Granuaile did her best to meet them. She built strong new galleys and began attacking merchant ships on their way to Galway. Since the English had closed the port to the O’Flaherties, she felt it was only fair. The men were overjoyed. They raised a loud cheer in Granuaile’s name each morning before they set sail, and at night they remembered her in their prayers. Her name was given to their daughters.
When Donal accused her of stealing the love of his people she told him, ‘All I have done is remind them of who they are. I have given them their pride back. Without that, one has nothing.’
‘You have enough pride for ten,’ Donal snapped. ‘Someday I hope it will destroy you.’
As her children grew older, her husband’s temper grew worse. Granuaile spent most of her time on shipboard. While she was at sea a member of the O’Flaherty clan, Murrough of the Battle-Axes, began troubling the land. He was young, strong and even fonder of battle than Donal-an-Chogaidh. Murrough led his followers as far south as Thomond and the barony of Clare. There he won a great victory over the Anglo-Norman earl of Clanrickard. Many men were slain.
Clanrickard complained to the English, reminding them of his relationship with the Crown. He demanded support against Murrough of the Battle-Axes. But rather than face Murrough on the battlefield, the English set out to buy him. In return for his submission they named him chieftain of Iar Connacht – The O’Flaherty. The old chieftain was stripped of his title without his people having anything to say about it.
Donal was wild with fury. Granuaile tried to calm him before he did something foolish. ‘If the English can overthrow Gaelic law and unmake our elected chieftains,’ she said, ‘they now have more power than we do. Be cautious, husband. Bide your time and plan carefully before you act.’
But Donal O’Flaherty was incapable of planning carefully.
One of the leading Anglo-Norman families in Connacht was the Joyce clan. They were profiting mightily from the port of Galway, so they made a great noise about supporting the English – and Murrough of the Battle-Axes.
For all his bold talk, Donal-an-Chogaidh was not quite brave enough to attack the English. Instead he declared that he would kill every Joyce within a day’s march.
Donal launched a surprise attack upon a Joyce stronghold at Lough Corrib. Anger strengthens the arm. He succeeded in driving out the Joyces and occupying their castle, which stood on an island in the lake. Donal set a guard around the castle and then sent for Granuaile. He wanted to show her what he had accomplished without her help.
She found her husband strutting around the place, dressed in his finest clothes. ‘I am the cock of the castle now!’ he boasted.
‘You have only a toehold here,’ she warned him. ‘I know something of strategy, and I suggest you secure the lakeshore nearest the island.’
But Donal’s head was swollen with victory. ‘Why should I listen to a woman’s blatherings? The Joyces will not dare to come back. They know I have bested them.’
A few days later he left the island to go hunting in the woods on the shore. There the Joyces caught and killed him. The cheer they raised rang across the lake.
With Donal O’Flaherty dead, the Joyces thought his men would panic and surrender the castle to them. From the ramparts, Granuaile could see them putting boats in the water and rowing toward the island.
She met them with a battle-axe and a loaded musket.
Donal’s men fell in behind her, and together they slew many of the Joyces. The few survivors barely made it back to their boats. ‘Tell your kinsmen that Granuaile holds this island now!’ Donal’s widow called to their fleeing backs.
Since that day, the castle in Lough Corrib has been known as The Hen’s Castle.
Granuaile mourned her husband to the exact degree required by tradition, but no more. She hired the best keening women to grieve publicly. But she did not tear her hair, nor did she rend her clothes. ‘Men often die in battle,’ she was heard to remark.
By killing the Joyces she had made dangerous enemies. Sooner or later they would come after her. Granuaile was not willing to sit with folded hands and wait for them.
By this time her sons were grown and going their own way. One was living at Bunowen, the other at Ballinahinch. When the old, former O’Flaherty chieftain took up arms to challenge Murrough of the Battles, they joined him.
Meanwhile, Granuaile’s daughter Margaret had become betrothed to one of the Bourkes, a man known as The Devil’s Hook. The nickname came from his territory of Curraun on Achill Island. With Margaret married, there was nothing to keep Granuaile in Iar Connacht any longer.
