by Robert Adams
For a moment, Ugo did not realize that the Ard-Righ was speaking to him in an almost pure, almost unaccented Roman Italian.
The High King went on, saying, "I will dictate a letter to His Eminence d'Este. It will indicate my willingness to indeed choose and see installed a good, holy, capable churchman to replace the most unfortunate Archbishop di Rezzi. I also will note that I most eagerly accept his offer of the loan of your services in this matter, but I then will add that immediately this other mission for him he cites be completed, I will be wanting back you and your services for as long as you care to remain in Eireann. Your breed are exceeding rare, Sir Ugo, and it's a fool I'd be to pass up a chance to add one to my household and court. And never you fear about rewards and stipends, I am known far and wide for being generous near to a fault with those who serve me and Mide well and faithfully."
"It's down to Munster I'll be sending you soon, to arrange a very private meeting with di Bolgia for me. But before you go, I'll be wanting you to meet the great captain that Cousin Arthur is sending over to aid me, him and his condotta."
"Between your abilities and his, it's I'm hoping that this time next year will see a single great Kingdom of Eireann and what a lovely, heavenly sight that will be."
CHAPTER 7
Bass Foster sat across a table from the High King, Brian VIII. On the tabletop was spread a large, very colorful map of Ireland, meticulously rendered on thick parchment by skilled hands. Using a slim, highly polished dagger as a pointer, the monarch was filling in his latest great captain on recent developments among the ever-warring clans and kingdoms of the island.
"Two years ago, Sir Bass, there were eleven kingdoms in Eireann; now there are eight, as in the ancient beginning. Of these eight, three are definitely committed to me and have delivered up their Jewels, the symbols of their sovereignty, to me." He grinned and added, "One of the three is me, of course, in my persona of Righ of Mide and Ri of the southern branch of the Ui Neills. The other two are Airgialla and Laigin. which means that the only eastern kingdom still uncooperative is Ulaid." His dagger point moved up to tap the northeastern corner of the island.
Bass thought to himself, "Damn, even this altered world has trouble with Ulster. I guess some things never change."
"The present King of Ulaid is a usurper, a bastard and outlaw in the land of his birth, who took Ulaid by force of arms and is holding it in that same way. He is a ruthless man, and both his army and his fleet are strong and alert." King Brian went on, "I have tried to avoid a session at arms with him, since he is after all an Ui Neill after an illegitimate fashion, but now that I am allied with Airgialla—against which he has mounted raid after provocative raid—I may be compelled to march against him, send vessels to bombard and burn his ports and ships, and suchlike. Perhaps you and your condotta and fleet are capable of doing the job alone, or along with some of my siege train and some bonaghts, since your condotta includes no foot."
The dagger tip moved due west. "Now, this recently reunited kingdom is the original homeland of all the Ui Neills, or so the old songs say, though it could be the exact opposite, the other way about, and who today would know? These distant cousins of mine have been as yet loath to part with their Jewel, but I am certain that a display of force, a strong warband crossing their border, will quickly change their minds without any need for bloodshed."
The dagger point drifted to the south of the map, stopping a bit north of the border of Mide, just southwest of a couple of largish extenuated lakes in which the artist had long-necked creatures that resembled plesiosaurs frolicking and chasing after silvery-scaled fishes.
"This, Sir Bass, is the Kingdom of Breifne, presently ruled by one Fergal. For all that he should have been an abbot or a bishop instead of a king, he will fight rather than surrender his Jewel to me, even on loan. You see, Sir Bass, he knows just what I am about in this quest for the Jewels, and he would love to see all Eireann taken over and ruled by and from Rome, deluding himself to believe that his lifelong piety—piety to a degree that borders upon lunacy!—would guarantee him the mantle of Ard-Righ. Although his is the very smallest and least populous of all the present eight kingdoms, his people all are firmly behind him, and that is why I'm saving Breifne for the last conquest; perhaps after they have seen the folly of resistance to me and also seen how generous I can be to those who offer me and my armies little or no resistance, they will think differently."
