Chapter 7: Consolidation

Scott's two remaining wives and his two sons mourned with him. Normally he would have taken Hella's body for burial at Iona but the winter snows made that impossible. Instead the difficult journey was made to St Andrew's and the monks there performed the burial for him. Afterwards they returned to Loch Leven and Scott ordered a vast feast to be prepared so that all might honour Hella's passing.

Alone with his wives once the boys were abed, he knew they had something to share with him given their nervous looks at each other.

"My two lovelies, I know there is something on your minds. Why not spit it out and be done with it?"

It was Fiona as usual who was the one to speak up.

"I fear you know us too well my Lord, a woman needs to be able to keep some secrets from her husband!"

"Aye, and I'm not fooled into believing that I know half of what you two are up to! Now, what is afoot?"

"We have known for some time my Lord, but have held off from telling you because of Hella's illness. It would have been particularly cruel perhaps to have revealed this given how little time she had left. Scott, we are both with child."

"Both? With child? How? When? Saints!" He stumbled.

Both girls laughed at his apparent inability to form a sentence.

"Yes my Lord, and as to how, surely you know that by now?" Giggled Eilean.

"Scott, you will understand why we have kept this from you until now? Hella was ever disappointed that she hadn't given you a son and this news would have made her last few weeks awful."

Scott re-assured them that he understood their motivation. The fact that both of them were pregnant began to sink in. Two more children. While nothing could fully take away the loss of Hella, impending fatherhood certainly did do something to lift the depression that had been settling over him. Scott hugged his two wives to him, rejoicing with them in the wonderful news.

Scott's request that Lachlan harry Strathclyde as he was returning to Ayrshire seemed to have brought about the desired results if the reports coming in to Scott were anything to go by. He had hoped that Eochaid would hurry south to protect his favourite lands, leaving Strathearn without a leader. Scott hoped he was not being too contrived in this. He had hoped a leaderless Strathearn would fall prey to increased Viking raiding. If that happened it would allow him to do a number of things - remind the Fife populace of the dangers they faced, lead them into battle to re-inforce his Kingship, and at the same time perhaps annex a little of Strathearn into the bargain.

Now reports were coming in that there was some small-scale theft of beasts on Fife's northern borders, suggesting someone was in dire need of food. Scott knew the wintertime was not ideal for campaigning but he was in the mood for spilling a little Norse blood. He was able to put together a force of men kitted out for dealing with the snow and now gathered together one hundred, ensuring they all had quilted clothing, Ugg boots and snowshoes. Skis were readily available and all the men chosen were already strong skiers.

Scott led his little force north and east to Uachdar Mucadaidh (modern day Auchtermuchty), going cautiously lest they blunder upon Vikings. From there they probed directly north, towards the Tay Water, Scott assuming any Norse would remain close to this major sea route. The skis helped them make ten to twelve miles a day and they reached the Firth of Tay by midday of their second day, still without any sighting of the Danes.

Scott admitted to himself that he was relishing the opportunity to fight, to perhaps exorcise some of the anger he still felt at the loss of Hella. He was disappointed therefore that they had yet to come across his favourite enemies!

From Newburgh they travelled west towards Earn, stopping in a wood to make camp for the night. They had travelled only a few miles the next morning when the men scouting ahead signalled that they had spotted something. Scott moved forward, pulling his binos out and putting them to his eyes.

Before them was a tented camp on the banks of the Tay. Scott saw two longships anchored close to the shore and estimated there could only be two hundred and fifty Vikings in the camp. They looked a ragged bunch, perhaps blown off course and trying to see out the winter here. He turned to his lieutenant, Donald mac Niall.

"I estimate about two hundred and fifty of them Donald."

"We shall have to sweep west to get beyond them Sire."

"What do you mean Donald? See you, we didn't ski all this way to then avoid the Norsemen when we find them. I would bring them to battle my friend!"

"But Sire, we are heavily outnumbered."

"Nonsense Donald, they're only Danes after all. Come my friend let us get our men prepared for some fun."

