Pirate Queen

by Morgan Llywelyn

  Owen is forever beyond his mother’s reach. She cannot make anything up to him. Or to his brother Murrough, for that matter. Bitter and angry, Murrough goes his own way. He will not listen to Granuaile. He blames her for making an enemy of the Binghams.

  Sidney, Malby, even Lord Grey, treated Granuaile as something of a curiosity. They used her as a pawn, but they were generous enough when it suited them. The Binghams are different. They seem determined to destroy her personally.

  Restless as a tiger, she prowls the invisible boundaries of her cage. She can take a currach to Achill to see her daughter Margaret, or even sail one of her galleys back and forth across Clew Bay. But not outside. Not onto the broad lap of the open sea.

  Chapter Twenty–Eight

  Plots and Plans

  May, the Year of Our Lord 1587, Donegal

  My dear Toby,

  Do not be surprised when you learn where I am. For the moment at least I have slipped Bingham’s clutches.

  As you may know, The Devil’s Hook escaped from Galway Gaol. When he appeared at Achill I was glad for my daughter’s sake, but I knew what it meant for me. My son-in-law had been my pledge of good conduct. Now that he was free, Bingham would drag me back to prison – or the gallows.

  Under cover of a dense fog, I slipped out of Clew Bay with my three best galleys. I was determined to make a run for the north. As we entered Sligo Bay a terrible storm blew up. Rarely have I met such a gale. Again and again, we were blown toward the rocks. All my seamanship, and my crew’s courage, was needed to keep us afloat. By the time we reached safe harbour in Donegal my ships were battered almost to pieces. But we were beyond the reach of the governor of Connacht.

  It is wonderful to be among allies.

  Hugh Dubh O’Donnell has invited me to stay in Donegal Castle for as long as I like. It will take many weeks to repair my ships to the standard I demand. They were built to my order in La Coruña, in Spain, and there is no one here with similar skills.

  I shall pass the time by conferring with the princes of Ulster. Hugh O’Neill will be coming here within the next few weeks from his stronghold at Dungannon. He wants to discuss the rumours of a possible Spanish invasion of England. Spain is a Catholic country, like Ireland. King Philip of Spain desires to see Catholicism restored in England. He is also very angry about English piracy against Spanish trade and possessions.

  If Philip attacks Elizabeth we will ally ourselves with the Spanish. Together we can break the hold of England on this island once and for all.

  O’Donnell’s son, Red Hugh, is wildly excited by the prospect. The young lad is ready to take up arms tomorrow. I remember when I was like that. The blood ran hot in my veins and I thought I was immortal. Red Hugh makes me feel that way again.

  Always,

  Granuaile

  Hugh O’Neill, Earl of Tyrone, arrives in Tyrconnell with all the trappings of the Gaelic nobility. O’Neill is considerably younger than O’Donnell. He is a sturdy, handsome man in the prime of life. His followers are devoted to him. He is considered the foremost chieftain of the north, although he speaks Irish with a peculiarly English accent.

  The poverty that is so visible elsewhere, as the English strip the island of its resources, has not reached this part of the country. The north is still the land of the Gael. For size and luxury Donegal Castle rivals any in Ireland, and O’Donnell entertains his guests lavishly. In the great hall storytellers repeat the ancient hero-tales to a spellbound audience. Harpers play familiar airs on beautifully carved instruments. A whole ox roasts over a fire that hisses and snaps as the fat drips onto the coals. Children are given bowls of Ulster apples swimming in honey and cream.

  The wine runs red.

  Red. Like blood. A vision of her murdered son Owen flickers through Granuaile’s brain and she shudders.

  She leans forward, propping her elbows on the table. ‘What news of the Spanish invasion?’ she asks in a low, urgent voice.

  ‘Nothing yet,’ O’Neill tells her.

  She slumps back on her bench.

  During the day she goes down to the harbour to supervise the repairs to her ships. Night after night, she joins O’Neill and O’Donnell to discuss the political situation. Other women talk of their husbands and children, but Granuaile does not spend her time with other women.