"Immediately you and your troops feel ready to undertake it, I'll be expecting you to march on Ulaid, to beard King Ruarc in his lair. Understand, I'll not be telling you how to campaign, just offering advice to one who doesn't know the various peoples of Eireann so well as do I. If you would rather sail your ships of the battle line up there and soften them up before you invade, feel free to do so, but in any case you can expect little or no help from my armies, not this year, for they are all busy in the south and the west . . . though the southern ones may soon be free, but then they'll be marching into Connachta to join the others."
"Then, Your Majesty," inquired Bass, "where would the bona . . . the foot you offered me to supplement my horsemen come from?"
Brian showed his strong, yellowish teeth. "Why, from the King of Airgialla, of course, Sir Bass. After all, he is now an ally, and it is his borders you'll be protecting now."
"Your Majesty," Bass asked, "please correct me if I have misunderstood, but I get the impression that Your Majesty wishes to achieve certain ends and cares not precisely how those ends are achieved just so long as they are achieved . . . and the sooner, the better."
The High King nodded forcefully. "Your understanding is perfect, Sir Bass. I want the remaining Jewels. How I get them is not in the least important, but get them, I must . . . and I will. Why do you ask?"
* * * *
Brian's meeting place with Timoteo di Bolgia was in one of the two forts guarding the entrance to the fine anchorage at the mouth of the River Slaney, in southeast Laigin. Both had sailed to the rendezvous. High King Brian aboard a speedy little lugger but recently arrived from Liverpool to join the fleet of the Duke of Norfolk as a dispatch vessel—the sometime Papal lugger repaired and now fined out with a dozen swivel guns and three of the smaller rilled breech-loading tubes of Sir Peter Fairley's manufacture, two of them at stern and one at the bow on a pedestal mount which allowed for extreme flexibility of use. The extra weight had, of course, somewhat reduced the speed of which the vessel had originally been capable, but still she could sail rings around any other of the ships of the private fleet. His Grace had named her Cassius, noting that she still could flit like a butterfly, but that now she too could sting like a bee, fiery and long-ranging and most accurate stings out of the mouths of her one eight-pounder and two six-pounder rifles with their explosive shells.
Alone together, the king and the condottiere, both old campaigners and accustomed to privation, sat on the rough wooden stools with which the stonewalled chamber was furnished and sipped at their respective flasks of restorative.
Brian spoke first. "How much has Sir Ugo told you of events in Rome and elsewhere, Dux di Bolgia?"
Timoteo sighed and shook his head. "More than enough, Your Majesty. Alas, my poor native land and her miserable people. I have never really liked Moors, you know, even the Sicilian or Brindisi Moors. Not that I have anything against other Afriqans, you understand—the blacker ones often make for top-grade soldiers, like the Ghanian heavy infantry or the Afriqan cavalry that came to Munster with me and my condotta."
"To think of the Moors despoiling Italy is bad enough, but for the black-hearted swine to bring in such as Macedonians and Croatians! Next they'll likely run in pagan, barbarian hordes from the lands of Tartary. God help us all, even up here in Irland, if such as they get their way and retain the control of the Roman Papacy. I have written and dispatched to His Eminence Cardinal d'Este a letter asking if my condotta and I might not be of more use to him and his faction in Italy or Sicily than we are squatting there in Munster, but of course
there has been no time for it to reach him or for his reply to reach me." He sighed and looked down at his big, hard hands, the backs of them so thickly grown with black hair that it was sometimes difficult to see the white cicatrices left by old wounds.
"I truly sympathize, Dux di Bolgia," rumbled the voice of the High King, "for it is never pleasant to think of one's lands being laid waste by uncaring strangers when one is far away. But you need not be in Italy to help to forward the aims of the Italian Faction, you know? His Eminence writes me that can his faction regain Eireann and England for Rome, then there is little doubt that the man they support will be elected by the College of Cardinals, rather than another accursed Moor or a Spaniard, and I have replied to him that if he and his will aid me in firmly uniting all Eireann under its High King, I will not see it taken out from beneath Rome's sway, despite the love I bear my cousin Arthur III Tudor, and my own beliefs that a Rome in England might be preferable to a Rome in faraway Italy."
