O’Connor struggled to keep his prancing stallion in hand as he shouted above the rising din, ‘As you can see, my men see no reason to talk. They are eager for a fight.’ Wheeling his horse around, he shouted with an added urgency now, for once started, battles had a life of their own. The one thing you can’t do with spears is sit on them, and he knew things would get out of hand here quickly. ‘You must submit now, and I will treat you fairly. You had no cause to bring the foreigners to our land, Diarmuit MacMurrough.’
But my father could scarcely hear and was watching the clustered horsemen who had started moving slowly forward towards our battle line over to our right. I squeezed my horse forward to get closer to O’Connor, being careful not to get too close to his sweating stallion, which could lash out at either me or my horse.
‘There are indeed many foreigners here today,’ I shouted as he looked down at me. My mare shied away from his stallion, but I wheeled her back. ‘But the only uninvited foreigners in our land, Leinster, are you and your army!’
Surprised, he gazed fixedly at me, keeping a firm grip on his reins. Then he laughed loudly before his horse reared, spooked by the deafening roar sounded by his army as the horsemen rushed forwards.
‘Hold those fools,’ he roared, and gestured for O’Rourke to stay the main army from moving forward. But it was too late for the troop of horses, which gathered pace and rushed up the slight rise towards our right flank. There were easily enough to break our thin line, and the jeering army clearly expected the line to flee in the face of the coming onslaught. We watched, helpless, as the Connaught cavalry bore down, expecting the worst. But nothing seemed to move. I could see Rob, standing with his archers behind the Norman knights, mouthing orders. In unison, like dancers, they seemed to move. Placing an arrow on the bowstave, nocking it, hauling the cord and holding impassively for the order from Rob to release.
At what seemed an impossible distance, we saw the bowstaves snap forward and the volley of arrows shoot skywards, soaring through the air before gracefully curving, dipping and smashing into the leading horsemen. Without armour, the broadhead arrows sliced easily through the flesh of man and beast. The struck horses that did not fall thrashed about in a frenzied agony, driving the broadheads deeper into muscles and arteries. As the main body of horsemen continued surging up the hill, the archers maintained a rain of arrows with astonishing speed. Each man seemed to move with a rhythmic fluidity: release, place, nock, haul, release, place, nock, haul . . . As fast as you could say it, it was done.
The jeering from the army began to fade as the devastation on their cavalry became clear. The gentle hill was littered with fallen horses and men. A few crazed horses crashed back through their lines. The jeering was gradually replaced by the spine-crushing cries of wounded men and the screeching of horses. In silence the army watched the remainder of the cavalry reach the thin line of our flank. As they approached at speed, the Norman knights stepped forward and arrayed themselves. Heavily armoured and carrying no shield, they each seemed to crouch side-on towards the approaching horsemen. Holding their longswords two handed over their left shoulder, they waited. I had seen them practice these techniques over and over at Chepstow. Their armour could withstand the first blows of a rider’s weapon; their aim was to unseat the man.
Deftly sidestepping at the last moment, they slashed their swords across the horse’s front legs or swivelled and cut the back legs from under it. Either way, each knight felled a man in the first assault. Even at this distance it was shocking to see the efficiency with which each stepped forward and casually dispatched the fallen rider.
The remaining horsemen, having witnessed the fate of their companions and still suffering the rain of arrows from the archers, turned and fled. A heavy silence engulfed their army now. I could see that O’Connor was taken aback, but he also knew that if he unleashed his army, he would certainly win the day. The sheer weight of numbers would eventually prevail, but at what cost to his army. And he had other more pressing needs for his army, what with the trouble brewing in Munster.
‘That was none of our doing, Ard Rí,’ Donal said, purposefully addressing him as high king. ‘We can discuss terms and avoid further unnecessary killing.’ Donal knew O’Connor would be reluctant to fight if it could be avoided. Unnecessary slaughter was not the Irish way, and we had to do anything to survive this day. We would not win this battle. But now O’Connor knew he would pay a heavy price in men and horses.
