Page 41 of Summer Warrior

CHAPTER 11

Loch Indaal, Isle of Islay, late October 1137 A.D.

THE AFTERNOON SUN broke through the clouds above Islay, turning the waters of Loch Indaal silver as the southerly winds drove Somerled’s longship toward the northern shore of the great sea loch.

Thousands of white-faced, black-throated Barnacle geese that, a moment before, had been resting on the water took to the air. So great were their numbers, they darkened the sky as their loud clamor of calls sounded over the loch.

A short while later, Somerled and his men reached the sand and beached their longships.

Maurice, who had commanded the second ship, waved to Somerled as he climbed down to the sand, the wind blowing his ebony hair across his face.

Somerled’s men took in the sail and he jumped down from his ship, excited for what lay ahead.

“Between fish, geese and deer, feeding the men will present no problem!” shouted Maurice above the raucous cries of the geese flocking above.

“Aye,” Somerled shouted back, “we will work hard but eat well.”

Once the men had gathered onshore, some of the geese resettled themselves onto the water and Somerled addressed the men. “We will camp at Findlugan’s Loch tonight and, at first light tomorrow, we’ll begin cutting timber, enough oak for the buildings we need. I am hoping the villagers in Keills will lend us carts and their garron ponies to haul the wood. I want to see the first buildings standing by December so we will have shelter for the winter months.” On Islay, it was not likely to freeze at night, even in the coldest months, but the air would be chilled as they entered November and colder still in the months that followed.

“I can speak to the villagers,” Liadan offered. “After what you did for them, they will be most willing to help and some have good carpentry skills.”

“Aye,” said Maurice, “’tis a good plan, lass.”

They followed the ancient path leading inland to Findlugan’s Loch, the bright yellow gorse on either side lighting their way.

They arrived at the secluded loch, its serenity disturbed only by curlews, geese and a golden eagle soaring overhead. The rays of the sun, shining through breaks in the cloud-filled sky, were reflected in the rippling waters. At the edge of the loch, reeds swayed with the breeze. To Somerled, the place felt ancient, as if Findlugan himself still walked the grass-covered earth.

While the men set up camp, Somerled walked with Maurice and Liadan to the loch’s northern shore where he had first glimpsed the two islands. Beneath his boots, the soil was soft and loamy. “See the large island?” he asked them, pointing to the swath of green jutting out of the water close to shore. “The one with the remains of a hill fort on it?”

“Aye,” said Maurice, “and a smaller island not far from it.”

Liadan’s auburn hair, freed from her plait, blew about her face as she spoke. “The people of Islay say the larger island once was home to Findlugan and his monks.”

“All the more reason I would build a great hall here and places for the chieftains to lodge.” Then he thought of Ragnhild and her love for the abbey on the Isle of Man. “And we’ll be needing a chapel.”

“We will need a timber path over the reed beds,” said Maurice.

“Aye,” Somerled said, agreeing. “We can lay it on the muddy ground between the island and the shore where the water is at its most shallow depth.” From the first time he had sighted the islands in the loch, he had begun to form pictures in his mind of what his headquarters would look like. And, one day, he would bring horses to the isle. If he gained Ragnhild as his bride, she would want her proud Fairhair to accompany her here.

That evening, when the men finished setting up camp, Somerled took advantage of the abundant geese, sending some of them off to hunt in the grassy areas around the lake where the birds fed incessantly.

The sun was beginning to set, casting brilliant streaks of amber across the sky. Somerled used the remaining light to study the drawings he had made for the buildings they would construct. The hall and its kitchen would come first, then other lodgings and finally a chapel.

An hour later, between the loch’s shore and their camp, a dozen fires sprang up to fill the air with the smell of roasting fowl.

Somerled sat on a rock, staring into the flickering flames as the dripping meat juices caused the fire to hiss. Behind him lay the chill of the oncoming night and their tents. In the distance, he could hear the cries of the roosting geese.

Islay soothed his soul, for he was a creature of the Highlands and the Isles as much as the golden eagle. This was home. His spirits soared as he thought of the grand task ahead, the passion that consumed him. Surely God was leading him, for he’d oft been protected from his enemies and gifted with wisdom not his own.

The dawn saw a gray sky though Somerled was thankful no rain fell. Before breaking their fast, his men had already felled several trees. He left Maurice in charge of the effort and, with Liadan and a few of his men, headed east for the village of Keills.

When they arrived, Somerled looked around, pleased with what he saw. All had been put to rights; no sign remained of the pirate attack. The villagers rushed up to greet them. It was obvious Liadan had been missed as the women embraced her and inquired of her wellbeing.

Smiling effusively, she told them, “I have been to Kintyre and to Irvine in Scotland to meet King David!”

Duly impressed, the women chatted away as Somerled turned to greet the men who approached him. “Welcome, Lord Somerled,” said a powerfully built Gael dressed, like many of the others, in belted tunic and leggings. His long hair and beard were black, making him look formidable. “I am Duncan MacEachern, the smith.”

Shaking the smith’s hand, he said, “I come to ask for your help, for I would build a headquarters for the clans at Findlugan’s Loch.”