Timoteo nodded. "Your Majesty wants a new King in Munster. How soon?"
"Very soon," replied Brian. "As soon as is possible after you get back to Munster, that soon. Take Sir Ugo back with you, and as soon as Tamhas is dead and this Righ Sean FitzRobert decently coronated, send our young knight up to me in Lagore with the sad news, the glad news . . . and the Star of Munster. At that point, I will lift the siege, send all my troops north, into Connachta and you and yours will be then free to sail back to Italy, should you then so desire."
Timoteo nodded once again. "Simple enough, Your Majesty. You have no need for a crack condotta in Irland, then? It is said that you and your house have certain bitter enemies in the north . . . ?"
It was Brian's turn to nod. "And so I do, Dux di Bolgia, you are very well informed. But now I also have, thanks to my dear cousin, Arthur of England and Wales, one of his great captains on loan with his condotta of galloglaiches and Kalmyks. The man is Lord Commander of the Horse in England, has achieved many a stunning victory for Arthur, and even has his own private fleet of warships—three ships of the battle line and six smaller ones, including that fast lugger moored below. Between this innovative captain, his fierce condotta, and his strong fleet, I think that soon the Jewels of the north will be resting in my strong-room at Lagore."
* * * *
Walid Pasha courteously refused the suggestion and himself suggested that His Irish High Majesty and Sebastian Bey think up a less suicidal plan, for he was not about to essay to take Revenge and Thunderer into a place like Belfast Lough, for which he had no reliable charts and did not even know the tides, with God alone knowing just how the flanking forts might be armed or just how many warships might be moored within.
Bass could see the master mariner's point and supposed that he was just going to have to write off the use of the fleet against Ulaid, for the little kingdom's other deep harbor was even more of a deathtrap for a sea-borne attacker than was the Lough of Belfast.
All right, what then? Nibble around the coasts, sacking islands and bombarding coastal villages and sinking fishing boats, such as Brian had first suggested? Or simply ride up into Airgialla, collect the supporting infantry and siege train, then march across the Ulaid border and lay waste the countryside until King Ruarc felt stung enough to bring out his army and fight? Bass was not afraid of pitting himself and his condotta against the forces of Ulaid. Like most Irish kingly armies, they were no such thing, really, being simply a warband of the king's cronies, relatives, and some of his subjects with a sprinkling, possibly, of foreign mercenaries.
The Ard-Righ had told him that Ulaid possessed no field artillery as such, only a few full cannon on siege carriages drawn by twenty span of oxen, with massive tubes twenty to twenty-four feet long. So they would not be expected to appear in any battles, for they would be of little good in a fast-moving engagement and not even King Ruarc could be expected to be so reckless as to risk the loss of such hellishly expensive pieces.
"You see, Sir Bass," High King Brian had said, "to a large extent, the kingdoms of this Eireann still remain very conservative and of the old fashion. To every ruler here except me, war is the sole pursuit of gentlemen—that's why we have so many wars, and for any reason or none at all. Before I became Ard-Righ, wars were unheard-of except in the time between planting and harvest; I it was who began to really modernize my army on the European model, put it in the field in April and keep it there for six months, if the early snows weren't too deep. Of course, there were screeching howls when I did this, some from my own people, but mostly from my enemies, for this meant that they, too, were obliged to change their hoary ways, maintain their fighters for more months in the field, else they would stand to lose any gains to me and mine."
"I did this for a purpose, Sir Bass, for even then, in my youth, in the earliest years of my reign as Ard-Righ, I recognized that Eireann would never realize her potential, never become and remain a power of any sort in this world of ours, were her kingdoms not stabilized in some way, not ever perennially at war one with the other or racked by rebellions and clan fightings. I realized that one of the ways to change the war-mad minds of the chiefs and the kings and the gentry was to show them that real war was not in any way or manner a game to be played for two or three months each year for so paltry rewards as a few acres of burned-out croplands, a few head of scrawny cattle and a new scar or three of which to boast around the fires of autumn, winter, and early-spring nights."
