Granuaile brought most of those men to Ireland in her galleys. She prays that she has not delivered them to their deaths.
While Bingham savages the north, his policies in Connacht are enforced by his sheriffs. Hangings, torture, unfair taxes, land seizures – they can only have one result. Connacht will rebel too.
‘So be it,’ says Granuaile grimly. ‘Let us see how many fires Richard Bingham can put out at once.’
On a bitterly cold January morning, signal fires blaze around the rim of Clew Bay. In his stronghold at Curraun, The Devil’s Hook makes preparations.
The English-born sheriff of Mayo, John Browne, has recently received a message from Richard Bingham, ordering him to take the notorious Granuaile into custody. The sheriff’s informers tell him that she is with her son-in-law on Achill Island.
But Granuaile has informers of her own. She knows Browne’s intention before he sets out from Galway. Quietly, in the night, she leaves Achill and returns to Rockfleet.
Next day the signal fires report Browne’s approach. The Devil’s Hook is waiting for him on Achill Island.
The sheriff and his men are slain on the strand at Curraun.
Their blood seeps into the soil of Ireland.
Chapter Thirty–Two
Nurse to all Rebellions
February, the Year of Our Lord 1589, Rockfleet
My dear Toby,
The rebellion I expected has begun. Almost every clan in Connacht is supplying warriors. If I were a little younger I would be in the forefront of the battle with a pistol in my hand. At least I can use my fleet as a weapon. My ships are transporting fighting men up and down the coast, wherever needed.
Examine your stores, my son. Be certain you have enough food to last for at least six weeks if you are besieged. Although there is a good spring at Burrishoole, order your servants to fill every container with fresh water as well.
Your armoury is well stocked with the muskets and pistols I imported. Inspect them thoroughly. Be certain each one is in working condition in case you are attacked.
When Bingham returns to Connacht he will find that we have repaid him in full measure for his cruelty. He has sown seeds of hatred. From them grows a tree of fire and fury.
Always,
Granuaile
The rebellion that erupts in Connacht alarms the new lord deputy. He had been assured that the province was submissive. This will not look good on his record. Soon the rebels hold not only Mayo but also parts of Sligo, Roscommon and Galway.
Fitzwilliam, the lord deputy, orders Richard Bingham to arrange a truce. Reluctantly, Bingham does so.
The Bourkes refuse to accept the truce. Advised by Granuaile, they demand that Richard Bingham be removed as governor of Connacht. A Book of Complaints against him is drawn up. He is charged with many acts of extreme cruelty.
Accompanied by Tibbott, Granuaile sails to Dublin to present the Book of Complaints to Fitzwilliam. The tall woman who strides into the lord deputy’s chambers brings with her the scent of the sea. Her face might have been carved from the oaks of Ireland. Fitzwilliam’s attendants shrink away from her as from a wild animal.
Fitzwilliam personally takes the book from Granuaile’s hands. ‘Her Majesty and I appreciate your informing us of Richard Bingham’s … shortcomings,’ he says through an interpreter.
‘Richard Bingham is a monster,’ Granuaile replies flatly. ‘Hang him.’
Then she and Tibbott go on to Scotland – to import more gallowglasses.
The queen’s privy council orders Fitzwilliam to determine if Richard Bingham is guilty of the charges brought against him. Various witnesses, all carefully selected, give statements to the lord deputy. Bingham is cleared. In January of 1590 he is instructed to put down the rebellion by any means necessary. No measure is too severe
Bingham and his soldiers pursue a scorched earth policy. Rebel families are put to the sword and their homes and property destroyed. Irish men and women who have taken no part in the rebellion suffer the same fate. This turns them against the rebels, whom they blame for their misfortune. Even the most valiant Irish warriors cannot fight both the English and their own people.
By the end of March the rebellion is over.
