The Islesman

by Nigel Tranter

Genres: Historical Fiction

Synopsis

This is the thrilling story of Angus Og MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, during the turbulent days of Robert the Bruce. The grandson of the great Angus Mor, direct descendant and successor of Somerled himself, the semi-independent prince of the Hebrides and much of the West Highland mainland, Angus was a worthy representative of a notable line, living in dramatic and exciting times for Scotland and England, for Ulster, Man and Ireland. He took his part in it all, an active supporter of Robert the Bruce, chief of chiefs. He was a man who sought peace and prosperity for his so scattered people, encouraging trade, seeking to heal the feuding propensities of the clans, allying the Isles with Orkney and Shetland and Norway; travelling as far as the Baltic. He was also a man of humble mind, and a proud husband and father.

Release date: December 8, 2011

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 404

Sample

Principal Characters in order of appearance

Angus Og mac Donald: Son of Alexander, Lord of Islay.

Angus Mor mac Donald, 4th Lord of the Isles: Grandfather of above.

Ewan MacLean, Younger of Kinlochaline: Friend of Angus Og.

Alexander mac Donald, Lord of Islay: Father of Angus Og.

Alastair mac Donald, Lord of Kintyre: Brother of Angus Mor.

Seona nic Alastair: Daughter of above.

Eithne nic Alastair: Sister of above.

Roderick mac Alan: Son of governor of the Isle of Man, known as Rory.

Abbot Fergus of Saddell Abbey: Important Kintyre churchman.

MacDonald of Gigha: Isles chieftain.

Gillemoir MacLean of Duart: Powerful chief.

MacDuffie of Colonsay: Isles chieftain.

MacIan of Ardnamurchan: Powerful chief of that mainland peninsula.

Malcolm Tormod MacLeod: Skye chief.

Alastair MacDougall of Lorn: Great mainland chief.

Ian Cameron of Locheil: Important mainland chief.

Duncan Mackintosh of Moy: Chief of Clan Chattan.

Sir Andrew Moray, Lord of Bothwell and Moray: Supporter of William Wallace.

Guy O'Cahan, Lord of Derry: Great Ulster nobleman.

Ainea O'Cahan: Daughter of above.

Richard de Burgh, Earl of Ulster: English commander.

Mackinnon of Strath: Skye chieftain.

Finguala nic Angus: Daughter of Angus Og and Ainea.

Edward the First, King of England: Known as Longshanks.

Edward, Prince of Wales: Later Edward the Second.



Nigel MacNeill of Barra: Potent Outer Isles chief.

Lord John of Brittany, Earl of Richmond: Supporter of King Edward.

John mac Angus MacDonald: Son of Angus Og.

Sir William Wallace: Scots hero.

Andrew, Bishop of the Isles: Prelate.

Sir John Comyn, The Red: A competitor for the crown of Scotland.

Aymer de Vallance, Earl of Pembroke: One of Edward's greatest commanders.

Hugh, Master of Ross: Son and heir of the Earl of Ross.

Sir Neil Campbell of Lochawe: Strong Bruce supporter.

Robert Bruce, King of Scots: Former Earl of Carrick.

Sir James Douglas: Bruce friend, known as the Good.

Lady Christina MacRuarie of Carmoran: Heiress of Clanranald.

Edward Bruce, Earl of Carrick: The Bruce's brother.

Malcolm, Earl of Lennox: Great Scots noble.

Sir Thomas Randolph: Bruce's nephew, later Earl of Moray.

John, Son of MacDougall of Lorn: Known as Ian Bacach, or John the Lame.

Sir Gilbert Hay of Erroll: Bruce supporter. High Constable.

Bishop William Lamberton of St Andrews: Primate of the Scots Church.

Master Bernard de Linton, Abbot of Arbroath: Bruce's secretary.

Sir Robert Keith: Knight Marischal.

Magnus, Earl of Orkney: Also a jarl of Norway.





Angus Og looked at Angus Mor wonderingly. “You say that I am to leave here? Leave Ardtornish? Go down to Kintyre and dwell there? But, but ...”

“But me no buts, boy. It is time you started to earn your living, to make your mark in the Isles. You are of eighteen years now. At that age I was fighting both the King of Scots and the King of England: You are to hold Dunaverty for me.” The speaker was an enormous man in his early sixties, shaggy as one of his own Highland bulls, his long flaxen hair and beard becoming tinged with grey, but no hint of ageing being evident: Angus Mor mac Donald mac Ranald mac Somerled, Prince and Lord of the Isles.

