Strongbow

by Morgan Llywelyn

  I spoke of this to Aoife. She was young, but she seemed to be interested in tactics, unlike any other woman I had ever known. She understood exactly what Dermot was trying to do and defended his idea. ‘Listen to my father, Richard,’ she said. ‘He knows these people. Remember, you don’t.’

  I repeated her words to my men. ‘We must trust Dermot’s judgement in this,’ I told them. I set my face in the mask of Strongbow to show them I wouldn’t be moved, and at last they agreed.

  We set up camp outside the walls. For men looking down upon us from the timbered walls of Dublin, we must have been an impressive sight. I had left a small company of warriors to hold Waterford, but the rest of my men were with us, including Raymond le Gros and his company. Dermot’s followers were with us also. We had come through the mountains and past the sacred vale called Glendalough without losing a man, and our weapons were cleaned and shining in the autumn sun.

  Soon enough, the gates of Dublin opened and the Archbishop came out to arrange a truce.

  Aoife was delighted to see her uncle. She stood on the edge of the crowd of men while we talked about terms, and I saw Archbishop O’Toole nod to her when she caught his eye.

  An agreement was made between Dermot and the Archbishop. Dublin was now Dermot’s. There would be no looting, but in return for this the people of Dublin were to give Dermot Mac Murrough thirty hostages. If at any time in the future Dublin was no longer loyal to Dermot, those thirty hostages would die.

  So the taking of Dublin had been a simple matter after all. Things were, I was learning, done differently in Ireland.

  Dermot told me, ‘We must make certain that the High King learns of this at once. When he knows Dublin is mine, and the terms, I don’t think he will attack us. He won’t want to lose a lot of valuable warriors for a lost cause.’

  The message was sent to Rory O’Connor. As Dermot had expected, the High King and his armies turned around and went home.

  In private, I said to my wife, ‘Your father’s cleverness wasn’t the only reason why the High King withdrew, I think. Rory O’Connor is no stupid man, I’d say. He’s not eager to face the warriors I brought with me. We have armour and weapons and ways of fighting he can’t match, and he must know this.’

  Aoife tossed her head. ‘Our Irish warriors are as good as any of yours,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps. But we have knights on horseback, and skilled archers, and our men fight in one unit, following one order. The Irish fight man by man, each according to his own desire. They cannot overcome one hundred men all following the same order.’

  ‘Of course they can,’ said Aoife.

  But I could see that she was thinking about what I said. The next morning she was up with the larks, watching us drill our men in ways the Irish had never done.

  I saw her nodding to herself. Aoife had a good mind. Perhaps the Irish were not as foolish as I thought, educating women!

  The capture of Dublin was like drinking too much wine. Dermot Mac Murrough was drunk with success. He said to me, ‘With your army at my back I could become High King of Ireland myself, and end the rule of the Connacht man!’

  Yet even as we were celebrating our victory, things began to go wrong. I had told Aoife we fought to one order, but that was not strictly true. There are always men who disobey orders.

  Two of my men – one of them my trusted Raymond le Gros! – would not accept the command to do no looting in Dublin. Secretly, they gathered two companies of followers and led them to opposite sides of the town without my knowledge. Then they broke down the walls and poured in upon the people, looting and slaughtering as they went.

  I was furious! I ordered the leaders brought before me. But the damage was done. Now the Dubliners hated the Normans. They might remain loyal to Dermot as long as he held their hostages, but they couldn’t be trusted not to put a knife in the back of any Norman they saw. Myself included.

  ‘From now on, no Norman will walk through Dublin alone,’ I ordered. ‘Always go in pairs.’

  To Raymond I said, ‘I’ll deal with you later.’ At that moment I wanted to cut off his head, but he was my sister’s husband. And I had promised Basilia I would take care of him.

  I must content myself with stripping him of his loot.

  In truth, this was a harsh penalty. Dublin was a very wealthy trading centre and Raymond had seized enough gold and furs and leathers to sink a small ship. He complained bitterly when I took it away from him. But we both knew he could soon get more. Ireland was rich beyond our wildest dreams.

