Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
Strongbow (8 page)
When FitzStephen and the other Anglo-Normans reached Ferns, we jostled one another for a look at them. My first impression was that they walked like strangers in a strange land, with their feet wide apart, their arms at the ready, and their shoulders rounded against blows.
Father welcomed FitzStephen and his half-brother, a man called FitzGerald, into our hall, together with one Hervey de Montmorency. ‘He’s the uncle of Strongbow,’ Donal said to me behind his hand.
I wasn’t impressed by Hervey de Montmorency.
He was tall, but not so tall as Father. He had grey eyes that bulged from his head. His waist was narrow but he had a round belly, and he jabbered away in a language I didn’t know, waving his hands quite wildly as he talked.
When he spoke to Father, however, he changed to a halting sort of Latin. Then I could understand what he said. Father saw me trying to listen, and beckoned me to come forward.
‘This is my daughter Aoife,’ he told de Montmorency.
Strongbow’s uncle looked me up and down the way Father would look at a horse he was thinking of buying. ‘Has she all her teeth?’
I answered by baring them at him.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Does she understand Latin?’
‘Aoife is educated,’ Father said proudly. ‘She’s a king’s daughter.’
The Norman looked shocked. ‘You Irish educate women? Whatever for?’
Father told him, ‘Noble women have that right, under our law.’
‘Women have no rights. They’re property.’
Now it was Father’s turn to look shocked. ‘You’re speaking of my daughter!’
‘And you’ve sold her to my nephew Richard. She’s property,’ de Montmorency insisted.
I doubled my fists. I was very angry. ‘No one sold me!’ I blurted out. ‘And if I don’t like this nephew of yours I’ll have nothing to do with him. I’ll spit in his face. I’ll kick his shins. I’m not property, I am Red Eva!’
I tossed my head and stalked away. I could feel the Norman’s eyes on me.
‘You Irish are savages,’ I heard him say in astonishment. I don’t think my father liked him very much after that.
But we had to be nice to these foreigners. They had come to Ireland to help us, after all. Without them, Father’s enemies would have destroyed us.
As it was, they dumped poor blinded Enna at the border of our land like a sheep sent to market, with his hands and feet tied tight with leather thongs, and his poor empty eye sockets gaping.
He was alive, but no more than that.
I sat beside him in his chamber and bathed his wounds. The sweetest holy water would not make him see again, nor restore the life he could have had. My tears mingled with the water I used on his face.
‘Aoife?’
‘What is it, Enna?’
‘Are you crying?’
His hearing seemed to be sharper, now that he couldn’t see. I rubbed my eyes with my fist. ‘I never cry.’
‘I can never cry again,’ my brother replied.
I promised myself then, that if Strongbow destroyed my father’s enemies I would marry him and be a good wife to him, even if he had bulging eyes and a fat belly.
But when was he coming to Ireland?
That question was on everyone’s tongue. At Ferns we spoke of little else as the year wore away and one battle followed another.
Father’s hired warriors were good fighting men. They won more than they lost, and Father brought back many cattle and much loot from the chieftains they defeated.
But the Anglo-Normans hadn’t come to Ireland for cattle. They wanted land. Wexford wasn’t enough for them. They asked for more and more. Father gave bits and strips, but they were never satisfied.
Then we received bad news indeed. ‘The High King is preparing a great hosting with many warriors,’ a messenger announced to my father. ‘O’Connor is bringing together the largest army seen in Ireland for many years. He means to break your back, if you resist him.
‘But he’s a generous king, and offers you one chance to avoid your own destruction. Turn against the foreigners you’ve brought into this land, and the High King won’t attack you.’
Father was furious. ‘Tell the High King that these men came to Ireland at my request, and I won’t betray them now. What sort of man does he think I am?’
But the Normans didn’t like the sound of the army the High King was gathering. Some of them came to Father with a suggestion of their own. ‘Winter is coming,’ they reminded him, ‘and winter is a bad season for war. The ice and mud make fighting very hard. We think we should go home for the winter, and return to you in the spring.’
He tried to argue with them, but they wouldn’t listen. They didn’t all leave. FitzStephen, who was now master of Wexford, was glad enough to stay and enjoy his new wealth, and some others stayed with him.
But Father’s forces were seriously reduced.
‘What will you do now?’ Donal asked him.
‘Perhaps I’ll make peace with O’Connor,’ Father said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Just for a while. Just until Strongbow arrives.’
‘Do you still think he’s coming?’ I wanted to know.
‘I’m certain he is. I have the man’s word, and if I read him rightly, he’s not one to lie,’ Father assured me.
Later that same day, however, I was crossing the courtyard just in time to see a messenger set out on a fast Kildare horse. When I asked at the stable, I was told he was heading for the coast, with a message from Father to be sent to Strongbow on the next ship to England.
Come to me, Father was urging the Norman. Come as soon as you can. Don’t forget your promise.
The harvest was gathered, a fine heavy harvest as it always was when my father was King of Leinster. Then the nights drew in, long and cold and dark, and winter was upon us. Men sat huddled around the hearth, talking about the battles of the past and the battles to come. Talking of Strongbow, and the victory he would one day win over O’Connor and O’Rourke.
