Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
Strongbow (7 page)
I hated my father’s enemies as much as he did. If I could have done, I would have beaten O’Connor and O’Rourke and their allies with my fists. I would have hurled stones at them and run spears through them.
Since I couldn’t, I was glad Father had found men who would.
The one called Strongbow was not the only Norman who had sold his sword to us, though Father said he was the most important. He explained this to his two families, gathered in the borrowed house that was our home until he became king again, and could reclaim Ferns.
‘This Strongbow held noble titles in England and is a very experienced warrior,’ Father told us. ‘He’s a man who hates to lose as much as I do, which is one of the things I like about him. If I’m any judge of men, he’s cold enough and hard enough and hungry enough to do just what I need.
‘While waiting for him to gather the men he needs, I didn’t sit idle, however. At the suggestion of FitzHarding I went deep into the heart of Wales, and found other willing warriors, including a man called FitzStephen, who was imprisoned in a dungeon with no prospects at all. I arranged for his release, so he owes me a debt.
‘FitzStephen has followers of his own, as does a man called Maurice FitzGerald, whom I also spoke to. The two of them, like Strongbow, are going to fight for me. In fact, they’ll be arriving in
Ireland soon, even before Strongbow.’
‘Aside from getting FitzStephen out of prison, what rewards have you offered these men?’ asked Donal Mac Murrough Kavanaugh.
Father’s eyes twinkled. ‘I’ve promised FitzStephen and FitzGerald the town of Wexford,’ he said.
Wexford! We howled with laughter.
Wiping away the tears of mirth that were streaming from his eyes, Donal said, ‘There’s no man as clever as you! Wexford belongs to the Norse – you’ll be giving away something that isn’t even yours to give!’
Father chuckled too. ‘Of course. Why should I give something of my own, something valuable to me, to some man I took out of a dungeon? When FitzStephen arrives the Norse will stand against him, as they’re loyal to the High King at the moment. If he defeats them he helps defeat my enemies, so he’s welcome to the marshes and bogs of Wexford. I’ve no liking for them anyway.’
We laughed again, but Donal, who had a head on him, had not finished asking questions. ‘You didn’t take the man called Strongbow out of a dungeon,’ he pointed out. ‘You said he had noble titles. What have you offered him? Surely something better than marshland and bogland.’
Father’s senior wife jumped to her feet. ‘Not my jewels!’ cried Mor.
‘Of course not. Those are your own property under the law. How could I give them away?’
‘You’re giving away Wexford,’ I said, which set us all to laughing even harder.
Just then a messenger arrived. He was a barefoot boy with streaks of dirt on his face. His saffron-coloured tunic was torn as if he had run through briars. His face was pale.
‘I seek Dermot Mac Murrough,’ the lad said.
Father scraped back his bench and stood up. ‘You have found him.’
The boy approached him very slowly, as if an unseen hand was pushing him from behind. He looked as if he was afraid of Father. What had he been told about Dermot Mac Murrough to frighten him so? Stammering, he managed to say, ‘I b…bring word of your son, the one called Enna. He has been b…b…blinded by those holding him hostage.’
Father’s face went white as milk. Mother gasped. Her eyes rolled back in her head. I caught her in my arms, but over her head I kept my eyes on Father. He stood unmoving as a standing stone.
Enna’s eyes could not be restored. Enna’s sight was gone forever.
Tears burned in my throat like fire, like hate.
I remembered Enna’s blue eyes dancing as he taught me the song about the blue cow. Being ill so often had forced him to study more than the rest of us did, and he had become a fine scholar. Then he had begun to outgrow his illness, to become strong as well as wise. He might have made a king, someday.
Blinded, mutilated, he could never be a king. It was against the law. Enna must spend his life being cared for by others. Helpless. Humiliated. Just because he was his father’s son!
I had never seen my father stand as tall, or look as fierce, as he did that day with his grief upon him. For the first time I understood why others might be afraid of him. When he spoke, his hoarse voice echoed from the rafters below the thatch.
‘They have blinded my son,’ he said. ‘They have insulted my blood, denied my kingship … and ruined Enna’s life. O’Rourke, O’Connor and their allies have reached into the heart of my family to do their terrible work. They didn’t do this to me, but to one of my children. To one of my children!’
His voice rose to a shriek of fury. ‘You asked what I offered to Strongbow? I shall tell you. To the man who destroys my enemies I would give anything. Anything!’ He raised his clenched fists above his head with a sob of pure agony.
The pain ran through all of us. For a moment, I felt as if it was my own eyes that had been put out.
Much, much later, Father sought me out. He came to the chamber where I was caring for Mother, and asked me to walk with him.
Together we paced across the fields. The leaves would soon burst into glorious green and the sun was shining on our bare heads, but we couldn’t feel its warmth. I knew we both felt the same inside. Cold and angry and bitter.
At last Father said, ‘Would you be willing to do anything I asked of you, Aoife?’
‘I would of course. Anything!’
‘Don’t be so quick to make that promise, even to me,’ Father warned. ‘Promises can be… dangerous.’
