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day.”
    Villagers elbowed each other and smiled grimly. Catla wished she could smile, but her mouth would not budge.
    â€œTo the cliffs!” Hugh’s voice was calm and firm. “Be wary. They’ll believe we are easy pickings, after taking Covehithe so easily, so they’ll be confident. But when they’re caught by the nets they’ll be angry, so stay out of reach of their weapons.”
    Catla turned to the river path, her eyes searching for stones to add to the cache in her apron. The knot in the pit of her stomach was back, and her heart knocked against her ribs. Her eyes sought Sven, but he was not looking her way. Then her resolve took hold and her mind steadied. She would show everyone that Athelstan and Sarah’s daughter had valor.
    Peter arrived, red-faced with excitement. “They’re coming up the river,” he called in a hoarse whisper. “They’re closing on our beach.”
    â€œInto position. Out of sight. Lie still!” Hugh took command. “Let them think we’re napping.”
    Fergus silently pointed Catla to her place and others followed his directions. Like shadows, they stooped and crept to their spots. Flat on her belly, she peered down to the river, the beach and the ship drawing close. Her mouth was dry, and a shiver coursed through her body.
    Catla selected a stone from the pile by her head and held it, easing her catapult into her other hand. The river sparkled. Terns called and wheeled against the sky. The actions of the Norsemen seemed doubly grim on such a peaceful day. But so it had been last day on the heath. She whispered a hurried prayer for everyone to be safe. Her ears thumped with the beat of her heart and her shoulders tightened.
    The long ship turned with a sweep of the oars and drifted toward them.
    Out of the breeze, the sail flapped like an old shawl. The red stripes were clear against the silt brown of the river. Sunlight glinted off the knobs of metal pounded into each black shield, piled in the bottom of the ship. Leather helmets and leather straps covered the invaders’ faces, shading their eyes.
    One sweep of the oars brought the ship to the beach.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    The Eyes of the Dragon
    The rasp of scraped pebbles carried clearly in the still air as the Norse ship landed by the water’s edge.
    Catla’s throat felt full of grit. Flattened into the worn hollow of the path, she peered between a juniper bush and some feverfew, her mind racing with questions. Could they defeat the Nord-devils? What if she died? Or Sven? She blinked to erase the fear. She recalled her father’s words : Hold a clear image of the end result you want—then work to make it so. She pictured her family together, Bega on her lap, her chin resting on Bega’s head. She gripped her rock and catapult and stared at the ship.
    Arching heads—half dragon, half snake, sinuous and lithe—reared from both bow and stern. The sound of villagers sucking in their breath comforted her. She was not alone. Her eyes focused on the dragonheads. Some people believed it was the eyes of the dragon that sought out villages to burn and rob.
    Her father had roared with laughter when she’d told him that. “Nonsense,” he’d said. “Nonsense.” She smiled at the memory but ducked her head and lowered her gaze, unwilling now to take his word.
    At new sounds, she looked up again. The Nord-devils sat on rowing benches in the wide bilge. Some of them scooped up their shields and vaulted over the side into knee-deep water. They pulled the shallow, rounded hull onto the land. It tilted on its keel and everyone clambered out.
    Two Nord-devils kicked at the small leather fishing boats, overturned and drying on the pebbled beach. One slashed at the leather hulls and muttered harsh-sounding words. Sword hilts protruded from leather scabbards. Knives flashed at belted waists. Some men carried axes. Catla peered at their weapons and