The Secret of Kells by Eithne Massey

enclosure. The raiders were no longer silent, but shouting out war whoops and calling encouragement to each other in a strange, guttural language. Arrows came flying over the walls, like a shower of hailstones. There was a panicked rush of villagers up the steps. Abbot Cellach was behind them, shouting: ‘One at a time! The steps aren’t strong enough!’
    With that, there was a crash and the steps collapsed, bringing dozens of terrified villagers hurtling to the ground.
    ‘Close the door!’ Cellach shouted at Tang, who was watching from the tower doorway. ‘Save those who are inside!’
    Then with a loud, groaning noise, the gates of Kells burst open and the Northmen spilled into the enclosure, swords and battle-axes raised. There seemed to be hundreds of them. They came swarming through the gate and over the walls like giant insects, looking like the pictures of devils in the Book. Brendan could see them quite clearly: their fair and dark and red beards under their leather helmets; their short bows and heavy shields; the black markings on their faces. Many ofthem did not carry swords, but short, brutal-looking battleaxes.
    ‘You were right,’ he whispered to Aidan, who was watching beside him. ‘There are too many of them. The gate could never have held against them.’
    Aidan put his hand on Brendan’s shoulder. ‘I only wish I could have been wrong. That’s the problem with walls. You always have to leave some way in and some way out, unless you want to wall yourself up altogether. Do you know, I think this lot is the same crowd that came to Iona. I recognise those black marks on their faces; it makes them look like badgers. The leader is called Harald Redtooth. Not a nice character. His sword is called Monk Mincer, one of those not very funny Northmen jokes. Move back a bit from the window, Brendan, we don’t want them to see us.’

    Within a few moments the great stone Cross of Kells was knocked over, crashing to the ground and breaking as it fell. The raiders had set the thatched roofs of the village ablaze and Brendan covered his ears so as not to hear the panic-strickennoise of the horses and cows trapped in their burning stables and byres. Red blood covered the snow and fire burned up the huts as the screaming animals were rounded up by the Northmen. The old woman who had refused to leave her cow had her arms pulled roughly from its neck and was left to lie in the snow, unconscious. The old and the sick they killed, the younger and stronger were herded together to make the long march through the snow back to the raiders’ ships.
    ‘Uncle, did you see Uncle?’ Brendan could hear the tremor in his voice as he tried to see through the thick haze of smoke that covered the monastery.
    Aidan peered. ‘My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, but is that him over there?’ he said, pointing towards a figure in a dark red cloak.
    The Abbot was bent over with pain and the arrow was still caught in his shoulder. He was limping towards the Scriptorium. He was so close now that Brendan could see his face. Cellach was looking up towards the Scriptorium windows with an expression of agony on his face. His lips were moving and Brendan was sure that he was sayinghis name.
    ‘He is coming to let us out,’ cried Aidan.
    ‘No!’ shouted Brendan. He could see what his uncle could not: three Northmen closing in on the Abbot from behind, their swords drawn. Cellach fell to the ground.
    ‘Uncle Cellach!’ shouted Brendan, ‘No, please don’t let this be happening …’
    One of the Northmen came towards the fallen figure and roughly tore something from around his neck. It was the gold lunula the Abbot had always used to fasten his cloak, the sign of his authority in the monastery. The Northman, who Brendan recognised as the one Aidan had pointed out as the chief, Harald Redtooth, pulled his uncle’s cloak from him, and wrapped it over his shoulders like a scarf. Then he looked towards the Scriptorium. His eyes