Naoise awoke with a start, he had been having a strange dream, bees were stinging him and he was running through a dark wood," Must have been the cheese he thought", as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. The silence all around him was loud in his ear , he limped to the door of the cell and opened it; outside a bright moon shone high overhead, leaving a silvery trail on the roofs and ground against the silhouetted buildings, not a sound did he hear, not a bird sang or cow mooed.

Naoise crossed the courtyard and made his way to the stone bench set into the wall, during the day, this was a place of warmth that caught the afternoon sun, where the elderly brothers basked in the heat as they rested from their duties and where he had spent the last few afternoons. He climbed up onto the bench, the night was very clear , in the far distance the great mountains at Beanna Boirche, were etched in silver, below him lay the Lough of Cuan, bathed in moonlight like a liquid sea of Mercury; beyond that coiled the river, like a silver snake. All was abnormally quiet, he heard no birds or animal calls. He stood for a few moments, thinking how beautiful it was and how the moon transformed everything into a fairy realm, but as he turned, a slight movement caught his eye, as he looked closer; a large shadow emerged from under the trees that grew on the slope below him. Suddenly the bulky shape revealed its self, to be a man, the moonlight glinting on the axe head he carried. He watched, fascinated, as the darkness began to move, ever closer, towards him, revealing the shape to be many men, stealthily climbing up the hill

Naoise’s thoughts froze for a split second, then he raced as fast as his injured foot would let him across the courtyard to the round tower, scrabbling up the ladder, he pushed the door, which refused to open. Naoise put his shoulder to it, pushing it has hard as he could, he felt it yield a little, he tried again, this time he fell through the door, into the blackness of the tower. Scrabbling in the dark, he found the ladder and began the climb up, each step he took, shot pain through his ankle but he had to keep going; each step was a step of faith, as he still could see nothing. On the second floor, moonlight filtered through the slit of a window set into the wall, washing the room with its pale glow; he quickly found the next ladder and began the ascent upwards.

Reaching the third floor, he found the rope of the bell, which dangled through a hole in the ceiling, he grabbed it and began to pull with all his might; no sound came, frantically he began to haul the rope, his arms ached at the effort. He felt something give and above him, he heard the thin clack of the bell. He heaved and hauled and the bell began to toll, high above him the bell began to clang thinly, it seemed a very long way off, he renewed his effort. He could now hear shouts and screams; he shouted and hoped that the brothers would hear him, before the raiders were upon them.From his high perch in the tower, Naoise watched in horror as pandemonium broke out as sleepy monks emerged from their beds, and stumbled into the raiders, who were swarming over the walls with blood curling screams, Naoise watched in horror, as wave upon wave of dark shapes leaped over the palisade. He saw a torch flung into the thatch that roofed the refectory, the flames catching like a golden plume. The screams of the injured and dying rent the earth, Naoise felt ill as he watched a tall Norse hit an elderly monk with an axe, the old man crumpled into a heap that the warrior stepped over before disappearing into the smoke. Many of the roofs were now burning, even at this distance Naoise's eyes stung from the smoke.

Below him, in the darkness, he could hear heavy footsteps, clambering up the ladder. Naoise looked round the small room, which was empty except for a few bags and a small coffer; he felt in the bags, there was nothing to use as a weapon; there was nowhere to hide, the man was coming nearing; he could hear his breath as he labored up the ladder just below him. Naoise looked around then he got behind the hatch and waited, until a head emerged from the hole, then he kicked it as hard as he could. Pain shot through his foot as it met the metal of a helmet, the man grunted but kept on coming. Naoise kicked again, this time he hit him in the chest, the man just cursed, reached out and grabbed Naoise’s foot; a dreadful pain shot through him and he screamed as he hit the floor, the last he remembered was a huge man looming over him, before pain and blackness enveloped him.

Naoise awoke some time later, a searing pain in his head, made him swoon as he tried to move, around him was darkness, smoke clogged his nostrils, he choked as he tried to breathe, gasping for air he crawled to where it was less dark, this proved to be the slit of the window. Dragging him-self up, he breathed deeply at the fresh air, but this too seemed full of smoke. Below him in the graying darkness, he could see the buildings were still burning and dark shapes littered the ground all around. "Oh my God "he cried and tried to pull him self up, against the window frame.
"It must have been a Viking raid," he said to himself, as he began to crawl down the ladder. It took him some time before he reached the bottom floor, having to stop to let the nausea subside. Forcing the door open, he looked out to a scene of utter devastation, the church, and most of the surrounding buildings were on fire, flames and smoke rose in great gusts, all around lay prostrate bodies. He fell back into the room feeling sick, “What can I do to help them, where is brother Aidán hope he is safe”, he thought to him self.

Pulling himself on the doorframe, he dragged open the door and was just about to climb out unto the outside ladder, when he froze as some large shapes came round the side of one of the burning huts. He slide back into the tower and waited until they passed, he could hear them shout, but could not understand their guttural tongue.

Naoise lay as silent as possible, after a few minutes when there was no sign of their return, he climbed out and painfully slid down the ladder, and hobbled to the wall, heaving himself over it, he lay in its shadow for some minutes getting his breath. His head ached horribly, he felt sick to his stomach at the though of brother Aidán, but he had to try to escape, it would do no one any good to be captured by these Vikings. Gathering him self-together, he began to crawl down the hill, hiding in the shade of whatever bushes and trees that could give him shelter. The pain in his foot throbbed and sickness threatened to overwhelm him, he inched his way down the slope taking care not to be spotted. On the hill above him, he could still hear the screams of the monks left in the burnt ruins of the monastery of Dun.