  In spite of the ongoing discussions about rebellion, the north remains peaceful. O’Donnell and O’Neill are thoughtful men. They agree to wait and see what the Spanish do before they act.

  Passing seamen report that Mayo is at peace as well. In July Elizabeth sends Richard Bingham to Flanders as a reward for his services. The search for Granuaile is abandoned as the new governor finds all his time is taken up with the administration of the province.

  ‘It is time I went home,’ Granuaile says. Her friends assure her that she is welcome to spend the rest of her life with one of them. ‘How much can one old woman eat?’ Hugh O’Neill laughs.

  Granuaile is not amused. She is not ready to be an old woman, living on the hospitality of her friends. At night she dreams of Clew Bay. She can almost hear the cries of the kittiwakes, almost see people waving from the shore of Clare Island.

  ‘I have a letter from my son Tibbott,’ she tells O’Donnell, ‘and I have to go home.’

  ‘Why? Are the English threatening him?’

  Granuaile shakes her head. ‘Tibbott does not fear the English. In his youth he was a hostage in the household of George Bingham, and formed relationships which have kept him safe ever since.’

  Hugh O’Neill says, ‘Elizabeth Tudor wants the sons of Irish chieftains to be converted into obedient English subjects. When I was nine years old Sir Henry Sidney took me to England. His family dressed ‘their little Irish savage’ in velvets and laces and taught me manners. Elizabeth Tudor treated me as her special pet,’ he adds with a curl of his lip. ‘She was fond of me and gave me many gifts. I made a number of friends at court. Friends I retain to this day. Then, when I was seventeen and a man, Elizabeth sent me back to Ireland as earl of Tyrone.’

  ‘Yet I assure you, Granuaile – if the queen knew I was plotting against her now, she would hate me more than if I had been her enemy from the start.’

  Chapter Twenty–Nine

  The Capture of Red Hugh

  Granuaile is glad to be back in Rockfleet, but she does not sleep well. Her bed has grown damp in her absence. In the morning she spreads her linen sheets on the parapet to dry in the wind. Although it is late summer, she also builds a fire in the bedchamber.

  As she stands watching the flames, she wonders if there is any timber at Burrishoole. The English are sending tons of oak back to England for shipbuilding. The woodlands beyond Belclare are almost destroyed.

  It is important, Granuaile thinks, that Toby has enough timber to keep the fires going this winter, now that he and Maude are expecting a child.

  She invites her son to Rockfleet to discuss the future.

  When Toby arrives, Granuaille tells him about the rebellion of the princes of Ulster. Toby’s immediate reaction is concern for his own property. He has been granted Burrishoole by the English. If his mother is involved in a conspiracy he could lose everything. ‘Everything you wanted for me!’ he reminds her.

  Granuaile cannot help comparing her son to young Red Hugh O’Donnell. Tibbott’s gaze is guarded. He speaks slowly, weighing every word.

  I have made him too cautious, Granuaile thinks sadly. In my eagerness to keep him safe I have crippled his spirit. In my heart I really want a son like Red Hugh. That dauntless boy…I wish I had the prince of Donegal here in Connacht. Together we could drive the English out.

  Tibbott sees his mother’s attention wandering. She is getting old, he believes. Soon she will forget this dangerous nonsense about rebelling.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asks.

  Granuaile merely smiles.

  In the autumn of 1587, the lord deputy, Sir John Perrot, is ordered to extend English control into Tyrconnell. He dema
nds that O’Donnell give him hostages of good conduct. When the old man refuses, Perrot sends a merchant ship to Tyrconnell, ostensibly loaded with French wine for Donegal Castle. Red Hugh is invited on board to inspect the merchandise before it is delivered. The young prince accepts the invitation and brings three of his friends.

  They are seized by the English and put in chains. The ship promptly weighs anchor and makes for Dublin.

  The Eagle of the North, the bold lad with a merry laugh and hair like flame, is caged in Dublin Castle.

  Hugh Dubh O’Donnell does all he can to recover his son. He writes letter after letter to Perrot, who forwards them to London. But Elizabeth’s privy council decides the young prince is too valuable to be released.

