Brian Boru

by Morgan Llywelyn

  The slinger called Nessa, who had left Mahon to follow Brian, warned him with a laugh, ‘I hear that the king of that tribe has a number of daughters he wants to marry to princes of other tribes, Brian. Be careful, or you will come back with a woman riding behind you on your horse.’

  Brian laughed too. ‘A woman’s arms around my waist would slow me down too much, Nessa. I don’t need a wife,’ he said.

  Taking a score of well-armed warriors with him, he rode to meet the king called Edigan. Edigan lived in a ring fort very like Beal Boru, but instead of many sons, he did, indeed, have many daughters. He was eager to have Brian take one of his daughters in marriage.

  ‘She would have to be willing to marry you, of course,’ Edigan said. ‘We observe the old Irish law, the Brehon law, and that says no woman can be married without her consent.’

  ‘The Dalcassians observe the same law,’ Brian replied. ‘But I have not said I am willing to marry.’

  Edigan smiled and stroked his big red beard. ‘Let me send for my daughters. At least see them.’

  One by one, the young women entered the lodge. Some were thin and some were sallow, but one was beautiful. She had dark curls and the sweetest face Brian had ever seen. He could not take his eyes off her.

  Edigan smiled again. ‘You are seventeen, Brian mac Kennedy,’ he said. ‘It is time for you to be married. Give me a bride-gift of twelve cows for that girl and she is yours. We will then be related by marriage and I shall allow warriors of my tribe to join your band of fighting men and protect your homeland from the raiders.’

  Brian was building a name for himself as the bravest of men. But his courage deserted him when he tried to ask the dark-haired girl to marry him. He could hardly even say her name, which was Mor. His tongue stumbled over the word and he felt his cheeks burn.

  Mor was blushing too, but there was also laughter in her eyes. She knew from the first moment she saw Brian that she wanted to be his wife. His shyness delighted her. He was so very tall, and so very muscular, she had not expected he would be gentle as well. Yet when he took her hand in his and asked her to marry him, he held her fingers as if they would break, and she knew he would never hurt her.

  I will be safe with this man, she thought. ‘I shall marry you, Brian mac Kennedy,’ she agreed.

  Brian felt as if the sun had just come up.

  He did not even hear the way his men teased him. ‘Nessa was right,’ they said, ‘and our brave leader has fallen into the oldest trap of all.’

  Brian only smiled dreamily. ‘She has blue eyes,’ he said. ‘Did you ever see such blue eyes?’

  He returned to Thomond with a score of Edigan’s kinsmen to add to his band of warriors. At once he sent word to his brother Marcan, who was now a priest, telling him that he was to be married and asking Marcan to say the Christian words at the ceremony.

  Brian also sent a message to Mahon, inviting him to come to the wedding, which would be held at a small stone church north of Beal Boru. Brian instructed the messenger, ‘Tell my brother to bring only a small party of my closest kinsmen with him. He must leave his warriors on duty, guarding Thomond more keenly than ever, while he is away from them. Tell him to be certain he has plenty of men posted along every road and path the Limerick Danes use into our land. And sentries on the high ground along the river,’ Brian added.

  When Mahon received this message, he had mixed feelings. Brian had invited him to the wedding, which meant the quarrel between them was set aside. But Brian was still trying to tell his older brother how to order his army!

  ‘The Vikings are quiet at this time of year,’ Mahon told his captains, ‘and there is no need for every man we have to be on guard. I want them with me, to remind my brother and his followers how powerful the King of Thomond is.’

  So a huge party was gathered. The Dalcassians all wanted to attend Brian’s wedding. Not only were his deeds making him famous, but also everyone knew that if anything happened to Mahon, Brian himself would become King of Thomond, Chieftain of the Dalcassians. So it was important to be seen at his wedding.

  When Brian saw the crowds arriving he knew Mahon had ignored his words. The king had brought his army with him to the wedding.

  Brian bit his lip and did not say anything about it to his brother. He was very glad to see Mahon. Perhaps it would be all right. He did not want to start another argument, so he hugged Mahon and bade him welcome.