Mor and Sive talked mostly about Dervorgilla. ‘The blame for all our troubles lies at her feet,’ they told each other. ‘She urged Dermot to take her away from her cruel husband, and stealing her was the worst thing he ever did. It cost him a kingdom and could cost him his life one day. It’s all the fault of Dervorgilla!’
I had never met the woman, but I wasn’t certain they were right. It was hard to imagine anyone talking Father into doing something he didn’t want to do. He had wanted to steal Dervorgilla to get even with Tiernan O’Rourke, just as much as she had wanted to get away from the man.
I watched Dermot’s two wives as they sat close to the fire, being company for one another, gossiping with their heads together. They could talk talk talk all day long, and they said the same things to each other over and over again. I don’t want to be like them, I thought. But
what sort of life would I have?
Ships carried the hired warriors back across the Irish Sea until Father’s army was a shadow of what it had been. If he was worried, he didn’t let us see his fears. Instead he seemed much as he always had been, strong and confident.
‘Strongbow will come in the new year,’ he told us many times. ‘You’ll see. He’ll bring an army to put fear into the High King himself. We’ve only to wait. The final victory will be ours.’
And so we waited, through the dark and dreary winter, filling our days with talk and our nights with worry. But Father did more than simply wait, of course.
The last boatload of adventurers to return from Ireland brought interesting news indeed. Dermot Mac Murrough had made a treaty with Rory O’Connor. In return for being allowed freedom of action in Leinster, he had formally accepted O’Connor as High King of Ireland and paid tribute to him.
‘He must have done it with gritted teeth,’ I said to Raymond le Gros.
‘If Dermot has pledged his loyalty to the High King, does that mean he won’t want us any longer?’ asked Raymond.
I smiled grimly. ‘Not at all. He’s simply fighting for time. Why do you think he keeps sending me messages?’
‘He’ll break his pledge to the High King then, when we arrive?’
‘I’m certain of it,’ I told Raymond.
My captain frowned. ‘If he would break a pledge to his High King, what makes you think he’ll keep his promises to you?’
Now that was a question to cause me some worry!
Pacing the battlements of my castle, I thought about Dermot Mac Murrough. What sort of man was he, really? There were so many tales told of him. I sent for my uncle, Hervey de Montmorency, who had recently returned from Ireland.
Over bowls of wine, into which we dipped great hunks of black
bread, I asked my uncle for his opinion of the King of Leinster.
‘He’s as slippery as a buttered fish. You met him, Richard. What was your opinion of him?’
‘Much the same,’ I admitted. ‘Yet I found him cheerful in spite of his misfortune, a quality I much admire.’
My uncle told me, ‘He’s devoted to his family, also. I’ve never seen any man dote on his children as does Dermot mac Murrough.’
Ah, then. That was a relief to my mind. If Dermot was so fond of his children, he wouldn’t want to anger his daughter’s husband. He would keep his promises to me, I felt. Once I owned his daughter I would be in a strong position with him.
At the time I met my uncle, I had only two servants to wait on me at table, and one of them was borrowed from the dairy for the occasion. They were poor shabby creatures with hungry eyes, and as I talked to Hervey I tried to keep watching them. Either would steal a bit of our food if they could.
Peasants. I wondered that some people claimed they had souls, like Christians.
My uncle scratched his chest and turned on his bench, hoping for more wine. ‘By the bye, Richard, what’s taking you so long, gathering this army you’ve promised Dermot Mac Murrough?’
I wanted more wine myself. ‘Much of my strength was lost when the earldom of Pembroke was taken from me,’ I reminded him. ‘Men aren’t eager to follow the banner of a knight who has lost his honours. I’m having to win them almost one man at a time, through threats or promises, and it’s not easy. We need not only men, but horses and weapons and armour. It’s a huge undertaking. I keep delaying my departure and making excuses to Dermot which I’m certain he doesn’t like. But I dare not go to Ireland until I’m ready and can be certain of some success.’
There was so much to be won. It would be so easy to lose everything, if I made a mistake.
I couldn’t talk of this to Basilia. I didn’t want her to worry. Her future as well as mine hung in the balance.
I paced the battlements of the castle, gazing out in the direction of Ireland as if I could see that distant island. That unknown frontier. That strange, wild, dangerous place, where a fortune and a kingdom could be won. Or lost.
How does a man make himself step off into the unknown?
I went to see Robert FitzHarding. He was also beginning a new life. Age had forced him to give up his post as Portreeve of Bristol and he was about to enter the Augustinian order. This would be my last visit with him.
When we spoke of the planned invasion of Ireland, Robert made a wise suggestion. ‘You should send an advance party before you go yourself, Richard. Have someone you trust learn just which way the wind is blowing. Many things have happened in Ireland, I’m sure, since FitzStephen and the others first went over.’
His advice was sound. But who could I send? Then I thought of my captain, Raymond le Gros.
‘You’re the man I would trust with such a mission,’ I told him.
Raymond was flattered by my faith in him. ‘You may rely on me,’ he assured me. ‘But if I’m going to take an advance party into a foreign land and great danger, I want to be certain of my reward before I go.’
