Macbeth the King (15 page)

MacDowall might not still be in the Firth of Clyde, of course. The short night over, at first light Thorfinn sent out two of Somerled's craft to search, whilst he let his own crews and warriors go ashore to stretch their limbs after their cramped quarters aboard.

They had an entire forenoon to relax before one of the Coll vessels came back with the news that they had located the enemy some score of miles up the east coast of Kintyre, at Cour, where they had seen the smokes of their burnings a long way off. His galleys were lying in the quiet deep bay of Cour, opposite Catacol on Arran. Somerled was watching, hidden behind Eilean Cour, just to the south.

Thorfinn was having horns blown to recall his men before ever the report was finished. His force would be divided. Half he would take directly up the Sound of Kilbrannan. The other half, under one of his captains, Harald Cleft Chin, would sail round the
east
side of Arran and, if necessary, into the Sound from the north. If MacDowall bolted north-about, they might trap him between them.

So, in a short time, they were thrashing up Kilbrannan in a cloud of spray, fourteen longships in close order, the great mountains of Arran towering on their right, the lower green hills of Kintyre on their left—to which coast they kept close. Long before they reached the Cour area, halfway up the long peninsula, they could see the brown smoke-clouds rising high into the afternoon sky, to speak eloquently of burning villages and cot-houses, of ravishment and death.

The problem, of course, was the impossibility of an unseen approach for so large a squadron. MacDowall was no fool and would certainly set a watch. Thorfinn therefore crept up the Kintyre shoreline, for cover; but their best hope was that the raiders would have probed sufficiently far inland as to require some time, after warning, to get back to their ships and away, giving the fleet opportunity to come up.

In the event, they had just connected with Somerled's craft behind a small island, when, something like two miles in front, nine galleys shot out of Cour Bay, to turn away northwards in haste. Cursing, Thorfinn yelled for more speed. The chase was on.

MacBeth, for one, had never seen such a fury of energy and determination as the dragon-ship's oarsmen put into their sustained effort, Biorn Bow Legs' gong increasing its rate of clang to an extent that was even painful to listen to, the accompanying chanting more of a rhythmic groaning, punctuating the thrash and creak of the oars. The rowers were fresh, to be sure, and the south-westerly breeze enabled the sail to help them. But the same conditions applied to MacDowall's oarsmen, and clearly they were no sluggards. Thorfinn gained on them, but only slightly, outdistancing all but one of his own ships in tnat process. Somerled's birlinn. It would be a long chase in these circumstances.

Much depended now on the reserve Orkney squadron beating its way up the other side of Arran. Almost certainly MacDowall would turn eastwards round the top of Arran, through the Sound of Bute, and into the Firth of Clyde proper, since to continue on up the Kilbrannan Sound would lead only into Loch Fyne—which, though the longest sea-loch in Scotland, was a dead-end. But if MacDowall perceived the squadron waiting for him, he could turn away northwards instead, round Bute and into the network of narrow straits, sounds and lochs known as the Kyles of Bute, where his vessels could split up and lose themselves.

Sure enough, the fleeing ships swung eastwards towards the Sound of Bute, cutting the corner of Arran so dangerously tightly that the pursuit might gain no advantage. Still more than a mile behind, Thorfinn was shouting mighty imprecations, naming his oarsmen laggards and the sons of snails and appealing to his Maker for justice at least, if not favour.

There were only about three miles of the Sound of Bute to cover, and all on the dragon-ship, save the oarsmen, held their breaths as MacDowall's craft cleared its eastern end. Would they turn south, or north? They were close inshore, so they would not get any wide view down the firth until they were well out. And if, catching sight of the other squadron then, they turned back northwards, Thorfinn would have gained some small advantage, at least.

But no, the Galwegians swung southwards, and continued on that course until out-of-sight behind the mighty headland known as the Cock of Arran. Those who had breath to cheer on the dragon-ship did so.

Rounding the Cock, they saw the enemy ahead—but no others. Harald Cleft Chin, a seasoned campaigner, must have had the wit to keep close inshore also, and hide himself in one of the eastern bays of Arran. Which was, of course, excellent—but it did mean that when he came out, to intercept the enemy, he would not have much time to get into any blocking position across the width of the firth.

MacDowall certainly knew how to handle his ships, taking major risks, and advantage of every headland, islet and reef. Thorfinn was still gaining, the rearmost Galwegian now only half-a-mile ahead. But the rest of the Orkney squadron was now strung out well behind, save for Somerled's birlinn, which kept up strongly.