  Mahon was relieved. Perhaps I will be able to take him and his warriors back to Killmallock when the wedding is over, he thought to himself, after the honeymoon – the month-long period when Brian will want to be alone with his new wife and the two of them drink honey mead together.

  ‘How did you win such a beautiful girl?’ Mahon asked his younger brother.

  Brian shook his head. ‘I truly don’t know. Perhaps it was when I played my harp for her.’

  Mahon grinned. ‘You are a harper as well as a warrior. A man of many talents. No wonder we keep hearing stories about you and your deeds. They’re calling you the Lion of Thomond.’

  Brian dropped his eyes. How good it felt to have his brother with him again, and to hear such words from Mahon.

  The sun shone, the day was beautiful. Marcan married Brian and Mor in the sight of God, and then the singing and dancing and feasting began. It should have been the happiest day of Brian’s life. And yet … from time to time he found himself looking towards the skyline as if he expected to see Vikings in the distance, waving axes …

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mahon, King of Munster

  It did not take the Danes of Limerick long to learn that Thomond was unprotected. Even as Brian and the Dalcassians were celebrating the wedding, Viking raiders fanned out across the countryside. They looted and burned; they slaughtered Irish cattle in the field and took the best parts away with them, leaving the carcasses to rot.

  A terrified farmer came to tell Mahon what was happening. ‘Where are your warriors to protect us?’ the man cried.

  Brian was very angry. ‘I warned you!’ he shouted at Mahon. ‘Didn’t I send word to you to leave Thomond well-guarded along its borders?’

  Mahon drew himself up stiffly. ‘I don’t take orders from you.’

  ‘You would not take my advice simply because it came from me,’ Brian charged. ‘You never listen to me because you’re jealous of your authority. Now you see what it has cost!’

  Mahon knew Brian’s words were true. He could never admit the younger man was right. He was the king.

  They glared at each other with all the old anger rising between them.

  ‘I think you had better leave now,’ Brian said coldly. ‘Go back to Killmallock. Go try to explain to the people whose homes are destroyed for the sake of your pride.’

  ‘I was hoping you would come with me,’ Mahon started to say. Then his anger overcame him. He would not ask Brian for anything. He turned away and began gathering his men.

  When Brian saw them marching away he wanted to run after them. But he did not. He was as proud as Mahon.

  He took his new wife to Beal Boru, where she would live in the rebuilt lodge that had belonged to his parents. Brian himself spent most of his time in the nearby hills and valleys, protecting the area. It was doubly precious to him now.

  The Vikings controlled the river, but Brian held the highlands. At night, in camp, he studied by firelight the books he kept with him, books describing the successful wars of Alexander and Charlemagne. Books telling how to win.

  He learned new ways of outwitting the enemy. He learned how to take advantage of mist and fog to make a few men seem like a larger number. They shouted until their voices echoed throughout the hills, like the cries of an army.

  From his books Brian also learned new battle formations. Using a stick to draw in the dirt, he showed his warriors ways of fighting they had never seen before. Until now, Irish men had just run at each other in a broad line. But Brian showed them how to break up that line into wings and flanks and circles, and how t
o get behind the enemy and surround him.

  They won more victories. The Vikings learned to be afraid of Brian. They were the first to call him Brian Boru, after the place he fought to protect.

  Between battles, Brian sometimes climbed alone to the heights where the grey crag jutted out against the sky. He gazed down at the great blue lake called Lough Derg, and the rebuilt fort where Mor was awaiting the birth of their first child.

  He could sense the guardian spirit of his tribe close beside him. ‘Watch over my family, Aval,’ he whispered to the banshee, knowing she could hear him.

  In southern Thomond, Mahon heard reports. Brian’s band fought brilliantly, but they were heavily outnumbered. Slowly, man by man, the Vikings were killing them. There were so few rebels with Brian in the hills, and so many Vikings.

  Almost as if he meant to insult Mahon, the Viking King of Limerick was concentrating on Brian Boru and all but ignoring the King of the Dalcassians. Ivar the Dane, King of Limerick, considered Brian more dangerous than his brother and wanted to see him dead.