“But – why me? Dunaverty of Kintyre is near to Islay. My father rules there. He is but two score of miles from it ...”

“Your father and my son is an idler, a dreamer. He should have been a clerk in Holy Church! He does not rule Islay – he but sleeps there! He will make no Prince of the Isles. So you must, Angus Og, when I go. But I am not going yet, see you. I need Dunaverty held, and strongly. It is the nearest point of all the Isles to Ireland, to Ulster. Who holds it, if he will, can control the narrow seas and the Ulster coast. And with this proud Edward Plantagenet of England dominating the Welsh and seeking to do the same over the Irish, Ulster must be denied him. He has few ships, compared with myself – or he might think to try to dominate me! So, Dunaverty for you. Men you shall have. And longships and birlinns. But that firth and channel must be held.”

Angus Og wagged his dark head. He was of a very different

physical make from his grandsire, of only medium height, although broad of shoulder, all but swarthy instead of fair, but nowise lacking in characterful appearance. He shook that head, but shrugged.

“If I must,” he said. None disobeyed Angus Mor in the Isles. “What am I to do there all the time? Apart from watching the Irish coast thirty miles off?”

“You will find a sufficiency to occupy you, if I know you, lad! And now and again you can sail over to Islay and stir up that father of yours! I will keep you informed as to my wishes, never fear.”

The pair of them were standing on the parapet-walk of Ardtornish Castle in Morvern, looking southwards down the narrow sea loch of Aline to the Sound of Mull, that so important waterway of the Western Highlands, dividing the mainland from the great Isle of Mull. This was the favourite seat of the Lord of the Isles, or Prince thereof as he preferred to be named, however many other castles and strengths he held over many hundreds of miles of coastline and islands, from the foot of Kintyre to the south – if the Isle of Man was not counted – north past Rhum and Eigg and Skye and the Summer Isles to Cape Wrath itself, the very final tip of Scotland before the isles of Orkney and Shetland, which even he did not claim to rule, and westwards to all the long line of the Outer Hebrides, Lewis and Harris, the Uists and Barra and the rest, a sea-girt and island empire indeed. But here, at Ardtornish, Angus Og had been born and reared, here he had his friends and interests, however often he had sailed the rest. And now he was to leave his home and start a new life, it seemed, one hundred and fifty miles away.

“When must I go?”

“I go to Skye within the week. I would see you away south before that, lad.”

“I will take Ewan MacLean with me.”

“Take whom you will ...”

Angus Og followed his grandfather down the narrow, twisting stairway to the withdrawing-room off the hall on the first floor, but himself went on further, down and out, to cross to the stables in the courtyard, where he collected his sturdy garron, long of mane and tail if short of leg. Mounting, he rode down the castle hill and across the ford of the River Aline, to turn down this southwards to the head of the loch where, at the entry of a minor stream from the west, a steep crag rose above the junction of waters. And perched on top of this was a small fortalice, a square parapeted tower, the little MacLean castle of Kinlochaline, modest compared with Ardtornish but sufficiently strongly sited. He rode up the zigzag track to this.

A hail from above welcomed him, and down came a young man of similar age to himself, clad as was Angus in saffron kilt and goatskin doublet, although his shirt was not of silk as was his friend's.

“I saw you coming, Angus,” he greeted. “What's to do?” Normally Ewan MacLean was sent for rather than having the other come for him.

“Much is to do!” he was told. “We are to leave here. Or I am. And I would have you to come with me. To Kintyre.”

“Kintyre! We visit Kintyre? I have never been there. A long way, is it not? Far south.”

“Not to visit. To stay! To Dunaverty, on the Mull of Kintyre. I am to hold a castle there with men and ships. My grandsire orders it.”

“Sakes! What is this?”

“I am to earn my living, he says. Act the chief there. What think you of that!”

On the way up to the tower Angus explained the situation. He found his friend since boyhood nowise upset or dejected by the prospect of leaving home, seeing it as an adventure rather; and in so doing raising Angus's own anticipation over the prospect. It might be none so ill a mission, although something

of a responsibility, to become guardian of the narrows of the Irish Sea.

MacLean of Kinlochaline, a kinsman of Duart's across the Sound of Mull, and his wife raised their eyebrows over their young lord's tidings, but could not, of course, oppose the Prince of the Isles's wishes on this or on other matters. Ewan's young brother, Hector, wished that he could have gone also.

