The water deepened, and we were soon wading waist deep in high rushes. Three hundred paces away over the water, we could see the boats tied to the heavy timber quays that stretched along the sea wall of the town. As expected, there were several guards gathered around one of the flaming braziers arranged along the dock; the nights still held their spring chill in early May. The braziers added to the light thrown from the flaming torches leaning from the walls.
The reeds would cover our approach for half the distance. Beyond that, we would be in open water, well-lit from the quays. Out of our depth, we would be swimming, visible and vulnerable. We needed Rob to distract the men on the walls and the quays with his fires before we struck out.
The cold of the water sucked the warmth from my body as we waited. The wind stripped what little heat remained. I shivered, a slight tremor at first, then quickly it turned into a shuddering racking of my body.
The wind was rising, choppy waves splashing around us. We couldn’t wait much longer. If we didn’t go soon, we would not have the strength to swim to the quays in this sea, never mind the fight that would follow.
‘We either go now or we go back,’ Donal whispered to Myler. ‘Where the hell is Rob?’
‘Wait. Look,’ Myler said, gesturing towards the dim shore of the estuary beyond the town where Rob should be by now. First one, then several fires flickered into the night. In the blackness on the land beyond the light thrown from the walls, they burst into being. We could hear the men on the walls calling to the guards on the quay, who took up their arms and drifted towards the other end, closer to Rob’s fires.
This was it.
We pushed through the reeds, the movement giving some life to my numb limbs. Toe tipping, then nothing. The others swam hard at the quay, covering the distance quickly. I could see Myler climbing a ladder and waiting for the others before he jumped onto the dock. I was not halfway across, and the waves were biting. Eventually, under the dock, I grasped the ladder, exhausted. I could hear shouting and men grappling on the boards above me. As I hauled myself up, a man fell past me into the water. He surfaced, gasping, gulping for air, aimlessly, his throat open, the sea filling his lungs.
Onto the quay on all fours, I panted, shattered. All was quiet. I looked up. The guards lay strewn in expanding pools of blood. Myler and the others were firing the torches and dumping the contents of the braziers into the boats, some of which, laden with dry goods, burst into flames.
But standing with his back to me at this end of the dock, not ten paces away, was a helmeted Norseman. He held Padraig by the hair, kneeling with a blade to his throat. One move from Donal, who stood facing him, sword by his side, would leave another mother in Ferns grieving for her youngest son.
Time slowed. Donal did not look at me, but held the Norseman’s gaze. I rose slowly. Slipping Fáinleog from my belt, no shadows to betray me, I moved quickly, silently, toward his back. I gripped the hilt in two hands and threw my weight forward, driving her blade through his tunic into his heart. He did not see her tip burst through his chest, for by then Donal had his sword in his throat. The Norseman slumped lifeless onto the dock.
By now the boats were all ablaze. Volleys of fire arrows streaked from the shore, finding the dark ships anchored on the bay. Once an arrow stuck, it betrayed the boat’s presence, and it was easy work to rain fire down to set it alight.
We could hear the Norsemen working to open the heavy gates that led to the docks. It was too late to save their boats, but they would want to make us pay for this. Cutting loose all the smaller skiffs on the dock, we jumped into the last and pushed out into the darkness of the bay, away from the quay. Soon out of bowshot, we made for the firmer ground beyond the marsh we had crossed. Exhausted, we had not lost a man.
Padraig, sitting in the bottom of the boat, lifted my hand and kissed it silently.
The weak yellow light of the dawn rose quickly. Unobstructed by the sea, it cast a pale blue light over our army, standing in orderly battle formation beneath the walls. It would not have been a welcome sight for the Norsemen on the walls.
Sleep would not have come easy to the inhabitants of the town that night. The lingering stench of smouldering, damp timbers from the smoking ships and quays hung in the air, adding to their gloom. The constant hammering through the night, foreboding in the dark, heightened their dread of what the dawn would bring. The hammering stopped abruptly before the dawn. The silence, louder still, amplified the tension.
FitzStephen had wanted the dawn to present the defenders with the enormity of the assault they faced that day and inevitability of our victory. With their fleet destroyed and any hopes of resupply in the event of a siege gone, they could not hold out for long in the hope that a relieving army would arrive. That possibility was, in any case, by no means a certainty for the defenders. They prided themselves on their independence from the Irish lords and stood separate from the other Norse towns of Dublin and Waterford. None had any obligation to come to their aid, and regardless, if they did choose to do so, it would take time for any alliance to form and muster the required forces to march to the rear of the army standing under their walls. They also knew they would pay a high price if the town was taken by force. Any of the surviving defenders could be expected to be summarily executed; their women and children would suffer abuses from soldiers not to be contemplated and then sold into slavery.
FitzStephen arranged his army that morning so that as the cloak of the restless night lifted for the traumatised people of Wexford, the sight that would greet them would make sure they turned their thoughts to that price should they continue to defy us.