"Such peculiar mindsets as my brother chiefs and kings own have ever been the weakness of the entire race of the Gael, Iulius Kaesar and his few Romans could never have conquered the land of Gallia had it not been torn by Gaels just like these of Eireann, whose hates and feuds for and with one another ran far deeper than fear and hatred of foreign invaders. Because of these deep rifts, divisions of the Gaels, all Gallia dropped like a ripe plum into the Roman hand."
"Eireann, ununited, is a plum no less ripe, only awaiting the proper hand to claim her, entire. I mean to succeed in uniting these Gaels of Eireann, where the great Werkingetorix failed in uniting his against the then-puny power of Rome. But Gaels have always been a superstitious lot; Christianity still in these enlightened days is but a thin patina over a weighty mass of strong, deeply rooted mores and beliefs, some of them as old as the hills and the waters. And so, although I could fight and win suzerainty over these other kingdoms, the great masses of the common people never would consider me other than a mere foreign conqueror unless I held the sacred Jewel of their land and folk. And if I took the other kingdoms by conquest, I might not get with the lands and the peoples whose Jewels, which would then mean that there would be rebellion after rebellion for me to fight year after year so long as I lived or essayed to hold the other kingdoms as mine."
"Such things have happened before, you see, in the blood-splattered history of the kingdoms of Eireann. The Jewel held by Ruarc is not the original, ages-old Jewel of Ulaid. That one was cast into the depths of Lough Neagh by a defeated king just before he was caught and slain by an invader. The invader's divers could never find the original, so he replaced it with a great gem lifted from Mercia during a raid, but still are there clans of Ulaid who will not recognize it or those who hold it as the lawful Jewel or ruler of Ulaid."
"The legend sung by the filid has it that that last, really legitimate King of Ulaid will be returned in the body of a foreign warrior and that when this chosen one arrives at Lough Neagh, the ancient Jewel will leap out from where it has so long rested in those deep, dark waters and cleave to him, showing all who see that he is the warrior-king that Ulaid has for so long awaited. Just one of our folk tales." He smiled.
Then he went on with his explanations. "Your ancient Gael warrior uses no missile weapons of any sort, only axe, spear, knife, and sword, sometimes with a light target of wickerwork, and no armor at all, quite often too with no clothes at all. The descendants of those men do use armor today, even bows and crossbows and hackbuts or pistols, but still they harbor an antique belief in the backs of thei
r minds that engines that hurl impersonal missiles really long distances are a bit cowardly, and though they'll all mount them on fortifications and ships quickly enough, they deliberately avoid obtaining artillery small and light enough to be handy on a battlefield. This does not apply to my army, of course, as you've seen, and King Flaithri of Connachta has begun to so arm his field forces as well, though he presently has no numbers of them and is clearly not completely sure how he should best employ them."
"What he has done is what I had wanted, in a way, in the beginning, but I much fear now that because of his steps to modernize the Connachta army, I may have to thoroughly conquer him and them and his kingdom. Of course, when he reaches the point of believing his cause lost, he'll simply enship to Magna Eireann with his Jewel and leave Connachta to me to hold as best I can lacking the Jewel. There are only two options, neither of which I would care to essay."
* * * *
Throughout most of the voyage back to Munster from Slaneymouth, il Duce sat huddled in the bow, wrapped in a boat cloak and clearly deep in thought. When at last he roused himself, they were only some half hour from the city. Taking Sir Ugo aside, he said, "His grace di Norfolk, this noble English condottiere, puts a different angle to my gun tube, Ugo, as too does the carnage ongoing in Italy. You know, for I often have spoken privately of it in times past, that it had been my intent to serve out my contract to His Eminence, and to then seek employment for my condotta with the Ard-Righ, this Brian."
"But now the order is changed, changed utterly. Ties of blood that I never before knew I had in my fabric call me to Italy, to do all of which my men and I are capable to drive these foul Moors and Spaniards and their barbarian cohorts from Italian soil. Too, it now would seem that the Ard-Righ presently owns no need for me and mine."