‘You wouldn’t make me do anything dangerous.’
‘I cannot make you do this at all. Under our law, you must be willing to marry the man. No one can force you.’
I stopped in my tracks. ‘Marry?’
‘Marry. Richard de Clare.’
Suddenly I understood. Donal had asked Father what he had promised Strongbow.
‘You offered
me
as a reward!’ I accused.
Father would not meet my eyes.
‘You had no right,’ I said. ‘Under the law I’m a free person. You taught me that yourself.’
‘I had no right,’ he agreed in a soft, sad voice, nodding his greying head. ‘But when Strongbow arrives in Ireland and sees how many enemies I have, and how strong they are, he may regret coming. I had to offer him something valuable enough to make him willing to stay. And you’re more valuable to me than anything else, Aoife.
‘Will you do it for me? Will you marry Strongbow, for me?’
My head was spinning. I was of an age to marry, I had survived sixteen winters. But I didn’t think about marriage all that often. Unlike
my sisters, I had other interests.
Yet how could I refuse Father? He was asking something very important of me, something that only I could do for him.
Besides, I would marry someone. Sometime. Why not a Norman knight who was a great warrior?
‘Tell me about Strongbow,’ I said.
I could hear the relief in Father’s voice. ‘He’s a man of almost my own age, Aoife, but still very strong, very powerful. Tall, with long arms. Skilled with the bow. Yet he’s most courteous in his manner, almost gentle. It must come from his French background, his Norman blood.’
He didn’t sound too bad, this Strongbow. My father’s age, rather than some bold young lad, but I didn’t mind about that. I loved my father, I could love a husband of his years as easily.
Still, there was something about that name. ‘The first time I heard you say “Strongbow”,’ I told Father, ‘I felt a chill on my heart.’
‘It is a name to cause fear,’ he agreed. ‘And what’s wrong with that? I want to strike fear into my enemies. But I promise you, Aoife, you need not fear the man. He’ll make you a fine husband, there’s noble blood in him. And I’ll see to it that the two of you want for nothing.’
‘Has he any wives across the sea?’
Father was too sad to laugh, but the corner of his lip curved upward just a little. ‘The Normans only take one wife at a time,’ he told me, ‘and Richard de Clare is a widower.’
‘So I’ll be his senior wife, if I accept him?’
‘His only wife, according to Norman custom.’
‘What if he doesn’t want me once he sees me?’
Now Father did laugh in spite of himself. ‘Oh Aoife, Aoife!’
I was Father’s favourite, and he thought any man would prize me. But I wasn’t so sure.
Silently, I promised myself that when I met this Strongbow I would
have stones in my plaits, and if he didn’t like me I would hit him. If he tried to refuse me and go against Father’s wishes, I would hit him terribly hard!
While I travelled the countryside gathering fighting men who were willing to sell their swords to Dermot Mac Murrough, Robert FitzHarding followed events in Ireland. Ships putting into Bristol brought frequent news across the Irish Sea to him. From time to time he sent messengers to me.
One messenger caught up with me when I returned to the castle to resupply. He gave me a lot to think about. When we had fed him a meal and sent him on his way, I went to talk to Basilia.
Talking to Basilia was always good for me. I could see things more clearly in my mind when I explained them to her.
We sat together on a stone bench in the courtyard, enjoying a rare ray of sunshine. The season had been cold and grey.
‘Tell me about the Irish king,’ Basilia said eagerly. She loved to hear tales from across the sea. They weren’t real to her, she listened as if they were only stories. But she enjoyed them, even if she didn’t understand that they were about real life-and-death matters.
‘Dermot of Leinster has gone into hiding,’ I told her. ‘He doesn’t want his enemies to know he’s back in Ireland. He’s keeping his head down in an Augustinian monastery in Ferns. Meanwhile, his brother Murrough – whom the Irish High King named as King of Leinster – is rebuilding Dermot’s old palace. I suspect he’s not doing it for himself,
but for Dermot. Dermot will surely expect to live in it again, just as he intends to be King of Leinster again.’
‘He must be a brave man,’ Basilia said. ‘But not as brave as my brother, of course.’ She smiled at me.
I smiled back. ‘He’ll need to be brave. The Irish High King and his friend, O’Rourke, have learned that Dermot is back. It couldn’t long be kept a secret. They know he’s brought a few warriors with him from England, and the High King thinks that Murrough has betrayed him for Dermot’s sake. Which is probably true.
‘So, I understand, O’Connor and O’Rourke are hastily gathering an army to teach Dermot a lesson.’
Basilia’s eyes were as round as bowls. ‘Oooo! Will they kill him?’ To her it was only an exciting tale.
She could hardly wait until the next messenger arrived with more news from Ireland. Then I was able to tell her, ‘Though he wasn’t prepared for battle, Dermot Mac Murrough went out bravely to face O’Connor and O’Rourke. To buy time for his allies to arrive, he pretended he had no heart for war. He has agreed to a treaty that will allow him to retire in peace on a tiny scrap of the land he once ruled, and die an old man in his bed.’