  Red Hugh remains in Dublin Castle. He is not even permitted to send a letter to his father.

  O’Donnell’s attitude hardens. He begins preparing for rebellion and orders his Scots mercenaries into the field. For the sake of his son he is willing to bathe Ireland in blood.

  January, the Year of Our Lord 1588, Rockfleet

  My dear Toby,

  Your education in the English language will be of benefit now. Compose a letter for me, addressed to Sir John Perrot. Use the words and phrases the English like. Sound humble, respectful. Ask for a full pardon for myself and my family. That is important. Stress that the pardon is to include you and your children as well. I shall carry the request to Dublin and personally present it to the lord deputy. I know Perrot. If I can meet him face to face again, I believe I can persuade him.

  I have no fear for myself but you are bringing new life into the world, and new life must be protected.

  Always,

  Granuaile

  Granuaile makes the journey to Dublin in one galley, with no fleet at her back. She does not want to look dangerous. She goes as a helpless old woman, pleading.

  With gritted teeth.

  Chapter Thirty

  A Pardon From Perrot

  The bright blue skies of June arch over the deep blue waters of Clew Bay. A single galley, with the flag of the white seahorse, is making for Clare Island.

  The woman who stands tall in the prow is returning home. Her weather-lined face is a study in mixed emotions: triumph and anxiety.

  Granuaile is carrying a letter signed by Sir John Perrot and dated 4 May, 1588. On behalf of Elizabeth of England, the document pardons Granuaile and her family for all past misdeeds, except murder, debt or intrusion on land belonging to the Crown. The royal pardon comes too late for Owen, but Murrough, Margaret and Toby should be safe from the fate that has befallen Red Hugh O’Donnell. This is Granuaile’s triumph.

  The source of her anxiety is the news she brings. As her followers crowd around her, she tells them what she learned in Dublin. ‘King Philip of Spain has undertaken the invasion of England. A great armada, estimated as almost two hundred ships, has set sail from Lisbon. The English fear the Spanish may use Ireland as a staging point, or at least seek to re-supply themselves there. Therefore Elizabeth is sending Richard Bingham back to Connacht to deal with the threat. Even as I speak to you, he is on his way to Galway.

  ‘Bingham’s return is a disaster. As you know from past experience, the man is exceptionally arrogant and cruel. Even Perrot was glad when Bingham went to Flanders. Now he returns. I have no doubt he will come after me. He may respect the queen’s pardon in relation to the rest of my family, but not to me. The battle between Richard Bingham and myself will not be over until one of us dies.

  ‘We must expect an attack on Umhall Ui Mhaille,’ she warns. ‘Fight with guns or swords or spears or bare hands, but fight. Do not surrender one more cow, one more horse, one more clod of earth, to the English!

  ‘As for me, I will not allow Bingham to trap me and seize my ships.’ Granuaile doubles her hands into fists. Her eyes blaze. ‘If necessary I shall burn the galleys myself, keeping out one so I can make a break for freedom.’

  Chapter Thirty–One

  The Spanish Armada

  The Spanish Armada is met with a stiff defence in the English Channel. Elizabeth’s warships carry fewer men, but they are lighter and faster and their artillery is better. They do considerable damage to the clumsy Spanish vessels, but cannot overcome them. Gales in the Channel finally force the invaders back to Northern Spain, where they refit their ships.

  In July the Armada sets forth again.

  English and Dutch warships are waiting for the invaders at the mouth of the Channel. They launch fireships into the heart of the Spanish fleet, breaking its formation. In the battle that follows, a number of Spanish ships are sunk, damaged or scattered among the Channel Islands. The English harry them like hounds. The Spaniards are in danger of being driven aground. All hope of victory is lost. They try to escape, but the combination of pursuing warships and a strong wind forces them to sail north up the Channel, rather than south.

  The English are forced to turn back by a shortage of supplies. What remains of the Armada reaches clear water in the North Sea. They round northern Scotland and chart a course down the west coast of Ireland, heading wearily home.

