Lord of the Isles (Coronet Books) (9 page)

One aspect of the manning situation did surprise him. Cathula MacIan, who had been spending the nights with him at Ardtornish, when commands went out for men to drop everything and board ship, came to Somerled with the urgent request that she be allowed to go along. She declared that every extra pair of hands would help, and while admitting that she might not be as good as a man at pulling a great sweep, she could work sail, steer, beat the timing-gong, act look-out or serve water or ale, and so on. She was used to boats and often went out with the fishermen—her husband had been a fisher. Somerled was doubtful, but she was pressing and persuasive—and reminded him that she had a reckoning to settle with the Vikings. When, weakening, Somerled suggested that she had better go in her half-brother’s birlinn then, she hotly declared that that was the last thing that she would do. Against his better judgement he allowed her aboard his own craft—amidst uninhibited comments from his crew.

He did not just dash off into the blue in headlong fashion, for Glencripesdail. The courier reached him in the late afternoon and he made quite elaborate plans that evening and night, whilst assembling his force. There were a number of factors to be taken into account. The great island of Mull, across the Sound, larger even than the Morvern peninsula, was an important Norse domain, on which they were known to have a number of footholds, for it was very strategically-placed for the control of the Hebridean seas. The principal base was midway down the west or seaward side, on Loch na Keal; and the next largest at Fionnphort on the Sound of lona, near the southern tip. Here, on the northern shore, on the Sound of Mull itself, they had but two known settlements, at Aros, not far from opposite Loch Aline; and at Tobermory, the Well of Mary, about ten miles further north-west, where there was an excellent anchorage and harbour, this last to guard the seawards mouth of the Sound. All accounts put the Viking strength at Aros at only three or four longships—which was why, no doubt, there had been no attack from there as yet. But Tobermory was said to have double that number and represented danger in this situation.

So, with his nine craft—which at least looked like an impressive squadron, from any distance, they set sail at first light, directly across the Sound, westwards, tacking into a south-westerly breeze. Somerled made no attempt at stealth but bore down, as straight as the wind would allow, on the Aros area. They had a bare six miles to go, most of it within sight of the Aros headland, if not the shallow bay beyond. Unless the Norse were fools—which was seldom the case—they would have look-outs posted on that headland. These would surely warn of the presence of a nine-ship flotilla in the Sound, even though they would not be certain whose; and when they perceived that it was probably making for Aros, there would be alarm and action. But they would not be sure of that until fairly late in the approach, for the Sound here was barely two miles wide and all shipping proceeding up-Sound, particularly when having to tack, must pass fairly close.

So Somerled, Cathula at his side on the steering-platform, watched heedfully, counting every minute.

He expected to see reaction before he did. It was still early morning, of course, no more than sunrise. They were a bare mile from Rudha Mor, the headland which guarded the double-bay of Salen and Aros, when they saw the mast and raven-sail of a longship emerging from Aros Bay. Eagerly they watched, as their gongs beat fast for maximum speed, to count how many vessels came out. As yet there was only this one.

They raced, in, the fully-manned birlinns managing to keep up with the under-manned longships. The single Norse craft, clear of the bay, turned westwards, up-Sound. This was anticipated—but scarcely that it would be alone. Somerled let it go without attempt at interception.

They had crossed Salen Bay and were nearing the mouth of Aros Bay, really only the narrow estuary of the Aros River, when they saw three other vessels coming out, one behind another—and no doubt themselves were seen by the Norse at the same moment. What had delayed these they could only guess; perhaps only the one craft and crew was always kept on emergency duty.

For moments the two flotillas approached each other, three against nine. Then the Vikings evidently came to a swift decision that the odds were altogether too great, and the narrow river-channel through the mud too restricted, for any effective manoeuvre. All three sails were lowered, in a rush, and the oarsmen began to back-water.

Stern-first the Norsemen moved back whence they had come. Somerled’s ship led on after them, a mere six hundred yards behind.

