Chapter 8: Bring it on!

It was mid-afternoon when I heard the warning bell ring and I rushed from the cashel, buckling my sword belt on.

"Scott, don't do anything stupid. Come back to me, please!" Kirsty cried as she realised what was afoot.

"Don't fret princess, get yourself to the hiding place we prepared, I will be able to function better knowing you're safe."

I ran down towards the bay, pleased to see the islanders performing their allotted tasks as we had planned. I had begun to wear a kilt in the last week, my jeans somewhat the worse for wear and I shrugged my plaid off of my shoulder to free myself of any possible encumbrance should I need to use my sword. Kirsty enjoyed the freer access the kilt gave her to my 'staff-beast' as, of course, like a true Scotsman, I wore the kilt 'commando'.

I couldn't see the Vikings as yet and wondered whether this was merely another one of the drills I had instituted. I watched men push out boats laden with the jars of oil, others running to take up the ropes that led to the submerged logs with the metal spikes. Men on either side of the bay were ready with lit torches to set fire to the oil.

I walked slowly and confidently to the water's edge, in the middle of the bay. The mysticism of the island seemed to be at its height, lending me a bravado that perhaps wasn't warranted. Whatever, I stood alone, waiting for my first sight of the marauders.

I watched as four longboats swept round into the bay. I gulped. Four boats. Three, possibly four, hundred Vikings against forty. Had I bitten off more than I could chew? The men in the boats finished pouring the oil on the water and rowed for the shore as quickly as they could and I watched the longboats come further in. We had contrived a marker buoy using an inflated sheep's stomach and I waited until the first two boats reached it before raising my arm in signal to the men on the ropes. The teams began to haul on their ropes, turning the logs until they locked underwater with their metal spikes now raised vertically.

The longboats reached the spot where I thought the spikes were and sure enough they juddered as they struck and I heard clearly the shouts of concern aboard them as water must have been rushing in through the torn timbers. Quite quickly these two leading boats settled lower in the water and men began to jump over the sides into the water. The remaining two boats came forward more cautiously as they saw their compatriots in trouble. The first of these was not cautious enough however and it too struck the spikes and began to take on water. The last boat halted and then began to back out of the bay a little way.

There were now several hundred angry Vikings in the water, heading my way and all brandishing swords, spears or axes. They were screaming as they came closer in and they made a frightening sight. Then those in front began to run into the sharpened stakes and all became bloody ruin, men screaming, those at the back pressing those at the front further into the 'field' of weapons. The water began to turn red with their blood. It was a scene straight from hell.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." I repeated quietly to myself as I stared at the carnage, listened to the agonised screams of men as they impaled themselves.

I came to the realisation that this was all too real, not a dream or nightmare. I felt something warm on my leg and looked down to realise that I was actually wetting myself, a pool of urine gathering between my feet.

A handful of Vikings had somehow managed to win their way through the stakes and were getting closer to the shoreline. I watched them, frozen in place.

"I Challuim Chille! Columba!" I heard loudly behind me.

I turned to see all of the churchmen running to the beach, blades and spears in their hands as they screamed out their battle cry of Iona and Columba. Something snapped in my head. Whether it was the shame of having peed myself, a reaction to the proximity of the Vikings or the arrival of the Churchmen I don't know. I found myself screaming and running into the water to meet the Vikings, my sword swinging above my head.

Everything seemed to slow. I saw a bearded Viking before me. He must have been screaming because his mouth was wide and I was close enough to see spittle fly from it as he swung an axe in front of him. I was considerably taller and had by far the longer reach.

"Fuck you, ya bastard!" I shouted as I wheeled my sword in the air and watched it hack into the side of his neck.

I didn't dwell long on the blood that erupted from the wound, rather I turned to find another opponent, finding the churchmen had now caught up with me and were joining in with a will.

"SCOTT! Come back, the oil, they can't light the oil with you in the water!"