  Meanwhile a huge storm has been brewing in the Atlantic. When the fleeing ships reach the west coast of Ireland they are battered by terrible winds. They struggle on. Their sails are torn from the masts. Helpless, they are driven onto the rocks. As the bulky warships break up, their timbers cry out like dying animals.

  Aristocratic Spanish officers and common seamen are plunged together into the violent ocean. Those who can, swim desperately for shore.

  September, the Year of Our Lord 1588, Achill Island

  My dear Toby,

  Disaster! All is undone. The Spanish fleet has been destroyed, and only a few will ever reach their home port. I fear Spanish support for Ireland’s cause is lost as well. Why? Because as the survivors from the wrecked Armada came ashore, we slaughtered them.

  We had been watching the coast in anticipation of an attack by Bingham. When the storm blew up we could see ships battling against the wind. By their shape I knew them for Spanish, not English. I tried to tell people this but they would not listen. I cannot say what took hold of their minds. They went wild with excitement. They leaped up and down, screaming and waving their arms about as they watched the ships break up on the rocks.

  There is no excuse for what they did next.

  As the half-drowned Spaniards came staggering out of the sea, men, women and even children waded into the surf to take hold of them. The unfortunates were stripped of whatever valuables they carried, then battered to death there on the shore.

  I ran up and down the beach, screaming at people to stop. They had never failed to obey me before. But in that howling wind, they were howling too. They were deaf and blind to everything but violence. Is this what Bingham and his kind have done to us? Have they made us so fearful and frantic we kill without reason?

  We have slain those who should be our allies, Toby. If word of this gets back to Philip, what help can we expect from him? We will be left alone against the English. But whilst there is life left in us, we must fight to keep go on living.

  Always,

  Granuaile

  Heartsick, Granuaile prowls a coast littered with broken ships’ timbers and dead bodies.

  Her son-in-law, The Devil’s Hook, has managed to rescue a few of the Spaniards. He has given them refuge in his stronghold on Achill Island. But between six and eight thousand men have died on the shores of Connacht.

  Half buried in the sand, Granuaile finds an elegant dagger with fine gold wire wrapped around the hilt. It has just been uncovered by the receding tide. Granuaile stoops to pick it up. An officer’s weapon, most likely. For all its beauty, the weapon shows signs of hard use. When Granuaile holds the weapon up to the sun, the blade does not gleam. It is badly nicked and covered with dark stains. The stains are not rust.

  The Spanish have given me something after all, she thinks. She thrusts the dagger into her belt.

  Word comes from Ulster. Cl
an O’Donnell has rescued a number of Armada survivors from ships wrecked off the coast of Donegal. They have been fed and clothed, and their injuries tended. But they are not yet on their way home. The O’Donnell has surrendered thirty Spanish officers to the English, pleading for the release of Red Hugh in return.

  Once again Elizabeth’s privy council refuses the request. They also replace Sir John Perrot with a new lord deputy for Ireland, a man called Sir William Fitzwilliam. He promises not to be so ‘generous’ with the Irish. Bingham’s way of dealing with them suits him very well.

  Richard Bingham orders that any Spaniards caught on the west coast are to be hanged at Galway. So are those who give them shelter.

  When she learns of this Granuaile goes to warn The Devil’s Hook, who has added the Spanish men he rescued to his own warrior band. ‘Bingham will kill you if he finds out,’ she tells her son-in-law.

  ‘He will find out nothing,’ The Devil’s Hook reassures her. ‘My people are totally loyal to me, as yours are to you. The Spaniards are safe with us. I can protect you as well. Why do you not stay here for a while and enjoy your grandchildren?’

  The invitation is impossible to refuse. Granuaile feels old age creeping into her joints like mildew. She wants nothing more than to sit by the fire and let her grandchildren play around her feet.

  Bingham takes an army into Ulster to put down rebellion there. Fitzwilliam, the new lord deputy, considers any Scottish presence in the north as dangerous. Bingham orders that all Scottish gallowglasses are to be shot on sight.