‘I am free to return to Umhall Uí Mháille,’ she wrote to her father, Dubhdara. ‘I am coming home.’
Two hundred of Donal’s men chose to go with her.
For Granuaile, it was an unforgettable homecoming. The years since have not dimmed its bright memory.
When the fleet from the south first appeared on the horizon, a lookout on Clare Island raised a shout of alarm. ‘The O’Flaherties are coming!’ Even if they were allies, one could never be certain. This might be a raid.
Then observers noticed a banner fluttering in the prow of the lead galley. It was not the flag of the O’Flaherties, with its red lions. This one showed a white seahorse against a blue ground.
‘Granuaile!’ a man shouted suddenly. He threw off his cloak and began waving it over his head in welcome.
Granuaile did not make landfall at Clare Island. She swept into Clew Bay and made straight for the anchorage at Belclare.
Her father, the man they called the Black Oak, was no longer young, no longer strong. Yet he stood as straight as ever on the shore. His wife was beside him. Soon Granuaile’s half-brother, Donal of the Pipes, arrived hot-foot from his fort at Cathair-na-Mart to share in the celebration of her return.
She did not wait for her boat to be beached, but leaped out and waded through the shallows, holding up her skirts, splashing and laughing. Granuaile had left Clew Bay as a girl. She returned as a woman. A lean, muscular, windburnt woman, her heavy black hair parted in the middle and wearing gold Spanish bracelets from wrist to elbow.
Dubhdara noticed that the men who accompanied her stayed respectfully behind her. The cast of their faces marked them as O’Flaherties.
She greeted her father and mother lovingly, then nodded a greeting to her half-brother, who was gaping at her with his mouth ajar. Her dark eyes twinkled with amusement at his surprise. Then she turned back to her father.
‘I have come back to stay, Dubhdara,’ she said.
That night in the great hall at Belclare she heard the latest news. The O’Malleys were still fiercely independent. But the English were demanding that The MacWilliam pay rent on land the Bourke clan had held for generations. Dubhdara was furious. ‘This is extortion! Why should anyone pay money to foreigners in order to live on their own land?’
Granuaile took a long, thoughtful drink from the pewter tankard she held. ‘Elizabeth Tudor has a long reach,’ she said.
A few days later the O’Malleys gave a huge banquet to celebrate Granuaile’s homecoming. People came from all around Clew Bay. One of the guests was Richard Bourke, the man known as Richard-in-Iron.
Chapter Eleven
A Pirate at Work
Usually spring on the Atlantic is a season of winds and storms. The year of 1575 is different. The sun is uncommonly frequent, and the sea is uncommonly quiet. Summer arrives before its time, with gathering heat and heavy, still air.
The first of the summer merchantmen is becalmed just outside Clew Bay.
Standing in the prow of her favourite galley, Granuaile lifts her arm and points toward the vessel. ‘See there!’ she shouts to her men. ‘With her hold so full of cargo she rides low in the water, our prey is waiting!’
The broad-beamed Dutch cargo ship is laying on all the sail it has, but the canvas hangs limp in the moist still air. The rowers grunt like pigs as they beat the water with their oars. They cannot hope to outrun the Irish
galleys.
Granuaile’s fleet encircles them as hounds encircle a wild boar.
The skirmish is brisk and brief. Within half an hour, the she-king of the western seas stands on the deck of the Dutch ship. Her men are shifting the cargo to their own boats. They are laughing and jesting. The Dutch sailors, who have nothing to laugh about, stand sullenly watching. If they are lucky they will escape with their lives.
The captain of the ship is a stocky Dutchman with a broad, red face. He still cannot quite believe he has been boarded by a woman. It is humiliating. He shakes his fist at her and she laughs.
No woman has ever laughed at him before, and certainly not on his own ship. A muscle jumps in his jaw.
