Lions of the Grail

by Tim Hodkinson

  ‘What?’ Ui Flainn challenged Savage when he saw the disapproving look the knight shot in his direction. ‘He was annoying me.’

  ‘He was under a flag of truce,’ Savage said.

  ‘This isn’t the Round Table, friend,’ Ui Flainn said.

  A brief skirmish ensued. The Scots, provoked by the murder of their messenger, surged forward and launched a few arrows and spears at the defenders in the fort. The defenders replied with stones and throwing spears but the half-hearted attack soon petered out, leaving no casualties, bar one Ui Flainn warrior who ducked to avoid an arrow, lost his footing and fell off the battlements.

  From the angle his hand sat to his arm, his wrist was obviously broken.

  ‘You won’t be able to hold a weapon. You’re of no more use to us,’ Ui Flainn said, examining the man’s injury. ‘You can go home when it gets dark.’

  ‘Do you think the Scot was telling the truth?’ Savage said. ‘The seneschal was beaten? Carrickfergus has fallen?’

  ‘Who knows?’ MacHuylin shrugged. ‘They might just be bluffing to try to get us to give up without a fight.’

  Ui Flainn nodded. ‘I’d like a damn sight more proof than the word of a Scotsman before I open these gates. I have to admit though, I don’t like the way our re-enforcements haven’t arrived. I sent for them last night.’

  ‘I thought you were just bluffing about that,’ Savage said. ‘How on earth did you do that?’

  ‘There has been a fort on this hilltop since the first man walked on this island,’ Ui Flainn said. ‘And like most ancient forts, there is a secret tunnel in and out. It’s just about big enough for one man to crawl through and it goes underground from the inside of the fort to somewhere down there.’ He gestured in the direction of down the hill.

  ‘You might have told me,’ Savage said. ‘I was sure that someone disappeared last night. I thought I was just going mad.’

  ‘Sure if we told everyone it wouldn’t be a secret, now, would it?’ Ui Flainn retorted, his voice heavy with impatience.

  Instinct told Savage not to push it further. Now outside the earldom, whether in an allied kingdom or not, he could see that the civility he had grown used to between the Irish and the Normans could no longer be expected, once the heavy military presence that ensured politeness was removed. The relationship between the Earldom of Ulster and Ui Tuirtre was one of military convenience that suited both sides. It did not mean either party necessarily liked the other.

  As the day drew towards evening the Scots reorganised. Most of the cavalry, led by Montmorency, rode off in the direction of Carrickfergus leaving only a few horsemen behind with around eighty foot soldiers. Sentries were posted at various points around the fort and, as evening began to fall, Syr Thomas Randolph himself did a tour of the perimeter, keeping a respectful distance from the walls and out of slingshot range.

  Savage and MacHuylin watched him as he carefully examined each side of the fort.

  ‘Do you think this place will be harder to take than Edinburgh Castle?’ Savage said.

  ‘They’ve got the numbers to do it.’ MacHuylin assessed the situation with the clinical eye of a professional soldier. ‘If they make a determined effort they should do it.’

  Darkness fell. Savage again wrapped himself up in his cloak and settled down on the battlements. The smell of the cows was now overwhelming and they were starting to get agitated as there was nothing for them to eat. Sleep took a long time to arrive but eventually he drifted off.

  He did not get to sleep long.

  46

  Savage was awoken by raised voices and the sound of feet pounding along the wooden platform he was sleeping on.

  His first thought was that another attack was underway but a quick look over the battlements showed no one was outside the walls. Most of the defenders had left the battlements though, so he decided to join them.

  He pushed his way through the cows towards a crowd that had gathered around the little hut in the fort courtyard. To his surprise he saw Guilleme le Poer and Aengus Solmandarson – MacHuylin’s Hebridean cousin – standing in the doorway of the hut.

  At least I know where the entrance to the secret tunnel is now, Savage thought to himself.

  Lit by torches, the two men were bedraggled figures. Their arms and knees were caked with mud. Both wore chain mail armour over leather jerkins but many links were broken and the leather beneath creased from sword cuts. Le Poer’s hands were blistered and caked with dried blood and he had a deep cut on his left cheek. Their faces were dirty from sweat and helmet oil.