Then, at last, they saw developments. Harald Cleft Chin's vessels came out from Brodick Bay about a mile in front of the enemy. MacDowall's reaction was swift, unhesitating. His nine ships parted company, fanning out each on its own course. Harald's vessels had no option but to single out individual targets and seek to head them off. Thorfinn swung off after the flagship.

The diversion had enabled the pursuit to make further precious advance. And the avoiding action occasioned by the interceptors, aided further. Soon only hundreds of yards separated the two leaders' craft, yells and challenges ringing out.

It became a personal duel of wits and seamanship—although one other Galwegian ship stayed close to MacDowall's own, unfortunately. Twisting and turning, they sought to shake off their pursuer, and when that became obviously impossible, to prevent him coming alongside. The Vikings, however, were adept at this process and anticipated MacDowall's every move. Skilled oarsmen on both sides made for intricate and astonishingly swift-changing manoeuvre; but there were dangers in this, also, for those serried oars could be shorn off as though by a knife, by the sharp cutting prow of an enemy—and the Viking ships were equipped with a special blade-like ram for just such purpose. And shearing off the oars could effect direst bloody havoc amongst the rowing crews. In such grim business the advantage tended to lie with the aggressor holding the initiative and being able to select his approaches.

MacBeth had some bowmen amongst the Moraymen on the dragon-ship. But the sea-raiders, Norse or Celtic, did not go in for archery in any large way, heaving and unsteady decks not being the ideal bases for such marksmen. The Moray archers did manage to do some damage at this circling and tacking stage. But Thorfinn was quickly impatient of this finicking arm's-length warfare, and concerned himself solely with close-quarters tactics. Time and again he made a run-in at the enemy, but on each occasion was skilfully eluded—amidst roars and yells of fury and hate on each side. He had to be always on the look-out for what the second Galwegian ship might do to aid its leader—for unfortunately young Somerled had come across another enemy craft which showed fight, and was now engaged in a running battle half-a-mile away. So the dragon-ship meantime was one facing two. Not that that worried Thorfinn Raven Feeder; but it did mean that he had to watch his flanks all the time in his assaults on MacDowall.

MacBeth suggested that his bowmen could concentrate on this second vessel, to make it keep its distance, and his brother agreed.

At last Thorfinn saw his opportunity, as in turning away from one running on his port side, MacDowall was, for a brief spell, directly stem-on to his assailant at only a ship's-length, and with his speed much reduced. Roaring to his oarsmen, Thorfinn raced up the central gangway between the benches, from stern-platform to bow, sword high—and in answer, the dragon-ship surged forward in a burst of power, and, actually ramming the other craft's hull, drove rasping on up the starboard side of the enemy, snapping off the long oars like twigs and hurling their rowers into screaming broken ruin—whilst the Norse oarsmen on that side raised their sweeps high, out of the way, the men on their starboard side continuing to row strongly.

Even as the ghastly grinding connection was made, Thorfinn leapt from one ship to the other, sword flailing, jumping over the shields and the sprawling mangled bodies of the Galloway oarsmen, and followed by a stream of axe- and sword-wielding Vikings, yelling hate. It was a chaotic, wild affray, for there was little foot-room on rowing-benches and gangway, and what there was was slippery with blood or cluttered with bodies. Rowers and sworders stumbled away before the boarders, seeking a firm stance and room to fight. Up on the bow-platform MacDowall and his chieftains stood crowded, ready, but unwilling to leap down from their advantageous position. MacDowall himself, wearing a pointed helmet and chain-mail tunic, red with rust, was readily identifiable, a dark, hatchet-faced man in his forties, thin but wiry, with long down-turning moustaches. Thorfinn shouted at him to come to grips.

MacDowall, needless to say did not do so. But Thorfinn had his hands full, nevertheless, there being no room on the platform for all the Galloway crew, so that most of these formed a solid mass below it, at which the Norsemen had to hack. They were no mean fighters, either, although too cramped for good swording.

MacBeth saw his opportunity, and took it, urging the dragon-ship's prow forward until it was level with the other's bows, and then, backed by his Thanes of Brodie and Darnaway, leaping directly on to the Galwegians' platform, using a Viking shield as a sort of battering-ram to gain space for a foothold and to use his sword. His Moraymen poured after him, in more danger of being pushed over the side by pressure of bodies than from actual assault.

