Refilling our glasses, he offered me some almonds and black olives, which a merchant in Bristol had imported from France. He laughed at my reaction to the salty bitterness of the olives and assured me I’d grow to like it. Then he continued.
‘Aoife, it’s the English king, Henry II, you need to fear. And in that we have common cause.’
As I sat there, sipping the strong wine and looking out over the Wye, he told me of how the fate of Ireland had long been decided. Just over ten years past in 1155, the young King Henry II had decided to take his army to conquer Ireland. He regarded Ireland as part of his dominions and had been granted permission to invade and take the island by the then pope, Adrian IV. Adrian, as an Englishman, was quite sympathetic to Henry’s ambitions and approved the scheme in a papal bull known as the Laudabiliter.
‘Have you heard of the crusades, Aoife?’ he asked. ‘They had always looked to Jerusalem until recent times, when the popes began turning their eyes closer to home when it suited them and their benefactors. Firstly, it was to rid the northern lands of paganism, and then it was the west, with this Laudabiliter, to cleanse and enlarge the boundaries of the church in Ireland. It suited Adrian to please Henry.’
The forces the king could gather would easily overwhelm and subjugate the island. He had only been dissuaded from the expedition at the last moment by his mother, the powerful empress Matilda, whom Strongbow had battled in the civil war before the young Henry came of age and to the throne. Before then, she had secured the throne for the young Henry by battling Stephen, whom Strongbow had supported. She regarded the subjugation of Ireland as a lesser issue to the reestablishment of royal authority over some rebellious knights in their domains in France. Ireland could wait.
However, this was only a temporary reprieve for Ireland. Henry fully intended to return as soon as he had pacified his rebellious lords in his French lands, hence his approval for my father to gather support from Norman lords willing to come to his aid. In addition, the invitation of my father to Henry to intervene added significant legitimacy to Henry’s ambition to assimilate Ireland under the authority of his crown. However, this permission for the Norman lords to assist my father was not extended to Strongbow, owing to the distrust between them. The king did not want a mistrusted lord establishing a powerful foothold on his western flank. Hence, he had refused Strongbow’s request for permission to go to Ireland, much to Strongbow’s growing frustration.
‘So the king won’t let me prosper here, but he also won’t give me leave to sail to Ireland. This is impossible for me. I will make one last try to appease him, but this can’t continue.’ He spoke quietly now, for he was aware that if his words reached the king’s ears, he would not be pleased. Any hope of reconciliation and approval would vanish. Worse could follow if Strongbow’s enemies leaked whispers of treason into the king’s willing ears.
‘Aoife, if Henry comes to Ireland with his army, he will lay waste to everything. His army, drunk with crusading fervour, would be merciless. He is ruthless and driven to expand his royal lands at any cost. He has taken mine, and he will take yours and all of Ireland. It will be bloody. Compromise is not his way when he holds the whip hand and the papal bull.’
I had seen and been astounded at the weaponry, skill and battle effectiveness of Strongbow’s garrison at Chepstow. An army of many thousand well-trained, properly equipped, disciplined and battle-hardened Normans, led by King Henry, would crush any opposing force in Ireland. There was no hope for us if what Strongbow told me was true. But was it not also inevitable?
‘But won’t he come anyway? If not now, surely, it’s only a matter of time.’
‘Yes, Aoife. It is. He will come.’ He stood and paced across the small terrace, relieving the tension. He was also checking that no one was in earshot on the battlements above us or in the corridor that led to the kitchens from the terrace. He closed the heavy oak door.
‘Aoife, if we do nothing, both you and I, our two families, will lose everything. That’s the path we are on now.’ He paused, and I could sense his dismay. ‘The way things stand, I doubt I will be reconciled with the king, but there is a way.’ Looking at me, I knew he was weighing carefully what he was about to say, and I soon understood why.
‘If we can establish a strong foothold in Leinster, together we can secure the futures of both our families and followers. That bond will be strengthened by our marriage.’ He waited for my reaction and, almost relieved, smiled when I nodded, showing my continued consent. ‘With a strong base and the people with us, we will be in a position to negotiate with Henry. He will not want to fight our armies unnecessarily and will agree to letting us keep most, in return for some painful concessions on our part. But it will be worth it. We will have to give up a lot, acknowledge him as king, but we will survive and prosper. Then, let us see what the future holds.
‘So I will come to Ireland, with or without his permission. But not just yet. I will try once more to gain his consent for me to sail,’ he said.
His caution in laying bare his plans to me was justified. What he had just told me was dangerously close to treason and could have him imprisoned and hanged. Kings don’t take kindly to overt defiance from a disliked lord. This was dangerous talk. Still, I was encouraged by his intentions—I trusted him—though I feared for Eanna.