Basilia looked disappointed. It wasn’t a brave ending for the story.
‘Don’t worry, little sister,’ I assured her. ‘Neither Robert FitzHarding nor I think Dermot intends to keep the treaty and die in his bed. That wouldn’t be like him.’
‘What are the Irish like?’ she wanted to know.
‘Big, if Dermot Mac Murrough is anything to judge by. When I met him I was impressed with his size and strength. And the Irish customs and manners are very different from ours. The King of Leinster speaks good Church Latin, so I could talk to him, but his native tongue is as wild as Welsh.’
Basilia giggled. ‘I hope you didn’t say that to him.’
‘Of course not,’ I assured her. I was never diplomatic, I had no gift
for saying careful things. But I had been careful for once in my life when I bargained with Dermot Mac Murrough.
There was an edge to the man that told me I must be careful in dealing with him. But I didn’t say this to Basilia. I protected Basilia, always.
O’Connor was generous to the defeated Dermot. It does him credit. Dermot made the most of the truce the High King offered him, by very tardily paying the honour price for O’Rourke’s stolen wife. He also swore loyalty to O’Connor.
I don’t think he meant either gesture. In fact, I’m certain of it. Within weeks he was urgently demanding that his hired warriors set sail for Ireland at once. Messengers came to me at the gallop from Robert FitzHarding.
I wonder where Dermot got the hundred ounces of gold for the stolen wife’s honour price. Later I heard a rumour that he had melted down his own wives’ jewellery, but that may have been a spiteful lie. People said all sorts of things about Dermot Mac Murrough.
I didn’t say any of this to Basilia, either. Like our mother, she wanted her life to be filled with flowers. She wanted to hear pretty stories about noble kings and queens.
My lovely little sister! Could I ever give her the kind of life I wanted her to have?
Word reached me that FitzStephen was preparing to depart for Ireland at the end of April, in the Year of Our Lord 1169. He had three ships and would take ninety horsemen and three hundred men-at-arms to Dermot Mac Murrough. An uncle of mine, Hervey de Montmorency, was going to go with him.
I summoned my captain, Raymond le Gros, and told him the news. ‘I’m worried that these adventurers will claim the lands that are promised to me,’ I said. ‘So I’ve asked my uncle to be my eyes and ears in Ireland until we arrive.’
‘How much of that promised land is going to be mine?’ Raymond
wanted to know.
Since I didn’t know how much land there was, I could hardly give him a figure. ‘All you earn,’ I said.
‘And your sister? If I have land, I want a wife.’
I sighed. I had very little to pay him with, and I needed him. It looked as if I might have to give Basilia to him. But if so, I must make him as wealthy as I could first. In the meantime he must wait. ‘We’ll talk about marriage after the invasion,’ I told him. ‘When you have property in Ireland.’
‘When will that be?’
‘It’s taking a long time to recruit the size of army Dermot needs. Don’t be so impatient, Raymond.’
But no one was as impatient as Dermot Mac Murrough. Every ship that crossed the Irish Sea brought fresh pleas from him, for men, for weapons. For an army, with me at its head.
Two more ships, led by other land-hungry Normans, set out for Ireland with ten horses and more men-at-arms.
As I would learn later, Dermot’s son Donal Mac Murrough Kavanaugh met them. Forming an army with FitzStephen’s men, they marched on the town of Wexford.
I didn’t mind their attacking Wexford. I already knew that Dermot had promised it to FitzStephen and FitzGerald. A greater prize would be mine.
The people of Wexford must have been horrified to see an army of foreign warriors marching towards them, under not only Dermot’s banner but also Norman banners. Knights on horseback were an unfamiliar sight, and the weapons they carried struck fear into the Wexford men.
The battle was savage, and after only two days, with the town blazing, the bishops came out and offered to surrender. Hostages were taken and the fighting ended.
‘We’ve won our first battle,’ I told Raymond le Gros when I heard
the news. Hervey de Montmorency had sent me a glowing report by the first trading vessel out of Wexford afterwards.
‘We marched on to Ferns,’ my uncle informed me, ‘to the royal stronghold of Dermot Mac Murrough. His palace there is rebuilt and he has taken control of it once more. From there, we attacked the tribe who had blinded his son, Enna. They’re allies of the High King, and thought they’d win his favour by blinding Enna, but they regret their folly now. We made them pay dearly for it.’
I am sure they did. Dermot Mac Murrough would have taken a terrible revenge for his son’s eyes.
Meanwhile, I was slowly putting together the main army of invasion. I wanted mounted knights, foot soldiers, and, in spite of the Church, plenty of archers. I trusted the bow and arrow.
News of that first victory at Wexford was helping me recruit soldiers. ‘There will be land for all of you,’ I promised. ‘Dermot of Leinster has already given Wexford town and the land around it to the first men to fight for him, but Ireland is vast and there will be plenty for each of you. Plenty.’
I hoped I was right. But the one thing I really wanted was to be certain there would be land for me. Never again would I be a landless lord!
