The Price of the King's Peace bt-3

by Nigel Tranter

  being any accepted truce, while both sides regrouped and drew on their

  strength-or so Edward described it. He had had to give up Dundalk

  * where the coronation had taken place-and their farthest south

  outposts were at Downpatrick and the line of the Quoile River, not thirty miles south of Belfast Lough. North of that was in their hands, although there were one or two Anglo-Irish lords holding out. The entire west side of the country was an unknown quantity, although some of the chiefs there believed to be in revolt. In fact, only Ulster was secure-and not all of that, it seemed. Edward might be King of All Ireland, but three-quarters of the country had yet to be convinced of it.

  Not even all the Irish princes were on Edward’s side.

  O’Hanlon’MacMahon, Maguire and MacGoffey were known to be cooperating

  with the English meantime, as well as many lesser chieftains.

  Some would change sides at the first sign of success, no doubt; but the reverse might well apply with others presently accepted as loyal.

  However, all the news was not of this calibre. The English leadership seemed to be having its own troubles. Nobody was very sure who was in command. Sir Edmund Butler, the Justiciar, over whom Edward and Moray had won a victory earlier, had been thereafter replaced, on orders from London, by Roger, Lord Moe timer. But at the same time, a tough and militant cleric, John de Hotham, Bishop of Ely, had been sent over as Chancellor of Ireland, and political overlord, and there was bad blood between him and Mortimer. The de Lacy brothers, important Anglo-Irish Lords of Meath, appeared to be offended at both of these appointments, and with their friends and allies were not exactly in revolt but were refusing to cooperate. Most uncertain of all was Richard de Burgh’s position. As Earl of Ulster he was the greatest of the Anglo-Irish nobles-indeed the native Irish referred to the Anglo Irish as the Race of Richard Burke-as well as the foremost commander in age as in seniority and in rank, of any in Ireland; and had more than once acted as commander-in-chief of Irish forces.

  But he was apparently now only to command in the north-although admittedly that was where the main fighting would be apt to be-and presumably under the authority of both the Bishop and Mortimer. The reason for this was difficult to fathom-although some suggested that it was because de Burgh had been Edward the First’s great crony and comrade-in-arms, and Edward the Second, hating his late father and all his works, might not trust him, might even wish to humiliate him.

  Whatever was behind it all, it seemed to Robert Bruce a situation which should be exploited, and swiftly. But it quickly became apparent that such was not his brother’s opinion, nor that of most of those around him. Let the English squabble amongst themselves, was the reaction. Why interfere, when that would most probably just unite them? Let them grow weaker, while they themselves garnered their strength. Besides, here was no time for campaigning, before the Yuletide festivals were over. Ireland was a notably Christian, not to say, holy, country, the most pious in the western world. They must not offend religious feeling.

  Bruce, aware of how much religious feeling his brother possessed, did

  not take this seriously at first. But as time wore on, he realised

  that it was no laughing matter. Edward was himself quite ruthless

  about religious susceptibilities, strong though they were;

  but he was using them as excuse for delay. He was not ready to move, and he found the peculiar Irish preoccupation with religious form, observance and display convenient to his purpose.

  Certainly that of 1316—17 was the busiest, fullest Yuletide Bruce had ever experienced. Every day for weeks seemed to be a saint’s day-the names of most of which the Scots had never so much as heard. Not that the consequent celebrations were in the main tiresomely sanctimonious, or even very recognisably sacredotal.

  Parades, pageantry, contests, feasting, singing and dancing, even horse-racing, were seemingly all part of the programme of worship, the clerics foremost in promoting all. The rain, which tended to fall daily, did nothing to damp down at least local pious spirits.

  Bruce fretted but conformed. He could, of course, have taken matters into his own hands, and led his Scots force southwards independently. But that would have much offended the Irish, and involved lack of cooperation if not actual hostility on the part of the local populations through which they must pass, a serious matter. Irish politics being what they were, and the Church being so all-pervasive and influential, such a move would have been rash indeed.

