The Village in the Setting Sun
Catla and Sven hurried along the dusty, narrow pathway between the cottages in Aigber. Her eyes pricked, it looked so familiar, so like home. No one called a greeting, and the village felt eerily quiet. Where was everyone? The path ended at a clearing beside the river cliff, sheltered by a single oak tree. Runes and carved figures scarred its bark. The canopy of leaves, some already brittle and brown, hung over hand-hewn wooden stools, benches and slabs of tree trunks—the place of council. A rusted metal hoop hung from a leather strap over one of the branches. Close by, Catla heard someone pounding stone on wood in the otherwise still air. A knot formed in her empty belly.
“You, you there!” The old man’s voice was hard and loud. “What’re you doing? Who are you? Where’d you come from? Take off, before I set the dogs on you!”
Catla’s voice wobbled at this harsh greeting. “We need help.”
“Vikings! Norsemen!” Sven shouted. “Covehithe is burning.”
“Nord-devils! Nord-devils are coming on the river!” Catla cried. “Call a council. Call everyone!”
The man scowled. “Call a council? Who do you think you are? I’ve a good mind—” He raised his stick over his head.
“Wulfric, wait! Father.”
Catla turned and saw her mother’s friend, Edith, coming from a nearby cottage.
“Father, you know these young folks from Covehithe, the Village in the Morning Sun,” Edith said. “We see them every summer at the gathering.” She turned to them. “Norsemen in Covehithe? Tell me.”
“Edith, I was talking to them first.” The old man’s querulous voice protested the interruption.
“I know, Father. You remember Catla and Sven. We have to listen.”
Relief made Catla’s body sag, and her voice shook as she reached out and clutched Edith’s arm. “Edith, you have to help us! Nord-devils burned Covehithe last day after sunup.” The words tumbled out of Catla’s mouth. “I was on the heath so I didn’t get caught, but the cottages are burning. Men in black tunics came in a warship.” Catla watched Edith’s eyes widen as she listened. “Sven and I saw them again today on land and in their ship. They’re coming here, up the river. You’re in danger.” Catla pulled Edith’s arm closer before she said, “And Edith, I don’t know what’s happened to my family.”
Edith reached over and gathered her into her arms. “Hush, hush, now. We’ll help you.” As Wulfric sounded a metal hoop to gather the villagers, she said, “But softly, Father. We don’t want to alert our enemies.”
“Ach, they’ll not hear it on the water. They’ll be fighting the rapids about now.”
“Norsemen! Norsemen on the river! Council! Council!” Wulfric shouted with the authority of someone who was used to being obeyed. Edith settled Catla and Sven while she went back into her cottage. People came, everyone talking at once. A small boy spat at Sven and got a cuff on his back from his mother. A little girl sidled up to Catla and said, “Your name is Catla, isn’t it? Your mother fixed my dolly last summer. I remember you.”
“I remember you too, Mathilda.” But Catla could not think about dolls. She gently turned Mathilda back toward her mother as Edith appeared with some flat bread and two horns of ale.
Wulfric roared for quiet. “These two, Catla and Sven, asked for a council. They need help, and they bring a warning. They’ve seen Norsemen on the river today.”
Sven started to speak, but Edith said, “Wait. People need to settle. You two. Sit there under the oak.” She pointed to some three-legged stools. “Eat and drink a little.” She turned to the villagers and said, “Council, is this the kind of order you bring to a council ring?” The villagers shuffled into a rough circle, sitting on the ground or on logs and stumps as the talking subsided.
“I didn’t recognize you,” Wulfric said to Catla and Sven. “Now I see you are from Covehithe. I was too gruff. It’s my old-man eyes.”
“And your old-man bark,” Edith said. She patted his arm affectionately. “Now, Catla, you have the place of speech. We’ll hear your story.”
As Edith spoke, a tall man with a gray beard and a head covering of felted wool moved toward them. The people parted to allow him room and nodded to him in respect. He strode forward, his stave in his right hand.
“That’s Hugh, Edith’s husband,” Wulfric said to Catla. “He’s the headman and has the gift. He’ll listen and judge your tale.”
Sven and Catla knew Hugh. They bobbed their heads in a small bow to him. Sven poked Catla in the ribs to urge her to start.
“Last day, before short shadow, Nord-devils came and set fire to Covehithe.” She paused and waited for the gasps and exclamations to end. “There was smoke everywhere. They herded people toward our goat pen.” She stood suddenly to emphasize her words. “What if they’re taken and sold as slaves? I’ll never see them again. Come back with us. Help us!” Then suddenly she could say no more, as if all her air had been pushed out of her.
The villagers turned to their neighbors and a hubbub of talk started again. Someone called out, “Did you see Sarah?”
“Was anyone killed?” another voice asked.
The iron ring sounded again, but more softly this time, and everyone looked at Hugh.
“Order.” His face was hard as he looked at Catla. “We’ve not seen a slave raid for years. The Norse ships didn’t bother us on their way to the battles by York. But then they were defeated. They could be trying to make up their war losses with some slaves. Grim news, indeed. How many men are there?”
Sven took up the story and answered Hugh’s question first. “I think more than ten, but we didn’t count.” Then he spoke to the rest of the gathering. “Catla saw this, not I. I was in York yesterday. I found her sleeping at the standing stones last night on her way here. No one travels at night unless they are hard pressed. Covehithe needs you.”
Sven opened his mouth to continue, but Catla broke in. “There’s more. On this day, not long after sunup, we saw Nord-devils beside the hill, the one with the elders on top. They got into their ship and pulled into the river, coming this way. They’re the men who invaded Covehithe. They’ll take you for slaves too. Your families will be torn apart. Our villages will disappear. They’re coming here.” Catla almost yelled the last words in her urgency to have them come with her, back to Covehithe, now. Why didn’t they move?
A new babble of voices arose until Wulfric raised his right arm for order. “Quiet. Quiet, I say. Are we a council or not? Act like a council and think. Listen. Hugh will guide us through our plan.”
People fell silent as Hugh moved forward. “Covehithe is in desperate trouble. They need our help. That much is very clear. We’ll help them. We’ll be attacked soon though, and then we will see the good of our plan. First, we must protect the children. Mothers, gather whatever you need to take the children to the hill fort. Leave quickly, as soon as you’re ready. Then we’ll finish preparing for the Norsemen. After that, we’ll help our neighbors in Covehithe.”
Catla listened but didn’t understand what he meant about a hill fort and a plan prepared for the Norsemen. She did understand Covehithe would get help, but she didn’t know when. She wanted it to be now.