‘There’s more . . . and we must respect the word of the saints.’ He continued searching through his papers, finally producing a parchment with a flurry.
‘These are from the writings of that great Christian scholar Origen of Alexandria, the third century I believe. What greater authority could we have: “‘For it is improper for a woman to speak in an assembly, no matter what she says. Even if she says admirable things, or even saintly things, that is of little consequence, since that comes from the mouth of a woman.”’
He sat back, as if resting his case.
‘I think it is indisputable that almost all of the most notable catastrophes in the world have been caused by women,’ he insisted. ‘It is the teaching of the church. Witness Mark Antony and Troy.’ I had heard of this tragedy from my tutors in Ferns, where the great Roman general committed suicide on hearing of Cleopatra’s own faked suicide.
‘M’lady, are your own father’s troubles not routed in the folly of his carnal desire for O’Rourke’s wife, Dearbhail?’ he said, almost pleading now, grasping that he was not winning his audience.
‘I think you need another mug of ale, Archdeacon,’ Rob said. ‘And start using that head of yours, which Aoife’s father certainly was not when he chased that man’s wife, all his thinking that day done from below his belt.’ He smiled.
In fairness and for all his seriousness, the archdeacon himself didn’t sound convinced by his readings, but he had his duty.
‘And could I suggest you be cautious about sharing those views with your mother . . . she may not entirely agree with you,’ Myler said. The archdeacon’s mother, Angharad, was Myler’s aunt. Daughter of Nesta, the formidable Princess of Wales who spawned the Geraldine dynasty. Angharad had, by all accounts, inherited her mother’s backbone. Myler’s cousin avoided his eyes, giving the impression that the opportunity to raise the matter with his mother had not yet arisen and was unlikely to present itself anytime soon—on this side of the grave, to be more precise. We let the matter rest and enjoyed what was left of the evening’s warmth in one another’s company.
Having established ourselves without opposition in Ferns, my father instructed his kinsmen to be summoned to assemble there in three days. Murchad dispatched riders to the reaches of the province and openly acknowledged my father as king. As the clansmen began arriving on the appointed day, few would give any commitment and stayed aloof of my father, avoiding him. They would gauge the quality of the men who came and assess the likely strength of their numbers before they gave their oath to my father. The forces arrayed against them would be formidable, and unless they had a clear certainty in the success of my father’s cause, they would quietly, but quickly, disappear back into the forests and, at the very least, stand aloof from the coming conflict. Some would certainly join O’Connor, hoping to profit from our destruction.
There was a tension in the hall on the third day when they finally gathered. Greetings were exchanged between allies, and sour words with rivals were avoided, with such family groups standing noticeably apart in the hall.
The murmured conversations stopped as my father entered and mounted the dais. With barely a passing observance to pleasantries, he turned quickly to his grievances. He complained bitterly of the treachery and injustice of the actions of Rory O’Connor, the high king, and his allies. An illegitimate curse on the land of Leinster he was, claiming any kingship here; his claim was a stain on the name Uí Chennselaig. He, Diarmuit MacMurrough, would stop at nothing to wash that shame from their land and clan. He went on to tell them how his just cause had the support of the king of England, Henry II, who had sent these fine Norman warriors as a taste of what was to come in the spring, when Norman armies would arrive to drive the usurpers from Leinster and restore him to his rightful place as king.
FitzGodebert, magnificent in full battle dress with his companions at his side, spoke of the truth in my father’s words. He told of his king’s revulsion at the treatment of the lawful king of Leinster and his fervent intention to ensure that right was restored to a fellow legitimate king. He paraded amongst the kinsmen arranged in family groupings around the hall, allowing them to examine his armour as Donal had suggested. The intricate work of the intertwining minute metal rings of his hauberk would not have been seen by most before. He explained how these chainmail shirts could withstand all but the most persistent thrust of a pointed blade. Worn over a padded overcoat, it could withstand heavy blows to the body. Over these, a coat of plate—a series of overlapping iron plates riveted to a fabric cover—allowed him unrestricted movement while providing the strongest protection to his upper body. FitzGodebert demonstrated to the captivated men how the coat was put on over the head and buckled securely at the back. Unlacing his cheek plates and taking off his helmet, they saw his coif of mail and the aventail chainmail scarf that protected his neck. A padded arming cap added some comfort for his head, but it was clear, these artefacts of war were primarily for the purpose of protecting the knight in battle. Designed from experience in combat over many centuries and built by skilled craftsmen, the kinsmen had not seen the likes in Ireland before.
