Our high spirits sustained us throughout the evening and into the early hours. We sang and joked and recounted tall tales, hidden from the castle in the depth of the cellar. I could see the men looking quizzically at one another as the evening wore on, Ewan shaking his head knowingly at the two younger men: you could never fathom a woman.
Chapter ThirteenPREPARING FOR WAR
Chepstow Castle, Wales
Early 1169
Preparations began immediately. Strongbow had convened his war council the following day, after the king’s messenger had departed. The sullen faces gathered around the long table in the Great Tower transformed instantly in a surge of excitement when Strongbow disclosed his intentions. True to his word, he had invited me to attend; with my father and Donal in Ireland, I would be a valuable source of local knowledge. Sitting at the table, it seemed more like a family gathering of the Geraldines, with Robert FitzStephen, Maurice FitzGerald, Raymond Le Gross and Myler. Montmorency, sullen for once, was also present. He avoided my eyes.
While it would be impossible to hide their preparations for war, they could disguise their intent. Word would be put out that Strongbow was preparing a smaller force to be available to do the king’s bidding, as he had informed his messenger the evening before. The Geraldines had been dismayed to hear this; they saw little point in expending further energies in the cause of an ungrateful king.
Now, understanding Strongbow’s ruse, they sat forward, their smiles and nodding heads eagerly anticipating the campaign plans. They knew Strongbow was not one for haste and would only have acted as he did with well-formed plans. They were not disappointed.
There would be two phases to the landing. This suited the time available and the scrutiny his actions would attract from the king and his spies. In the first phase, a small force would depart in late spring, when the weather was favourable and adequate preparations were complete. This would be a force of approximately six hundred men in total. It would be led by Sir Robert FitzStephen, who would be accompanied by Myler, his cousins Miles FitzWilliam and Robert de Barry, the archdeacon’s brother. Three ships would sail from St Davids, and two from Milford. Dividing the preparations between the two ports would attract less attention. Maurice de Prendergast, a Flemish lord from Rhos in South Wales and a close ally of Stronbow, would sail from Milford.
Like me, the men around the table were taken aback by the extent of Strongbow’s planning. This had not been conceived overnight. Having listened to FitzGodebert’s account of the battle at Cill Osnadh, he believed the force would require approximately five hundred Welsh longbow men, forty knights and sixty men-at-arms, some mounted and some on foot, as well as two ships capable of transporting approximately twenty horses each. These vessels would need to be acquired and adapted for these purposes. Much discretion was required in this task, and for this reason Strongbow turned to Myler and, asking his forgiveness for identifying him as a junior member of his followers, asked him to source these ships and to see to their preparation. He would attract less attention in the ports than his uncles, who were more widely known as his men.
Maurice FitzGerald and Raymond Le Gross would assist in the preparation for the first expedition and the wider planning for the second, which would follow with a more considerable force as soon as possible, but probably not until the Spring of the following year. Strongbow would accompany this second force.
‘In the meantime, I will do everything I can to cajole the king into giving me permission to sail. However, once I sail, you will all understand . . .’ He did not finish the sentence.
The consequences for Strongbow were clear to everyone in the room. Open defiance of the king would mean he would forfeit his lands and titles. There were many ambitious lords in the king’s court only too willing to accept the grant of his ancestral lands from the king. If the campaign in Ireland was not successful, there would be no home to retreat to in Wales for any of them.
If it was successful, it would at the very least mean banishment in Ireland. Most probably, the king would not be willing to tolerate a defiant lord of growing power and wealth on the western edge of his most precious kingdom, Britain. A rebellious lord could embolden others. The more successful he became in Ireland, the more certainty would be the king’s arrival with a formidable army to crush him. The whole venture was a huge gamble. The only possibility of a good outcome for them would be for their success to be of such magnitude that the king would be reluctant to do battle with a sizeable, well-prepared force on unfamiliar ground. In those circumstances, he would calculate it best to reach an accommodation with Strongbow. This would require significant sacrifices of the gains they would make to the king, but it could work. Although Henry was ruthless, as all great kings must be, he was no fool.
