The ground sloped gently from where we stood, down past the farmhouses, then onwards towards the opening in the forest in the middle distance. There the night-dark trees closed around the barely visible gap where the trail resumed its path north. Our chosen place was narrow enough to defend, with the trees closing on either side and the path at our back should we need it. The forest would protect our flanks and offer us some concealment. O’Connor would fear a trap and suspect the greater part of our forces lay hidden behind and around us. At least that’s what we hoped. As we didn’t have the forces to mount an ambush, we had to rely on deceit to force the negotiation. The armour of the Normans was to be spread amongst as many men as possible to give the impression of numbers.
‘And no matter what happens, we don’t want to get into a fight on the open ground. Stay up here, close to the trees,’ Donal repeated. He sent two riders to the farmhouses to reassure them we meant no harm and to look for word of enemy scouts.
No sooner had the men begun arranging themselves when Rob shouted and pointed to two riders watching from the far opening of the forest trail, making no effort to conceal themselves. The sharp flicker of the afternoon sun on the metal of their battleaxes told us their purpose.
‘So they’re here,’ I said.
‘Yes, and they want us to know it. Their army won’t be far behind now,’ Donal replied, ‘but we are as ready as we can be.’
‘Good, Donal,’ I said. ‘We need to deal with this now, today. The more time they have, the more chance they’ll discover how weak we are.’
He nodded, saying there was enough left of the day if they arrived soon.
They did. As we spoke, they began to trickle in, in twos and threes, and then poured from the pit of the forest. It must have taken two hours for the hoard to finally exhaust its flow and arrange itself in three massed bodies across the broad pasture. They flew no banners as the Normans did, so I couldn’t tell the formations. However, Donal recognised O’Connor with the larger force on the higher ground to the right. O’Rourke was on the left flank, with Mac Giolla Patrick’s forces occupying the centre.
‘How many?’ I asked.
‘Doesn’t matter. Too many . . . but I’d say two and a half thousand.’ He turned to Rob. ‘Can you hit them from here?’
‘Not likely. That’s seven hundred paces; we could do three and a half hundred at a stretch. They’re on foot, so if they charge, we’ll take down a good few, but no more than sixty, I’d say.’
‘Not enough. We stick with the plan. They’ll want to talk before the fight, but we have to meet them as far away from here as possible, down there,’ he said, pointing towards their lines. ‘I don’t want them to see what we have here.’
Before long, a party rode slowly from the centre of their lines, which were by then arranged for battle. There were three of them, each carrying a branch of the willow, signifying a truce, as was customary.
‘Three of them, so three of us. Donal and Sir Richard, come with me,’ my father said. He still hadn’t spoken to me since our vicious row when I refused to let him bring Conor on this errand. And he hadn’t seemed surprised when he saw me on the trail in the forest today and simply ignored me. Suits me, I thought, as he passed.
‘If they bring any more men, send an equal number of your men,’ Donal shouted back to Rob Smith as they rode down. ‘But hold back unless I call otherwise.’ As he finished, I saw a fourth rider, nearly hidden behind the other three—a smaller figure on a pony whose lead rope was held by one of the men approaching us.
Unsure at first, but then the sun caught his flaming-red hair. I gasped. ‘It’s Eanna. I’m going,’ I said, swinging myself onto my horse by grabbing a fistful of his mane in my left hand and urging him forward before anyone could stop me.
Drawing beside Donal, I could see the dread in his face that I felt in my heart. As we neared, I recognised Mac Giolla Patrick holding the rope, and I could see the pleasure he took in this cruel game on his hard, furrowed face. O’Connor, the high king, was mounted on a high black stallion which pawed the ground angrily. He wore an elaborate armour breast plate and a thick gold circlet around his neck. His greying hair matched his long-plated beard and reached down his back to his horse. He was at ease on the agitated animal, and he reassured it with his free hand after he had discarded the large willow branch. His deep-set eyes closely scrutinised each of us as we drew close to where they now stood.
We arrayed ourselves in front of them. It was the time for each to assess the confidence of the other, their willingness to fight, their unity, their command and their strength.
The horses stood in silence until each man, having taken his measure, moved his thoughts to battle. Sensing the change in mood, the animals shuffled, pawed and snorted impatiently. It did not bode well for us.
‘You should not have returned, Diarmuit MacMurrough. You have no place here now,’ O’Connor said calmly, keeping his horse in hand. ‘Look at how this land welcomes you.’ And he gestured at the armies arranged behind him. ‘You had your chance to go; you should have taken it.’
Before my father could respond, O’Rourke urged his horse forward and pointed his finger in my father’s face. ‘We fertilised this soil with the slaughtered guts and blood of your kinsmen. I watched their heads spit and sizzle in my fire to keep their godforsaken spirits from poisoning the land,’ he snarled.
Spitting fury through his teeth, my father pulled the head of his horse around to drive O’Rourke back, and both men made to arm themselves before Donal lunged forward, grabbing my father’s reins. O’Connor also moved quickly, forcing his horse between them, telling O’Rourke to calm himself and observe the honour of the truce.
