Page 66 of Summer Warrior

“Lord, where do we go from here?” a chieftain from Mull inquired.

“We sail southeast, to the Irish Sea and then to the Solway Firth. From there, we will sail up the River Esk to the River Eden that flows by our destination. David’s castle at Carlisle. But where we will engage the English after that, I do not know.”

“All that traveling on land and ’tis the season for midges,” a chieftain from the Isle of Jura jested in a sarcastic tone.

They did not face midges on the sea, so the small, biting creatures would be an added annoyance. The insects would be the least of their problems but he would not have his men complaining. “Aye,” Somerled agreed, “but think of this: at least we’ll not be contending with snow.”

A boisterous discussion broke out between the gathered chiefs about weather and warfare.

When they quieted, Somerled began to speak of what more concerned him. “We have thrown off the burdensome yoke of the Norse and driven their pirates—who rape and pillage and kill—from our shores. We must not appear to be like them. Hence, there will be no plundering of Scots villages or English towns. I know some warriors, even the Scots, will expect it; we must not indulge. We will follow David into England and then come home to our coast and our isles. See that your men obey this as I will hold you accountable for their actions.”

He waited until the somber expressions of the men told him they had understood the gravity of his words. Then he asked, “How many of you have healers in your ranks?”

Six hands went up.

“Good. We may need them. Lastly, while I will give commands and expect you to heed them, I will also carry a hunting horn into battle. One blast for ‘Attack’; two blasts for ‘fall back’; and three for ‘retreat’.”

“Retreat, my lord? How can you mean it?” inquired the youngest among them.

Somerled fixed him with a steady gaze. “I do not know what we will find in England, whether David will prevail or the English will drive him back and engage in slaughter. I trust the horn will help us stay together, acting as one. I want to spare our warriors to grow old on our isles, on our soil. There will be mounted Norman knights on both sides, wearing hauberks and wielding swords. Those of you who have taken mail as spoils in our battles, can wear it. But mark my words, mail will be heavy on a long march. Most of us will have only leather or padded armor.”

With that, the chieftains rose as one, shouting, “We are with you!”

Somerled raised his sword high in the air. “For Argyll and the Isles! For home!”

The sound of metal sliding from sheaths rang in the air as the chiefs raised their swords, echoing Somerled’s cry. “For home!”

Somerled sheathed his sword and heaved a sigh of relief, his heart racing now that he’d delivered the message and they’d agreed. “We sail on the morrow!”

The next morning, the wind was up and the weather fine as their forty galleys and longships sailed out of Loch Indaal, heading southeast toward the Irish Sea.

Two days later, the great fleet rounded Galloway and reached the Solway Firth. Somerled stood at the starboard gunwale gazing south at the Isle of Man, a long gray silhouette against the blue sky and waters. He pulled the green riband from his waist and held to his lips, smelling the faint scent of roses. The Princess of Man was there on that isle. Could she see the sails of so many ships? Mayhap not as her father’s castle faced south.

The Isle of Man

IT BEING A GLORIOUS DAY, Ragnhild had ridden Fairhair to the northwest of the Isle of Man to visit a chieftain’s wife who had just given birth. It was as Ragnhild turned south to return home that she paused on a hill. Shielding her eyes, she gazed north across the Solway Firth toward Galloway. Dozens of longships and smaller galleys were sailing east toward Scotland’s coast. A few had red sails. Could one of them be Somerled’s galley?

She watched for a moment as the cloud-like sails passed by, then urged Fairhair into a gallop, racing back to Castle Rushen, determined to tell her father of what she had seen. Mayhap he or Abbot Bernard had heard of these ships heading toward Scotland’s coast and knew the reason for them.

“Father!” she called out as she burst into the hall. “I have seen ships and galleys, mayhap as many as forty, heading toward Scotland’s coast.”

Her father turned from one of his guards with whom he’d been speaking. “It must be Lord Somerled’s fleet,” said her father. “Both he and Fergus have been summoned by King David to join him as he prepares again for war with Stephen.”

Ragnhild sank into the nearest chair. “War. I remember now. He spoke of it being likely.” Ragnhild did not worry for her friend, Fergus’ son, Uchtred, for he would not follow his father to David’s war in England. But she did worry for Somerled, the man who held her heart. He must survive the coming battle. He must return to her. Remembering her promise to him, she jumped up and headed for the door.

“To where do you go in such haste, Daughter?”

“To pray, Father, with Abbot Bernard.”