  Not that the period of waiting was wholly wasted. It gave time for Scots captains to get to know their Irish forces, as well as for more men to flood in from various parts of Ulster and the North.

  Time also for the integration of the army, and a certain amount of training-though this was scarcely popular. Bruce quickly realised that there was little that he could do to make a more unified force out of the Irish legions, neither themselves nor Edward being prepared to tolerate any such interference. He contented himself with picking out men for a light cavalry force-for which, since he was providing the horses and squadron commanders, they could hardly object. This he prevailed on MacCarthy of Desmond to captain, with Angus Og as liaison, who knew the Irish best from his many mercenary campaigns here. These made a dashing, swift-moving force-if only they could be relied upon to do as they were commanded.

  Working with the Scots, they would form the spearhead of the

  campaign.

  In the end, it was not until the beginning of February, with rumours of de Burgh massing troops at Drogheda, that at long last a start was made from Carrickfergus -inevitably on the Day of the Blessed Brigit, Abbess of Kildare. There were, in fact, two distinct armies-Bruce’s light cavalry host of Scots and selected Irish, to the number of about 9,000; and the great composite mass of Irish gallowglasses, kerns and clansmen, stiffened with Scots veteran captains and some heavy chivalry, unnumbered but probably totalling some 40,000. One was fast, to conduct hard-hitting, swift striking warfare of the sort Bruce had perfected; the other slow, cumbersome, to come along behind, consolidating, occupying, supplying.

  Edward, of course, should have commanded the second and main army-as he did in name; but he was a cavalry commander above all, and he insisted on riding with the first force. In fact, much of the time he was out in front with the advance guard, however unsuitable in a monarch. He had been reluctant to start-for he had wanted the Scots strength to stabilise his hold on his kingdom and defeat his internal enemies-but once committed, typically, he was all fire and energy.

  As much to keep up with Edward as anything else, the cavalry army, after rounding the head of Belfast Lough, dashed the twenty-odd miles south to the limits of their occupied territory on the very first day. Bruce was uneasy at already leaving the main host so far behind-but was more uneasy still when he discovered that Edward’s advance party, finding their welcome insufficiently enthusiastic, had burned the church at Bright, and already sacked the monastery of the walled cathedral town of Downpatrick, where they had proposed to spend the night. This in allegedly friendly country. Admittedly there had been some opposition at Green castle, which had an Anglo-Irish de Courcy lord, and which Edward took with a flourish-but, after all the religious observance, this seemed to be an odd way to start a campaign. Edward had Irish backing, however, for his assertion that this was how wars were conducted in Ireland.

  There being insufficient forage for the thousands of horses at Downpatrick, allegedly St. Patrick’s burial-place, they moved two miles eastwards to the wide abbey-lands of Saul, flanking Strangford Lough, where St. Malachy had built the abbey on the site of the barn wherein St. Patrick held his first Christian service in Ireland, and where there was grass in plenty. There was no getting away from saints and sanctity in this country. Even the grass, it was alleged, would be the better for the horses, in these holy pastures -although this did not prevent Edward’s men from treating the abbot and his monks less than gently. Bruce forbore criticism thus early. Assuming that Edwar
d would remain with his main infantry army, he had underestimated the difficulties of a divided command, and this was his brother’s country.

  Next day they rode so fast and so far that there was little time for

  adventures on the way, and no real opposition showed itself.

  They were still near Ulster, of course, County Louth. Leaving unmolested the Knights Templar castle of Dundrum, they went by Castlewellan and Rathfryland, with the mountains of Mourne on their left, through Newry and Faughart until, at dusk, they came to Dundalk itself, the farthest south of Edward’s penetrations hitherto, where he had been crowned. Ahead lay the English-dominated territories. They were exactly halfway to Dublin in two days.

  The clash of will between the two brothers, which was bound to take place sooner or later, occurred soon after they left Dundalk, on a chill morning of wind and threatening rain. Beyond the ford of the Fane River, the road forked. Edward wanted to drive southeast, straight for Drogheda, the English seaport-base, twenty miles away, while still they held the initiative and at least partial surprise.