  ‘You’ve been in the wars,’ MacHuylin commented.

  Le Poer gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘While you’ve all been lying around up here we’ve been fighting the Scots.’

  ‘What happened?’ Savage said. ‘They told us the army was beaten.’

  Le Poer nodded. ‘It was a disaster. The Scots fight in these formations of pike men called schiltrons. It’s impossible for horsemen to get in amongst them.’

  ‘That’s how they beat the English at Bannockburn,’ MacHuylin said. ‘Horses simply won’t charge into tightly packed spearmen. The heavy cavalry of the English knights were useless. The only way to deal with them is to use archers: stand back and rain arrows on them either ’til they’re all dead or they break formation and run for cover.’

  ‘That was supposed to be the plan,’ le Poer spat. ‘Most of our troops are light cavalry. That’s the way we have to fight in a land of bogs and woods. But the seneschal had managed to gather up every available archer north of Dublin and we had a couple hundred of them. The battle plan was that two companies of horsemen would make a feint towards the Scots battalions, then turn and run to see if they would follow, at least get them to advance into arrow range—’

  ‘The old Hastings tactics.’ Savage nodded.

  ‘Then the archers were supposed to launch an arrow storm,’ le Poer continued.

  ‘Sounds like it should have worked. What happened?’ MacHuylin wondered.

  ‘We reckoned without the treachery of Syr Hugh Bysset,’ le Poer spat again. ‘He and his men formed the battalion who were supposed to be our rear-guard and protect the archers but they switched sides. As soon as the rest of the army charged he turned on the archers and massacred them, then charged on our cavalry from behind. Our horsemen were caught between the Scots in front and Bysset’s treacherous men behind them. We were cut to pieces.’

  ‘So his nephew John is not alone in his treachery,’ Savage said.

  ‘What about the seneschal?’ MacHuylin asked. ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘He got away, but only just,’ le Poer said. ‘He was leading the charge at the Scots. I wasn’t far behind him. We had to fight our way out. At least we took a lot of that bastard Bysset’s glens men out on our way. It was a rout though. Those who got away fell back to Carrickfergus but there was chaos. There weren’t enough soldiers left to man the walls. The Scots pursued, there was a lot of fighting in the streets and in the end the remnants of the army fell back to the castle. Aengus and I did not go; I need to get to Dublin to report what happened to the justiciar and Aengus here wants to get back to the Hebrides so we rode out of the town just before it fell to the Scots. The castle is now under siege.’

  ‘What about Dame Alys and her daughter?’ Savage asked. ‘Were they still in the castle? I sent a message that they should head for Dublin.’

  Le Poer’s eyes flicked away and Savage could tell there was something else to tell. ‘And?’ he demanded.

  Le Poer took a deep breath. ‘As the Scots were landing at Vikingsford, King Domnall Ui Neill’s troops crossed into the south-west of the earldom and cut off Carrickfergus completely. The road to Dublin is cut off. If they were in the castle they are besieged there with everyone else.’

  Savage rolled his eyes and stared at the starry heavens. Suddenly they seemed to be so hostile to him. Well so be it. It was time to challenge fate.

  There was a long silence as everyone in
the fort considered what had been said.

  ‘Why are you here now?’ Ui Flainn finally asked.

  ‘Your messenger got through yesterday, so the seneschal knew you were besieged here,’ le Poer explained. ‘He asked we bring you a message: everyone not trapped in Carrickfergus is to fall back to Coleraine on the north coast and remuster there. The justiciar will be marching north with another army from Dublin to take on the Scots so we need to hold out until they arrive. The strongholds at Carrickfergus and Coleraine must not fall.’

  ‘We have other news,’ Aengus Solmandarson said. ‘The outside entrance of the tunnel we used to get into this fort is close to where the main body of Scotsmen are camped. We had to sneak our way through them to get to the tunnel and we heard what they are planning. They are going to attack this fort at dawn.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’ MacHuylin addressed Ui Flainn. ‘This is a disaster. The earldom is shattered. It will take a miracle to reverse this defeat. The seneschal will understand if you decide to surrender.’