FitzGodebert explained that the chainmail leggings—the chausses—were normally covered by leg armour, the parts of which one of his attendants showed to the ever-attentive kinsmen. They handled the well-worked shaped metal pieces with a quiet awe.
Donal waited until, having satisfied their curiosity, they turned their attention to him. He could see that the display had had the desired effect. He began to speak.
The clansmen had heard of the prowess of the Normans in battle and listened intently as Donal spoke of what he had seen in Wales. He described their formidable weapons, horses and tactics. They heard the story of how a band of this warlike race had embarked from Norway under the leadership of Rollo in the year 911. These Vikings arrived in northern France and, within a hundred years, had secured the land as their own and named it Normandy in honour of their homeland. From there they had spread their dominion south through Italy, stretching to the Middle East and west to our neighbours, the land of the Britons. Now they were coming to Ireland. It was time for all men to choose sides wisely.
Donal was widely respected in the clan, more so than my father, who ruled more from fear than friendship. In many ways, Donal was his opposite: handsome, honourable, wise and trustworthy. He led our troops and cavalry, and men willingly followed him into battle. His words carried great weight with the clansmen, who nodded a murmured acceptance of the irresistible changes which would sweep through these lands. Whether it happened slowly or quickly, in time, fate would make itself known. Yet fate it was; it would happen.
For the clansmen, it made little difference who sat on the throne. Kings of other, faraway lands—Ulster, Connaught and Munster—had heretofore laid claim to and ruled these lands. Most of the clansmen were old enough to have lived under several such kings in their lives. They held their land at the pleasure of these kings, who could strip it from them at will. But these kings also needed their rents and support in times of conflict. If they abused these tightly interwoven family groups, they could quickly lose friends and make enemies in the process. Thus, if the clansmen paid their tributes and gave their support when required, they were left in relative peace.
So another king would not make much difference. In addition, if these Norman lords were as strong as Donal said, they could bring a peace that would allow them to tend to their lands and families without the incessant rivalries and war making which yearly laid waste to the land and cost dearly in the blood and freedom of their kin.
The Normans were also familiar to many who had known and traded with them. They came from the neighbouring Welsh land, as close as a short day’s sail. Closer than the northern lands of Ulster or the eastern lands of Connaught, which would take many days to reach through the thick, dense forests and lawless broken roads of Ireland. And while the Normans were undoubtedly a formidable fighting force, they were great traders and builders. They never wrought destruction for its own sake, as they sought order and peace to create the foundation for prosperity and wealth in the lands they governed. Their written laws and courts gave men rights and some certainty in the vagaries of life. Donal told them how, many years previously, they had even outlawed slavery in their lands. This fate was a constant threat to the clansmen, who feared for their families.
In Ireland, it was routine for the defeated to be taken into a squalid slavery by their enemies or sold in the thriving slave markets of Dublin. The main source of food and wealth in Ireland derived from cattle. The vast herds required tending, and milking, churning, and cheesemaking was arduous, backbreaking work, carried out by an army of female slaves. Known as cumals, they were in constant demand; their importance was such that the term cumal was widely used as a unit of value for land or high-value goods.
The clansmen knew that the slave markets in Dublin, the largest such markets in Europe, were an important source of slaves for the cold, ice-encrusted lands of the north and the sun-scorched shores of Africa. Slave traders came from far and wide to ply their trade there. Every man in my father’s hall that day knew of people who had suffered that fate; they would never return. The people of Leinster would welcome being free of that fear.
I knew these men of our lands, and they knew me. They looked to me to speak when Donal stepped back. They listened as I spoke of the Norman practice of adopting the customs and traditions of the people they shared the land with. Even the local languages became their own in time, as it had in France and Britain. The clansmen would act as a body, seeking the strength of numbers. I could hear their muttering as they shuffled across the reed-lined floor of our gloomy hall seeking the views of their peers. Without the support of our own kinsmen upon which to build our army, we had no hope. Word of our return would quickly reach our enemies, if it hadn’t already done so. How they reacted would depend on how they gauged our strength. If we could not rise our own kin now, we would be chased mercilessly from Ireland or to our deaths. I had little doubt that Eanna would not then survive the week.