To Granuaile’s disgust, she learns that her second son, Murrough O’Flaherty, took the field on Bingham’s side during the rebellion. For some time she refuses to believe this, but many people saw him. ‘I do not know whether my son acted out of cowardice, or out of malice toward me,’ she tells her followers.
The result is the same either way. She must respond.
Taking several galleys, she sets sail for Bunowen. Murrough returns from a cattle fair just in time to find his mother with a torch in her hands, burning one of his outbuildings. ‘If I cannot defeat Richard Bingham,’ she shouts at him, ‘at least I can teach my own flesh and blood not to defy his mother!’
She is no longer the mother Murrough remembers. He hardly recognises her, this savage creature who is ordering her men to plunder his lands. If she were anyone else he would fight back. But something stops him.
Murrough O’Flaherty is afraid of Granuaile.
Connacht can now be described as submissive once more, and Fitzwilliam can boast that he has pacified most of Ireland. Pockets of resistance keep appearing, and battles are fought here and there with mixed results, but the wild Irish have been brought to heel, the lord deputy assures Elizabeth.
Richard Bingham does not believe for a moment that his troubles with Granuaile are over. He is well aware that she possesses a pardon in the queen’s name. She has very carefully not broken the provisions of the pardon. Although Granuaile’s fleet was sailing up and down the coast during the rebellion, she herself did not take part in any fighting. She did not trespass on Crown property. She murdered no one.
The only attack she has led has been on her own son.
Bingham dare not hang her. His actions as governor of the province will be closely watched from now on. He cannot risk another Book of Complaints.
Sourly, Bingham writes of Granuaile, ‘She is a notable traitoress and nurse to all rebellions in the province for forty years.’
Chapter Thirty–Three
The Hound’s Jaws
October, the Year of Our Lord 1591, Rockfleet
My dear Toby,
Richard Bingham is doing all he can to destroy me without laying hands on me. Bit by bit, he has reduced those I hold dear to poverty – except yourself. I have just learned that my daughter Margaret and her husband have hardly more than forty cows. Forty cows is a goodly number on Achill Island, but if the winter is a hard one, or if Bingham sends more soldiers seeking provisions, they could find themselves without meat. He would not hesitate to take away the last of their herds.
As long as I have my galleys, they will not starve. Even the ships are in danger, though. Bingham has given orders that no one in Galway is to sell me material for repairing them. Here in Mayo there is no leather for the curraghs, no timber for the galleys. The last of our forests were burned by the English to prevent the Irish from hiding in them during the rebellion.
I shall have to watch my beloved ships rotting on the strand, as I once saw the O’Flaherty ships.
When I was a child I went hunting with my father. I remember Dubhdara’s hounds catching hares. When the hares felt the jaws closing down on them it seemed that there was nothing they could do.
But there must be something we can do, Toby. There must be.
Always,
Granuaile
Chapter Thirty–Four
Escape!
Hugh Dubh O’Donnell, earl of Tyrconnell, is in failing health. The old man knows he will not live to see an Ulster victory over the English. But Red Hugh might, leading the warriors of Tyrconnell. For that the young prince must be free.
O’Donnell seeks help from the earl of Tyrone. On behalf of his fellow chieftain, Hugh O’Neill writes urgent letters to people in London whom he can trust.
Bribes are
quietly and skilfully arranged.
On Christmas night, 1591, the supposedly trustworthy men guarding Red Hugh O’Donnell remove his shackles. Then Red Hugh and two companions are allowed to walk unobserved in the yard of Dublin Castle. They promptly clamber up a wall, slide down a drainpipe on the outside and flee.
Their escape route lies across the Wicklow Mountains, where help has been arranged for them with one of the local chieftains. The weather is bitterly cold and the rain is bucketing down. One of the lads becomes separated from the others in the darkness. A second dies of cold and weakness before they can be rescued. But Red Hugh is soon on his way home to his father.
When he arrives, The O’Donnell resigns the leadership of the clan in his son’s favour.