He nodded. I looked to my father to agree, but he was no longer with us. As we had turned our attention to the unfolding drama not three hundred paces to our right, my father, unnoticed in the confusion, had spurred his horse back up the hill to rejoin our men who stood on the far flank.
‘Donal! Look! Father!’ I said, pointing to the hilltop where we could see him ordering the men to mount up. A few dozen gathered in a body around him. We could see him mouthing orders, gesticulating towards the surviving Connaught horsemen retreating down the slope. I could not believe what he was doing.
‘The fool!’ Donal shouted. ‘What’s he doing? He has no chance. We have to stop him!’ He turned to O’Connor, who by now realised my father was gone and was mustering our cavalry for a charge down the slope in pursuit of the retreating Connaughtmen.
‘We have no part in this, Ard Rí,’ he said, raising his voice over the rising snorting and stamping of the excited horses. ‘I will stop this madness!’ he shouted over his shoulder as he wheeled his horse and made to speed up the slope to intercept my father.
I struggled to hold my mare in hand and she reared, screaming her objection to being held as Donal passed. I only managed to put a hand to his reins and stop him by good fortune as I turned and landed in his path. I barely remained on her back by grabbing her mane, my hand slipping on the rising froth on her neck as her excitement grew. It was too late to stop my father now. I knew the fate of those horsemen was decided before they suddenly broke down the slope with my father at their head. If Donal tried to intervene now, I doubted he would see the sunset.
Initially they caught the remnants of the retreating Connaught cavalry and cut them down, driving their spears into their exposed backs.
But as sure as the swallow returns in the spring, what then happened was unavoidable. That certainty made it harrowing to watch.
O’Rourke, seeing my father coming down the slope with the pursuing horsemen, hefted his battleaxe and, circling his horse in front of his men, who had remained in battle order, screamed his war cry and charged. His army surged forward, gathering pace as they rode hard up the slope. They parted to let their own men pass, and I could see the hesitation in my father and the Uí Chennselaig horsemen when they realised O’Rourke’s calvary was upon them. It was too late. They were quickly engulfed. Surrounded on all sides, they disappeared into the mass of enemy riders. The Norman archers stood there, watching helplessly, unwilling to shoot their arrows into a fight where the arrows would not tell friend from foe.
I could see my friends and kinsmen being surrounded, hopelessly wheeling their horses, trying to fend off the spear thrusts. They were easily picked off, dragged from their horses; I could hear the battleaxes shattering skulls and ribcages. And just as quickly there was a quietness, only the sound of horses snorting and prancing excitedly. I saw O’Rourke take the head of a young lad I knew with a savage blow, almost casually. I knew he was an only son, and his death would shatter his mother. O’Rourke made sure there were no wounded to fill the valley with their pain. Only one man was left alive, and he was now kneeling at his feet. My father.
We had stood with O’Connor, watching helplessly. He glanced up the hill to where the Norman knights stood impassively with the remains of our men. Following his gaze, I knew he was thinking he could beat us a little easier now.
‘It’s not worth it,’ I said pushing through his guard. ‘You saw what they can do. They have not lost more than a man or two.’ His eyes showed a calmness as he considered his options. This man could be reasoned with, I thought. ‘You have beaten us now. Give us reasonable terms, and my father will submit to you as ard rí. There is no need for more killing.’
He seemed to nod and, looking at me, said, ‘Let’s see what he has to say, shall we?’ His bodyguard had arrived, and turning to the man, he told him to tell O’Rourke to keep my father alive. ‘You’d better be quick. The only reason he’s still alive is O’Rourke wants to kill him slowly.’
The vicious grin on O’Rourke’s bloodied face as he stood over my father was telling. Here was his most bitter enemy, on his knees before him. The pox-ridden dog that had humiliated him by stealing and abusing his wife, Dearbhail, almost fifteen years ago was at his mercy. He had waited a long time to exact his revenge for all the kingdoms to see and have his honour restored.
‘You’re going to taste your balls first,’ he spat into my father’s face as we approached. ‘Get me a sharp knife,’ he yelled to his men and levelled a forceful kick into my father’s stomach, forcing him to the ground. ‘Tie his hands.’