‘You’ll have part of whatever we win,’ I told him.
‘I want more than that. You know what I want. Your sister, Basilia. I want your firm promise to give her to me as wife before we leave for Ireland.’
I felt trapped. The more I tried to put Raymond off, the more determined he became. At last he made an argument I couldn’t resist. ‘If you marry Basilia to someone here, she’ll always be in England,’ he said. ‘But if you marry her to me, once we’re in Ireland I’ll send for her to join us.’
Although under the law she had no say in the matter. I spoke to Basilia. ‘Raymond le Gros wants to marry you.’
‘Which one is he? The tall fair man with the bright blue eyes?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Ah … not quite. He’s shorter, and rather … fat,’ I had to admit. ‘But he’s the captain of my guards and I mean to give him lands and a title once we’re in Ireland.’
Basilia frowned. ‘Fat.’ She took a deep breath. Then she forced a smile that broke my heart. ‘If that’s what you want, Richard,’ she said.
From that moment I was more determined than ever to do well in Ireland. I must make Raymond a nobleman worthy of my little sister.
I didn’t worry so much about my children. They would stay in England. They had never been as close to me as Basilia, I’m sorry to say. It wasn’t their fault; their mother had turned them against me when they were very young. I would always provide for them as best I could, but it wouldn’t hurt half as much to leave them behind, as it would hurt to leave Basilia.
So I gave her to Raymond, to marry and bring to Ireland when we were established there. My heart burst at the sight of my little sister in her wedding robes. I pretended to have a cold, and blew my nose many times.
Then all at once Basilia was gone! She went to live with Raymond’s family until he could give her a home in Ireland.
I felt that everything was slipping away from me. I needed to get some sort of control.
A couple of years had passed since Henry had written the letter that promised his favour to anyone who would help Dermot Mac Murrough. I needed to be certain the offer still held.
Kings have a way of changing their minds.
What if I had given my sister away, then went to Ireland only to find Henry wouldn’t support my venture? I would be stranded in a strange land, with my bridges burned. It was a frightening prospect for
a lonely, middle-aged man.
Henry was in England, at least for a few months, so I decided to meet him face to face and ask his permission and his blessing. I wanted to assure him that I, Richard de Clare, would be the man who formally planted his flag in Ireland.
I didn’t look forward to meeting him. He had a long memory. What if he threw me into a dungeon as soon as he saw me? He could. Kings had that right and no one could argue.
But I couldn’t go on until I had his personal agreement. It was too uncertain and dangerous. In the dark of night, I tossed sleeplessly on my bed and wondered how I had got myself into such a situation.
My squire oiled and polished my armour. He saddled my biggest, most impressive horse, and I gathered my tallest, strongest men to be my escort. Then I set out, hiding my fears behind a stony face, for the court of King Henry.
Arriving in London town, I found lodgings for myself and my men at an inn beyond the walls. Then I sent word to the king. ‘Strongbow is here!’
He kept me waiting for several days before replying. At last a messenger came to me, however, and said I was to be taken into the king’s presence at the great, grim stronghold built by William of Normandy.
This would be the first time I had actually met Henry Plantagenet. I didn’t know what to expect. What I found was a thick-set, red-faced man, with a round head and small, sharp eyes. He never seemed to sit down, but strode up and down the audience chamber the whole time I was there. His courtiers bustled after him. From time to time he gave one of them a shove, more out of sport than malice.
‘Do I understand you plan to go to Ireland, de Clare?’ he asked me in French. French was the first language of the Plantagenets.
‘I do, Your Majesty. With your permission, of course.’
He paused in his striding, long enough to scowl at me. ‘Did I give
you permission?’
This was the delicate moment. He could deny having done so. He could even take it back. ‘You gave Dermot Mac Murrough a letter promising your favour to whoever would help him,’ I said carefully.
‘Did I?’ He began pacing again. Heavy gold chains around his neck clanked with every step. ‘Perhaps I don’t remember,’ he said craftily.
‘I’m certain Your Majesty forgets nothing,’ some anxious courtier was quick to say. Henry glared at the man, who ducked his head and tried to make himself small.
‘Everyone wants something from me,’ Henry snapped. ‘What do you want, de Clare?’
‘To serve my king,’ I said.
‘And? You want something else, surely. What is it? Land?’
‘I’m in need of land, Your Majesty,’ I admitted.
‘Everyone wants more land,’ said the king shortly. He stalked past me. I thought he was dismissing me. Then at the last moment he half-turned, and said to me over his shoulder, ‘You have my leave to seek your fortune under the Irish king, as far as your feet will bear you.’
With a laugh that had no warmth in it, he left the audience chamber. His attendants ran after him.
I stood alone in the echoing room. Henry had been playing with me. I knew it. But in jest he had said words to me that could be taken to mean what I wanted. And others had heard him say them.
It would have to be enough. I knew I would get no more. If I was successful in Ireland, and only then, I would petition him again. Then he might formally regrant the earldom of Pembroke to me.
At first light the next morning my men and I had our backs to London and were hurrying westward.