The two friends went fishing thereafter in a boat on Loch Aline, a favourite activity. They found much to discuss and anticipate. If Angus was going to act leader of armed men for the patrolling of the North Channel, and keeper of a strong castle, then they were going to need armour and weaponry, helmets and shields, clothing for especial occasions. And they would have to practise and improve their skills with swords and crossbows, battle-axes and lances. The more they talked, the more exciting and appealing the project grew for them.

Angus Mor set in motion all the necessary preparations without delay, for he wanted to see his grandson gone before he himself departed in the opposite direction, for Skye. So a busy four days followed, with men being summoned and longships gathered and readied. He recruited a seasoned warrior, one MacInnes of Uladail, to act as mentor to his grandson, especially in the deployment of numbers of ships to best effect; but left this worthy in no doubt as to who was in command. Needless to say, he himself gave the young man much guidance as to what was required of him, strategies to be employed, and who could be relied upon to aid him and who not to trust. Angus Og was duly impressed.

The great day dawned. At the head of the loch, below Kinlochaline Castle, no fewer than twenty longships were waiting, each with sixteen long oars or sweeps, three men to each, with a single mast and square sail. One of the long, low vessels was a dragonship, so called because of its high beaked prow in the shape of a rearing monster, this for Angus

himself. His grandsire had come down to see them off. It was St Marnock's Eve, 17 August 1292.

“Look, boy, on your way to Dunaverty you have two calls to make. One on your father on Islay, to inform him of your task. Aye, and you can be mentioning to him that he ought to be doing it himself! The other on my brother Alastair, who is holding Kintyre for me, in the name at least! Why am I plagued with feeble weakling kin, son and brother? Two years younger than myself, Alastair acts the greybeard, seldoms stirs from his house, he who ought to be guarding the seas there. He bides over at Saddell on the east side of Kintyre, on Kilbrannan Sound, not on the west-facing coast at all. Tell him that I need action, better support. And you are to provide it, in my name.”

Angus Og blinked. “Will, will they heed me? At my age? My father and grand-uncle!”

“They had better. See you.” He turned to the man standing behind him, and took from him the great weapon he carried. This he handed to his grandson. “Here is my war-axe. All know it. All my days I have wielded it. You have seen this times a-many. On its haft are notches for every battle I have won. It is yours meantime. Wield it worthily. It is your warrant.”

With something like awe the young man took the famous axe, weighty, long of shaft, this scored by many indentations, regularly cut. How many men had this slain?

“So now – off with you. And do not fail me, as these others have done, I charge you. You speak, and act, with my authority so long as you hold this axe. Go!”

Angus Og, clutching the war-axe, bowed. He turned away, followed by Ewan MacLean and MacInnes of Uladail. They strode for the dragonship, to the cheers of the many watchers. Angus had to march into the water for some splashing yards to reach the craft, all its sixteen oars upraised in salutation. He hoisted himself over the side, at the stern, in accustomed fashion, kilt up, ignoring the helmsman's outstretched hand,

Ewan following suit, although MacInnes, a middle-aged man, accepted the assistance.

Standing there at the stern beside the long, broad-bladed steering-oar, Angus raised an arm in final gesture, then waved to the helmsman, who banged down his baton on the gong hanging there, three loud clangs sounding out, to echo from the enclosing hillsides. And on all the other nineteen longships waiting there, fully manned, the gongs clashed, and sweeps were lowered to the water. With a westerly breeze the single square sails, painted with the Galley of the Isles, could not yet be hoisted. Led by the dragonship the fleet of the greyhounds of the sea, as they were known, moved off southwards in a long line, to the rhythmic beat of a score of gongs timing exact oar-pulling. Angus's helmsman, deep-voiced, started the chant, which all the others took up, in time with the gongs. And so, in typical Islesman style, the flotilla drove on down Loch Aline.

Grinning at Ewan, Angus laid down the war-axe on the stern bench, and, sitting, joined the oarsmen at their panting chanting.

They had two miles of the loch to cover before the narrows at the Kyle of the Point. There they emerged into the wide Sound of Mull, that great island's ranked mountains ahead of them, purple slashed with black against the blue and white of the sky, the waters reflecting the colourful scene.

South by east they swung now, past Ardtornish Point, then the wide bay of Innesmore, the longships behind now lining up three abreast, the grunting, regular chant maintained. For the two young men at the head of it all it made a rousing experience.

Presently, on the west, they were passing Duart Point, with its MacLean chief's castle perched on its topmost spur. Four of the longships following were Duart's. Then on due south now, down to the Firth of Lorn, heading for the open Sea of the Hebrides.