Granuaile is exultant. ‘With a vigorous new chieftain to lead them, the men of Tyrconnell will join with Tyrone and defeat Elizabeth’s forces!’ she joyfully predicts.
Unfortunately, Red Hugh’s long imprisonment has damaged his health. It will be many months before he can take an active part in any uprising. He writes to the Spanish nobility, urging their aid for the Irish cause. He points out the ties of trade and religion between the two countries. The Armada is lost, he writes, but Spain and Ireland can still unite against the common enemy of England.
While rebellion simmers below the surface, Granuaile’s personal horizon seems to be shrinking. Her ships lie abandoned. She has no herds. Her immense vitality is no use to her now. But she cannot give up. She has fought back so many times, and she must do so again. Yet how? How? What weapons has she to use against her arch-enemy, Richard Bingham?
Only her mind. Her clever, well educated mind.
March, the Year of Our Lord 1593, Rockfleet
My dear Toby,
I need you to compose a petition in the English language, addressed to the queen. The document must not go through the lord deputy’s hands. Fitzwilliam and Bingham are cut from the same piece of hide. I shall send the petition to my old friend, the duke of Ormond, and ask him to deliver it to Elizabeth in person. Black Thomas has become a favourite of hers, I understand.
In my petition, you are to describe me as Her Majesty’s loyal and faithful subject, Grania O’Malley of Connacht.
Tell Elizabeth that I am an old woman, but one who is devoted to her. Explain that Richard Bingham has deliberately ruined both my ships and my livelihood. The property of my late husband, your father, has been taken from me. I retain only Rockfleet Castle, and I fear Bingham means to drive me out of this too. Ask Elizabeth to protect me from him. Further ask her to allow me a portion of Richard Bourke’s property to maintain myself. Also beseech the queen to grant me the liberty to attack, with sword and fire, her enemies, wherever they shall be.
If she agrees to this she will have to give me my ships back.
Always,
Granuaile
Chapter Thirty-Five
Bingham Strikes
The queen responds to Granuaile’s petition with eighteen written questions. Elizabeth inquires about a wife’s position under Gaelic law, and how much of her husband’s property she is entitled to claim. The English queen also wants to know the personal details of Granuaile’s life.
Through Tibbott, Granuaile replies. When describing her seafaring exploits she uses very guarded language. Naturally, she does not mention her plundering at all. Her answers are designed to arouse sympathy from Elizabeth Tudor, who has also spent a lifetime trying to outwit ambitious men. She orders that Granuaile’s answers be put into the State Papers, and prepares to grant her requests.
Meanwhile Richard Bingham moves against Granuaile. He arrests both Tibbott and Granuaile’s half-brother, Donal of the Pipes. They are charged with conspiring to murder Bingham. Witnesses are bribed to testify against them.
Granuaile is horrified. She had thought Tibbott, at least, was safe from Bingham. But the man has grown more vicious over the years. The time for written petitions is over – sending letters from Ireland to England takes too long. Only action will do now.
The tall she-king leans over a parapet at Rockfleet, gazing across the bay. She is very still, like the shimmering blue water. Yet beneath the surface her mind is busy. She is measuring her strength, her health, her energy. Weighing herself up against the task she proposes.
Her teeth clench. Her jaw thrusts forward and a light comes into her eyes. She whirls around and goes back into the tower, hurrying down the steep spiral stair almost as nimbly as a young girl. When she reaches the bottom she begins shouting for one of the few attendants who remain with her. ‘I need someone who knows someone who has a horse!’
Granuaile summons help from old friends and acquaintances. They assemble enough material to make three galleys seaworthy. In late July, Granuaile sets sail for England … and the court of Elizabeth Tudor.
Chapter Thirty–Six
Elizabeth
Although she will never admit it, Granuaile’s heart is in her throat when she calls upon Elizabeth at her palace at Greenwich. The queen has already received angry letters from Bingham about her. It is up to Granuaile to present a very different picture of herself.