‘We must trust each other, Aoife,’ he finished.
Myler was beside me again. He had taken to joining me, when his duties allowed, as I watched the dawn break from the wall walk on the castellated ramparts of the lower bailey. The wind whipped Strongbow’s swallow-tailed banners on the Great Tower much to the annoyance of the large, hooded crows nesting high on its shallow turrets. The three deep-red chevrons on the sharp gold of Strongbow’s family coat of arms snapped sharply against the wispish grey clouds scurrying eastward across the dull sky. I wondered if Eanna could see these clouds and feel this wind before they swept over the sea from Ireland.
I had heard his approach and felt the familiar weight of his heavy woollen cloak as he draped it across my shoulders. I banished my gloom before turning, lifting my chin to smile at him. He was an attentive man, and while I did enjoy his company, I also intentionally encouraged him, as we needed to know these men who would come to Ireland. ‘Who are they, and why are they coming?’ Donal had said. “They will be a formidable force once in Ireland, and we must learn how to harness and control them. Keep him interested and keep him talking, whatever it takes. That’s your task, Aoife,’ he’d said. ‘I’ll learn their battle skills.’
‘You’ll catch your death up here, Aoife,’ Myler said.
‘Surely the ever-chivalrous Sir Myler FitzHenry would not allow that,’ I teased, wrapping myself in the warmth against the chilly gusts of the morning wind which rushed unimpeded across the river. The castle walls would gather the heat from the light reflected from the river as the sun rose and deliver a gentle warm breeze soon enough. For now, the sailors stirring on the boats below the castle huddled in the boat-waists, sheltering from the wind and the attention of the boat masters.
‘That’s why the work shy are known as waisters,’ Myler quipped.
He gazed over the town. Shielding his eyes from the glare with one hand, he looked to be following the progress of an overladen cart towards the docks. ‘What do you see when you dream of your home?’ he asked almost casually. ‘Is it to be a queen? Or would your brother want to be a king?’
Such a searching question from him, slipping almost unnoticed into the wind.
‘There are so many boats. Where do they all come from?’ I asked, pretending I had not heard.
He looked at me, hesitating, searching my face for my thoughts. He continued, ‘Oh, France, Spain, Ireland of course . . . and they are even bringing dried fish in from Iceland now, I believe.’ Ever more frequently they were seeing cargoes from northern Europe and the Mediterranean lands, the reason being, Myler explained, that any goods imported into England through Chepstow were exempt from the king’s import tax. This was a concession that the English king had given to Strongbow’s family, the de Clares, who had been tasked with guarding the border with Wales, or the Welsh Marches, as they were known. Hence, family dynasties who held the borders were known as the Marcher lords. The merchants took advantage of the lower taxes Strongbow imposed, and he received quite a sum each year in return. So the port of Chepstow thrived but still Strongbow fretted, worried that the king would someday act on his visceral distrust and seize the remaining lands he held in Wales and Aquitaine.
I was relieved at the turn in the conversation.
‘That’s why he is seldom in the castle,’ Myler went on. ‘He’s constantly trying to appease Henry, trying to win his trust again.’ Without thinking, he gently closed the cloak around my neck to protect me from a sudden sharp gust. ‘But I’m not sure he’ll get anywhere. The king bears grudges like his mistresses bear children—he has a lot of them.’ He laughed and then became serious again. ‘It’s impossible for us all, Aoife.’
Further along the walls we watched as the stable lads led the bulky warhorses from the farrier’s forge to the courtyard. They advanced through the vaulted castle gates out to the near paddocks in the castle dell, the natural ravine which ran to the south of the castle. There would be no hunting today, and they took care to keep the stallions apart as they made their way, stamping noisily through the cobbled entrance beneath the fortified gates.
In Strongbow’s absence, the household had spent much of the past few weeks in the hunting preserves of the castle. The closer chases and parks were abundant with deer and foxes, whereas the more distant Forest of Wentworth provided much sport with the more dangerous wild boars. The large party would ride out before dawn with the hounds tethered, coupled and tightly controlled by the huntsmen before we reached the hunting grounds. Myler seemed to have appointed himself as my guardian, and as the weeks went on, he spent more time at my side than at the front of the chase with uncles and friends.
