She was glad to be at home. Perhaps she had been spending too much time with the sick at the hospital, but it seemed to her that her father had not been entirely well recently. Normally she would have been busy at the hospital that day, but Fionnuala had agreed to take over her tasks. She believed that recently she had managed to persuade Fionnuala to adopt a more responsible attitude to life and she felt rather proud of that.
She saw nothing unusual along the way. People were going about their business. She passed a cart carrying timber, and she had just reached the Saxons’ church when, from the king’s hall nearby, she heard a clatter of hoofs and a dozen riders came out towards her. In front rode the king himself. She noticed that none of the riders were dressed for battle, though one or two carried the Viking battle-axe that was a favoured weapon in most parts of Ireland now. The rest, including the king, only had daggers in their belts.
As she drew against the wooden fence to let them pass, the king smiled down at her. He was a handsome, kindly-looking man. He certainly didn’t appear in the least worried.
When she went up onto the wall, she found herself quite alone. Although the sky was grey, the day was clear. Beyond the fields and orchards to the south, the rounded humps of the Wicklow Mountains seemed to loom so close that you could almost touch them. She was a little surprised not so see any lookouts posted on the wall, but there was certainly no sign of any enemy approach. The gateway nearby was open. Away on the left, she could see a ship coming in from the estuary. The port had been particularly active of late. Everything seemed to be normal.
Kevin was busy at his work when she returned. A short while ago, he had felt a need to cough and had gone into the house; but that had passed. He smiled as she returned and told him all was well, and the household resumed its peaceful routine.
It was late in the morning that the silversmith put down the piece he was working on and listened. He did not say anything, just sat there very still. Was something wrong? Nothing that he could put his finger on. Could he hear anything out of the ordinary? No, he could not. But still he sat there, puzzled. His wife glanced at him.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Nothing.”
He went back to his work for a short while, then paused. The feeling had come to him again. A strange sensation. A sense of coldness. As if a shadow had passed just feet away from him.
“Una.”
“Yes, Father?”
“Go up to the wall again.”
“Yes, Father.” What a good girl she was. Never a word of complaint. The only one he could completely trust.
Although the view at the wall was the same as before, Una did not return at once. There had been no need for words between her father and herself. She understood him. If he was worried, she would take good care to check every possibility. For some time, therefore, she scanned the south-western horizon where the Liffey made its winding way towards the city. Was there any sign of dust, any glint of armour, any hint of movement? There was nothing. Satisfied at last, she decided to go back. She glanced towards the estuary, gave a last brief look at the Wicklow Mountains, and then she saw them.
They were pouring out of the hills like a mountain stream. They were flowing down from a small valley that led up into the wooded hills to the south and spreading out onto the slopes above the hamlet of Rathfarnham, less than four miles away. She could see the glimmer of the chain mail of the knights, scores of them. Masses of men, marching in three columns, followed after. At that distance, the columns looked like three huge centipedes. Behind them came still more columns of men; from their slightly bobbing motion she supposed these must be archers.
She understood what must have happened at once. Diarmait and Strongbow must have come over the mountains instead of up the Liffey valley. They had given the High King the slip entirely. In all likelihood, this was the whole army. In a quarter of an hour they would be at Rathmines. For several moments she watched in horrified fascination; then she turned and ran.
There was no need for Una to raise the alarm. Others also had seen the army on the slopes. People were starting to run in the streets. By the time she reached her own gate, the family had already heard the shouting, and it only took a few moments for her to tell them all she had seen. The question was: what to do?
The lane in which they lived ran into the Fish Shambles. They were not far from the quays. When Una went into the street again to see if there was further news, she discovered that their next-door neighbour was loading a handcart. “I’m going to get on a ship if I can,” he told her. “I’ll not be waiting here if the English come.” On the other side lived a carpenter. He had already built a barricade around his house. He seemed to think that he could keep an army out by his own handiwork.
The MacGowan household was hesitant. Her father had closed up his strongbox and her mother had wrapped some possessions in a cloth which she had slung over her back. The two boys and the apprentice were standing beside her and the English slave girl seemed more anxious to go with them than to be liberated by her fellow countrymen.
Kevin MacGowan had never liked taking chances, and he had always tried to plan for every contingency that might threaten his little family. Faced by this crisis now he found himself well able to think rationally. The carpenter might be absurd, but surely his neighbour planning to go down to the quay might be panicking too soon. Even with his English allies, it seemed unlikely that King Diarmait would be able to penetrate stone-walled defences. That meant a siege—days or weeks of waiting, and plenty of time to leave from the quays if necessary. On balance, it seemed to the silversmith that it might be foolish to run down to the waterside now. Less easy was the question of what to do with the strongbox. He did not like to trouble the monks at Christ Church until there was good reason. If there were a siege, he’d probably continue working; so he’d need to keep some of the valuable pieces in the house anyway. If the family had to leave, he might want to take at least some of his silver with him, and perhaps leave the rest in the strongbox at Christ Church. It would depend on the circumstances.
“Go to the Fish Shambles, Una,” he instructed. “Find out what’s happening.”