Scott had the men take off their skis and put on snowshoes. He indicated how he wanted them to advance, in two ranks of fifty each, himself in the centre. They moved out, walking slowly but steadily down the slope, the Fifers with their crossbows at the ready. Their presence was spotted quickly and the Danes were not slow in rushing out to meet them, confident given their numbers.

Scott now halted his men, seeing advantage in letting the Vikings run uphill towards them in the snow. He looked to his left and right and could see the Fifers were nervous under the charge of the larger force of Danes. Their nervousness was confirmed when many of them began firing their bolts before the Norse were even within range. Scott had to scream at them to stop that. He let the Norse get closer still and then swung the bag he had over his shoulder onto the ground.

Opening the bag, Scott pulled out a little pottery jar, perhaps the size of a beaker of ale. There was a short length of fuse cord hanging from the jar and Scott now used his lighter to fire the fuse up and then threw the jar with all his strength down the hill at the Norse. Without stopping to see the effect of his first 'hand grenade', Scott reached into his bag and pulled out another, similar jar. He lit this jar and threw it slightly further to the left of the advancing Vikings. As he did so he saw that there were eight or nine Norsemen already down, some of them screaming.

Scott had added small lumps of lead to his gunpowder mix in the jars and the resultant projectiles when the jars exploded seemed to be very effective indeed. The Norse were unsure about what was being thrown at them and continued their charge towards the Scots. Scott threw his remaining jars, ten of them, at the enemy and then screamed for his men to begin picking of targets with their crossbows.

The grenades had taken out perhaps one hundred men and the odds were now far better. The fact that the Fife men were armed with crossbows carrying magazines of bolts, meant that they had close to one thousand bolts available to fire at one hundred and fifty Norsemen.

Scott's men took a moment or two to respond to his command to start using their crossbows, stunned themselves by the noise and devastation caused by the little jars. At last their predicament brought them back to their senses and they began to fire in earnest, volleys of bolts tearing into the advancing Danes. It is perhaps credit to the Norsemen's courage that a handful managed to reach the lines of Scots, killing a few of Scott's men, but these were quickly overwhelmed and put to the sword. The exchange had lasted barely ten, hellish, minutes and the Norse had been wiped out, completely wiped out.

Scott gave orders for his men to advance into the tented camp and to forage for anything worth taking. Very quickly a shout went up and four men dragged what looked like a woman and a girl from one of the structures. Scott hurried over to ensure they were not subjected to mistreatment, particularly rape. He ordered his men to bind them and was turning to survey what else was going on when he heard a voice.

"What's the point of binding us? That'll just mean we're more likely to slip in the snow and slow you down. We have nowhere to run to and no other way of surviving other than remaining with you."

Scott looked again at the woman. He couldn't see much of her body as she was swathed in furs but her face was filthy, her blonde hair in worse shape than windblown straw.

"You speak Gaelic, how is that?"

"I am originally from Gallaibh (Modern day Caithness, the most northerly area of Scotland), I was betrothed to a Viking a long time ago now and was on my way from Norway to Orkney when the weather blew us badly of course."

Scott continued to question the woman as his men now began to celebrate their victory, the scale of it only now dawning on them as the adrenaline wore off. He ordered a return to Loch Leven, the woman and her daughter being fitted with skis left over from the unlucky few Scots who had perished in the exchange. Both proved adept at skiing, the woman explaining that it had been common in Norway.

They made good time and camped in woodland near Glenfarg. Round a campfire that night, Scott found out further information about the pair. The woman's name was Erica nic Maelcolm and she said her daughter's name was Helfe Sigurdsdottar.

"So, who is your Viking husband and why were you in Norway?" Scott asked her.

"My husband is Sigurd Eysteinsson, Jarl of Orkney," she replied loftily, "he was recently given Orkney by his brother Rognvald and I had been at the royal court of Norway to meet Rognvald and the Norwegian King, Harald Harfagre (Harold Fair Hair)."

Scott didn't like the way she spoke to him, almost as if he was beneath her.

"And I'm supposed to be impressed by this?"

"You should be, surely even someone as lowly as yourself will have heard of Sigurd the Mighty?"

"No, I'm afraid I haven't, but perhaps I've been too busy to worry myself with some godforsaken islands in the middle of nowhere."