To remind Elizabeth that they are both she-kings, she dresses as a woman of the Gaelic nobility. The green velvet of her gown is fabric she herself once imported. The gown is made with slitted arms to reveal the bell-shaped sleeves of an Ulster linen smock beneath. The bodice is cut low to show that Granuaile’s throat and bosom are still as firm as a girl’s. Although they are the same age, Elizabeth cannot make the same boast.
Over her gown Granuaile wears a great fur cloak, lined with silk. Its fringed hem sweeps the ground. The English like to believe that the Irish go barefoot, but in truth, almost everyone has leather shoes. Until the English began seizing Irish herds there was plenty of leather. For her meeting with Elizabeth, Granuaile selects a pair of soft boots made from Mayo hides. The toes are ornamented with gold embroidery.
Hidden in her belt is a dagger. A Spanish dagger.
The English never think to search this mere woman for weapons.
When Granuaile is brought before the queen in her audience chamber, she fights to hide her astonishment. She expected someone as tall as a Gaelic chieftain, a mighty monarch, a warrior like herself. But Elizabeth Tudor does not reach her shoulder. She is a wee brittle thing Granuaile could break over her knee.
Attendants cluster around the English queen, doing everything but breathe for her. Her face is as white as chalk. At first Granuaile thinks Elizabeth is ill. Then she realises the woman’s skin is caked with powder.
Granuaile’s heavy hair is pinned with silver bodkins. Elizabeth wears a red wig of a most unnatural hue. Can it be the woman is bald? Granuaile wonders.
The English queen’s costume seems ridiculous. A vast lace collar surrounds her face and head. She cannot possibly see anyone sneaking up behind her. The bodice of her gown is so rigid she can hardly breathe. Jewels encrust her person from head to heels, weighing her down. Her feet are squeezed into tiny shoes with heels so high she can hardly walk. What could she do if she was attacked? Granuaile bites her lip to keep from laughing.
Then their eyes meet. And lock.
A strange sensation passes over Granuaile.
She knows Elizabeth. Knows her as she knows the sea or the wind. The queen of England is a woman who has suffered, as the Irish she-king has suffered. Granuaile feels a sudden pity for Elizabeth. This immensely powerful woman, imprisoned within her stiff clothes and her crowding courtiers, can never be free.
Granuaile refuses an interpreter and speaks with Elizabeth in Latin. The two women were born in the same year, Granuaile learns. ‘Had we been born in the same place we might have been friends,’ she says to the queen.
Elizabeth invites Granuaile to sit beside her while they talk together. Her courtiers wait, shifting from one foot to the other. The queen does not invite them to sit.
For all her physical weakness, it is soon obvious that Elizabeth Tudor has the mind of a born ruler.
Hard, practical. Granuaile treats the queen with the respect she seeks for herself. She does not lie to Elizabeth. She does not tell all the truth, but what she does say is true.
She puts her case calmly and reasonably, and the queen listens in the same way. During the long afternoon they speak of many things. They discuss what it is like for a woman to be a leader of men. Elizabeth says she is amazed by Granuaile’s success. Granuaile replies that she is equally amazed by Elizabeth.
The queen does not smile, but her eyes dance. They are fine eyes. She must have been beautiful, once.
When their meeting is over, Elizabeth offers Granuaile the hospitality of the palace until a decision is made about her case. Granuaile thanks her and starts to leave the chamber. Abruptly, the Irish woman sneezes. A great big whoop of a sneeze. The queen nods to one of her attendants, who hands Granuaile a tiny square of cambric.
She blows her nose long and loud. Then she tosses the handkerchief into the fire on the hearth.
Elizabeth cannot raise her eyebrows, for she has none. But there is icy disapproval in her voice. ‘In England we put our used handkerchiefs back into our sleeves,’ she says.
‘In Ireland,’ Granuaile replies, ‘we are not so unclean that we stuff soiled handkerchiefs into our clothing.’
Elizabeth stares at her.
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