When the last packing case has been transferred to the waiting galleys, Granuaile leaps nimbly down onto her flagship. ‘Thank you for your generosity!’ she calls to the Dutchman. He does not understand Irish but he understands insult. As the galley pulls away he runs to his cabin and returns with a pistol. He props both his arms on the gunwale and takes careful aim. The distance between the two ships is swiftly widening, but he is a good shot.
And lucky.
June, the Year of Our Lord 1575, Clare Island
My dear Toby,
At this season I am usually at sea. A slight injury – nothing you need worry about – is keeping me on the island a little longer. My shoulder is giving me some trouble but my right hand is undamaged, thank God. So I can write to you.
Are you well, my son? Are the priests teaching you as I have instructed them? Learn your letters, study Latin, and memorise the names of the major seaports. Your older brothers by Donal O’Flaherty are merely simple warriors, all strength and shouting. I want more than that for you. Against an enemy as powerful as the English it is necessary to fight with one’s brain. Fortunately you and I both inherited good brains.
It saddens me to tell you that my beloved Dubhdara is dying. Your grandfather is like an ancient oak tree that has fallen in the forest and is slowly crumbling away. I continue to captain the fleet and support his people. I cannot say what the future holds, but be assured I shall do my best.
Always,
Granuaile
Chapter Twelve
The Long Arm of Elizabeth
A year later, Sir Henry Sidney arrives in Connacht with a large force of soldiers. He demands that the Irish chieftains and Anglo-Norman lords come to meet him in Galway at once. If they refuse, their land and property will be seized.
Richard Bourke, as leader of one branch of the Bourke clan, is not considered important enough to be summoned to Galway. The MacWilliam, chief of all the Bourkes, goes, however. In addition to his earlier submission, this time he agrees to uphold English law in Mayo and to raise an army of two hundred men in the name of the Crown. In return for his promises The MacWilliam is granted a knighthood.
Richard Bourke is jealous, but Granuaile is contemptuous. ‘Earldoms. Knighthoods. Apparently with a wave of her hand Elizabeth can make anyone noble, even a fool or a scoundrel!’ she says.
Dubhdara’s kinsman Melaghlin has been elected chieftain of the O’Malleys. He travels to Galway and gives the submission Dubhdara never would. Melaghlin claims it is the only way he can protect O’Malley lands from seizure. He says he has no choice.
But Granuaile refuses to believe that. There is always a choice.
The English she-king may have forced an O’Malley submission. But she did not get one from Granuaile.
Most of the Irish are indifferent to the growing power of Elizabeth Tudor. At one time, Ireland had more than two hundred tribal kings. These owed loyalty to their provincial kings, who in turn acknowledged a high king as overlord. It made little difference to the common people. Their lives were the same no matter who ruled.
They do not expect things to change under a monarch who lives far away.
Granuaile does not accept the situation so calmly. She has observed the English taking control of Iar Connacht by overthrowing Gaelic law. The new order has not been created for the benefit of Irish people.
The English are gnawing away at their freedom, bit by bit.
When Richard Bourke comes to visit her at Rockfleet, Granuaile lies awake at night listening to him snore. She is amazed that he can sleep so deeply. She does not sleep well any more, but his snoring is not the problem.
Staring up into the gloom above the bed, Granuaile tries to imagine the face of Elizabeth of England.
Chapter Thirteen
Kidnap
September, the Year of Our Lord 1576, Rockfleet
My dear Toby,
I have played the most marvellous prank on one of Elizabeth’s lords. You will enjoy this.
The purpose of my most recent voyage to Scotland was to bring back Scottish gallowglasses for Hugh Dubh O’Donnell, chief of Tyrconnell. Gallowglasses are huge and fearsome mercenaries. O’Donnell’s wife, a daughter of the earl of Argyll, insists they are the best fighting men in the world. She may be right. I have made a small fortune importing them for the northern chieftains.
Returning from Scotland, I called in at Dublin port to resupply my fleet before sailing for Ulster and home. While I waited for my ships to be loaded, I went to call upon the lord of Howth and request hospitality. I expected Christopher St Lawrence to uphold the Irish tradition, as most of the Anglo-Normans do.
