all hidden away in coves and creeks, for the last thing he wanted was to have them possibly bottled up in this Kentra Bay. The chop-chop of tree-felling sounded on the chill morning air. A certain amount of smoke still blanketed the hills and blurred all outlines, and its smell was acrid, choking.
He had some final words with his leaders and then scuffed out his sandmap with his foot. They had judged and debated as far as they were able. The rest must lie with God and His saints.
He sent Saor left-about round Kentra Bay, to the far side and beyond, up the south flank of the narrow entrance channel, where beneath the steep wooded slopes the tree-felling was in progress. Conn Ironhand he left with the main bulk of their men, at Kentra township meantime. Himself he took a hundred or so and went down the north side of the entrance channel, opposite Saor and the lumbermen, there to prospect the ground and pick out hiding-places. Cathula went with him.
That entrance channel was over a mile long and for half its extent no more than two hundred yards wide—an admirable gateway for a secret base, so long as it was held by the right hands. But it was a gate which could be shut. They made what preparations they could and Somerled established his look-outs and line of runners behind, local men. Then all that he could do was to wait.
They waited for long and most men slept. Doubts were expressed as to the worth of all this, as time went on; and even Somerled himself began to wonder whether he had been perhaps just too clever?
It was almost midday before the first signal reached them, a man waving a plaid, from the top of a nearby hillock with a view. He went on waving, up and down. That meant that ships, many ships, had come into sight, presumably round Ardnamurchan Point. It was not long before another signal, circular, indicated that the vessels had indeed turned into outer Loch Moidart.
Now all was activity in the narrows, messages being sent, final positions taken up, men covering themselves in greenery. But there were still doubts. So much depended on what the Norse leader did now.
Signals continued to be received. The oncoming fleet was keeping to this south side of the loch. It was not dispersing or lying-to. It was approaching the Kentra entrance.
The excitement grew as men crouched, hidden. Somerled had difficulty in keeping himself from getting caught up in it, especially with that young woman beside him no help. He had to be ready to use the most exact and careful judgement presently. All might stand or fall by one swift decision—
his
decision, for once the enemy entered Kentra channel, decision for the time-being was no longer theirs.
The final signal from the hillock came—the first ship had entered.
From his stance of vantage behind a rock outcrop Somerled watched. Soon the first longship came into view, alone. In these tidal narrows, ships had to go in single file anyway; but no second craft appeared. And this, he was certain, was not Ivar’s own ship; there were no special markings, on sail or prow, to distinguish the leader. So this was but a scout, to spy out conditions ahead. Ivar was being careful, after all.
Somerled gave no sign, therefore, though biting his lip.
The time factor was now, of course, more urgent than ever. Half-a-mile further and this vessel would be into Kentra Bay proper, and fairly soon after that would be able to see the township and Conn’s company massed there. Then, presumably, it would turn back, or otherwise seek to warn the others—which must not happen. Yet to intercept it now would give away this ambush.
The ship rowed on, in mid-channel, and past.
Then the agonising further waiting, every moment counting. Would the Norse leadership hold back out there until they got a signal from their scout? Or would they be satisfied that it had got through these dangerous narrows without trouble? In Ivar’s place, what would
he
do? With a thousand men to play with? He would come on,
He had some final words with his leaders and then scuffed out his sandmap with his foot. They had judged and debated as far as they were able. The rest must lie with God and His saints.
He sent Saor left-about round Kentra Bay, to the far side and beyond, up the south flank of the narrow entrance channel, where beneath the steep wooded slopes the tree-felling was in progress. Conn Ironhand he left with the main bulk of their men, at Kentra township meantime. Himself he took a hundred or so and went down the north side of the entrance channel, opposite Saor and the lumbermen, there to prospect the ground and pick out hiding-places. Cathula went with him.
That entrance channel was over a mile long and for half its extent no more than two hundred yards wide—an admirable gateway for a secret base, so long as it was held by the right hands. But it was a gate which could be shut. They made what preparations they could and Somerled established his look-outs and line of runners behind, local men. Then all that he could do was to wait.
They waited for long and most men slept. Doubts were expressed as to the worth of all this, as time went on; and even Somerled himself began to wonder whether he had been perhaps just too clever?
It was almost midday before the first signal reached them, a man waving a plaid, from the top of a nearby hillock with a view. He went on waving, up and down. That meant that ships, many ships, had come into sight, presumably round Ardnamurchan Point. It was not long before another signal, circular, indicated that the vessels had indeed turned into outer Loch Moidart.
Now all was activity in the narrows, messages being sent, final positions taken up, men covering themselves in greenery. But there were still doubts. So much depended on what the Norse leader did now.
Signals continued to be received. The oncoming fleet was keeping to this south side of the loch. It was not dispersing or lying-to. It was approaching the Kentra entrance.
The excitement grew as men crouched, hidden. Somerled had difficulty in keeping himself from getting caught up in it, especially with that young woman beside him no help. He had to be ready to use the most exact and careful judgement presently. All might stand or fall by one swift decision—
his
decision, for once the enemy entered Kentra channel, decision for the time-being was no longer theirs.
The final signal from the hillock came—the first ship had entered.
From his stance of vantage behind a rock outcrop Somerled watched. Soon the first longship came into view, alone. In these tidal narrows, ships had to go in single file anyway; but no second craft appeared. And this, he was certain, was not Ivar’s own ship; there were no special markings, on sail or prow, to distinguish the leader. So this was but a scout, to spy out conditions ahead. Ivar was being careful, after all.
Somerled gave no sign, therefore, though biting his lip.
The time factor was now, of course, more urgent than ever. Half-a-mile further and this vessel would be into Kentra Bay proper, and fairly soon after that would be able to see the township and Conn’s company massed there. Then, presumably, it would turn back, or otherwise seek to warn the others—which must not happen. Yet to intercept it now would give away this ambush.
The ship rowed on, in mid-channel, and past.
Then the agonising further waiting, every moment counting. Would the Norse leadership hold back out there until they got a signal from their scout? Or would they be satisfied that it had got through these dangerous narrows without trouble? In Ivar’s place, what would
he
do? With a thousand men to play with? He would come on,
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