In the dense forests of the Kingdom of Alba, the air smelled of dampness and frozen pine. Meanwhile, two snekkjur advanced slowly along the course of the River Tay.
Hárekr and the bulk of the host remained crouched among the forest vegetation, very close to the approaches of the prosperous city of Dunkeld: a settlement known for its accumulated wealth and for guarding the sacred relics of a Christian saint in its monastery.
As Hárekr had foreseen, the Pictish lookouts stationed in the river watchtowers soon detected the sails of the two vessels. They did not recognize the banners, nor did they know to which Viking clan these invaders, so far into their territory, belonged.
In one of the coastal observation posts, a Pictish lookout ordered his companion:
"Warn the city immediately... Those bastards are plotting something."
The other guard nodded, descended the watchtower in a hurry, and mounted his horse to gallop at full speed toward Dunkeld.
Shortly after, the two vanguard ships reached the point where the lookouts had set up a trap of crossed logs and chains over the river to prevent them from advancing further. A dozen well-armed Pictish soldiers waited on the shore. One of them exclaimed with arrogance:
"You are too far from Northumbria, pagans!"
The Picts were accustomed to the Vikings attacking only the exposed coasts; they had never dared to venture through the rivers of the Kingdom of Alba.
Old Einar, who commanded the maneuver aboard the main ship, summoned the Norwegian trader who served as interpreter and gave him instructions. The interpreter translated toward the shore in a loud voice:
"Sirs... This chieftain says they only want provisions to get through the winter... And suitable clothing as well."
The Pictish captain let out a mocking laugh and replied:
"Ask your boss if he wants our women too."
"Tell them I can still give their ladies true pleasure, that is, if you don’t have what it takes to satisfy them."
Although the Pictish soldiers did not understand the Norse tongue, they immediately caught the tone of mockery and provocation. They looked angrily at the trader and demanded he translate. He, clearing his throat with discomfort, ahem, ahem, translated the insolence exactly as Einar had said it, igniting the fury of the guards on the shore.
Meanwhile, in the great hall of Dunkeld, the news of the sighting urgently gathered the city’s military chief and the abbot of the local monastery. The clergyman, unable to hide his unease, advised the ruler:
"Those pagans are a plague... I suggest sending a messenger to request reinforcements from the king in Scone."
The city chief looked at him with disdain and grumbled, filled with arrogance:
"Gather the local militias. They are only two miserable ships... At most, they will be about sixty men."
He spoke with total superiority. Dunkeld had a permanent garrison of more than two hundred well-equipped soldiers, a number more than sufficient to crush a small landing party, confident that the distance from Northumbria and the coast kept them completely safe.
Thus the hours passed. Einar and his two vessels remained anchored on the course of the River Tay. The Pictish guards on the shore watched with bewilderment, not understanding what the Northmen intended, but maintaining their firm position after having received strict orders not to let them advance under any circumstances.
Outside the walls of Dunkeld, the bulk of the military garrison finished grouping into battle formation. At the front advanced the city chief, wearing an imposing scale armor and mounted on horseback, leading about two hundred heavily armed soldiers directly toward the point of the river where the enemy presence was reported.
From the shadows of the nearby forest, Hárekr and his men watched them in absolute silence. Beside him, Thorir let out a slight smile and murmured:
"Hárekr... They have fallen completely into the trap."
Torstein watched Hárekr for a long while with deep admiration. With that simple diversionary maneuver, they would take a prosperous fortress without risking the lives of their warriors in a bloody frontal assault. It was the perfect strategy.
As soon as they confirmed that the military garrison had moved far enough away and left the city unprotected, Hárekr gave the signal. Many Vikings emerged from the forest at a brisk pace. Only the dull thud of their footsteps on the wet grass could be heard; not a single voice, not a single horn sounded as they advanced with axes gripped and shields raised toward the open gates of Dunkeld.
A single guard who had been left behind trying to close the heavy gates looked up and, upon discovering the enormous host rushing at him, screamed in terror toward the interior:
Before he could take another step, Thorir, displaying colossal speed and strength, charged the gate like a wild bull and drove his axe squarely into his skull, bringing him down instantly.
Panic seized Dunkeld. Hearing the screams and the din at the entrances, the civilians, women, and elders ran terrified toward the stone structure of the monastery, while others tried to escape in disarray through the secondary exits.
Hárekr raised his voice, transmitting his orders with authority:
"Plunder everything! You know what to do!"
Then he turned to Thorir and instructed him:
"Deal with their priests and the monastery."
Immediately after, he looked at Torstein:
"Old man, take the back gate. Under no circumstances let anyone leave alive to carry the news."
Torstein grabbed the reins of a rearing horse he found near the stables, mounted it in a leap, and departed in haste toward the other end of the city, followed by a party of warriors.
Meanwhile, on the river, old Einar watched the Pictish garrison approaching along the bank in perfect formation. Noticing the overconfidence of the enemy military chief, Einar let out a laugh laden with disdain and ordered his men:
"Row! Row backward!"
The Scandinavian rowers executed the maneuver to perfection, backing the snekkjur downstream with astonishing agility thanks to the symmetry of their ships.
The Pictish chief, seeing from his mount that the two Viking vessels were retreating upon seeing his troops, smiled full of pride, firmly believing that his mere presence had driven the raiders away. He had not the slightest idea that, at his back, Dunkeld was already in enemy hands.