‘Gentlemen, now you understand my full intent. Each man who commits to accompany me must do so in the full knowledge of the consequences.’ Strongbow paused, looking around the table at each man in turn for their understanding; one by one they nodded their heads.
‘Thank you,’ he continued. ‘Now I am asking each of you for an oath of silence and your steadfast commitment to the end.’
A longer pause now. Then he looked at me and said, ‘M’lady, you have mine. I will see this venture through to the end, whatever that may be.’
The room was silent when he finished. The men present understood the magnitude of the decision they were making. It had far-reaching consequences for them and their families. If their mission failed, those who sailed would not survive the king’s wrath if they did not die in Ireland. Their families would be impoverished if they lived, and their name would forever be tainted with the stain of treachery—an offence this king would never forgive, as his treatment of Strongbow had shown.
Nonetheless, their minds were clear. Norman blood ran rich with ambition. Bred for battle, they could not be idle. A king who would disrespect their family name, who would deny them their birthright, who would wilfully deprive them of the opportunity to acquire land and wealth, who would in fact threaten the confiscation of what they possessed, was not a king who deserved their following. The heavy silence in the room did not betray an unwillingness; rather, it held the weight of the implications of the decision they would make. It was Maurice FitzGerald who broke the silence. He was a man of few words, more inclined to action, but his judgement was highly respected by all. He spoke slowly but deliberately.
‘M’lord.’ All eyes turned to him. ‘This English king does not regard us as one of his kind. An Irish king has requested our help against invaders who have unjustly stolen his kingdom and are laying waste to the entire island. We are unwelcome in the kingdom of the English king and can help undo an injustice in Ireland. I say we go to Ireland and make common cause and our futures amongst them.’
Rising, he placed his right hand to his chest and pledged his sword to Strongbow. Then, each man present rose in turn and made his own oath.
The crack as Strongbow slammed his hand on the table shook me. He laughed loudly and shouted for wine, embracing each of them in turn. He seemed invigorated by the decision.
Raising his cup, he urged them all to drink deeply, for from this moment forward there would be little rest until they achieved their aims in Ireland and settled terms with the king of England.
‘To Ireland.’
The early months of the year were cold but dry as the castle bustled with activity. In the meadows outside the walls, the comforting quiet before each dawn was replaced with the harsh cursing of the sergeants and the pounding of hooves as the drilling intensified. The clamour spoiled those stolen moments I had enjoyed each morning before the farrier stoked his furnace and bawled his threats at the stable lads to awaken them from their sluggish ramblings. I suffered this gladly.
The sheltered dell outside the south curtain wall of the castle whistled with arrows. The archers had set their butts to the west end. I watched them pacing the distances and gauging the accuracy of their shots in the changing winds, leaving as little as possible to chance, their deadly skills honed daily. One consolation was the discontent of the hooded crows, disturbed by the constant flights of arrows. To no avail, they bawled their complaints loudly from their eyries on the roof of the Great Tower.
I watched the entirety of it all as the weeks passed, the detailed planning, the exhaustive preparations, the constant drilling, the weaponry skills, the hammering from the forge. Body armour, lances, swords, flails, battleaxes, war hammers—our armies would never best these Normans in the field of battle. From what I saw, the small force of six hundred that was planned for the first landing would probably prevail against any Irish army. A force of many thousands, which Strongbow told me King Henry would someday bring to Ireland, would easily devastate and subjugate the entire island.
I knew we had a lot to learn, and quickly, if we were to be prepared to defend ourselves against the king’s ambitions. However, the more I saw, the more certain I was our men could never beat them in the field; they could only be brought to our ways by our women in their beds. Let our men learn the skills of weaponry and battle from them, while our women marry them and bear their children. After all, it is women, for the most part, who teach children the ways of the land—language, customs, even the law itself. Tumbling from these beds, I imagined these children would fare well in this uncertain world.
There was some unwelcome news when Myler told me Montmorency would accompany us. He was surprised at this as Montmorency was not a man who could be relied upon in battle and avoided placing himself in any danger. However, Montmorency was very keen to go and persuaded Strongbow saying he alone had explicit permission from the king to go to Ireland and that his inclusion gave the campaign some legitimacy. Strongbow agreed and had even given him some authority in the affair. Myler was certain he had also sown doubt in Strongbow’s mind about the trustworthiness of the Geraldines. Myler’s uncles were not pleased.