When I arrived I found the gates of Howth Castle locked. The gatekeeper told me that Lord St Lawrence was at his dinner and would not be disturbed. Imagine!
As I was going back down the road toward the harbour I chanced upon a boy playing. A dear little lad, with bright eyes and rosy cheeks. He reminded me of you. I stopped to chat with him and discovered that he was the lord’s son. So I took him away with me.
When we returned to Clew Bay I sent a message to the high and mighty Lord St Lawrence. I told him I was holding his son hostage. He hurried to Mayo, which he had never seen before and is unlikely to visit again. The lord of Howth came to Rockfleet in a most humble way, it did my heart good to see his improved attitude.
The boy would be returned safely, I said, upon receipt of St Lawrence’s promise that the gates of his castle would never again be closed against anyone requesting hospitality. Furthermore, an extra place must always to be set at table in case I should return. The lord of Howth agreed to my demands most eagerly.
He gave me a heavy gold ring in pledge of our pact. Irish red gold, I noticed. Taken from ourselves no doubt.
I entertained St Lawrence as he should have entertained me, with platters heaped high and goblets overflowing. Then I sent him home with his son – whom he loves as much as I love mine.
Always,
Granuaile
The sense of defiance is growing in Granuaile. She has brought one of the great lords to heel, made him come crawling to her. It is a heady feeling.
She continues to use the sea for fishing and trading, but also begins raiding farmsteads along the coast. Granuaile never attacks O’Malleys or Bourkes, but anyone else who is friendly with the New English can expect an unpleasant visit.
She works her way around the hinterlands of Clew Bay, capturing a castle here, a stronghold there. She takes control of the island of Inishbofin, where merchant ships stop to take on fresh water. Granuaile begins charging them for the water. She also impounds the boats of the islanders. Deprived of their means of livelihood, the men of Inishbofin elect to join Granuaile.
Her raiding intensifies.
New complaints against the pirate queen pour in to the governor of Connacht, Sir Henry Sidney.
Chapter Fourteen
Negotiating with the Enemy
In February of 1577 Henry Sidney marches on Castle Barry, the stronghold of Edmund Bourke. Edmund Bourke has long resisted the New English. Sidney seizes his castle and gives it to Shane MacOliverus, The MacWilliam. The message is obvious – the Bourkes who surrender will be rewarded, the rest will suffer.
Sidney’s deed splits the Bourke clan. Granuaile admits to herself t
hat it is good military strategy.
‘No English man with grasping hands will ever enter the portal of Rockfleet,’ Granuaile says defiantly to Richard-in-Iron, ‘because this castle is no longer a Bourke holding. Not since you surrendered it to me.’
‘You are a clever woman,’ he replies, amused rather than angry.
‘Richard, we must go together and meet Sidney when he returns to Galway.’
He is astonished. ‘Sidney will not see you. A mere woman!’
Richard has never understood Granuaile. But he no longer argues with her.
Taking three of her largest galleys and two hundred fighting men, a mixed force of O’Malleys and O’Flaherties, they sail boldly into Galway Bay. The English understand bribes. They will surely recognise the value of this one.
Granuaile and Richard are shown into the castle where Sir Henry Sidney has his apartments. It is a cold, dark, gloomy place with a vile odour. Granuaile cannot help wrinkling her nose in distaste. She is used to having the sea wind in her nostrils. The New English do not bathe and every place they occupy smells sour.
Sidney has seen any number of major and minor chieftains, but he has never before faced an Irish woman who leads men in her own right. Granuaile strides into his audience chamber with her head high, as befits a sheking. As far as Granuaile is concerned, Sidney is an underling.
He sits behind a long oaken table piled high with documents. His clothing is dusty and his eyes are tired. ‘He is not as big as I expected,’ Granuaile whispers to Richard behind her hand.
Speaking to Sidney in the Latin tongue they both understand, she tells him that she knows the exact number of Elizabeth’s ships and the size and armaments of their crews. ‘They are not enough to subdue this coast,’ she assures him. ‘Not if the seafaring tribes of the west stand against you.’
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