he thought . . .
The scout-ship disappeared into the bay.
A man, further along this bank than himself, held up a hand, presumably indicating action. Then, almost at once, a prow rounded one of the bends in the channel—and this was a prow indeed, an arrogant, towering dragon-head, painted red-and-black. The vessel behind was half as large again as the ordinary longship, with sixty-four oars, not forty-eight, a full-sized dragon-ship, most certainly Ivar’s own. A few lengths behind it came another craft, this one of normal size, then another behind that.
So this was it—the moments for judgement, decision, at last.
Holding himself in—and hoping that his men would do so likewise—Somerled calculated, assessing distances. Every yard could tell. He snapped a curse at Cathula when she whispered. He let the dragon-ship pass. A fourth vessel was now in view and a fifth appearing round the bend—too close behind to please him. With a muttered exclamation, part-prayer, part-imprecation, he raised his horn and blew two blasts.
Men had been waiting anxiously for this, and there was no delay now. Between the dragon-ship and the next craft, narrow as the gap was, there was an explosion of activity. Out from the farther, west side, men raced, straight into the water, many men, dragging behind them a boom, a succession of tree-trunks bound together and linked close with ropes. Pushing and pulling, they splashed and swam out with this, whilst from this east side others emerged from hiding to plunge in and swim to join them across the mere two hundred yards of channel. At the same time, arrows began to shower down upon the ships from both sides. Archery was not greatly advanced amongst the Celtic peoples, any more than with the Norse, as a weapon of war—it was the Normans who had developed this arm—but Somerled had recognised its advantages and had gathered a number of bows and arrows—of the hunting variety necessarily—and this was an easy target.
When he saw the first boom well under way, and the confusion aboard the vessels, he blew another three blasts on the horn, and set off another similar manoeuvre between the second and third ships.
The Vikings were not idle, meantime, however surprised. But strung out as they were, there was no coherent action. Those facing the booms hastily backed-water with their oars, and in consequence bunching developed. Clearly a third boom was going to be difficult to get across—although the archery was having effect amongst the oarsmen.
It was the dragon-ship which demanded most of Somerled’s attention. It had no boom in front of it. When the trouble erupted astern, it slowed, uncertainly, then also began to back-water to the aid of the ships behind. There was much shouting and sword- and battleaxe-brandishing.
A single long blowing of the horn was the signal for Saor to have another log boom run out, the most southerly, in front of the dragon-ship. Almost immediately after this, a succession of short blasts initiated a new stage in the attack.
This inevitably took more time to mount, for it entailed flint-and-tinder work, lighting resin-soaked rags attached to arrows, to shoot down into the ships. This was slow work, at first, but it was certainly effective in causing maximum confusion amongst the packed rowing-benches and setting canvas, shrouds and gear alight.
Somerled sent racing messengers to Conn and to Dermot, the one to bring on the rest of their men, making much noise about it, the other to mount a display, a distraction, in the outer loch with some of their longships.
There was a brief hiatus in this peculiar encounter. The Norse, the first four ships at least, found themselves bottled up individually, unable to move more than a few yards one way or the other. Apart from the arrow-shooting, Somerled’s people could do little in attack, since any assault by swimmers on the shield-hung sides of the stationary longships would be suicidal; and they had no javelins for
The scout-ship disappeared into the bay.
A man, further along this bank than himself, held up a hand, presumably indicating action. Then, almost at once, a prow rounded one of the bends in the channel—and this was a prow indeed, an arrogant, towering dragon-head, painted red-and-black. The vessel behind was half as large again as the ordinary longship, with sixty-four oars, not forty-eight, a full-sized dragon-ship, most certainly Ivar’s own. A few lengths behind it came another craft, this one of normal size, then another behind that.
So this was it—the moments for judgement, decision, at last.
Holding himself in—and hoping that his men would do so likewise—Somerled calculated, assessing distances. Every yard could tell. He snapped a curse at Cathula when she whispered. He let the dragon-ship pass. A fourth vessel was now in view and a fifth appearing round the bend—too close behind to please him. With a muttered exclamation, part-prayer, part-imprecation, he raised his horn and blew two blasts.
Men had been waiting anxiously for this, and there was no delay now. Between the dragon-ship and the next craft, narrow as the gap was, there was an explosion of activity. Out from the farther, west side, men raced, straight into the water, many men, dragging behind them a boom, a succession of tree-trunks bound together and linked close with ropes. Pushing and pulling, they splashed and swam out with this, whilst from this east side others emerged from hiding to plunge in and swim to join them across the mere two hundred yards of channel. At the same time, arrows began to shower down upon the ships from both sides. Archery was not greatly advanced amongst the Celtic peoples, any more than with the Norse, as a weapon of war—it was the Normans who had developed this arm—but Somerled had recognised its advantages and had gathered a number of bows and arrows—of the hunting variety necessarily—and this was an easy target.
When he saw the first boom well under way, and the confusion aboard the vessels, he blew another three blasts on the horn, and set off another similar manoeuvre between the second and third ships.
The Vikings were not idle, meantime, however surprised. But strung out as they were, there was no coherent action. Those facing the booms hastily backed-water with their oars, and in consequence bunching developed. Clearly a third boom was going to be difficult to get across—although the archery was having effect amongst the oarsmen.
It was the dragon-ship which demanded most of Somerled’s attention. It had no boom in front of it. When the trouble erupted astern, it slowed, uncertainly, then also began to back-water to the aid of the ships behind. There was much shouting and sword- and battleaxe-brandishing.
A single long blowing of the horn was the signal for Saor to have another log boom run out, the most southerly, in front of the dragon-ship. Almost immediately after this, a succession of short blasts initiated a new stage in the attack.
This inevitably took more time to mount, for it entailed flint-and-tinder work, lighting resin-soaked rags attached to arrows, to shoot down into the ships. This was slow work, at first, but it was certainly effective in causing maximum confusion amongst the packed rowing-benches and setting canvas, shrouds and gear alight.
Somerled sent racing messengers to Conn and to Dermot, the one to bring on the rest of their men, making much noise about it, the other to mount a display, a distraction, in the outer loch with some of their longships.
There was a brief hiatus in this peculiar encounter. The Norse, the first four ships at least, found themselves bottled up individually, unable to move more than a few yards one way or the other. Apart from the arrow-shooting, Somerled’s people could do little in attack, since any assault by swimmers on the shield-hung sides of the stationary longships would be suicidal; and they had no javelins for
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