Contents
I. Escape and Despair
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
II. Allies and Anger
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
III. Impulse and Hate
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
IV. Return and Understanding
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
The Descendants of Nesta ferch Rhys, Princess of Wales
The Families of Aoife MacMurrough and Strongbow
Maps
Irish Language & Pronunciation guide
Place Names
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For Déirdre with all my love
Chapter OneTHE BURNING OF FERNS
Wexford, 1166
Ihad never killed before that night. Before the dawn came, that would all change.
It was closer now. I could hear the clashing of swords in the courtyard below, panicked voices in the great hall beyond the corridor leading to our chambers. Though I had barred the heavy oak door, I knew it was of little use against the approaching horror. Where was my father now? Had he fallen in the attack?
I knew what they would do to me. I had seen the girls and young women, slaves, abused at will by the warriors and young men. Mercilessly worked like pack horses, they moved like ghosts, like the dead, through the camps. As with all livestock, they served a purpose and would be discarded and replaced in time, revolting wretches dying pitiful deaths.
I wept silently, trying to calm Eanna and Conor. I knew what I had to do, and though my body shook convulsively, my mind was calm and clear. I remember thinking it strange, this calmness, but I was resolute—it would be by my own hand, with the light short sword in my skirts. Donal, my older brother, who commanded the Household Guard, had shown me how to make it fast, should the time come.
My tears were for my two beautiful brothers gripping tightly to my waist. Their fate would be worse than mine if they were taken. As male heirs to the king of Leinster, they would die anyway, but their killing would have to be witnessed by many. It would be obscene, degrading and slow, serving as a warning and the final vengeful humiliation of the house of MacMurrough for crossing O’Rourke.
In my long and storied life, that moment stands alone, unique in itself. My story is one of betrayal, hatred, rage, revenge and sorrow, but it is also one of love, passion, joy and happiness. Taken in various measures in the sweep of time, I have embraced my station. We do not choose our provenance, but our duty is written in our blood. This can be a curse or a blessing, so I am told. Yet even now, at the end of my life, I’m not sure where I sit on that scale. And in truth, it is of no consequence. I have done my duty, led our armies in battle, governed our lands. I have striven to do so fairly, as an example to my children of the power of justice to bind our lands and people. But governing involves decisions and choices: balancing outcomes, weighing probabilities, consulting and persuading in the midst of ambiguity. This has been my life since that moment.