  Fergus Ui Flainn sighed. ‘There’s too many of them for the fifteen of us to defend this fort against. You’re right: the power of the earl is broken, but surrender? It’s just not in me. Not in me or any of my blood. I don’t fancy the chances of me or my people at the hands of the Ui Neills either.’

  ‘Are you going to fall back to Coleraine?’ le Poer asked.

  ‘And end up besieged behind the walls up there too?’ Ui Flainn shook his head. ‘No way. I’m sick of being cooped up here already. Hiding behind walls and forts is the Norman way of war. I’ve had enough of it. It’s time we took to the old ways. We’ll take to the woods and the mountains and hide out there. We’ll hit the Scots and the Ui Neills every time they move, and then disappear back into the trees. That’s the way we fight when we’re outnumbered. It’s the way we always have. It works.’

  ‘What about you, cousin?’ Aengus laid a hand on MacHuylin’s shoulder. ‘I came here with le Poer to offer you passage with me to the Hebrides. This war extends beyond these shores. Robert Bruce has hit us hard and we can use a warrior like you. My ship waits off the coast just north of here. It’s ready to set sail as soon as we arrive.’

  MacHuylin paused. For the first time since he had met him Savage detected genuine indecision in the galloglaich. Finally he shook his head. ‘No. I owe it to the seneschal to stay and continue the fight.’

  The Hebridean nodded. ‘I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I understand.’

  All eyes turned to Savage. ‘What are you going to do?’ le Poer asked. ‘The seneschal is trapped in Carrickfergus Castle and the army is smashed. It will take a small army to break Dame Alys and Galiene out of there. Right now I can’t think where you will get one of those.’

  Savage sighed, trying to think.

  ‘You could try to ransom them,’ MacHuylin suggested. He looked Savage up and down then shook his head. ‘I doubt you would have much to offer in exchange for them though, and it would take something very special for them to allow the woman and the girl to go free. It would make Ui Neill look soft, or worse: greedy.’

  Savage suddenly smiled.

  ‘I think you’ve got the answer, Connor. Something very special you say? Aengus, would there be room for me on your ship?’

  ‘Plenty,’ the Hebridean replied.

  Le Poer looked disappointed. ‘You’re going to run away? Abandon them to their fate?’

  ‘No. I’m going to get the one thing we can bargain with that Edward Bruce will really want,’ Savage said. ‘I’m going to Scotland to steal the Holy Grail.’

  There was silence. All eyes were on Savage.

  ‘Robert Bruce has the Holy Grail. While he bears it, more and more people will join his side,’ Savage said. ‘MacHuylin said it yesterday: the legend says that an army that bears the Grail is invincible. Connor and I infiltrated the Scots army when they landed and we know where they are keeping it. Some place called “the Noquetran”. I’m going to go there and steal it, bring it back to Ireland and we can use it to negotiate with Bruce. I’ll try to bargain with him to let Alys and Galiene go and lift the siege on Carrickfergus Castle.’

  MacHuylin smiled. ‘It just might work.’

  ‘Even if you only take away their talisman, it would stop more men joining them. One person might succeed where an army wouldn’t. Its madness, but it’s the only plan we have.’ Le Poer laughed. ‘I wish you the best of luck with it.’

  ‘That leaves us with the small problem of how we all get out of here before the Scots attack,’ MacHuylin said.

  ‘What about the tunnel?’ Savage asked.

  Everyone else shook their heads. ‘There’s only room for one man at a time,’ Ui Flainn said. ‘It would take all night for us to get through there one at a time.’

  ‘It comes out nearly in the middle of the Scots camp,’ le Poer said. ‘It was hard enough for the two of us to creep in to it in the dark, but fifteen of us suddenly popping up in the middle of them? They’re bound to notice.’

  ‘We’ll have to fight our way out.’ Ui Flainn stated the obvious conclusion they were all coming to.

  ‘There’s a lot more of them than us,’ MacHuylin said. ‘Not all of us will make it.’