  Mor worried about her husband. Brian came to see her as often as he could, but they never had much time together. She would hear his familiar whistle ringing from the hills, and when she ran to the gate to meet him he would take her in his arms and swing her around and around, laughing. But he always left at first light, going back to his warriors.

  Brian hated to leave. The lodge was warm and snug, with fresh reeds on the floor and brightly coloured woollen rugs hanging on the walls to keep out draughts. Mor wove those rugs on her loom, and kept his harp safe for him when he was in the hills. Puppies descended from his father’s hounds, slept beside the central firepit, and on baking days the whole fort smelled of the bread Mor baked in the beehive-shaped stone oven.

  Beal Boru was home again, the home Brian thought he had lost. But in order to keep it safe he could not stay to enjoy it.

  The year of Brian’s marriage had been a year of important deaths in Munster. First the chief poet of the province died. Soon after came the death of the Tanist, who stood second in line for the kingship of Munster.

  The next spring Brian’s first son, Murcha, was born. At almost the same time the King of Munster died, leaving the kingship vacant. The province was ruled from the royal stronghold at Cashel, which was thrown into confusion by the king’s death.

  Mahon was not surprised when Brian came down out of the hills and confronted him in his camp. ‘Claim the kingship,’ he said bluntly.

  Mahon looked at his brother. Fighting hard and living rough had made the boy a mighty man. He was the tallest of all the Dalcassians, with eyes as grey as winter skies over Lough Derg, and a jaw as firm as the stones of Slieve Bernagh. By now only a few of his followers were still alive, but he stood as if there were an army at his back. ‘Claim the kingship,’ he demanded again. ‘My warriors and I will support you.’

  Mahon could have laughed at the idea of that battered band being any help to him in claiming Cashel. ‘It would take more help than you could give me,’ he told Brian. ‘The Owenacht tribe are very powerful in Munster and would oppose me. They have a strong claim to the kingship.’

  ‘Our grandfather Lorcan was called the King of Munster,’ Brian reminded him. ‘It is time we made that boast a truth.’

  He looked totally confident. Mahon could hardly believe his eyes. Brian was lean and ragged and battle-scarred, but still managed to look as if he could never lose. How does he do it? Mahon wondered.

  Brian wore his courage like armour, and kept his secret fears to himself. ‘I heard a rumour that you made peace with the Danes of Limerick,’ he said suddenly.

  Mahon was startled. ‘How did you … who told you that?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Is it true? I did not want to believe it until I heard it from your own lips.’

  Mahon hesitated, but he could not hide the truth from Brian’s sharp eyes. ‘I have made peace with the Danes,’ he admitted at last. ‘My warriors were exhausted, and harvest season had come. They needed to be able to care for their farms and families.’

  Brian understood. But he said, ‘You made a great mistake, brother. Never trust the foreigners. We can use your mistake, however. There is always a way to profit from an error if you give it some thought, and I’ve been thinking about this one.

  ‘While Ivar of Limerick thinks you are willing to stop fighting him, he may be willing to let you become King of Munster without opposing you. He knows you, remember. He does not know whatever man the Owenachts may wish to make king.’

  ‘Are you suggesting I ask for the support of the Vikings?’ asked Mahon, astonished to hear this from Brian.

  Brian smiled a faint, wry smile. ‘I am not. I’m just telling you to take advantage of what you have. Proclaim yourself King of Munster now, take everyone by surprise, and my men and I will help you take Cashel.’

  Mahon was tempted. The Dalcassians and the Owenachts were ancient enemies, and an Owenacht had killed Kennedy in a battle between the two tribes. It would be very satisfying to deny the Owenachts the kingship of Munster. ‘But what about afterwards?’ he asked Brian. ‘If I do become king of the province, what will you do?’

  A faraway look came into the younger man’s eyes. ‘I’ll go home to my wife and son, and eat fish fresh-caught from the weir on the Shannon below Beal Boru.’

  ‘But wouldn’t you want to bring your family to live at Cashel?’

