1014: Brian Boru & the Battle for Ireland

by Morgan Llywelyn

  The foreign leaders who fought in the Battle of Clontarf were slain as surely as the Irish. Some simply disappeared from history, never to surface again. There are few details as to what happened to the survivors of the invasion force. Presumably a small number made it onto the ships and limped home. In Njal’s Saga, a nobleman in the Hebrides claimed that a warrior had appeared to him in a dream. The bloodspattered stranger said he had come from Ireland. He further related, ‘I died where brave men battled; brands did sing in Erin. Many a mace did shatter mail coats, helms were splintered. Sword fight keen I saw there; Sigurd fell in combat. Blood billowed from death wounds. Brian fell, yet he conquered.’

  A week later an exhausted Hrafn the Red arrived in the court of Sigurd the Stout. He brought the actual news from Ireland, beginning with the earl’s death. After digesting this dismaying information, Sigurd’s trusted retainer Flosi asked, ‘What else can you tell me of our men?’

  Hrafn’s reply was typically succinct. ‘They were all slain there.’

  With admirable restraint compared to the flamboyant hyperbole of other chroniclers, The Annals of Inisfallen relates, ‘There were also slain in that battle Maelmora, son of Murchad the king of Laigin, together with the princes of the Laigin round him, and the foreigners of the western world were slaughtered in the same battle.’ Maelmora himself was killed by Conaing of Desmond, one of the princes who had followed the banner of Brian’s son-in-law.

  It would appear that the turning point of the battle had come when the Irish left Magh Dumha and headed towards the Valley of the Tolka. Until then, through all the mad confusion, they had given the impression of an army in retreat.

  Fifty-two years later William, the bastard duke of Normandy, would employ a similar ruse at the Battle of Hastings. When his warriors could not break through the shield wall Harold Godwine’s men maintained on Senlac Ridge, William dispatched a band of cavalry to gallop away as if in full retreat. Exhilarated by what they perceived as victory, many of the Saxons ran after them. This exposed the main body of their army and Harold, king of England, to the enemy, sealing his doom. William the Bastard became William the Conqueror that day.

  By pursuing the main body of the apparently retreating Irish towards Magh Dumha the invaders had sealed their doom. The major part of the fighting had been contained in the area which included Tomar’s Wood just long enough for the tide to turn – the irresistible spring tide at full flood.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  AFTERWORD

  The dynasty of Brian Boru was almost extinguished at Clontarf. Brian’s unrealised plans and dreams died with his severed head – and with his son and heir Murrough, who shared them and was meant to fulfil them.

  Brian Boru had not united Ireland. What he had done was to unite a number of quarrelsome Irish tribes, a great accomplishment in so divided a culture. He also had united the foreign settlers with the natives, which would prove to be a more lasting achievement. Following the Battle of Clontarf, conflict gradually ceased between Viking and Gael. They became the Irish together and began to form the Ireland we know today. Had Brian’s dynasty remained intact and his descendants inherited his intelligence and strength of character, some of his other plans might have come to fruition. Or perhaps not. We shall never know.

  At least the great battle put a stop to the attempted conquest of Ireland. She would retain her sovereignty unchallenged until the coming of the Normans.

  Later historians would argue about the actual number of casualties on that April day in 1014, but the best estimates place it at over ten thousand. The leaders on both sides had been slain. Their armies were virtually destroyed. The loss of so many men of fighting age would make an appreciable difference to the Irish as well as to the Scandinavians. Thereafter the Vikings would concentrate their efforts on the larger island to the east, and change British history.

  Not everyone in Ireland knew what had occurred at Clontarf. Years later the Battle of Glenmama was still being described as ‘the great battle’. Clontarf had been too overwhelming; it would take a long time for knowledge of the event and its ramifications to trickle down to the populace at large. Outside the sphere of tribal politics ordinary men and women went about their lives free from the insistent clamour of modern communications. Many lived their entire lives without knowing what happened thirty miles away. Several generations would pass before every child in Ireland was familiar with the name of Brian Boru.