  Anyone of princely blood wore gold ornaments, and most of the Irish claimed princely blood. Even those who couldn’t, wore silver and copper. The lowest servant had an iron ring or two, or the odd bit of amber on a thong, and good amber too, fine trading goods.

  No one went hungry. The forests teemed with game. There was timber as far as the eye could see. Grassy meadowlands held more cattle than there were stars in the sky.

  Ireland was a treasure house.

  Compared to this island, Henry’s England was as poor as I was myself. Many of its forests had long since been destroyed. The timber had gone to build houses and ships, or had been burned for charcoal. There was never enough food for the poor, and most people were poor. English weather was not as mild as Irish weather, and in a bad winter countless peasants died of cold and hunger.

  Life in the land I had left was hard and short, brutal and cold.

  But in Ireland, gold actually sparkled in the streams. I had seen it for myself, winking at me through the clear water.

  As far as I was concerned, Ireland was gold. Ireland was the new fortune of the de Clares.

  Chapter 21

  AOIFE

  Dermot Destroyed

  How good it felt to be on the winning side! ‘Chase O’Connor and take the high kingship away from him and give it to my father!’ I urged Richard.

  ‘No, Aoife,’ he said. ‘That would be reckless. We must make certain that the places we’ve already captured are firmly held.’

  He said the same thing to Father, who didn’t like it any more than I did. Father could almost taste the high kingship.

  Richard told him, ‘I intend to go back to Waterford for the winter and build earthworks and strongholds there. Then in the spring I’ll be in a strong position for more fighting.’

  ‘No!’ Father argued. ‘If we don’t pursue the High King now we’ll have lost a priceless opportunity!’

  ‘You want revenge,’ Richard said. ‘I want something more solid than that. I’ve risked everything to come here, I don’t want to lose it all now just to give you the pleasure of holding a knife to Rory O’Connor’s throat.’

  ‘Make him see my side, Aoife,’ Father pleaded with me.

  I was torn between them. I understood how Father felt because I felt the same way myself. But this time … this time, I suspected Richard was right.

  And he was my husband. At last I took his side. I had given my word to God at our marriage.

  When I told Father I wouldn’t argue his case with my husband he looked very sad. ‘Only bad things can come of a daughter’s failing to stand up for her father,’ he said. ‘But very well; I’ll do what must be done, myself.’ He put one hand to either side of my face and pulled me to his lips for a kiss. ‘God’s blessing on you, Aoife,’ he said. Then he left me with Richard.

  We returned to Waterford, where Richard began the building of forts and strongholds. Messengers brought us news of Father almost every week, however, and Richard always shared it with me.

  We learned that the High King had reminded my father of the treaty by which he had been allowed the freedom of Leinster, and demanded that he send away his hired warriors and give up warring.

  Father proudly – and recklessly – replied that he would do no such thing. He went even further. He swore to keep fighting until he had claimed the monarchy of all Ireland.

  Aflame with success, Father and his loyal Leinstermen set out across Meath. His true target, I knew,
was his old enemy, O’Rourke of Brefni. Father thundered across the countryside, battering Clonard and burning Kells on his way. On reaching Brefni he took prisoners and cattle, but didn’t succeed in capturing Tiernan O’Rourke, who escaped.

  O’Rourke fled to Rory O’Connor.

  ‘This is frightening news,’ I told Richard. ‘When Father made that treaty with the High King he was forced to give hostages of good conduct. My own brother, Conor, and Donal Mac Murrough Kavanaugh’s son were among them.

  ‘Father was so certain they’d be safe. The High King has never personally done harm to any of our family.’

  ‘Your brother Enna was blinded,’ Richard reminded me. He had begun learning all he could of events in Ireland. He seemed determined to become as Irish as any of us.

  ‘Enna was held by another tribe, not by the High King,’ I explained. ‘They were our enemies too, and allies of the High King. But Rory O’Connor had no control over what they did.’