They had already rowed some twenty-five miles by the time they reached the long ocean swells, to bear south by west now in the direction of the lesser Isle of Colonsay, of the MacDuffies. They rounded the north point of this, one-time hermitage of St Oran, to row south sixteen miles skirting the west coast of long Jura, past the notorious whirlpools of the Corryvreckan, whose continual roaring temporarily drowned the chanting. Presently they were passing the strange sea loch of Tarbert, which almost cut Jura in two; and then they were under the renowned twin mountains, the Paps, these dominating the scene in suitable fashion. Islay ahead of them.

They entered the narrows of the sound.

This large island of Islay, not quite so big as Mull, and very different in character and significance, was highly important in the watery world of the Hebrides; for here was the caput of the lordship of the Isles, the seat of justice and assembly-place of chiefs, this the most populous isle of the hundreds, all but thousands, far to the south of most as it was. Yet Angus Mor had never chosen to dwell here, preferring the more central situation and more dramatic scenery. For Islay was a comparatively flat territory, although fertile compared with most, possessing only hills, not mountains, but with good grazing and tilth although poorer for deer-stalking and other sports. He had placed his elder son Alexander here, so called to distinguish him from brother Alastair, although they were the same name in reality, judging that the scene would match his temperament.

Halfway down the sound, where it narrowed still further, so that Islay and Jura all but met, Angus had his fleet pull in at the haven of Askaig, from which a ferry plied across to the other and so different island. It had taken them eight hours of vehement rowing to cover those ninety miles, part aided by wind and tides, part the reverse. So it was now evening, and the rowers deserved rest, and, their throats thirsty from chanting, lubricating with uisge-beatha, the water of life,

whisky. Leaving them to the hospitality of the Port Askaig people, Angus, Ewan and MacInnes borrowed garrons to take them up to their immediate destination.

They had no great distance to go to Loch Finlaggan. It seemed a strange location to site the lordship's caput, a rather dull sheet of water set in heathery hillocks, with two islets in the midst. On one of these rose the castle, and on the other a chapel where were buried successive lords and their families, and a walled enclosure which was, in fact, the judgment seat of the Isles, and assembly-place of the chiefs. A tall standing stone rose at the head of the loch, indicating some ancient pre-Christian significance for this place.

Being now evening, Alexander of Islay would be at home – not that he was apt to be away from the castle frequently, for he was a man of mental rather than physical energy, preferring study to outdoor activities and pursuits, unlike his father.

Another large gong at the lochside, where there was a little pier and a cottage, brought a boat over from the castle for the visitors.

Angus found his father at his meal, as more or less expected, alone at it, his wife long dead. Even thus he was poring over paper and files.

The callers were eyed less than welcomingly until Alexander recognised his son, whom he had not seen for some time. He then smiled. And oddly perhaps, he had a warm, pleasing smile, however seldom it was demonstrated.

“Angus! Angus!” he exclaimed. “How good to see you. It is long since I did. Here is a surprise.”

“Yes, Father. It is some time. When was I here last? You never come to Ardtornish.”

“I am no great traveller, my son. What brings you at this time? But – sit. And your friends. There will be no feast, but some fare you shall have.” He rang a bell on the table for a servant. “You look well, lad. How is my father? He grows old now. Is he still the active one? Ever sailing the Isles. Making his

authority accepted, whether acceptable or no!” That brought out the smile again.

“He is well, yes,” Angus said. “He sends you his good wishes.” That was something of an exaggeration, but probably called for, especially in front of these others.

They sat, and it was explained that Angus had been sent to take over Dunaverty Castle on the Mull of Kintyre, and to patrol the narrow seas and the Irish coasts, the threat of King Edward of England ever growing. This had the older man shaking his head, but not in any way over himself being expected to see to it all, but over the need for such precautions, and the follies of men.

Thereafter the converse lapsed somewhat, father and son having but little in common to discuss. Angus was glad when the provender arrived, simple but sufficient.

Presently Alexander did tell his son of a matter after his own heart, which Angus should see to since he was going to Kintyre. “It is this of Kilkerran,” he said. “At Dunruadhan. The chapel there. You will know of it, to be sure. St Ciaran's chapel, near his cave. He was one of Columba's disciples, and brought Christianity to Kintyre. And Dunruadhan was where Somerled first founded his lordship. The chapel, I am told, has become in poor state. We must keep it in better order. My father, I judge, cares little for such. But I do. So go you to Dunruadhan, none so far from Dunaverty, and have the chapel put to rights. See that the cave, Ciaran's diseart, where he communed with his Maker, is kept tended also.”