‘Tiarnan,’ O’Connor called to him as we pulled up. ‘Tiarnan. He’s less trouble to us alive now than he is dead,’ he said. But O’Rourke looked beyond reason, and with spittle running into his beard, he levelled a vicious kick into my father’s face. O’Connor persisted, ‘Tiarnan, listen to me now. Alive, he’ll keep the other young bucks who are chasing his crown in control. Kill him and they’ll squabble for it, and we’ll get dragged into it. We have Munster to deal with, and there’s richer spoils there.’ I could see the raw anger in O’Rourke, but he hesitated now.
O’Connor went on to tell him how diminished a creature my father was compared to him. He, O’Rourke, was now a great king through his alliance with O’Connor, the high king. He had gone from strength to strength with ever increasing wealth and fame throughout the land, far beyond his own kingdom of Bréifne. And look at my father, vomiting in the mud before him. He was nothing now.
O’Rourke knew he was right. He would not get his blood revenge, but MacMurrough would pay a heavy price. He growled his frustration and slammed his boot into my father’s face again.
‘Leave him now,’ O’Connor said with an authority that let O’Rourke know the discussion was over. ‘Pick him up and bring him here.’ He had my father unbound and ordered a man to clean the mud and blood from the beating he had received.
I know I should have felt for him now, but my bitter anger at him left me torn between wanting him dead and knowing that keeping him alive was our best chance of surviving until Strongbow could come to out aid.
Leaning forward and resting his hands on his horse’s neck, O’Connor spoke loudly for all to hear, ‘MacMurrough, I’m giving you a chance to live. These are my terms. They are non-negotiable.’ He went on to describe how Diarmuit would be stripped of the bulk of his lands apart from a reasonable portion in the far southeast, around Wexford. The Normans would return to Wales, and my father would submit and recognise him as the ard rí.
Even then I wasn’t sure what my father would do. The terms were more generous than I had expected, but O’Connor was a man with good judgement. He knew to strip a man completely of his dignity was folly, and in truth I was relieved that O’Connor hadn’t demanded that one condition I feared most. But then it came.
‘And you will deliver to me your young son, Conor, to be held as surety to make sure you observe the terms. Where is he?’ he asked.
As my father was about to speak, I quickly interrupted, ‘He’s in Wales. He did not accompany us.’ O’Connor looked unconvinced, so I continued. ‘I will go in his place.’ Now he appeared surprised, and placing a hand on his hip, he laughed.
‘You, mo chailín, are best placed at your father’s side with your older brother Donal. He grinned. ‘He has a need of wise heads around him. Believe me.’
And so it was agreed that he would take seven other hostages instead, and my father accepted the terms and bent his knee, the customary act of submission to a higher king.
‘It’s still too good for him,’ O’Rourke growled. ‘His father’s fate is what he deserves.’ We all knew how my grandfather had been murdered by the Norse of Dublin over fifty years ago. He had suffered the ultimate humiliation of being buried with the corpse of a dog.
‘No, Tiarnan,’ O’Connor said firmly. ‘That’s settled. He will not die today. His crimes are a matter for the law now. We will summon the Brehon, Cormac, and he will decide.’
A commotion at the rear of the assembled crowd caught everyone’s attention before O’Rourke could continue complaining. The assembled warriors turned and parted as a tall, clean-shaven man strode purposefully forward into the circle. Older than most, probably beyond sixty, he moved with surprising ease and quickly surveyed the group with his one good eye. His woven long cloak bore the braided green hem of a Brehon, while the large gold broach fastened at his right shoulder denoted his seniority in this cast of law keepers.
‘Cormac, we were just going to call for your help,’ O’Connor said, dismounting, as did everyone as a mark of respect for one of the most senior and respected Brehons in the land.
‘Yes, I was aware,’ he said, looking around. ‘Isn’t there somewhere to sit? It’s been a long walk. I’ll never get used to those dammed horses.’ There was a flurry of activity as a small stool was brought up and arranged to his satisfaction, upon which he eventually placed himself heavily. ‘There now, that’s better,’ he said, settling his cloak. ‘Now, what seems to be the problem here?’ He beamed, taking a draught from a water pouch he carried.