  Robert, ever against siegery and time-consuming attacks on fortresses,

  said no. They should make for Dublin itself, fifty miles on. That

  would be totally unexpected, whereas Drogheda might well already be

  expecting attack. Dublin was far too large to be defended in total,

  having long outgrown its walls. It was the capital, and ostensible

  seat of government. Capture of Dublin would rally the whole of

  It was not like Edward to reject anything so bold and vigorous as this. But having declared for Drogheda, his authority was at stake, and he evidently felt bound to insist “Drogheda first,” he. declared.

  “What good Dublin if Drogheda remains a threat at our backs?”

  “Dublin is worth a dozen Droghedas, man. We will cut the line between

  the two. Then your Irish army of foot can move down to seal off

  Drogheda. That is not our task. Let them do it” “No! It is fifty

  miles to Dublin. All the country will be roused before we get there.

  Surprise lost” “Edward-you have the pig by the tail, not the snout! Do

  you not see? Drogheda is the English base-but Dublin is the

  government centre for all Ireland. None will expect us to make

  straight for it At the speed we rode yesterday, we can be there before tomorrow’s dusk. Think of it! Before Bishop Hotham and Mortimer can decide who commands what! Or my good-father Ulster can succour either!”

  “That is why you will not attack Drogheda, I swear!” his brother

  cried.

  “You are afraid to meet Richard de Burgh! Or too nice!

  Your Elizabeth’s sire. Well-I am not! We ride for Drogheda, I

  say.”

  “We do not, Edward,” Bruce said, softly now.

  “Or if you do, we part company.”

  “You … you challenge my word? Mine? Here in Ireland, I’d remind you, I am king, not you!”

  “King you may be, Edward-but I command all Scots forces.

  Not you. On these terms alone I brought them to Ireland. They follow me, in Ireland as in Scotland.”

  “So-o-o! This is your vaunted aid!”

  “This is my aid, yes. Though I never vaunted it. Far from it. I would have preferred to stay in Scotland, where there is much to be done. But … I warned you. I came as a captain, and will continue to act as such.”

  Edward twisted in his saddle, a magnificent figure in his dazzling,

  gold-inlaid black armour and purple cloak, against his brother’s

  somewhat rusty chain-mail, and stared at the group of senior commanders

  who rode just behind, and who could not fail to have heard this

  exchange-Moray, Gilbert Hay, Keith and Marischal, Fraser the

  Chamberlain, Angus of the Isles, de Soulis and MacCarthy of Desmond.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “Who, in Ireland, obeys the King of Ireland?”

  De Soulis moistened his lips.

  “I do, Sire.”

  No one else spoke.

  “And you, MacCarthy?”

  “I must obey my liege lord,” the King of Desmond said, all but

  growled.

  “Since I am vowed to it. But I agree with the Lord Robert. Go for Dublin, I say.”

  With a glare at the level-eyed, silent Scots, Edward faced the front again, and dug in his spurs savagely, to race ahead.

  Bruce and the others made no attempt to catch up with him too soon. At least he took the road that forked towards Dublin, southwest.

  Whatever else, Bruce had thereafter no cause for complaint about the speed at which they made for the capital. A horsed host of thousands travels at the pace of its slowest riders, not its fastest and there was no keeping up with Edward. But even so the main body had reached Slane, on the Boyne, halfway to Dublin, with dark falling, when Bruce called a halt. He had half expected the river-crossing to be held against them. Here was good grass, and meadow-land for camping, and nearby to the south was the fabled Hill of Tara, site of the ancient capital of Ireland and seat of the pagan kings. That day they had engaged in no fighting, assaulted no castles, by-passed all major towns. They were only twenty-five miles from Dublin, and on the edge of the Pale, level with Drogheda nine miles to the east. To have gone farther that night would have been folly. But of Edward there was no sign. Young O’Donnell, son of the King of Tyrconnel, was leading the advance party, with Sir Colin Campbell. Presumably his liege lord had taken over.

