Page 17 of Summer Warrior

CHAPTER 6

BY THE TIME Somerled returned to the shore, Sweyn’s dragonship had gone. “Did he leave in haste?” he asked Domnall as he stepped on deck.

“Aye, and very angry.”

“He was shouting at his men,” said Angus, raking a hand through his windblown hair.

“He would have been angry,” Somerled muttered under his breath, looking into the harbor. “The King of Man is well rid of him.”

“A menacing character,” said Maurice, who had been listening to their conversation. “One day, you will have to kill him.”

Somerled recognized the truth of the Irishman’s words. “Indeed, but not today.”

“To where do we sail?” inquired Domnall, as the men readied the ships.

Somerled stared out to sea. “I had thought to go to Irvine on the shores of the Firth of Clyde where King David holds court. There are many things I would discuss with him.”

“You might want to alter your plans,” said Domnall. At Somerled’s raised brow, his cousin added, “One of our men heard Sweyn speak of Islay, no doubt with pillaging in mind for they have no base there.”

Somerled frowned at this news. Irvine could wait but Islay could not. “Aye, Sweyn would be one to inflict his anger on the people. We sail to Islay.”

As they left the harbor, they met the rest of the longships and galleys Somerled had brought to the isle. Those captains, too, had watched Sweyn sail away from Man. “They were joined by two other dragonships as they entered the Irish Sea,” Ruairi MacInnes, now one of his captains, shouted from the deck of the galley he commanded.

Somerled decided to take four of his longships with him to Islay and send the rest of those here with Ruairi to Kintyre to check on the settlement there. “We’ll meet you at Dunaverty Bay ere we sail to Irvine.”

The winds from the southwest were with them as Somerled sailed north, arriving at Islay late that afternoon. Covered by a gray sky filled with dark clouds and spitting rain, Islay lay due west of Kintyre and contained both sea and freshwater lochs. The isle was essential to Somerled’s strategy, for, along with Argyll, Kintyre and Lorne, it had been part of the ancient kingdom of Dál Riata, his family’s royal lands. It must remain free.

The island’s coast had always been plagued by winds and Somerled knew the approach from the south to be difficult. There were many places from which Sweyn could launch an attack but there were settlements on the east coast, bordering the narrow straight between Islay and the Isle of Jura that was the main route to the rest of the Isles. Though the tides ran fast and had to be carefully navigated, Somerled believed the pirates would set their course for Askaig, a secure haven, for a mile inland lay the settlement of Keills. It was there Somerled directed his four ships.

They came upon Sweyn’s dragonships beached in a cove set into the wooded coast just south of Askaig. They could not have been there long as the afterguard was taking down the sails, their shields still hanging from the rails.

Seeing Somerled’s four longships rowing hard toward them, filled with two hundred warriors, Sweyn’s men shouted to each other and scurried about, readying a longship to sail. Before Somerled’s lead ship reached them, the Orkneymen jumped into that dragonship and hastily rowed north with the tide, abandoning their fellow pirates to their fate.

“Let the cowards go!” Somerled shouted to his captains who were about to pursue. “We have their two ships. Sweyn and the bulk of his warriors may already be attacking Keills. We must aid the people. I’ll take most of our warriors and the archers and go after them. The rest of you stand guard and deal with any of Sweyn’s men fleeing this way.” To Maurice, he said, “You are in command here.”

“As you wish,” said the Irishman, though Somerled could see he relished the thought of engaging the pirates.

“Sweyn is a wily one, Maurice, and I trust you to manage him should he get away.”

Maurice nodded and Somerled grabbed his shield, hurrying inland with Angus and Domnall and their well-armed men.

Screams rent the air as they neared Keills and the pungent odor of smoke drifted to Somerled’s nostrils. It was always the same with these Norse invaders. Some might come for slaves but Sweyn was not one of those. Mayhap unwilling for his master to know of his pursuits, Sweyn came only for plunder and mayhem, leaving cinders and corpses behind. Still holding to pagan beliefs, he would burn all in his wake to make sure the spirits of the dead did not follow him home.

Somerled was glad to see only one building had been set afire. He motioned his warriors from the path into the woods. “Surround the village,” he ordered. “When I give the war cry, attack from all sides. They will have no time to think of strategy. Protect the chapel where innocents may be sheltering. Save as many as you can.” To his archers, standing nearby, he said, “Get to high ground and mark your targets well for time to save the innocents will be short.” He looked into the eager faces of his men. “Show the courage I know you have.”

His warriors hurried into place. Somerled sounded his war cry, a shout above the fray heard by all. It must have sent chills through the pirates, for they turned with shocked expressions to see who was descending upon them. Clearly, they expected no one to come to the aid of Keills for they wore no mail, only helms and light armor.

Somerled plunged into the battle, his men behind him a screaming tempest come to harvest pirate blood. With sword, spears and wooden shields, they attacked the Norse raiders with a vengeance.

Taken by surprise, the pirates turned from seeking plunder to defending their own skins.

As he had once hunted wild boar in the forests of Morvern, Somerled now hunted the Norse who preyed upon his people. He slashed his sword right and left, cutting a swath through the stunned invaders. His shield gathered more than one enemy arrow but he took comfort in seeing his own archers claiming the lives of Sweyn’s men. Some of the pirates were just drawing their swords when they were cut asunder.

Hard Norsemen screamed, grabbing gashed faces and severed limbs, as they dropped to the ground, vomiting gulps of blood.

The violent clash of fierce Gaels and raiding Norse lasted more than an hour for there were more than two hundred Norsemen pillaging the village. When he had a moment’s respite, Somerled gazed down the length of the village, pleased to see his men were gaining the victory.

At the far end of the village in front of the chapel, he spotted a young villager swinging his sword with practiced skill in a magnificent fight against a taller, more powerful Norseman. The lad was holding his own, but Somerled knew the boy lacked the power in his arms to continue the fight against so fierce a foe.