  ‘Yet now you’re frightened for the hostages the High King holds?’

  ‘I am indeed,’ I said, ‘because Tiernan O’Rourke is with the High King. He hates Father so much, and he has the High King’s ear. He could persuade him to do… anything.’

  He did. My worst fears came true.

  According to Irish law, hostages must be kept in as much comfort as their hosts. Conor and Donal’s son and another lad, foster-kin of ours, had been well fed and well housed while living in the High King’s household in Connaught. Conor had even planned a marriage with the High King’s daughter.

  Then my father trailed his coat in front of the High King and Tiernan O’Rourke, and old anger burst into new flame. O’Rourke must have argued long and hard to get him to do it, but at last the High King gave the order.

  The three hostages were slain beside the Shannon river at Athlone, and their heads were sent to my father.

  Even Strongbow was shocked. ‘What sort of people are you?’ he demanded of me.

  ‘Why don’t you ask what sort of person Tiernan O’Rourke is? He’s to blame for this, I know it! He spent years and years trying to get even with my father, and now he’s done it. He’s a monster, oh, he’s a monster!’ I cried, sobbing.

  Broken by the news, Father was returning to Ferns. I had to be with him. I didn’t ask Richard for permission. I simply told him I was going. I would meet Father and join him in his grief.

  My husband ordered a company of his warriors to go with me, and we set off through winter-bleak countryside for the palace that had once been my home.

  When I saw Father I hardly knew him. Donal was trying to be brave about his loss, but Father was destroyed. His hair had gone almost white, and he had the face of a man of ninety. He shuffled when he walked, and moved his lips even when he wasn’t talking. It broke my heart to see him.

  I couldn’t find it in me to blame him for the recklessness and ambition that had brought this disaster upon us. He was suffering enough already.

  Mor was still blaming everything on Dervorgilla. She spoke of nothing else. My mother, who now had a dead son and a blind one, wouldn’t speak at all. She went to her bed and never said another word to my father as long as she lived.

  Only a few weeks before, Father had been swelled with victory and full of life. Now anyone could see he was dying. His years had caught up with him all at once.

  I walked with him through the grounds of Ferns and tried to talk of pleasant things, but he paid no attention to me.

  ‘How grand everything looks now, Father,’ I said as cheerfully as I knew how. ‘You’ve made Ferns more beautiful than ever.’

  He didn’t look at me. He mumbled something, but I couldn’t make out any words.

  ‘Will you build some more?’ I asked, trying to get him to talk.

  He shrugged. He stared off into space.

  What could I say to him? How could I comfort him? I couldn’t even comfort myself. Tears began leaking down my cheeks.

  Father stopped, turned to me, looked at me dimly, and said, ‘My merry Aoife. Why don’t you laugh any more?’

  Then he laughed, an awful cracked sound that chilled me to my soul. He laughed and the laughter broke into a thousand pieces and became great deep sobs I couldn’t bear to hear.

  I fled back to Richard. I couldn’t stand the sight of Ferns.

  I spent the bleak months of winter helping my husband fortify his new holdings. He stayed in contact with my uncle, the Archbishop of Dublin, and there was talk between them of building a new cathedral.

  ‘God will bless us in Ireland if we do this,’ Richard told me.

  But I recalled the churches and monasteries Father had built, and wasn’t so sure. ‘God cannot be bought,’ I told Richard.

  Then a message came to us from England. Word had reached King Henry of my husband’s successes in Ireland. In fact, he had been told that Strongbow was now master of Leinster and other territories.

  To the English king, it must have sounded as if my husband was grabbing everything he could. Henry’s response was swift. He immediately sent out a notice that no more ships should leave England for Ireland, and that all his subjects now in Ireland should return to England before Easter, on pain of losing all they possessed and being banished forever.

  A messenger read this notice aloud to my husband, in the English tongue. I saw Richard’s eyes go cold. He told me what the king was demanding.