  Brian raised one eyebrow. ‘You may have made peace with the Danes, but I haven’t. You rule Munster. I’ll continue to protect that part of Munster which is Thomond. Cashel is not my home.’

  And so, in the Year of Our Lord 959, Mahon mac Kennedy claimed the title of King of Munster and captured the stone fortress atop the Rock of Cashel. Because the time had been shrewdly chosen, he was not challenged. Surprised by his swift and unexpected move, the Owenacht chieftains did not have a prince ready to stand against him. Besides, they were uncertain about risking the anger of the Danes of Limerick, who seemed willing to let Mahon be king. So they accepted the situation, for a time. But their resentment simmered like a pot coming to the boil.

  Brian saw his brother crowned King of Munster, then true to his word, he returned to Beal Boru. As he had known they would, the Danes continued raiding in Thomond, no matter what truce Ivar had made with Mahon. Thomond was too rich a land to be spared by the Vikings.

  While the new King of Munster ate fat meat in his stronghold on the Rock of Cashel, Brian went back to sleeping wrapped in his cloak, through wind and rain, in the hills of Clare, and protecting his homeland.

  He had quietly recruited a number of new followers from among Mahon’s own warriors, while Mahon was being crowned king. Brian believed in taking advantage of opportunities.

  But once more his numbers were reduced through almost constant fighting until word reached the King of Munster that Brian was almost the lone survivor. This time Mahon went to him. He found him wrapped in wolfskins, camping in a limestone cave.

  ‘Look at you,’ said Mahon. ‘Bashed and bloody and weary. You with two babies and another on the way, I hear. Give up now, Brian. Come to the south, come to Cashel and live with us. We shall make your family very welcome.’

  Brian’s grey eyes met his with a steady gaze. ‘I won’t abandon Thomond to the Vikings. Neither our father nor our grandfather surrendered this land, and I will not.’

  ‘But don’t you see, Brian, that it’s impossible to defeat the foreigners? There are so many of them – the Danes in Limerick and Waterford, the Norsemen in Dublin – they’re everywhere now. They have terrible weapons and coats of mail. If you keep on fighting you’ll surely be killed one day.’

  Brian gazed sadly at the brother he had once admired so much. ‘It’s natural for men to die,’ he said, ‘and death in battle is better than a life in slavery to foreigners.

  ‘But one thing is not natural, not for Dalcassians. We have never submitted to outrage or insult. You shame us, asking that we do so now. We would be forev
er dishonoured if we gave up the land for which our ancestors died.

  ‘And we don’t have to, Mahon! The Danes can be beaten. I myself have beaten them many times with a much smaller force of men. Once I cleared the countryside of them from Lough Derg all the way to the river Fergus, with only a handful of warriors beside me. While you, with your much larger army, did nothing to help,’ he added bitterly.

  Mahon cleared his throat. ‘What if I had helped you and been willing to fight your way?’

  ‘By now the strength of the Danes would be broken in Munster,’ Brian told him.

  ‘If that is true,’ said Mahon, ‘I regret that I didn’t listen.’

  My brother is the man I thought he was! Brian thought joyously. Aloud he said, ‘Regret is a waste of time. We have today. And tomorrow.’

  ‘You would still fight for me?’

  ‘You are the King of Munster,’ Brian replied. ‘If you will declare war on the Danes again I will fight at your shoulder until we drive them from our land forever.’

  Staring at his brother, Mahon knew those words were true. Brian would fight alone or with an army, but he would fight. Nothing could stop him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Boru!

  The King of Munster summoned the heads of the Dalcassian families to a council. Each clan leader arrived in full battle dress, with a shortsword in a leather scabbard at his hip, and a train of attendants following him up the steep pathway to the top of the Rock of Cashel.

  When they were gathered in the great feasting hall, Mahon spoke to them. He used many of the words Brian had used. ‘If we do not make a stand and fight the Danes of Limerick now it will be too late,’ he told the Dalcassians. ‘They have their hands around our throats. I have said nothing, for the sake of peace, but the time has come to throw off the clutching hand.’