The ditch had been filled in two more places during the night. There would now be four points of attack. In four parts, the army stood in full battle dress, ranked and silent. Protective wooden hoarding had been brought forward and erected at the crossing points of each causeway. Stacks of sturdy wooden ladders lay close at hand, ready to be carried across. Each column of the mail-clad men preparing to attack was to be protected by large timber trellises carried by other men and joined in an apex over their heads. They would deflect the barrage of missiles and absorb arrows.
We had learned from the men who joined us on our march that there were two visiting bishops in the town. These were influential men and well disposed towards my father. For all his sins, he was clever enough to have been generous to the church, exceedingly generous. Leinster was awash with the abbeys, nunneries and churches he had endowed, and the treasuries of the bishops brimmed with his gold. Bishops could be surprisingly forgiving of a king’s transgressions, contorting themselves with remarkable dexterity with their scriptures in the absolution of a benevolent king’s sins.
My father suggested we find a priest, and as the sun rose the men on the walls saw our army kneel and receive mass in a great show of piety. The bishops would be relieved to know that at least it was a Christian army at their gates. It would do no harm in the talks that were to be offered.
To avoid unsettling the defenders, it was decided it was best to present them with the familiar. Rather than the threatening presence of an armoured Norman delegation, Donal and I, who were well known and respected by them, would approach the gates. Montmorency had insisted that one Norman accompany us. I think FitzStephen misunderstood that he was volunteering for this task, and he agreed he should go with us. Unhappy but unable to withdraw, Montmorency agreed. I too would have preferred that he did not accompany us, for of all the Normans, he was the most unsympathetic to the urgency with which we needed to march on Mac Giolla Patrick in Osraige to secure Eanna’s release. We had to take Wexford now.
Before we had left, I rode over to Rob on the pretence of getting a better view of the walls from the slightly higher ground on which the Welsh archers were massed. I told him that on my signal from the gates, he was to have the bowmen light fire arrows from the braziers and hoist them in their bows, ready to shoot, in a display fully obvious to the men on the walls. I might have unwittingly left him with the impression that this order came directly from FitzStephen.
As we approached the ditch carrying willow branches as a sign for parley, the gates opened slightly. It was the two bishops who squeezed through and stepped cautiously forward as the gates were closed and barred behind them. I knew one as Joseph Ua hAedha, the bishop of Ferns. He glanced uneasily over his shoulder at the closed gates. He was the bishop whose robe Rob had relieved of its intricately embroidered hem for the silk it provided for attaching the fletching to his arrows. I could not easily unsee his pale, spindly legs—the vision did not add to the high dignity of his office.
His eyes darted nervously over the army arrayed behind us. ‘Donal, Aoife, my children,’ he gushed, all smiles. ‘Such a joy to see men kneeling in God’s praise. An army, a Christian army. God be praised!’ He gestured, open armed, to the heavens.
‘I see you have a new robe, Bishop,’ I said. I could feel Donal’s disapproval, but it was hard to miss the opportunity. I’d apologise later.
Ignoring my comment, the bishop looked to Montmorency. Taking the prompt, Donal introduced him and took the opportunity to describe the nature of the army and our purpose here today—our father, the rightful king of Leinster, was the legitimate overlord of this town in his kingdom. The men opposing him were rebels defying his authority. He demanded their submission, the surrender of the town.
‘I see, Donal, yes, I see . . . but I think things may have changed somewhat,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure the men of Wexford would fully agree with that right now . . .’
Donal interrupted, ‘Let me be clear, Bishop: we will attack if you do not agree. You will give us hostages and agree to fight with our army when we call. In return, we will spare the town.’
‘Hmm.’ He rubbed his stubbled chin in his hand. ‘Well, I’m sure they are willing to be reasonable, but your terms will have to be discussed. I will deliver your offer to the Tengs, and I am sure we can resume our parley at first light tomorrow.’ He smiled, exuding an air of calm reasonableness.
They were playing for time. If they could hold out, there was a chance an army would presently appear at our rear. Donal hesitated.
‘Bishop,’ I said, squeezing my mare forward. ‘You will accept our terms immediately and in full or we will attack the city now.’ Donal and Montmorency looked at me, as surprised as the look on the bishop’s face.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard me. If we do not return to our lines with your full acceptance of our terms, we will attack. They are my father’s words.’
He looked to Donal, who remained stony-faced.
‘You would not attack a town and put the lives of two defenceless men of the cloth at risk, bishops no less?’ He gestured to his colleague, who shivered slightly.
‘You are free to leave,’ I said. ‘But you must do so immediately.’
At this, Montmorency intervened. He spoke loudly, for he knew that the town elders would be listening behind the gates.
‘Be also aware that the accepted conventions of the siege will apply, should you continue with your insolence. If you are unfamiliar with these, let me remind you: all men will be put to the sword, and our soldiers will be given the customary three days of their pleasure with the women, girls and boys of the town.’ His voice boomed. I shuddered at what he had said, for I knew it was true—and that this cruel man would satisfy his appetites on many a poor soul.