Angus nodded. Those Irish saints had been busy along these coasts, Oran and Ciaran and others. But that was for the Celtic Columban Church. Now they had the Roman one, brought by the Hungarian Margaret, called a saint also. He was none so sure of the difference, but his father would be. He would see to this.

Alexander was early at retiring to bed, so his visitors did likewise.

In the morning they were not long in taking their leave. What Ewan and MacInnes thought of Alexander of Islay they kept to themselves.

They had a fifty-mile sail, although it was mainly oar-work again, down into the Irish Sea, to the Mull of Kintyre at the southern tip of this so lengthy peninsula, the longest in all Scotland, some sixty miles of it. They skirted the islands of Gigha and Cara, and thereafter pulled down the seemingly unending and fairly featureless coastline, eyed no doubt warily from the many small fishing-boats they passed, out from the little shoreline communities. At length, in late afternoon, they at last reached the southernmost point of Sron Uamha, the Point of the Caves, and could then turn eastwards along the Mull, sails able to be hoisted at last, with the westerly wind giving the oarsmen a well-earned rest.

It was a rocky and precipitous coast now, the hills coming down close to the sea, and the long Atlantic rollers pounding the reefs and skerries in clouds of spray, a very exposed seaboard, the very toe of Scotland, as it were, kicking out towards Ireland.

Some seven miles along this, with the isle of Sanda ahead, they came at last to Dunaverty, this at least easily recognisable, with its bay, and headland beyond rising high, and on its crown the castle that was to be Angus's new home. The bay, open to the south and west, was not the best place to shelter a fleet, all there recognised, with the prevailing winds and tides as they were. But no doubt a better haven could be found for most of the longships, keeping only two or three under the lee of the headland.

The actual harbour below the castle was small, and Angus could see why Alastair mac Donald chose to live elsewhere. Disembarking, and waving in friendly fashion to the alarmed fisherfolk, he led his captains up the steep climb to the castle with its square keep and high curtain walls, a sea eagle's nest of a place indeed.

The keeper, an elderly man named Rory MacIan, unbarred the gates for them only doubtfully, looking questioningly at so young a leader of armed men, however many longships he had brought with him. But his wife, Morag, a motherly soul with a brood of her own, proved more welcoming, and said that she was proud to have Angus Og, grandson of their lord, come to bide with them. Perhaps her husband saw himself being displaced.

Angus found the bare and gaunt castle scarcely to his taste, however strongly sited and dominant, although he could improve on this accommodation. But it had magnificent views, far and wide, exposed to winter storms as it would be. From its parapet he could see Ulster, less than a score of miles away, its north shores in especial, but southwards also, down the North Channel of the Irish Sea to the tip of Galloway, and eastwards across the wide Firth of Clyde to the far Ayrshire coast and the soaring rock of Ailsa Craig. And, of course, endlessly out to the Atlantic, past Rathlin Isle. This was all to be watched over and guarded by his longships, Angus Mor had ordered, to keep Edward Plantagenet from his attempts to take it over and threaten Scotland from there.

The position of Ireland was complex. The Norman Plantagenets had started to conquer that a century before, when Henry the Second had sent Richard de Clare, Earl of Pembroke, Strongbow as he was termed, to subdue the many quarrelling kinglets. Successful, the Anglo-Normans were able to control most of the land, so that the High King, O'Connor, had come to accept Henry as overlord, and thereafter reduced his own title to merely King of Connaught. Only Ulster, the most northerly Irish kingdom, remained more or less independent, although Hubert de Burgh was created Earl of Ulster, this without gaining more than a toehold there. He had been succeeded by his son Walter and grandson Richard de Burgh, who was a successful commander and close to Edward. He would seek to gain control of all Ulster undoubtedly, and so

allow Edward to use it as a flanking threat to Scotland. Hence Angus Mor's anxiety. But the English had no warlike fleets compared with the Islesmen's longships and birlinns, so this was advantageous, meaning that all efforts against Ulster would have to be by land, from the south.

Enquiries as to a suitable anchorage to base their longship flotilla elicited from Rory MacIan the fact that Sanda Island, less than four miles off, was the obvious place, better than any of the south- and west-facing bays of the Mull itself, for it had a protected northerly harbour, quite large, where the ships could lie, and from which they could be summoned by beacons lit on Dunaverty's towers and readily seen. And there they were still nearer to the Ulster shores, and scouting vessels could patrol the channel all the time.