The sloping market street was full of people hurrying in every direction, some towards the quays, others up the slope to Christ Church. She stopped several people, but no one seemed to have a definite view about what was happening; and she was wondering what to do when she saw Father Gilpatrick coming swiftly towards her. They knew each other slightly and he gave her a friendly nod. She asked his advice.
“The archbishop is already riding out to talk to them,” he told her. “He’s determined to avoid any bloodshed. I’m going to join him now myself.”
When she returned with this news, Kevin MacGowan pondered.
It seemed to him that the chances were good. Whatever you thought of him, even King Diarmait was hardly going to ignore his saintly brother-in-law.
“We can wait awhile to see what happens,” he told his family. “Una, you’d better go back to the wall. Let us know at once if anything starts to happen.” It was a shock when she got to the wall this time. She could hardly believe they could have come so close, so soon. The nearest line of men was not three hundred yards away. She could see their faces as they stared sternly towards the walls. Detachments of knights, men-at-arms, and archers were drawn up at intervals and seemed to stretch all the way round the walls.
Straight ahead a quarter mile down the main road, she could see Archbishop O’Toole. He was mounted in the Irish style, without a saddle, on a small grey horse. Behind him were several other churchmen, including Father Gilpatrick’s father. The archbishop was in deep conversation with a bearded man, whom she took to be King Diarmait, and a tall man with long moustaches and an impassive face. That would be Strongbow. All the way along the lines, the men stood motionless. Towards one corner of the wall, some of the mounted men seemed restless, but she supposed that might be their horses. Occasionally one of
the knights would wheel out of the line and make a circle before coming back. She saw Father Gilpatrick ride out from the open gate and join his father and the other priests. Still nobody moved. The archbishop was dismounting now. So were King Diarmait and Strongbow. Men were bringing stools for them to sit on. Obviously the negotiations were going to take some time. She looked away from the scene for the moment and glanced down into the lane behind her. And then she stared in shock.
Fionnuala was walking down the lane below the wall. She wasn’t alone either. There were half a dozen boys with her. They were laughing, and she was flirting, too, by the look of it. She’d ruffled the hair of one of the boys and she was just putting her arm round another. They couldn’t possibly be unaware of the danger outside the walls. Perhaps they didn’t imagine the English would get in. But it wasn’t their stupidity, nor even Fionnuala’s flirting, that really shocked her. It was the fact that Fionnuala was supposed to be at the hospital. She had promised. Who was looking after the patients? She felt a surge of indignation.
“Fionnuala!” she cried out. “Fionnuala!”
Fionnuala looked up in surprise.
“Una. What are you doing there?”
“Never mind that. What are you doing? Why aren’t you at the hospital?”
“I was bored.” Fionnuala made a funny face. But it wasn’t funny.
Una only glanced over the wall long enough to see that the archbishop was still deep in his discussions. Then she raced to the steps, flew down them, and, ignoring the boys entirely, made straight for Fionnuala. She was in a fury. She had never been so angry. Fionnuala, seeing that she was serious, started to run, but Una caught up and grabbed her hair.
“You liar!” she screamed. “You stupid, useless bitch!” She slapped Fionnuala’s face as hard as she could. Fionnuala slapped her back, but this time Una hit her with her clenched fist. Fionnuala screamed, broke away, and started running again. Una could hear the boys laughing behind her. She didn’t care. She ran after Fionnuala. She wanted to hurt her and she wanted to hurt her badly. Such a thing had never happened to her before. She forgot King Diarmait, Strongbow, even her father. She forgot everyone.
They ran towards Christ Church, then left past the skinners’ booths and across town towards the market. Fionnuala was running faster, but Una was determined. She was shorter than Fionnuala, but she reckoned she was stronger. When I’ve given her a good slapping, she thought, I’ll drag her back to the hospital—by the hair if I have to. Then she realised that the western gate might be shut. She’ll be lucky if I don’t throw her over the wall, she thought grimly. She saw Fionnuala run into the marketplace. The stalls were being closed. A moment later Fionnuala had vanished, but Una knew she must be hiding there somewhere. She’d find her.
Then Una stopped. What was she doing? It was all very well to be getting worked up about Fionnuala and the inmates of the hospital, but what about her own family? Wasn’t she supposed to be keeping watch on the wall? She cursed Fionnuala, and turned.
The sounds first reached her when she had gone about a hundred yards along the street. She heard shouting, several big bangs, more shouts. Ahead, people were starting to run in her direction. Then suddenly, from the marketplace behind her, she heard a similar racket, and a moment later saw half a dozen knights in chain mail dash into view. They must have come through the western gate. There were men-at-arms behind them. Fionnuala was there somewhere, she knew, and for an instant she felt an urge to run back and save her friend; but then she realised the uselessness of it. If she can hide from me, she thought, then she can hide from them. She saw horsemen in front of her now. She had to get to her family. She dived into an alley.
It took her some time to reach home, working her way across the town. She didn’t know how it had happened, but the English troops were obviously taking the town. They seemed to be all round Christ Church and the king’s hall. Their arrival inside the walls had been so sudden that there was scarcely any resistance. She had to go down almost to the waterfront to avoid them.