  During his lifetime Brian was not universally loved. There were chieftains of the Gael who would not be sorry to learn that he was dead, sensing that in the vacuum left behind there might be some advantage to themselves. But first he must be buried; he was the Árd Rí, and recognised as exceptional even by his enemies.

  When they learned of Brian’s death, monks from the monastery of Sord-Colum-cille, modern-day Swords, rushed to the battlefield to collect his body. According to tradition, a warrior king was carried from the battlefield on the shields of his men. On the way to Swords, Brian may have been surrounded by the heads of his slain captains, serving as a grisly honour guard. If so, this is a harkening back to pagan times that would not have been approved by the clergy. The claim that Brian’s sword was laid on his body and a crucifix placed in his hands has not been disputed. His life had been a balancing act between these two symbols.

  The monks carried the body of the slain high king to the religious house of St Kieran to be washed and prepared for burial. Meanwhile, messengers were dispatched to Armagh. Archbishop Marianus immediately hurried southward with members of his clergy to supervise the carrying of Brian’s body to St Patrick’s Cathedral at Armagh. There, amidst splendid trappings and unparalleled demonstrations of public mourning, Brian Boru was waked for twelve days and twelve nights, the longest wake in Irish history. The tradition of the wake recalls the ancient belief that the spirit lingers near the body for several days after death.

  For this occasion the various princes of the Uí Néill put aside whatever reservations they had about the Dalcassian usurper and joined in what seems to have been a genuine outpouring of grief.

  After his wake the Árd Rí was laid to rest in solitary splendour in a new tomb of hewn marble at the north side of the cathedral, the traditional side for heroes fallen in battle. It is generally believed that his son Murrough was placed in a separate tomb nearby, but there is another intriguing possibility. On the last night of his life Murrough supposedly told his comrades that he would like to rest at Kilmainham when the battle was over. Could the granite shaft in Bully’s Acre with its crudely carved sword mark the final resting place of Brian Boru’s oldest son?

  The Armagh Cathedral of today is a late nineteenth-century reconstruction which replaced a thirteenth-century structure on the site of a still older timber building that was destroyed by fire in 1020. Presumably this last was where Brian was entombed. The exact location of his tomb has long since been lost.

  After allowing the tattered remnants of the Irish army several days’ rest on Fair Green, young Donough claimed command and they began the long march home, carrying their wounded on litters. During this march they were attacked by Mac Gilla Patrick, prince of Ossory, who was an old enemy of the Dalcassians. Donough ordered the ill and injured to stand aside from the battle, but their fighting spirit remained intact. They insisted on cutting stakes from the forest and tying themselves to them so they could face the enemy on their feet. Observing this, the men of Ossory supposedly were shamed and refused to fight them. It was left to Mac Gilla Patrick himself to follow the survivors of Clontarf and harry them from behind.

  It was a bad omen. With Brian Boru gone, the unity he had tried so hard to encourage started to disintegrate. The tribes of Thomond and Desmond went their separate ways. The Owenachts and the Dalcassians began to quarrel over the kingship of Munster.

  Malachy Mór, whose adherents insisted he was the real hero of Clontarf – Malachy himself modestly made no such claim – succeeded Brian Boru as high king. There was no one else of suff
icient stature and the title was given to him by common consent, although without formality. Once again, Malachy did his best. But he was getting old himself, and his second term of office was no more memorable than his first. There were no real achievements: frenetic little battles for his warriors, sumptuous banquets for his friends.

  Malachy reigned as Árd Rí for eight more years, after which he retired to an island in Lough Ennel to spend his last days in prayer and contemplation. When he died – like Brian, in his seventy-third year – the annals celebrated Malachy Mór as ‘the pillar of the dignity and nobility of the west of the world’.