The enemy could not go far. Round a bend in the river, screened by a wooded bluff, there opened a shallow basin, quite wide, with fishermen’s cabins on its bank and the usual Norse tentage nearby; whereafter the channel became too narrow to navigate. By the time that Somerled’s craft had rounded the bluff and this could be perceived, the three enemy ships had been run up on the muddy shore and the crews had leapt to land and were hurrying off, up the riverside.

It was all better than Somerled could have hoped for—and with not a blow struck. He beached his own ship, but shouted orders for the others not to do so. He did not wish the numbers of his men, or the lack of them, to become evident to watching eyes. He called for all captains and leaders, however, to join him on the shingle. Meantime he sent up crewmen to examine the Norse quarters and cabins in case any remained there, and to bring in any local fishermen they found.

When, with that basin packed indeed with shipping, he had his leaders assembled, he told them what was now required, unpopular as it was bound to be, especially with the shipmasters and the two chieftains. He wanted the already direly reduced crews cut by no less than half. Skeleton crews must be provided for the three new longships which he was now adding to his fleet. And Saor MacNeil was to take the remainder of the men thus creamed off—say one-hundred-and-twenty of them—and follow up these retiring Norsemen. Almost certainly they would be heading for Tobermory, through the hills—where, no doubt the escaped longship was already bound. No need to catch up with the enemy—who presumably would be not much less than three times that number—but to show themselves occasionally and to keep them on the move, as after the Sallachan incident. They should light a few large fires, too, as they went, to make a lot of smoke and to look as though they were burning cabins and townships as they advanced—also to help inform himself as to progress, out on the Sound. The fires would be seen from Tobermory. Saor had better take mainly Morvem men, as more practised walkers and hillman—the birlinns would have to manage with reduced crews, like the rest. There was no time, nor occasion, for argument.

Grumbling did not matter. But finding leadership for the three new vessels did, in their over-stretched circumstances. Oarsmen presented no problem, save in their insufficient numbers; but shipmasters and steersmen did, for few of the crewmen knew anything but their rowing, and the most responsible were already promoted. Somerled reluctantly dispensed with his own shipmaster and helmsman, to take on the duties himself, when Cathula MacIan asserted her readiness and ability to manage his steering-oar herself. It was not brute-strength but judgement and some knowledge which was required, she declared. In their pressing need, Somerled doubtfully acceded. He would always be there to keep an eye on her. It certainly made swift and unlikely promotion.

So they saw Saor’s contingent on their way on the ten-mile trudge to Tobermory—assuming that was where the Norse were heading, and there was little choice for them—and then, with the three abandoned longships, in prime condition, manned after a fashion, they reformed line and pulled out to the open Sound, Somerled insisting on taking the steering-oar of his own craft for this delicate initial proceeding.

The entire incident had taken little more than an hour.

The next hour was spent beating up the Sound of Mull. It lay more north than west and the prevailing breeze forced them to considerable tacking, especially with such feeble oar-propulsion; so the ten miles was extended to over twenty, and an hour saw them still some distance from Tobermory Bay, but with Calve Island, which sheltered its anchorage, in view. Cathula was handling her long steering-oar perfectly adequately, and the advice and quips from her oarsmen had died away. The flotilla had become somewhat strung-out, covering quite a lot of sea; but there was no harm in that, meantime—it would all look the more impressive from a distance.

In their slow progress a succession of pillars of smoke, ascending in the morning air, could be seen above the cliffs and hills of the coastline on their left, indicating that Saor was busy. But it also indicated how far behind the ships, slow as they were, came the marching men. Somerled realised that a deal more patience was called for.

By the time that they were within a mile or so of Calve Island, it was clear that deliberate delay was necessary. MacNeil’s people—and presumably the Norsemen they were trailing—had to be allowed to make headway, or these would have no impact on their Tobermory associates. Some marshalling and parading of his fleet now seemed to be called for—although this would have to be carefully judged, lest it push the Tobermory Norse in the wrong direction, panic them unprofitably.

Somerled passed orders from ship to ship to halt all forward movement, to wheel and beat to and fro, even to turn back, some way. It would seem, from the land, as though they were waiting, presumably for reinforcements.

So they filled in another hour or so—with Cathula MacIan at least proving her competence in manoeuvring her craft, to Somerled’s orders, and exercising her own initiative now and again. The man recognised that he could probably leave her to it, if necessary.