Alternatively, if we were strong and threatened them, they would seek to negotiate. O’Connor and O’Rourke had created many enemies as they sought to subjugate the provinces. They would not seek to break or weaken their armies on a strong foe just now. However, if they sensed weakness, they would be swift and ruthless. This was why I had wanted to wait until the spring, when the large Norman force would be ready to accompany us. But for now, I desperately needed these men to come to my father’s side today.
I could see that the clansmen knew the truth of what Donal and I had said. While suspicious of my father, they had some trust in us. They also knew it was vital to pick the winning side when these shifting tides of change swept across a land. That change would be driven by the force of the Normans, and it was my father who had them in his camp.
My father’s hard and cruel face had watched each man sullenly as we spoke. They could feel the lust for revenge burning in his gaze and knew his axe would sweep widely and many would be caught in the arc his retribution would mark on this land.
‘So, kinsmen, my victory is inevitable. I will regain all my lands,’ he said through his thick dark beard. Then, pausing and coldly surveying the hall as if to speak directly to each man present, he continued, ‘And with that will come a sharp vengeance . . . for all who have opposed me.’ A longer pause now as he ran his hand down his long beard. ‘Pay close heed to what I say now,’ he said, and each man could see his doom in my father’s face. ‘I will spare no pain from those who fail in their duty to support me.’ His menacing look and silence made his meaning clear: there would be no neutrals in this.
And so the clansmen, more from fear than out of commitment to my father, gave their support to our cause. After renewing their oaths, they set urgently to the task of preparing their followers for the campaign. My father hoped that the coming winter would deter O’Connor and O’Rourke from marching south against us until the spring. Donal doubted this would be the case and set about readying our force for the late autumn, when he thought they would come.
Chapter EightCILL OSNADH
Kellistown, Co. Carlow
August 1167
They were both wrong. A week after we arrived in Ferns, the scouts Donal had sent north brought word that the old alliance that had driven us from Ireland had re-formed. Rory O’Connor had joined forces with Tiarnan O’Rourke in North Leinster, and they were marching south from Wicklow. Mac Giolla Patrick, who had acquired half of my father’s kingdom to the west, had marched to join them.
Hearing of the hurried arrival of the scouts, I rushed from the bright late-summer light into the dusky hall. As my eyes adjusted, I could see the war council gathered, with my father sitting on the dais, glaring at the exhausted young scout, who had ridden hard south to Ferns through Fid Dorcha (the Dark Wood). This forest spread across the land, from the high reaches of the mountains of South Wicklow to the rich fertile pastures surrounding Ferns. O’Connor had had his army cut a pass through this forest when he last drove us away. Its purpose was to give him quick access to our land should it prove troublesome again; he was making good use of it now. In Ireland, roads were narrow, pitiful tracks which did not allow armies to move quickly. It wasn’t the mountains which hindered movement in Ireland but more the thick, impenetrable ancient forests of dark oak and towering yew trees which blanketed the lands. Closer to the settlements and towns, the people cleared land for grazing pastures. There were some areas around the larger towns where fields were made for the sowing of crops, but for the most part, the cleared land was used for grazing cattle and growing their winter fodder. Our lands hadn’t been stripped bare of the forests for shipbuilding or crop fields, as I had seen in Britain.
‘Mac Giolla Patrick will be with the high king by now,’ the scout gasped as he gulped water from the cup he grasped.
‘He’s not the damn high king—he’s the king of nothing here!’ my father snarled, rising from his chair and moving towards the frightened lad.
‘He meant nothing of it, father,’ Donal intervened. ‘Leave him be.’ Replenishing the young scout’s water from a jug, Donal said, ‘You’ve done a great service to us, lad. Well done.’ He smiled. ‘Now tell me what you saw. How many are they, and how long before they march and reach Ferns?’
‘Thank you, Donal.’ He drank deeply and, recovering himself, looked up and continued. ‘They are already moving. There must be at least two thousand. And that’s before Mac Giolla Patrick joins them.’ He gulped greedily from the cup again.
‘Two thousand!’ my father yelled, hurling his tankard at the scout. ‘Why was I not told sooner?’ he demanded. ‘We can’t fight them again. Get the men ready and bring all the livestock and food stocks into the town. We can hold out here until Strongbow arrives.’
Donal, stunned by the size of the approaching force, stated that he believed he could gather at most four hundred men to oppose them. ‘But that’s less than we had the last time they drove us from Ferns, is it not?’ I asked.