‘I’ll have my revenge on that bastard,’ O’Rourke yelled.
‘You were never man enough for her,’ my father laughed, wheeling his horse around to stand beside us.
‘Father! Stop it. Control yourself,’ I shouted at him.
‘You’ll taste your own balls before I’m finished with you,’ O’Rourke said, smiling grimly through thin lips, showing his broken teeth.
O’Rourke had just cause for his venomous hatred of my father, a hatred which was far greater than the normal enmity between rival kings. Not fifteen years previously, my father had been allied with the high king, the same who faced us today, against O’Rourke. Defeated, O’Rourke had been forced to part with a substantial part of his kingdom of Bréifne, which lay north of our lands in Leinster. However, my father had gone further: he had sought to humiliate O’Rourke by abducting his wife, Derbhail. To be defeated in battle was not necessarily shameful, as many a brave warrior could testify, but to have your wife taken to satisfy the carnal desires of your enemy was utter humiliation for O’Rourke. Even in the dizzying, shifting sands of fickle alliances and treachery of the Irish nobility, Diarmuit’s actions were unprecedented and had sent shock waves of revulsion throughout the land. Soon after, Derbhail had fled to the safety of her own father, who was the powerful king of Meath, which lay further to the north.
‘You broke the agreement. I had withdrawn to Ferns as agreed,’ my father addressed O’Connor, calmer now. ‘After you returned to Connaught,’ he continued, ‘he came back with that bastard and attacked us.’ He gestured angrily at Mac Giolla Patrick, who was grinning broadly, enjoying the vicious spat between my father and O’Rourke.
‘Well, you haven’t exactly made a lot of friends around here, have you.’ Mac Giolla Patrick sneered. ‘I won half your lands’—he reached and pulled the pony around—‘and this.’ And there was Eanna. His beautiful pale blue eyes, quietly pleading through his tears.
I went to move my horse forward to go to him, but Mac Giolla Patrick wrenched the rope, jolting Eanna unsteadily. ‘Careful now, Lady Aoife. Or he might get hurt.’
I remained still and silent, but my relief and joy at seeing him well pushed my tears to flow into my smile. I strained to pour my love through my locked gaze with his innocent eyes.
‘So let’s make sure everyone behaves themselves, shall we?’ O’Rourke laughed now.
All the while this played out, O’Connor had shifted his attention to FitzGodebert, who stood beside Donal. He was resplendent in the full battle dress of a Norman knight, not previously seen on the battlefields of Ireland. With the visor of his helmet raised, his full coat of polished plate reflected the afternoon sun and extended down to cover the chausses, the thick chainmail leggings protecting his legs. His surcoat was emblazoned with a bright red heraldic coat of arms, gripped by a thick decorated leather belt buckled over it. His long sword hung heavily in a gold-laced, fleece-lined scabbard.
Seeing his gaze, Donal gestured towards FitzGodebert. ‘Please let me introduce Sir Richard FitzGodebert.’ He paused to let them dwell on Sir Richard, knowing each of them would be assessing the effectiveness of his battledress.
‘Sir Richard is a Flemish knight in the service of the Earl of Pembroke, Sir Richard de Clare, also known as Strongbow. The earl has been charged by Henry, King of England, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, and Count of Angevin, to offer every assistance in righting the grievous wrong done to my father, Diarmuit MacMurrough, the rightful king of Leinster. As an acknowledged ally and fellow legitimate king, Henry sees it as his sacred duty, supported by a papal bull, to do all in his power to restore my father to his throne in Ireland.’ He paused now.
I had prepared this for Donal, drawing on my conversations with Myler. We had rehearsed it repeatedly, and I was impressed by his delivery. It had the desired impact, judging by the long silence as they scrutinised Sir Richard, who bowed his head slightly.
However, it was not entirely true. The English king remained wary of Strongbow, and while he had granted permission for his subjects to assist Diarmuit, he continued to refuse to grant Strongbow leave to muster his forces and depart for Ireland. He remained bitter over Strongbow’s support for the rival camp before he came to the throne. Strongbow and his followers, wealthy Marcher lords such as the Geraldines, were a formidable force, and he could not risk them establishing a kingdom in Ireland beyond his writ, which could, in due course, become a powerful threat to his crown. He had enough trouble with threats to his lands in the east in France without a troublesome lord establishing himself to his west.
‘Sir Richard has joined us to lead the first army which has accompanied us to Ireland,’ Donal finished, as a stirring in the ranks of O’Connor’s Connaughtmen caught their attention.
‘That may well be the case,’ O’Connor said, sounding unconvinced as he turned his shrewd eyes to take in the meagre ranks of our men arrayed on the slope behind us, ‘but it would be far better for you if that great army you speak of was behind you today.’ He turned to watch the growing clamour from the ranks of his men. A body of horsemen had come through the front rank, pacing their excited animals alongside the jeering foot soldiers who began to raise a slow rhythmic pulse of spear on shield. They could see that the small army of Leinster would be easily overrun, and just as fear dissipates from men facing death, bloodlust quickly deafens all else. More riders poured forward as the dull thump of weapons on willow shields steadily rose to fill the valley.