Her family were waiting anxiously by the gate. Mercifully the English had not come that way yet. She had expected reproaches but her father only seemed relieved to see her.
“We know what happened,” her mother said. “Those cursed English. While they talk to the archbishop by the south gate, they break in at the east and west. Shameful, it was. Did you see them?”
“I saw them,” said Una, and then blushed. In all her life she had never told a lie. Strictly speaking, it was true. She had seen them in the street. But it wasn’t what her mother had meant. Nobody noticed. “It was hard to get here. They’re all round the cathedral,” she added.
“We’re going to the quay,” said her father. Una noticed that he wasn’t carrying the strongbox. “The cathedral’s already surrounded,” he explained, “and I daren’t carry it through the streets now. So I’ve hidden it in the usual place. Please God no one will find it.” He indicated a pouch tied inside his shirt. “There’s enough in here to see us through our journey.”
The quay was crowded. The English were flooding through the gates of Dublin now, but they were still in the upper part of the town. People were already swarming across the bridge to the suburb on the Liffey’s northern side, but it was far from clear that they would be any safer from the English over there. On the quay, the shipmasters were doing a brisk trade. It was lucky, Una thought, that there were so many vessels in the port that day. A Norse ship had already pulled out into the stream. That would probably be going to the Isle of Man, or the islands of the north. There was a ship ready to leave for Chester. That would be closest, but the ship was already full. Two more were Bristol-bound, but their masters were holding out for such high fares that her father had looked doubtful. Another was going to Rouen in Normandy. A French merchant that MacGowan knew slightly was embarking. The fare was less than it was to Bristol. The silversmith hesitated. Rouen was a longer voyage, more dangerous. He spoke no French. He looked back towards the Bristol boat, but the sailors were already turning people away. There seemed to be no other choice. Unwillingly, he went to the Rouen boat.
He was just paying the captain of the vessel when a familiar figure came in sight. Ailred the Palmer was striding along the quay in the direction of the hospital. As soon as he saw MacGowan, he came swiftly towards him.
“I’m glad to see you safe, Kevin,” he said. “Where are you going?”
The silversmith quickly explained the situation and his misgivings.
“You may be right to go.” Ailred glanced up the hill. Fires had broken out in one or two buildings. “God knows what kind of people these English are. You’ll surely find work in Rouen to tide you over and I’ll get word to you of what is happening here.” He was looking thoughtfully at Una. “Why not let Una remain here with me and my wife, Kevin? She’ll be safe in the hospital. We’re under the protection of the Church. She can prepare your house for your return.”
Una was horrified. She loved the Palmer, but she didn’t want to be separated from her family. Above all, she was sure her father needed her. But both her parents seemed in favour of the idea.
“Dear God, child, I’d sooner you were safe in the hospital than out on the wild seas with us,” her mother cried, “and no knowing that we mightn’t all be drowned.” And her father put his arm round her and whispered in her ear, “You could rescue the strongbox, if you get the chance.”
“But Father …” she protested. Everything was happening too fast. It was hard to think.
The ship’s master wanted to leave.
“Go with Ailred, Una. It’s for the best.” Her father turned so quickly that she guessed the decision hurt him as much as it did her. But it was his final word, and she knew it.
Moments later, guided by Ailred the Palmer’s firm but kindly hand, she found herself moving swiftly in the direction of the hospital.
As it turned out, King Diarmait and Strongbow had not instigated the sudden attack on Dublin. Indeed, they had been rat
her embarrassed when, in the middle of the negotiation with the archbishop, some of the more hot-headed knights, impatient with the delay, had made a rush at the gates and burst through before the defenders had time to realise what was going on. Of course, it worked out well for them: neither Diarmait nor Strongbow could deny it. While they and the archbishop watched, the city had fallen with scarcely a blow. After apologising to O’Toole, the Irish king and his new English son-in-law had ridden into the city to find that there was nothing left to do. The place was theirs.
A few buildings were burned and there was some looting going on, but that was to be expected. Soldiers must be allowed the spoils of war. They didn’t let it go too far, though, and they made sure that none of the religious houses were touched.
More significant was the exodus of inhabitants from the town. This had its good side and its bad side. On the good side, there was accommodation to quarter the whole army. On the bad side, half the craftsmen and merchants in the town had fled across the river or over the sea, and they were a big part of the city’s value. It also turned out that the King of Dublin had slipped away. The best information was that he had taken a Norse ship to the northern islands. That was bad news because it seemed likely that he would try to collect forces for an attack. But for the moment, at least, the city was quiet.
It was four days after the occupation when Una MacGowan set out from the Hospital of Saint John to visit her home in the city. The hospital had not been troubled: indeed, two days ago, King Diarmait and Strongbow themselves, accompanied by several knights, had paid a brief visit to inspect the place. Una had been struck by the tall English nobleman. With his finely drawn, oval face and his splendid bearing, he seemed to her quite as impressive as his kingly father-in-law. They had all treated the place with the same respect as if they had been in a church, and Diarmait had politely asked Ailred to take in half a dozen people, two of them English, who had been hurt during the taking of the city.
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