Regardless, Myler had quickly sourced two large trading barques with sufficiently low draughts that would beach on the sands at Bannow Island. We would not be disembarking at the deep-water quay in the bay from where we had fled, as it was too vulnerable to attack; we would land on the island instead.
Docked at the quays beneath the castle on the Wye, work commenced immediately to adapt the two boats to carry the horses. In centuries of warfare in the lands around the Mediterranean, the Norman’s had perfected the techniques for transporting horses by sea. The bellies of the boats were stripped and the planking above the hull was strengthened to take the weight of the horses. Their iron shoes were to be removed for the journey to take the force from their kicks, which could damage the hull and other horses. Heavy iron rings were secured into each side of the hull and to the supporting joists of the deck above the horses.
At over thirteen hands, they were large animals compared to those we had in Ireland. Understanding the importance of horse breeding to their success in warfare, the Normans had taken the bloodstock from southern European lands, particularly the Iberian breeds, and produced larger, more powerful animals capable of carrying a fully armoured knight while also having the dexterity and bravery required in battle. In Ireland and Britain, the knowledge of horse breeding had not developed as we fought our battles on foot, simply using horses as a means of transport to a battlefield. As in all times, it is the needs of war which accelerate the perfection of the means—in this case, the horses.
The Norman horses used in battle were known as coursers. They were not their heaviest horses, which were destriers, used mostly for jousting. Strongbow possessed several such animals in his stables. I saw one giant of an animal which stood at fifteen hands.
Though lighter, the coursers were very fast and strong. Being highly bred, they were full-blooded, hard to handle and stallions for the most part. They did not geld these animals as the knights used their fierce temperament to charge down shield walls bristling with spears, kicking and biting as they went. I had seen one animal rip the muscle clean from a man’s arm. It was not a pleasant sight. I was wary of these beasts.
Keeping the stallions under control during the sea journey was essential. Too close, and they would fight savagely, causing injuries, and they were too valuable for that. More importantly, if the weight of twenty heavy animals shifted awkwardly in a shallow-bottomed boat with a low keel, it could easily capsize.
As the work progressed, Myler showed me how each animal was separated by a wooden stall. Their head collars were attached face-on to the hull over a food trough, keeping their powerful hind legs away from the timbers of the boat. A kick from one of these animals could knock a plank and hole the boat. Canvas slings were attached to the iron rings on either side of the hull. When the horses were loaded, the slings were passed under their bellies, and they were were hoisted. Suspended in this way, just above the deck, the horses were surprisingly calm. Even in this, the Normans left nothing to chance. With the work on the boats complete and the time for our departure approaching, the horses were walked daily to the boats, loaded and hoisted. They were then fed. Each animal was assigned a stall with familiar travelling companions on either side. Horses, like humans, have their likes and dislikes. An ill-chosen neighbour would provoke a vicious fight between two high-blooded stallions—something best avoided in the confined space of a ship’s hull. The horses became quickly used to the routine, and eager for their food, they strained on their lead ropes to mount the gangplanks, dragging their handlers to their stalls.
With some reluctance Strongbow agreed that I would accompany the first expedition, bringing Conor with me. He did so on the condition that upon arriving in Ireland, I would retreat to the safety of Ferns and remain there. I never explicitly agreed to do this, although I admit, he would be forgiven for believing otherwise.
Myler was delighted that our friend Rob Smith had been given charge of the archers. His father, Ewan, who had always led the archers on campaigns with Strongbow, would travel with the main force next year. Rob was cock-a-hoop and strode about the castle with an exaggerated sense of self-importance. Myler took every opportunity to disavow him of this, much to everyone’s amusement.
Towards the end of April, all was ready; Strongbow convened one final war council, a long, tedious affair in which each detail of the preparations was examined exhaustively. Not without justification, I must say, for several matters were rightly not to Strongbow’s satisfaction and were rectified. Myler himself attracted his displeasure for provisioning the horse transports with just two days’ fodder and water. Strongbow insisted on four, and the departure for St Davids was delayed for a day while Myler saw to it.