So far, so good.

Angus did not forget that he had orders to go and see his grand-uncle Alastair, to inform him of the position regarding Kintyre in general and this new development, at his chosen seat of Saddell, halfway up the eastern coast of the peninsula, almost thirty miles away. So, two days later, leaving MacInnes in charge at Dunaverty, he set sail in the dragonship with Ewan eastwards and then north. He took that war-axe along with him, just in case his authority was questioned.

They sailed round the eastern tip of the Mull, new territory for Angus, towards the Ayrshire coast, and then up into the Kilbrannan Sound, with the great island of Arran on their right, this larger than Islay and almost as long as Jura, and as mountainous. By comparison the Kintyre shore was distinctly tame, although when they passed the small isle of Davaar, a major bay opened, at the head of which was Dalruaidhan, where Somerled had first set up his Isles capital. Angus decided to leave that to be explored later, with the Kilkerran chapel thereabouts to be dealt with for his father.

Saddell, really Saghadail, was still a further ten miles on. It seemed strange that Angus Mor's brother should have elected

to make his abode in this fairly remote spot, although it was admittedly sheltered, and secure from any likely assault. Alastair MacDonald must be a very different sort of man.

When they reached the place, it was to find it much more interesting than they had anticipated, and in picturesque wooded and hilly country, at the mouth of a quite deep glen of that name. There was a large abbey here, imposing, where Somerled had commenced to built a monastery, and his son Ranald had completed and enlarged it into an abbey in memory of his father, whose body was buried here, along with many other chiefs and prominent folk, this one hundred and forty years earlier. Nearby was a fairly modest castle, their destination.

The Lord of Kintyre proved to be a genial, portly man, with a much younger wife and two daughters, forming a very domestic and homely family, as far removed from the lordship of the Isles in character as in environment. Alastair's surprise at seeing his grand-nephew was evident, but he greeted him kindly, although clearly wondering what brought him there.

Angus liked him and his wife, the daughters also, and in explaining his mission did not really indicate his grandsire's criticism of the other's lack of urgency and militancy on the lordship's behalf, although Alastair may have guessed at it.

Their host, although he did not speak much about the Isles situation, had however interesting information to impart as to national affairs, he being that much nearer placed to such developments. Angus knew that there had been many claimants for the Scottish crown following the deaths of Alexander the Third and his niece, the Maid of Norway, but not much more than that. Now he learned that these, the Claimants for the Throne as they were called, had all but come to blows with each other over their ambitions. And, the folly of it, they had called upon Edward of England to act the arbiter, the adjudicator, as an allegedly honest and neutral assessor. And he had carefully selected the weakest of them all, and by

no means the most senior, John Balliol, to be King of Scots, himself reserving the style of Lord Paramount of Scotland, to the anger of the others. These were all descendants through the female lines of King David, the youngest of the Margaretsons. This Balliol was the son of one of them, Devorgilla of Galloway who had married John de Balliol of Barnard Castle, an English lord. Now he was King of Scots, in name at least. Others, Scots, such as Comyn, Lord of Badenoch, and Bruce, Earl of Carrick, were rejected, and furious. Yet Edward made them sign a document pledging support for his choice, their rival, this being called the Ragman Roll. Alastair declared that there would undoubtedly be trouble over this new reign. Whether it would affect the Isles or not remained to be seen.

All this interested Angus, needless to say. Edward Plantagenet appeared to have gained an ascendency over Scotland without actually having to go to war. Would it make him the more free to assail Ulster, and so threaten the Isles?

He and Ewan spent a couple of nights at Saddell, enjoying the company, Angus attracted to the two daughters, the elder much of an age with himself, a lively creature, full of laughter.

Then back to Dunaverty, and duty. He had not had to produce that war-axe.

Angus felt that he should not delay in making his presence felt over in Ulster. He had had his longships ranging up and down that coast from the start in twos and threes, showing themselves. But something more was required. So he decided that he should proceed with his whole fleet, calling at various significant points on that seaboard, to demonstrate that the Lord of the Isles was very much aware of the danger from Edward of England, and was prepared to counter him.

Shortly after his return from Saddell therefore, he marshalled all his craft and set sail across the North Channel, his dragonship flying the Banner of the Isles, in fine style. They passed Rathlin Island, to reach Fair Head, the most north-easterly tip of Ireland, and rowed westwards from there, close inshore, the Atlantic winds against them.

It was a fairly level coastline, although the spectacular rock formation of the Giant's Causeway stood out impres