  Bruce sent a fast rider after him, to inform that he had halted at

  Slane, in a good defensive position, holding the river’s ford. A

  couple of hours later the courier was back, alone. He announced that His Grace of Ireland was at the small monastery of Skreen, on the side of the Hill of Tara, eight miles on, and entirely comfortable.

  He would stay where he was.

  This would not do. Bruce recognised only too well the dangers of this sort of situation-especially with Richard de Burgh not so far away. Gulping down the last of his meal, dark as it was and raining thinly, he wrapped himself in his cloak, called Gilbert Hay to accompany him, left the army in the care of Moray and told the courier to turn again and lead him to Tara.

  It was an unpleasant ride, over benighted, uneven country, with the streams funning full. Of Tara’s renowned hill they saw only the dark loom as they circled its broken skirts, to come at length to the modest ecclesiastical establishment of Skreen, alleged to have risen on the site of the hermitage of St. Erck, in one of its southern folds.

  Here, the advance guard of 150 men lay at ease-and no sentry saw fit to challenge Bruce’s little party. In the Prior’s room-with no sign of the Prior-Edward lounged before a glowing peat fire, with the young Prince of Tyrconnel.

  “So you have seen fit to honour us with your royal presence!”

  he greeted his brother.

  “Have you eaten? We do very well here.”

  “No doubt. But I did not come here to eat, Edward. I looked for you, and this forward squadron, at Slane. Not eight miles beyond!”

  “Then you should have used your wits, Robert. Where else would the King of Ireland rest, in this corner of his dominions than on Tara’s Hill?”

  “It matters not where the King of Ireland rests the night! Nor the King of Scots, either,” Bruce answered harshly.

  “What matters is where their army rests. And this small monastery on an open hillside, however notable, is not it.”

  “The army, you assure me, is your concern! So be it. Rest it where you will. For myself, I am very well here.”

  Robert bit his lip. He looked from O’Donnel to Hay, and then to whom

  he brought in to aid him. And that his own brother.”

  “Two men may not command a host. Nor a kingdom. Once before, I gave you that answer, you will mind! When I was sick, years back, and you proposed that you should share the Crown of Scotland with me! Both kings. I did not love you for tha
t, I do admit! But it would not have served then. And it will not serve now. Committed to this campaign, I command.”

  “And I? What am I? A lackey, for you to order as you will?

  Great God-I have had enough of that in Scotland!”

  “Not so. I have come here tonight with proposals. Either go back to your own great Irish host, and command that as you will-if it will obey you! Or stay with me and the Scots, as my equal in kingship but accepting my command as captain. Agree to be second in the command of the cavalry host.”

  “Second? When you have our precious nephew Moray, to your hand! And that barbarian Angus Og! And Hay, Keith, and the rest! Do you think that I am witless enough to believe that you may prefer me to any of these? You never have done!”

  His brother opened his mouth for a hot reply, then closed it again. He looked instead into the red glow of the fire.

  “You do not remark on my first proposal? That you go back to your Irish host.

  So… hear what I propose here,” he said levelly.

  “Now that we are like to meet with the enemy at any moment, with de Burgh only an hour or two’s ride away, our present headlong riding will no longer serve. We must advance with a deal greater care-though still fast, if we are to surprise Dublin. And in different formation.

  No longer a small scouting force ahead, and then all the main host Still we need scouts in front, flanking vedettes, and a rearward. But the main host should now be split into two. Say 3,000 and 6,000.

  Each to remain near the other for support, but some way apart, for safety, for easier handling in close country, for better observation of enemy forces. You understand? I offer you command for the first host. Of the 3,000.”

  The other stared.

  “You mean it? Command? Full command?”

  “Full command, under my direction. I retain overall command.

  But within that, this host will be yours. Mainly MacCarthy’s Irish

  horse, but with a stiffening of Scots. How say you?”