  ‘We don’t have any choice.’ Ui Flainn shrugged. ‘We’ll just have to charge out the gate and then it will be every man for himself. If there was some way to even the odds up a bit I’d be happier but that’s just the way it is.’

  Everyone was quiet for a second as each man calculated the possibilities of any of them making it away from the fort alive.

  ‘Don’t any of you know your history?’ Savage said suddenly.

  Questioning eyes looked at him.

  ‘When the Normans first came to Ireland, Raymond le Gros found himself in the same situation as we do now down in Wexford,’ Savage said. ‘I think we should follow his example. Listen: I have an idea.’

  47

  As the cold, grey light of dawn began to touch the sky, Syr Thomas Randolph led his men towards Donegore hill fort. Fifteen hand-picked men followed him. They moved quickly and quietly towards the gate, carrying scaling ladders to throw up against the walls. Four of them hefted a middle-sized battering ram slung between them. The rest of the foot soldiers followed in a column that snaked up the path to the gate. Ten crossbowmen, their weapons primed, moved into positions around the fort within range of the walls.

  As he approached the gate, Randolph recalled a similar dawn two years before. Then he had scaled the near sheer cliffs beneath Edinburgh Castle to take the defenders by surprise and win a famous victory. He did not anticipate today’s assault would be anywhere near as difficult. From observation, he reckoned there to be a maximum of twenty defenders in the fort, so his men would outnumber those inside by four to one. Numbers alone would ensure their victory. Even if the first men fell the swift onrush of the men behind would simply overwhelm the defenders. It should all be over before breakfast.

  When within easy sprinting distance of the gate, Randolph stopped and let his vanguard troop go ahead. When they were close enough to the gate he held up his hand to signal that everyone should pause. He looked around to check everyone’s positions. Everything was set for the attack.

  If he was honest with himself, he was surprised that they had made it that close without being spotted. He could see several men up on the battlements but they were huddled down into the warmth of their thick cloaks. They were probably asleep, he surmised. That would be their fatal mistake.

  From inside the fort sound finally came. An agitated mooing of cattle and the thumping of hooves against the walls and ground could be heard. Something was disturbing the cattle, probably the defenders getting up. As if in confirmation, a glow of light appeared from within the walls, which must be them lighting fires for breakfast. They were up, but it was too late.

  Randolph stood up so all his men could see him. He dropped his hand and the crossbowmen rose as one and loosed their arrows at the men on the batt
lements. At the same time the rest of the men, led by the four with the battering ram, charged the gate, screaming war cries that would have woken the dead.

  Randolph suddenly realised something was wrong. The four men on the battlements were riddled with arrows, but each still stood in his position. One suddenly tipped sideways, revealing that it was little more than a scarecrow: a long Irish cloak propped up on three spear shafts to look like a man.

  The noise of the cattle inside the fort had now reached a frantic squealing. The glow of fire inside was too intense to be a mere cooking fire.

  ‘Stop!’ Randolph yelled, but his shout was drowned by the roaring of his men’s war cries and the moos of frantic cattle.

  The men with the battering ram reached the gate and ploughed straight into it, the weight of the ram given further impetus by the speed of their charge.

  Randolph began sprinting towards the gate himself. ‘Stop! Stop! It’s a trap!’ he shouted.

  At the merest touch of the battering ram the gates of the fort burst open, much too easily for them to have been barred or bolted.

  The gates swung inwards and a tide of panicking cattle stampeded out. A huge fire had been set in the middle of them and they desperately ran to escape the flames. The men in the lead with the battering ram went down beneath the cattle’s charge, obliterated beneath the thundering hooves.

  Behind the cows stormed the defenders of the fort, riding on horses, whooping, screaming and poking spear points into the rearmost cows’ flanks to incite their terror further.

  Syr Thomas Randolph had to throw himself off the track to avoid the stampede that gushed like a waterfall out of the fort, sweeping aside everything in its path. He tumbled down the side of the mound. Two of the cows missed their feet and tumbled off the path also, narrowly missing Randolph as they tumbled down the slope.