Dermot Maguire and some fifty men were despatched to this Dorlinn, to deal with anyone left there, and to destroy the place as a base.
The remainder of his people Somerled then set to fire-raising. All Norse installations and belongings were to be burned; but the main objective was to create a show—and a show which would be visible from major distances. He wanted it to look as though all this centre of Moidart was being set alight. Great smoke-clouds. On the other hand, he did not want the local people’s interests seriously to suffer. So their cot-houses and byres and hay were not to be fired. But elsewhere, conflagration—old heather, dead bracken, scrub-woodland, beach-wrack, whins, broom and thorn. The smoke must be very great and widespread, demanding attention, from right across Loch Sunart in Morvern. As the crow flew, it was less than ten miles to Glencripesdail although nearly forty miles by sea, round Ardnamurchan Point. He wanted those Norse to be in no doubt but that their Moidart headquarters was in serious trouble. But wait an hour, to give MacNeil and Maguire time to surprise their quarry—then see to it.
Burning other folk’s property is always a heartening process. There was no lack of enthusiasm for this task.
By the evening, central Moidart seemed to be ablaze. If the vast, billowing smoke-clouds, towering high as thunderheads, made it early dark, the angry red glow in the sky compensated with its own ominous light. Saor and Cathula returned, the former cheerfully complacent, the young woman notably quiet and withdrawn. There had been only two dozen Vikings left with the ships, none of whom were now alive. The vessels were in good order and there was useful booty. MacNeil mentioned privately that the MacIan woman had been bold enough to start with, but despite her assertions, once the real bloodshed began she changed her tune and retired to vomit.
Somerled let her find her own couch, that night.
He warned his people that they had better not sit up drinking captured ale and admiring Norse loot—which was considerable—for they were all to be up and busy well before dawn.
It was late, however, before he himself slept, mind active, planning, guessing, assessing.
Sun-up saw Somerled drawing a plan, with a stick on smooth sand, of the intricate area round about. They had persuaded many of the local folk that they were in no danger, and won a certain amount of co-operation. MacGilchrist and others helped him with his map, with information as to depth and width of channels and bays, links and passes between, hiding-places and the like. He was possibly going to need every scrap of information that he could glean.
Timing was a major problem. He was assuming that the fires and the news would bring Ivar Blacktooth’s force back from Glencripesdail in haste. But if they had proceeded on beyond that glen, southwards towards Arienas and Aline, then it would take the longer for them to get back. He reassured himself however that these Norsemen all hated marching, preferring never to be far from their ships—so the chances were that if they intended descent on the centre of Morvern, they would be more apt to essay it by sea, however much of a detour, rather than march miles across empty mountains. If this was so, to be sure, timing could be still more difficult, since they might have been on their way when alarm was raised, and so could be here the sooner. So he had to be ready for almost anything.
Certain basic reckonings he allowed himself. The master of perhaps a thousand men would not be likely to be overcautious, especially in territory which he had ruled for some time. And he would be angry. He would have nine longships, presumably—a formidable force, which his own could nowise challenge at sea. But in this narrow network of waterways, the marshalling and controlling of nine ships could be difficult . . .
Somerled already had most of his men out, reinforced by some of the locals. His ships were
The remainder of his people Somerled then set to fire-raising. All Norse installations and belongings were to be burned; but the main objective was to create a show—and a show which would be visible from major distances. He wanted it to look as though all this centre of Moidart was being set alight. Great smoke-clouds. On the other hand, he did not want the local people’s interests seriously to suffer. So their cot-houses and byres and hay were not to be fired. But elsewhere, conflagration—old heather, dead bracken, scrub-woodland, beach-wrack, whins, broom and thorn. The smoke must be very great and widespread, demanding attention, from right across Loch Sunart in Morvern. As the crow flew, it was less than ten miles to Glencripesdail although nearly forty miles by sea, round Ardnamurchan Point. He wanted those Norse to be in no doubt but that their Moidart headquarters was in serious trouble. But wait an hour, to give MacNeil and Maguire time to surprise their quarry—then see to it.
Burning other folk’s property is always a heartening process. There was no lack of enthusiasm for this task.
By the evening, central Moidart seemed to be ablaze. If the vast, billowing smoke-clouds, towering high as thunderheads, made it early dark, the angry red glow in the sky compensated with its own ominous light. Saor and Cathula returned, the former cheerfully complacent, the young woman notably quiet and withdrawn. There had been only two dozen Vikings left with the ships, none of whom were now alive. The vessels were in good order and there was useful booty. MacNeil mentioned privately that the MacIan woman had been bold enough to start with, but despite her assertions, once the real bloodshed began she changed her tune and retired to vomit.
Somerled let her find her own couch, that night.
He warned his people that they had better not sit up drinking captured ale and admiring Norse loot—which was considerable—for they were all to be up and busy well before dawn.
It was late, however, before he himself slept, mind active, planning, guessing, assessing.
Sun-up saw Somerled drawing a plan, with a stick on smooth sand, of the intricate area round about. They had persuaded many of the local folk that they were in no danger, and won a certain amount of co-operation. MacGilchrist and others helped him with his map, with information as to depth and width of channels and bays, links and passes between, hiding-places and the like. He was possibly going to need every scrap of information that he could glean.
Timing was a major problem. He was assuming that the fires and the news would bring Ivar Blacktooth’s force back from Glencripesdail in haste. But if they had proceeded on beyond that glen, southwards towards Arienas and Aline, then it would take the longer for them to get back. He reassured himself however that these Norsemen all hated marching, preferring never to be far from their ships—so the chances were that if they intended descent on the centre of Morvern, they would be more apt to essay it by sea, however much of a detour, rather than march miles across empty mountains. If this was so, to be sure, timing could be still more difficult, since they might have been on their way when alarm was raised, and so could be here the sooner. So he had to be ready for almost anything.
Certain basic reckonings he allowed himself. The master of perhaps a thousand men would not be likely to be overcautious, especially in territory which he had ruled for some time. And he would be angry. He would have nine longships, presumably—a formidable force, which his own could nowise challenge at sea. But in this narrow network of waterways, the marshalling and controlling of nine ships could be difficult . . .
Somerled already had most of his men out, reinforced by some of the locals. His ships were
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