‘Now, Sir Hervey’—Strongbow was suddenly as affable as he had been threatening a moment ago—‘please explain your plan and thinking to the princess.’
Straining under the effort to appear civil, Montmorency went on: ‘M’lady. Broadly speaking, our sources tell us that the land seems to be in some turmoil at present. And while this is not unusual, we think we could take some advantage from it if we act quickly. Hence, we plan to send an initial exploratory force to land—’
‘Exploratory?’ I interrupted him. ‘What do you mean by exploratory?’ I did not want to stretch Strongbow’s goodwill in his tolerance of my intervention, but Donal and I had discussed what was required for any expedition to succeed. We knew our land, our coast, our people and our enemies. And increasingly, we doubted our father’s judgement. Consumed by a vicious rage and craving for vengeance at the wrongs, treachery and ill fortune that had befallen him, he had withdrawn deeper into himself and seldom sought our company or counsel.
We needed to ensure that the Normans got this right or Eanna would die. Our army needed to be overwhelming in both size and the pace at which it would sweep through southern Leinster in the first days of any campaign. Loyalty was fickle and followed the strong in Ireland. The kindred families would flock to join us if they thought we would win. Otherwise, they would unite against us with the armies of our enemies: O’Conner, the self-declared high king of Ireland; O’Rourke, the king of Bréifne; and Mac Giolla Patrick, the king of Osraige to the west of Leinster, who had seized half our kingdom when we fled these nine months past.
Montmorency clearly resented my impertinence, but keen not to offend Strongbow again, he continued: ‘Well, if you must, m’lady. We believe a force of twenty knights, with the accompanying men at arms and archers. Approximately one hundred and fifty in total, I estimate, should be sufficient.’
‘And that’s your plan, is it, Sir Hervey?’ I asked pointedly. I did not want to alienate Strongbow if he was an architect of this expedition, which I was certain would fail. I would need to tread carefully.
‘It is, m’lady. And I am confident of its success,’ he added.
‘M’lord,’ I addressed Strongbow directly. ‘This number is far too small. It will fail. The families will know it will fail and will unite with our enemies and drive us into the sea once more. Except this time, they will have an even larger force against us, and I doubt we will reach the sea to escape again. It is rank stupidity!’
Montmorency was seething, bristling with a suppressed violence which I suspected he would not be slow to unleash against me in different circumstances. He dared not speak for a moment, struggling to contain his rage.
However, I could see Le Gros and FitzStephen nodding and murmuring some agreement or approval of my outburst. This, I thought, was not the first time Montmorency’s plan had been questioned. Donal had far more confidence in the soundness of judgement in military matters of these gentlemen than he had in our father. He feared they would be overconfident and make the mistake of sending an overly small, unprepared force to a disadvantaged landing on our shore. I was very relieved they were here now. FitzStephen spoke up in favour of landing with a far bigger force to seize the initiative. His battle-scarred face suggested he was well experienced in these matters, and Strongbow clearly respected his views.
Furious, Montmorency moved to place himself between Strongbow and myself, as if to physically obstruct the flow of events over which, he sensed, he was losing control.
‘Indeed I admire your enthusiasm, m’lady,’ he said. ‘However, this plan, of which you are so dismissive, has been drawn up not only by me but by your father as well. You’d agree that he might be more knowledgeable in these matters than you?’ He snorted dismissively, heightening the confrontation by goading me into challenging my father’s judgement. It would, as Montmorency knew, take a brave person to question Diarmuit MacMurrough’s prowess in war, considering the many battles he had fought and won. His reputation was fierce and feared, but as most who live by the sword seldom die in bed, he had now failed and fled his kingdom. His star had fallen somewhat, and his judgement certainly had.
Donal had told me not to plead under any circumstances. Their determination to come to Ireland was not a spoil-seeking raid, from which they would return enriched with plunder. We had come to understand in those early months in Chepstow that, for reasons that would soon become clear, these Normans intended to come to Ireland to settle permanently amongst us. Strongbow’s willingness to marry me confirmed this intent. Norman dynasties would be planted to take route in Ireland. In the fertile soil of my own royal womb, through this marriage, the seed of their bloodlines would be legitimised.
Their need for legitimacy was where our power in this relationship with the Normans lay. What I had yet to say about the marriage would undoubtedly shock them. Nonetheless, it was necessary that I establish some sense of respect now if we were to have some influence over events.
Consequently, they must believe I was resolute. Comportment amplified power, just as pity weakened it, Donal had said. ‘So hold your head up and speak confidently.’
At that time, standing in the large hall alone, I remember trying hard not to show my panic and wishing Donal was there. I could feel droplets of sweat shivering down my back. Searching for the words we had rehearsed, I recalled nothing…but I knew what I wanted to say.
‘My father lost his kingdom. He almost had us all killed. He did stupid things, and now our brother is a prisoner. This plan is more stupidity,’ I almost shouted at him. ‘They will kill Eanna.’ I regretted this at once. I was supposed to avoid mentioning Eanna. The Normans had no interest in saving him. Quite the opposite for some of them, Donal thought. The fewer male heirs to the MacMurrough dynasty around the better.
Strongbow’s gaze never faltered during these exchanges. I could feel the intensity of his scrutiny. I have come to see that my thoughts are as impenetrable to others as their own are to me, yet back then I felt he reached behind my eyes with ease.
Now there was a smugness about Montmorency after my childish outburst. ‘M’lord, I think the princess may be overtired. These matters are best left in our hands.’ He appeared as if vindicated.