In the midst of this chaotic struggle MacBeth suddenly became aware of what was happening at the far side of the bow-platform. The second Galloway ship had come up, there, come close, and men were jumping, not from it to the flagship but in the other direction. When he perceived that MacDowall himself, astonishingly, was one of those leaping to the other craft, he realised that this was not some manoeuvre to gain advantage but that the Lord of Galloway was going to make off in this second ship. He yelled this warning to Thorfinn, who, righting at a lower level, could not see what was going on; but in the uproar he was not likely to be heard. Anyway, what could his brother do? The second craft drew off, after only moments, leaving the flagship to fight its own battle, and swung its bows in a south-easterly direction, oars flashing.

The situation changed swiftly and drastically thereafter. The Galloway flagship's crew, abandoned by their lord, lost heart and began soon to throw down their arms. Thorfinn perceived the situation and, bellowing his rage and disappointment, turned to push his way back through the press to his own vessel, many of his people with him. Leaping on to the dragon-ship, he shouted to MacBeth to take over the other ship as prize, and in the same stentorian breath ordered Biorn Bow Legs to cast off and pursue the fleeing MacDowall.

To do all that took time however, inevitably, with few of the Orkney crew still at their oars and some confusion as to who should stay with MacBeth and who should go. So, by the time that Thorfinn was on his way, the fleeing vessel had got most of a mile's start. MacBeth could almost feel his brother's wrath pulsing across the waves.

The deserted Galwegians proved little trouble now, and MacBeth was able to keep an eye on the further situation. MacDowall was obviously now heading straight across for the other side of the firth and the nearest point on the Ayr coast, some seven miles away; and the chances were that he would reach it before Thorfinn could catch up. Elsewhere the main Orkney fleet had now reunited, and most of the running fights were over, although one or two of the enemy ships appeared to have got away.

MacBeth had the prize ship tidied up, the blood washed away and a new crew at the reduced number of oars, when his brother got back, in a towering rage. The wretched MacDowall had escaped him, landed on the Ayr shore near Ardrossan and scuttled off into the woodland with his crew—no doubt to win back to Galloway overland. Was there ever such a dastard, such a dunghill cock! To leave his host, with scarce a blow struck! It was beyond all belief. When he got him—as get him he would, by God's Eyes—he would teach him how to die, at least!

They ascertained that of the nine Galloway ships three haa escaped, two were sunk and four captured. They had taken some 300 prisoners, many of them wounded. The dead had been disposed of overboard, uncounted. It could scarcely be called a victory, but it might serve as a warning to the province of Galloway—where they were going now.

One slight delay Thorfinn did accept. They paused, some thirty sea miles on, at the mighty soaring crag of Ailsi, down near the mouth of the firth, and, at the tiny and only eastern strand thereof, unloaded their prisoners on to that inhospitable rock. There was a hermit in an eyrie of a chapel high up the cliff, water to drink from his well and solan geese to eat. They would harm no one there—even if they did not live so well as when raiding the Hebrides. They were left, boatless.

The Mull of Galloway was only another forty miles southwards.

* * *

Galloway was a huge province, mountainous inland but jutting in great low-lying peninsulas into the Irish Sea. MacBeth had never had occasion to visit it, but Thorfinn had raided there often. MacDowall was known to base himself on Kirk Cuth-bert's Town on the Dee estuary, well to the east. But Ingebiorg's cousin Suibhne mac Kenneth, or Sween Kennedy in the Galloway speech, retained a small corner of territory in the remote area of Soirbuy, in Wigtown Bay, further west. Thither Thorfinn headed first, for the sake of appearances—his own appearances. King Duncan might say that this expedition was being conducted in his name; but the Earl Thorfinn had other views.

Sween Kennedy greeted the invaders warily from his dun of Sliddery, above Cruggleton Bay, between Saint Ninian's Candida Casa at Whithorn and Wigtown, a very strong cliff-top hold in which he roosted uneasily. He was a strangely diffident and indecisive young man to be the descendant of the fierce ancient Kings of Galloway and of the Norse rovers who had conquered them, a quiet and scholarly individual as different from his cousin Ingebiorg as was possible to imagine. Clearly Thorfinn thought little of him, but was prepared to use him. Whether or not Sween wished to be used was beside the point.