  By this time the Norse who had settled in Ireland had become the Hiberno-Norse, having adopted not only the customs of their neighbours but also their language. As for the Danes, an old Irish manuscript states that after Clontarf, ‘no Danes were left in Ireland except for such a number of merchants and artisans in the cities as could be easily mastered if they dared to rebel.’ In the years to come there were very few new arrivals, and none interested in making Ireland a Scandinavian kingdom.

  After Malachy Mór’s death Ireland had no universally recognised over-king. The affairs of the kingdom were administered for a brief time by a poet-historian called Cian Ua Lochlan and a cleric from Lismore, known as Corcoran. Their exact functions are unknown, but the Annals of Clonmacnois claim that during their tenure ‘the land was governed like a free state and not like a monarchy’.

  This soon gave way to a confused period during which kings from both Munster and Connacht competed to become the Árd Rí. Known as ‘kings in opposition’ rather than high kings, they lacked sufficient support outside of their own tribes. They became little more than a footnote in Irish history, another pitiful example of divisiveness.

  The first of these was Brian Boru’s youngest son, Donough. When his half-brother Tadhg followed in the family tradition by being elected as king of Munster, Donough set out to plunder neighbouring kingdoms as the first step towards winning the high kingship for himself. He forced Leinster, Ossory and Meath to give him hostages as tokens of their submission, but his hollow claim to be Árd Rí was never fully accepted.

  Tadhg also was finding kingship difficult to maintain. In 1019 there was a revolt against him in Clare in which which Donough lost his right hand. In 1023 Tadhg was killed, ostensibly by one of the rebellious tribes, although many believed Donough was the instigator. He may not have inherited the noble qualities of his late father, but Donough certainly had his share of ambition.

  When Tadhg was dead, Donough claimed the kingship of Munster. He lacked the military strength to hold it. For the sake of his father the Dalcassians supported him, but they would have to wait for another generation of warriors to mature after the massive losses at Clontarf before they could field a substantial army. Taking full advantage of their weakness, the Owenachts seized Cashel.

  The Irish victory at Clontarf had been a mixed blessing. In the short term it had prevented a foreign conquest, but in the long term the loss of Brian Boru was a disaster. The subsequent reversion to tribalism and the resulting lack of a cohesive overall policy of defence left Ireland vulnerable to invasion.

  Malachy Mór had been the last true Árd Rí. After him the title would cease to have any meaning. There would be a total of six ‘kings in opposition’. The bad-tempered struggle between Gaelic princes seeking supreme power would continue until the death of Ruaidri O’Connor of Connacht in 1198.

  Although he had not shown himself as a hero during the Battle of Clontarf, Sitric Silkbeard continued to rule as king of Dublin. The royal household included both his wife, Emer, who was Brian Boru’s daughter, and Sitric’s mother, Gormlaith, whose undying hatred for Brian must have kept the home fires blazing. Perhaps it was Sitric’s punishment for his sins to be caught between these two women.

  Like the Vikings, Sitric Silkbeard was not all bad. He was instrumental in gaining Dublin a reputation abroad as a major trading centre, even though it was not the political centre of Ireland. Under his influence the city became Christianised. Several years after Gormlaith died, Sitric built a church in 1030 which he dedicated to St Olaf, perhaps in honour of his father, Olaf Cuaran, or one of his own sons by the same name who was killed by the Saxons while on a pilgrimage to Rome. St Olaf’s eventually was replaced by Christchurch Cathedral, which still stands today. It is very close to the site of the ancient Viking palace. Sitric died in 1042 on another pilgrimage to Rome, but is best known by historians for introducing coinage into Ireland.

  Of all those who fought and died on that Good Friday in Ireland, only Brian Boru would be honoured by subsequent generations as a great hero. Mythology aside, from his actions it is apparent that he was as different from most men of his time as were Caesar or Charlemagne from the men of theirs. Brian must have possessed great determination and a powerful ego to sustain him through his long life. After his wild youth he grew into a thoughtful, mature individual who tried whenever possible to behave with honour. No one knows just what dreams Brian dreamed for Ireland. But he was a man who made careful plans. And he was well aware of the larger world.