On the first day I was to accompany them, he presented me with a small palfrey, hunting horse sporting an elaborate embroidered breast cloth. The carved saddlebows were covered in what seemed to be another precious purple cloth. Having been taught to ride without a saddle in the Irish style, I was far more comfortable and confident with my hips and legs in close contact with the horse, particularly when I needed a lot of control in the hunting field. Much to the amusement of the party, I asked for the saddle to be removed and, refusing Myler’s offer of a leg up to mount the horse, took a fistful of the mane in my left hand. I urged the animal forward and used the momentum to vault and swing myself comfortably onto its back, as was my way. There was a round of laughter from the men, although there was undoubtedly an added tinge of respect from these people who valued good horsemanship.
‘Well, you learn something new every day.’ Myler shrugged and instructed the groom to store the saddle. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s tricky out there, particularly with the boar. They can be very clever and too brave sometimes.’ So off we went, and several hunts later, during which I spent more time on the horse’s back than he did, he let the matter drop.
These Normans were obsessed with hunting, and it wasn’t purely for entertainment. They used it as an integral part of their training and rehearsal for war. Riding their heavy destrier warhorses, they perfected their horsemanship and use of various arms from the saddle. In addition, the beasts of the chase were put to good use, providing a rich stock of food for the castle kitchens.
The wild boar in the Forest of Wentworth were smaller than those we hunted around Ferns. But what they lacked in weight they made up for in speed, making them nearly impossible to kill on horseback. They would easily outrun the horses in short spurts to find the cover of the dense undergrowth, where they secreted their dens. The huntsmen would chase them to ground, where the men would arm themselves with long-shafted spears and venture tentatively forward, goading and teasing each other. It was a dangerous game which all too frequently ended in the blood of the hunter finding the soil.
Not used to the burst of speed with which they would charge unseen from the thickets, I stood well back, spear in hand and Fáinleog drawn. She was a comfort by my side but wholly useless. She would not save me from a maddened, charging boar. The hunter’s only hope was to impale it under its own speed and weight and use the length of the shaft to hold the sharp tusks and thrashing hooves at bay before it bled to death or was killed by the other huntsmen. They moved quickly through the forests on foot in the pursuit, and I would struggle to stay with them, following the baying of the hounds for direction.
On one such day, I heard a meek squealing over the gentle rustling of the trees in the gentle breeze. It silenced abruptly as I stepped into the small clearing in the speckled sunlight. Stilled, I softened my breathing and listened, waiting. The baying hounds grew distant, the leaves shivered, and there it was again, not two paces to my left in the dark undergrowth. Hardly turning, I parted the bush with my spear, slightly more, my eyes straining in the shadow. A startled chorus now of pink piglets, a mass of flesh not long of this world, nestled in the boar’s den. She was clever, leading the hounds astray, away from her family. They were out of earshot now.
Sensing the light, their squealing heightened until I allowed the bramble to close above them. Their noise lessened as the comforting darkness gathered around them. It lessened just enough for me to hear the rising crashing of the boar mother descending upon me. The undergrowth beyond the clearing parted above her charge, straight as an arrow. At least I knew from where she was coming. I’d seen the men do it. Drop to the knee, plant the shaft, wait. There was hardly the time to do that. Her broad chest met the broad spear tip as the shaft met the ground. It held fast, the momentum carrying her forward, knocking me back, my shoulder hitting the ground. The thick oak shaft held her weight above me, the spear embedded deep in her chest. Her blood gushed down the shaft, its flow quickening over my slipping hands as she thrashed her tusks. Sharp teeth snapped in strong jaws; the stench was overwhelming. Her weight slowly, mesmerizingly carried her down the spear, her jaws inching closer. To reach for Fáinleog would mean lessening my grip on the shaft, which I strained with all my strength to hold. We would both die then.
The shock broke the shaft and the blow to my head blackened everything. Stunned, I sensed the flash of steel, the stench of burst bowls and the sing of a sword silencing the boar’s squeal as her head left her body. I felt the strong arms lift and place me gently in the soft grass. The cool water flowed over my lips, tickled down my cheek and gathered in my ears. Soothing fingertips cleaned my face, caressing my neck. The haze sharpened into the handsome features of Myler, sitting above me, the dancing canopy of the trees around him. He smiled.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I seem to have given you a bit of a bang when I knocked the boar off you.’ He wet his hand and ran it along my neck. ‘There, that should do it. You’re half respectable now.’
His hand lingered. Without thinking, I lifted it to my lips and kissed his fingers. And again. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered. I held his hand to my lips. The desire had burned long in his eyes. He probably saw mine. But like me, his family and duty held him firm, so far anyway. Everything was at risk by this. The return to Ireland. Our family’s fortunes for generations. Kingdoms were in the balance. Eanna’s very life. I kissed his fingers again, he saw my invitation. Softly, he curled my lips open and, leaning forward, brushed my nose with his breath and kissed me.