The furthest ahead column of smoke was now in the region of an isolated small hill which Cathula called Guallan Dubh, the Dark Shoulder, about three miles from Tobermory; which ought to mean that the pursued Norse should be perhaps a mile nearer. Their Tobermory friends should be well warned by now, both by the escaped ship and the smoke of the advancing fires. Surely the overland party would have sent runners ahead to inform of their plight and danger?

If Somerled could have risked going forward, beyond Calve Island, he could have seen into Tobermory Bay, to observe what went on there. But that would seem to imply the blocking of the bay’s entrance with his fleet—which was the last thing he wanted. He had to restrain his impatience, and hope. He had done all that he could, he considered—recollecting that this was all merely a precautionary prelude to his main purpose today.

It was almost noon before he saw what he had been waiting for, almost praying for—for undoubtedly many lives were at risk in this matter. A mast-tip and part of a great sail appeared over the low profile of Calve Island. And then another and another. Clearly these vessels were not close behind the island either, but far over towards the northern horn of the bay. It looked good.

A fourth and fifth sail appeared—by which time the first ship could be seen fully, clear of the island and half-a-mile over, hugging the other shore, the others following the same line. It could hardly be more evident that they were seeking to keep as far away from the Scots flotilla as was possible. Two more longships’ masts appeared, after a pause, then no more. Seven in all.

“Aye,” Somerled breathed out. “In a few minutes we shall know whether I calculated aright. Seven ships against twelve.”

“You do not think that they will turn and fight?” Cathula asked.

“Who knows? But they are keeping well over, as though to get out of the bay and north-abouts round the tip of Mull, as quickly as possible. Once out, they
could
turn back, to be sure, to face us . . .”

But the first, second and third Norsemen certainly did no such thing, as yet. Oars flashing vigorously in the midday sun, they swept on even more into the north, out into the open water—and kept on that course, the others following. Soon the leaders disappeared behind Rudha nan Gall, the Strangers’ Point, and out of the Sound into the Hebridean Sea proper.

“So—you judged truly! They make for Loch na Keal and their friends at Ulva,” the young woman said. “I would have thought the fierce Norsemen bolder!”

“They are bold enough. We would be fools to doubt their courage. Wiser to consider how their minds work. I had a Norse mother, mind you. They are pirates, these ones, robbers, raiders. They care nothing for lands, territories, as do we. They fight for booty, food, women, gear, not for places or notions of race or pride or glory. In their own country it would be different. But here they do what is expedient. Why fight a superior force—as they will think us—risking defeat and death, for a mere toehold on a coast where there are hundreds of miles of other toeholds as good? These have already lost Aros to us. Why battle for Tobermory when they can reinforce themselves at Loch na Keal?”

Whether or not Somerled rightly assessed the Norse reaction, the last of the seven ships disappeared round Rudha nan Gall. To make sure, however, that they did not rally and form up for battle, screened thus, he sent the two birlinns after them, to observe, and to be seen. Then he gave the order for his fleet to move into Tobermory Bay.

Rounding the tip of Calve Island, it was as he anticipated. A few fishing craft were drawn up at the boat-strand beside the township. No Norse presence remained at Tobermory, only a litter of their belongings hastily abandoned. The local people too, prudently, seemed to have disappeared. The head of Saor MacNeil’s column could be seen descending the wooded hillside to the south, about a mile away.

If it was all another anti-climax for the hot bloods, it was satisfaction for Somerled MacFergus—since it was all as he had planned it and better. The north and east of Mull no longer represented a threat to him—meantime at least—and he could sail on northwards for Sunart and Moidart without fear that all he had gained thus far might be lost behind him.

Once out of the Sound, the flotilla could make better time, with the wind consistently half-astern as they sped northwards. If most of his people expected them to do better still, as they turned eastwards into Loch Sunart, however, they were surprised, for Somerled’s leading craft headed on northwards, even a point or two into the west, clearly to round the great Ardnamurchan headland, the most westerly point of the mainland of Scotland. So it was for Moidart that they made.