  Had Brian and his sons survived the Battle of Clontarf the subsequent history of Ireland might have been very different. When the time came, Murrough would have made a formidable high king. He had the necessary gifts: courage and education and a strong tribe behind him. In addition, he was a proven leader who inspired others. It is likely that his younger brothers would have supported him rather than seeking the title for themselves. They appear to have been a close family … until the shock of Clontarf.

  Thanks to Brian’s efforts, Murrough was well prepared to continue the work his father had begun. Based on what Brian already had achieved it is not unreasonable to assume that this would include the establishment of a centralised form of governance, as well as a strong standing army to protect the country from future invaders. The freedom and sovereignty of Ireland might have been secured for centuries to come.

  Sadly, the next wave of invaders encountered neither a standing army nor a unified people. Tribal warfare was once more endemic. The Normans, led by Strongbow, opened the gate to Ireland in 1170. Within a few years the English marched in.

  KINCORA

  Oh, where, Kincora! is Brian the Great?

  And where is the beauty that once was thine?

  Oh, where are the princes and nobles that sate

  At the feast in thy halls, and drank the red wine?

  Where, oh, Kincora?

  Oh, where, Kincora! are thy valorous lords?

  Oh, whither, thou Hospitable, are they gone?

  Oh, where are the Dalcassians of the Golden Swords?

  And where are the warriors Brian led on?

  Where, oh, Kincora?

  And where is Murrough, the descendant of kings –

  The defeater of a hundred – the daringly brave –

  Who set but slight store by jewels and rings –

  Who swam down the torrent and laughed at its wave?

  Where, oh, Kincora?

  And where is Donough, King Brian’s worthy son?

  And where is Conaing, the Beautiful Chief?

  And Kian, and Corc, alas! They are gone –

  They have left me this night alone with my grief.

  Left me, Kincora!

  And where are the chiefs with whom Brian went forth,

  The ne’er vanquished sons of Erin the Brave,

  The great king of Onacht, renowned for his worth,

  And the hosts of Baskinn, from the western wave?

  Where, oh, Kincora?

  Oh, where is Duvlann of the swift-footed Steeds?

  And where is Cian, who was son of Molloy?

  And where is King Lonergan, the fame of whose deeds

  In the red battlefield no time can destroy?

  Where, oh, Kincora?

  And where is that youth of majestic height,

  The faith keeping Prince of the Scots? – Even he,

  As wide as his fame
was, as great as his might,

  Was tributary, oh, Kincora, to thee!

  Thee, oh, Kincora!

  They are gone, those heroes of royal birth,

  Who plundered no churches, and broke no trust,

  ’Tis weary for me to be living on earth

  While they, oh, Kincora, lie low in the dust!

  Low, oh, Kincora!

  Oh, never again will princes appear

  To rival the Dalcassians of Cleaving Swords!

  I can never dream of meeting, afar or anear,

  In the east or the west, such heroes and lords!

  Never, Kincora!

  Dear are the images my memory calls up

  Of Brian Boru! – how he would never miss

  To give me at the banquet the first bright cup!

  Oh, why did he heap on me honour like this?

  Why, oh, Kincora?

  I am Mac Liag, and my home is on the lake;

  Thither often, to that place whose beauty has fled,

  Came Brian to ask me, and I went for his sake,

  Oh, my grief! that I should live, and Brian be dead!

  Dead, oh, Kincora?

  Attributed to Mac Liag (c. 1015)

  Translated from the Irish by James Clarence Mangan (1803-1849)

  SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

  Almgren, Bertil, Prof., chief contributor, THE VIKING. Crescent Books, New York, by arrangement with AB Nordbok, Gothenburg, Sweden: 1975

  Bardon, Jonathan, and Conlin, Stephen, DUBLIN; ONE THOUSAND YEARS OF WOOD QUAY. The Blackstaff Press, Belfast: 1984