

“Oh. I was hoping you'd ask your father for me.”

“No. It is kind of you to let Martha and Olav have your place. They'll be much more comfortable, but I can't ask if you can stay with us. I'm sorry.”

Sven reached for Catla's hand and held it for moment. Catla felt a little thrill of pleasure. Sven was a close friend now, after all their shared experiences, and she was happy to have him hold her hand. But she couldn't imagine him sleeping in her cottage.

The sky was blue and cloudless. The sun had moved well past short-shadow time. Catla sighed with contentment. The food was cooking. Her mother had shooed her out to meet Sven. Most of the dread of the past two days lifted. Then she frowned. Helgi. Were they talking about Helgi? How could he and his men be outwitted? There was no time to make a trap. Something about their black tunics nudged her mind, but an idea would not form. Other people would be planning strategies to use against him too. Her family, the whole village and the people of Aigber, whom she had come to know so well, were all still in danger of being captured, hurt or killed. What could they do against Helgi? A cloud appeared and passed over the sun. The day grayed. “Why the frown?” Sven asked.

Catla looked at him and her frown eased. “I keep thinking about Helgi. Aren't you worried?”

“We'll be ready for Helgi when he comes.”

Catla thought his reply was light and too hasty, but she had seen how ingenious the villagers were and a sudden surge of faith filled her. Something would occur to someone. As the cloud shifted past the sun, a small hand crept into hers. She looked down at Bega, who said, “Catla, I have something. I keeped it for you when we were in the goat pen.”

“What is it, Bega?”

The small hand opened and Catla saw the round golden coin she had thought was lost. Not a spoil of war after all.

“Oh, Bega. Lovely! Thank you. What a clever girl you are. It's my lucky coin!” She slipped it into the pouch hanging from her belt.

Catla knelt to hug her small sister, and they both giggled in delight. When she stood, she reached for Bega's hand again and then placed her other hand in Sven's. Together they walked to join her father, her lucky coin jostling in the pouch against her side. The sun warmed her back and she felt comforted. Her family and friends were safe. Everyone was ready for a celebration and some food and drink. She grinned suddenly as she dropped Sven's hand, scooped up Bega and called, “Race you,” over her shoulder. And as she sped to join her father and the other villagers, her heart lifted and she felt as if she could run forever.

Author's Note

The history of the Vikings is fascinating and complicated. Vikings came from the Scandinavian countries of Norway, Sweden and Denmark. They traveled to and settled in many parts of the world from Russia to North America. The first Viking attack in England was in 793 ad and history accepts that by the end of 1066, the Viking Age in England was essentially over.

Swedish Vikings settled farther east in Russia. Viking Danes and Norsemen settled in England, Scotland, Ireland, Greenland, Iceland, Normandy and Sicily. In England, they became merchants, craftsmen and farmers, but there were still those who waged war and raided for trade goods, gold and slaves. Vikings traveled widely over the known world and created trade routes. Warrior Vikings were greatly feared and frequently were paid vast sums of money to leave places in peace.

In 1066, there was a rebellion close to York, in Northumbria, not too far from Catla's village. The previous year, northern lords had ousted Tostig, brother to the King of England, from his position as Earl of Northumbria. In his anger, Tostig conspired against his brother by inviting the King of Norway to invade England and claim England's throne. The Norse king had already created trouble by proclaiming he was the legitimate heir to the throne.

That autumn, hundreds of Norse ships crossed the North Sea. Some of them sailed up the River Humber to York, where three great battles were fought. The invaders won the first two, but the English king won the third one, at Stamford Bridge, just outside of the city of York.

Catla's world had been settled and prosperous for the past few decades before her story begins a few days after the battle at Stamford Bridge. I've recreated the social setting as closely as possible, but Catla, the villagers, the locations of the villages, the circle of standing stones and the hill fort are all fiction. Nevertheless, I have strived for historical accuracy as much as possible. For example, Halley's Comet did appear in April of 1066 and was recorded worldwide. People called it the hairy-tailed star and considered it an omen.

Village people traveled by cart or walked with a pack, as did Olav the peddler. Some footpaths were worn so deeply into the ground they are still visible today. Peddlers were the early merchants. They walked many miles and traded or bought goods with coins. In the villages, most trade was bartered.

Only the wealthy kept horses. Oxen pulled the plows. Sheep and goats were milked and village people grew their food, fished and hunted. Captured people were sold at slave markets in Ireland, Paris and other places. While slavery was in common practice worldwide, not everyone kept slaves.

Although Catla's world was very different from ours, some things never change: greed, envy, thirst for power, compassion, love and truth. Catla's desire to find her own way in the world is a desire we all share.

Acknowledgments

This book would not have been written without these words of encouragement from my family: “Go for it, Mum.” Thank you, Gordon, Craig, Dan and Laura. My granddaughter, Clara, was my first young reader, and I thank her for her quick eye and hearty endorsement. Friends and extended family have also encouraged me and I am grateful. Writing groups both in Victoria and in Calgary contributed invaluable research, comments, enthusiasm and interest over the story's long gestation. The Banff Centre for the Arts gave me space to write, as did Yellow Point Lodge. Thanks go also to the helpful people in the museums in York and Rye, for filling in some of the gaps. Betty Jane Hegerat provided me with close reads, sensitive feedback and constant encouragement, and I thank her. And lastly, thanks to the folks at Orca Book Publishers who thought Catla should have her story told, and to editor, Sarah Harvey, for seeing me through the process.

Born in Calgary,
Mary Elizabeth Nelson
has been both a teacher-librarian and a language arts teacher. She wrote her first book at age four. Her interest in all things medieval started with fairy tales and books such as the
Count of Monte Cristo
. Mary's textbook
Medieval Times
(
L'époque médiévale
) is used in Ontario schools. She has four children and three grandchildren and presently lives and writes on Vancouver Island, British Columbia.