After a long pause, Strongbow looked to Le Gros, who seemed glad to take the opportunity to question Montmorency’s plan: ‘What harm in listening to what the princess has to say, m’lord.’ This seemed to infuriate Montmorency, but Strongbow silenced him with a casual gesture, then turned to me.
‘And what so would you suggest, m’lady?’ he asked quietly as he invited me to the table where the manuscripts and maps of the campaign plan were arrayed. He wasn’t much younger than my father, but there was a warm and thoughtful way about him.
‘Thank you, m’lord.’ I could feel my hands shaking, so I held them clasped to my skirts. Donal had told me to be clear and assured when it came to the campaign. Uncertainty bred fear. ‘Could I ask where you propose to land?’ I asked.
‘Sir Hervey, please show the princess what you have proposed,’ Strongbow instructed Montmorency.
‘Well, obviously the closest point to Ferns on the east coast would be most advantageous,’ he responded loudly, with a bit more confidence than his nervous appearance suggested at this stage. He pointed to the coast roughly halfway between the coastal towns of Wexford and Dublin.
‘M’lady?’ Strongbow said, turning to me and inviting my opinion.
Any knowledge of the geography of the east coast of Ireland would expose the risk of this landing. The towns of Dublin, Wexford and Waterford were fortified Norse settlements, with formidable armies and seagoing fleets. Their wealth derived from their long-established trading links across Europe in furs, wines, timber and slaves. They were self-ruled by powerful Norse lords who acknowledged the Irish kings as required but with a fickle loyalty. Of these, Dublin was by far the largest and most powerful. They would not take kindly to the arrival of the Normans in their hinterland on the east coast, threatening their interests. They would be certain to react.
‘In doing so, m’lord, you place our forces within easy reach of the Norse army of Dublin. If they march, we will not even make it to our boats. And if we do, their fleet will sink us,’ I said, regaining some composure.
He returned to the table and examined the large parchment map, stretched and anchored between several large ornately decorated silver candlesticks. While he was absorbed with the others joining him at the table, Montmorency stepped forward, passing uncomfortably close. With the others momentarily distracted, he caught my eye, lowered his gaze to my bosom, half sneered and moved to the table. My jaw quivered as I felt the sharp chill of his threat.
‘M’lord, the princess’s father, the king, assures me that this area of the coast is most suited for our landing,’ he said, pointing at the small port of Glascarrig that served Ferns. He went on, ‘I wholeheartedly agree and respect his knowledge and experience.’
But Strongbow never lifted his head from the map. There was clear sense in what I was saying. Now was my chance.
‘With your permission, m’lord.’ I moved to the table, purposefully requiring Sir Hervey to step aside. ‘We will be expected in the east, whereas there are better places here for us to land,’ I said, pointing to the south coast.
‘I see,’ Strongbow said eventually. ‘And where exactly do you believe might be most advantageous for us to land?’
‘There are several places, m’lord. But here,’ I said, pointing to a large bay. ‘This is Bannow Bay. It has a small tidal island, not shown on this map, actually. From here, it is easy to pass to the mainland on foot at low tide. I know it well. It could also be easily defended. And we would be within striking distance of both Wexford and Waterford, but far enough from Dublin.’
Le Gros, FitzStephen and FitzHenry were clearly in favour and gathered with around the map with Strongow. He pulled several other parchments, which he seemed to examine; he confirmed that none of the others were familiar with this coast and that the Norse army and fleet of Dublin were the most formidable in Ireland. He seemed to place far more weight on the views of FitzStephen and Le Gros in this discussion, which didn’t please Montmorency at all. He seemed humiliated, and I was the cause. He looked contemptuously at me and then at the others, who were largely ignoring him now. He seemed to make a decision.
‘M’lord, the king and I are in full agreement. We should not cause him any displeasure by questioning the plan. He has, after all, given you the princess’s hand in return,’ he said to the shock of everyone within earshot. All eyes turned from the table in the silence. They would have believed I was unaware. Le Gros stared at him, an angry twist to his jaw. FitzHenry’s eyes darted from me to Strongbow. Strongbow, in turn, glared at Montmorency in disbelief.
Now it had come to the matter which I knew could cause the most upset. Strongbow was clearly embarrassed. Such a delicate matter between us should first be discussed privately. Unhindered by the presence of others, a man and a woman could slowly navigate the delicate currents of their fate, that mix of fortune, duty, the heart and the bedchamber. Whatever it came to, its basis was best laid away from the scrutiny of others. This was highly inappropriate. Strongbow was angry, but I had to deal with it now.
‘I beg your pardon, Sir Hervey.’ I turned on Montmorency.
‘Indeed,’ he replied, almost sounding sorry for me. There was a smugness about him now. A swish of his cloak as he moved to Strongbow’s side. ‘You may not have been aware, but I have agreed with your father that you are to marry Strongbow upon his arrival in Ireland.’ There was a vindictive core in this man, and he clearly wanted to shock and provoke me. He was not aware that I already knew.
Strongbow looked uncomfortable. My first impressions of him were good, but as had been expected, these men had little understanding of Irish customs and law in these matters. Neither the Celts nor the church had managed to fully quench the important role women played in our ways. The deep sinews of ancient Brehon law survived and stretched into the present day, across all aspects of our lives. In that tradition, Danu, the earth mother, was all-important, and this echo sounded today in our customs. Women were not only valued for childbearing; we were also regarded as equal and seen as a balancing force in the great scheme of life. With great power in daily life, we also had rights to own property, rule kingdoms, wage war and decide our own futures.
And today that meant that no marriage could take place without my consent.