It was Kirsty's voice that cut through whatever madness that had descended on me. Her words somehow penetrated my head where the screams around me had not and I realised the significance of what she was shouting. I had planned the oil to deal with the possibility of some of the Vikings getting through the stakes. But now my stupidity in running into the water to meet them, my reaction to the heat of battle, was stopping the islanders from lighting the oil.

"Back to the beach, back to the beach! On me men of Iona!" I shouted as I disengaged from the man in front of me and saw a churchman run him through from the back. I turned to run up the beach where I could see Kirsty standing, the Churchmen following me as they had made short work of the handful of Vikings that had made it through our defences. No sooner were we out of the water than men on either side ran to throw flaming torches into the water, setting the oil alight.

It was incredible. The oil lit quickly and I watched as the flames, fanned by the breeze coming off of the land, rushed outwards from the beach all the way out to the stricken boats and beyond. No one could live through that inferno I thought to myself as the screaming amongst the stakes slackened off, the intensity of the flames possibly denying those in the middle of them any oxygen.

I was shaken from my grizzly thoughts by cheering all round me and I looked up to see that the fourth longboat was retreating out of the bay. I turned to address the islanders.

"You have fought valiantly this day but it might not be over yet my friends. Look you; we are still outnumbered by the Vikings on that last boat. If they decide to make landfall further along this coast, they could be upon us within the hour! A man to follow their progress along the shoreline and provide warning if you please."

Not one but two islanders rushed to do exactly that and the cheering dried up, men's faces becoming solemn and determined once more.

"You fool, what did you think you were doing?" I heard behind me, and suddenly Kirsty was all over me, trying to pummel me with her little fists. "You could have been killed! Oh Scott!"

I hugged her to me and all the fight left her.

"And what of you my love, you are supposed to be in hiding but I thank god for your timely reminder."

Keeping my arm round her I walked back towards the Abbey, anywhere to get further away from the sight and smell coming from the waters of the bay. The churchmen followed and we all slumped to the grass, the reaction to it all setting in and exhaustion creeping over us. An hour or so later our two lookouts returned. They approached to stand in front of me and both bowed low.

"My Lord, the raiders have indeed gone. We watched them head out to sea in the general direction of Colonsay."

There was renewed cheering at this and the Churchmen produced flasks of uisge beatha which were passed round in celebration. I looked sideways at Kirsty and then back to the two men.

"Thank you, but please do not name me Lord."

"A feast! We will prepare a feast to thank god, St. Columba and Scott mac Fergus the Norse-slayer for our deliverance!" The senior Churchman cried.

"The Norse-slayer! The Norse-slayer!" The islanders took up the chant.

I sat embarrassed. I had after all only killed one Viking, hardly the stuff of legends but the islanders were obviously not going to be denied their hero and they hoisted me up, tossing me in the air and carrying me round on their shoulders chanting "The Norse-slayer". I looked over and saw that Kirsty was smiling broadly at my predicament.

A feast was indeed prepared, meats being roasted on spits, bread and cheese in abundance and whisky and ale without limit. I was subdued and had no great appetite. The realisation that I had been the architect of a great slaughter was settling over me and, internally, I was trying to come to terms with that.

"Such mayhem, such death, the blood." I thought to myself. "Many hundreds perhaps dead and all because of me. Well, are you proud of yourself now Scott?"

Kirsty was watching me, saw that I was distracted from the feast and had come to know me well enough to guess what torture I was putting myself through. She sat down beside me, snuggling in to my shoulder.

"Scott. I was against you coming here to try to do this. But all of these men around you would probably be dead now if you hadn't come. The Abbey would be ablaze, defiled. These Vikings that lie dead in the water have made a life out of such raids, of wantonly killing and burning and they have visited such fate on this very island many times in the past. My love, these men of Iona are alive and well tonight because of you and your ideas. I am so very proud of you, my brave, strong Scotsman!"