  ‘Will you go back?’ I asked. ‘You have a castle there. And kin.’

  My husband didn’t answer. Instead he walked to the arrowslit of the new stronghold we were building in a place called Kilkenny, and gazed out across the land. ‘I have a son and daughter there,’ he said. ‘But I’ve already sent back enough riches from Ireland to provide for them.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about them?’ I wanted to know. ‘My father always worried about his children. Don’t you at least long to see yours again?’

  ‘We were never very close,’ he said sadly. ‘I dare say they’re not eager to see me.’

  It was the first time he had spoken to me of his other family. I hadn’t asked about them. I didn’t want to think about them. I wanted Richard to be just mine.

  But now the ice was broken. ‘What was your first wife like?’ I asked.

  He smiled with one side of his mouth only. ‘Nothing like you, Aoife. I didn’t know what it meant to be happy until I came to Ireland.’ He put one hand on my shoulder, so very gently. If only the people who called him Strongbow could have seen him in that moment!

  ‘All the riches I want are here,’ he said.

  Richard had a scribe write his reply to the English king: ‘My Lord, it was with your licence, as I understood, that I came to Ireland for the purpose of helping Dermot Mac Murrough recover his kingdom. Whatever lands I have had the good fortune to acquire in this country, either from Dermot or any other person, I owe to your gracious favour and I shall hold them at your disposal.’

  Richard had the letter read to him several times, until he was happy with the wording. Then he ordered Raymond le Gros to carry it personally to King Henry.

  ‘What will happen now?’ I asked my husband.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  Chapter 22

  RICHARD

  A New King in Leinster

  The Archbishop of Dublin sent word to me that a Synod of the clergy had been held at Armagh. The topic was the invasion by myself and the other Anglo-Normans. The clergy decided that we were the divine vengeance sent by God to punish the Irish for their sins.

  I had never thought of myself as an instrument of God. Nor had I any desire to punish the Irish. The longer I lived among them, the more I liked them. Their songs and their food and their customs all appealed to me. I felt more at home in Ireland among the Irish than I had ever done in Pembrokeshire, though I couldn’t say why.

  Perhaps it was because of Aoife.

  Aoife was very worried about her father, and for her sake I worried also. I had a foothold in Ireland now, I could surviv
e without Dermot Mac Murrough, but when we heard that he was dying I was almost as upset as my wife.

  We galloped to Ferns on our fastest horses. We found his entire family – all who survived – gathered there, including his son-in-law, Donal O’Brien, who was King of Thomond now.

  As we crossed the courtyard I could hear people whispering already. ‘Who will be King of Leinster when Dermot is dead?’ they were asking each other behind their hands.

  The question seemed to hang in the air. I felt a knot gather in my belly.

  I had tried to learn as much as I could about Irish law. As Aoife had told me, Dermot could not make me a king, and neither could my marriage to his daughter. Yet if Norman feudal law prevailed in Ireland, I would be the new King of Leinster.

  I should be. That was what Dermot had wanted, had promised me. He had controlled southeastern Ireland for forty-six years.

  It was my turn now.

  When we gathered around the dying man’s bed, I looked at the other faces. His brother Murrough. His son Donal Mac Murrough Kavanaugh. Murtough, Murrough’s son. Three strong men, each wanting to be king. One would be elected. Elected!

  It was a mad way to choose a leader, I thought. Of all the Irish customs, this was one that must go.

  The man who lay on the bed, his breath barely lifting his chest, was only sixty-one years old but he looked much older. As I bent over him he opened his eyes.

  ‘Strongbow? Is that you?’

  I leaned closer so his dimming sight would know me. The other three men frowned. I knew then that they didn’t want me any closer to Dermot.

  ‘I’m here,’ I told the dying king. I leaned even closer, so no one else could hear when I said, ‘I’ve come to remind you of your promise.’

  Weak though he was, he understood. Dermot’s brain never stopped working. ‘The kingship,’ he said hoarsely.