The Welshmen of Tyrawley

by Graham Barratt

  Fostering and intermarriage had been a common custom for centuries. It enabled alliances to be built between clans to promote good relations, extend the family and increase a clans overall power and influence. The fostering of sons also helped to protect and develop heirs and potential leaders amongst communities, protecting them from attack by pretenders to the leadership within their clan.

  ‘I feel the majority of Barretts would not hanker for the honour and the Bourkes would represent the majority if we take the competition to Crossmolina. There would be some challengers from other Welshmen and clans, but the Bourkes would be the majority and would have the strongest contenders. I would therefore give good chances on a Bourke being the victor.’

  Niall’s plan was canny and calculated. He was also aware that if there was to be a competition aimed at breaking-in horses, then a by-product of the competition would be several newly tamed horses. This reduced the burden for the farming women as most of their sightless men and sons could not break-in horses and they often had to pay higher prices for trained horses. Either that or they would need to hire external labour to do it for them. He was confident that Barretts would not enter the competition due to the bad feeling between the two tribes. The victory would give immediate status and recognition to the winner. For the Lynotts, it would offer an immediate alliance to the Bourkes and provide a strong leadership.

  The plan was agreed and before long the event was common knowledge in all the towns and townlands. All over Erris and Tyrawley, bellmen, bards, gossips and travellers took the message into the homes of all families of the barony. Within a week, the contest was awaited by all.

  Maol Tibbot, the Smithy

  In Crossmolina, just past the fork of the main road that leads to Belleek, there is an old stone building. Of all the houses in the townland, this one is different, with piles of iron ore, ash, and metals. The chimney spews smoke all day, which is mixed with the smoke from the randomly placed coke mounds in the grounds of the smithy. The air is filled with the ringing sounds of metal being beaten on an anvil with the regular sound of bellows agitating flames in the hearth. The bellows increase the heat, melting the steel rods. Although there is a large bell-pull, the door is open to allow the heat and smoke to escape the room.

  In the fume filled smithy, the lean, dark-skinned blacksmith wearing protective leathers is stooped over the anvil whilst shaping the metal and inserting it back into the forge. His arms are now covered in wounds and grazes from his work, some wounds were old scars while others were newer and would need some time to heal.

  Tibbot Bourke had become known as Maol, the bald. He regularly shaved his hair to hide his black curls. It also helped keep him cool at the forge. He, like so many people who were different, had endured many years of abuse and persecution, mainly due to the colour of his skin, inherited from his father. This handsome young man and his mother had been fortunate to be accepted back into the townlands by James many years earlier following the “sins” of Emily.

  James Bourke the elected chief had not yet had a son, but there were expectations that one day he would. William had failed to produce an heir and there was little confidence that he ever would, given his apparent lack of desire for female flesh. If it were not for the will of Walter, then Tibbot would have been third in line to the estate according to Irish law and may even had become the elected tanist one day. In his will though, Walter decreed that both Emily and Tibbot would receive nothing. Furthermore, no heir could allow Emily or Tibbot to benefit directly from any wealth. If they did, then the title of tanist would be stripped and would default to others. James had shown compassion to a point, but there were limits. Having sex with a black slave and then giving birth to his son would bear little forgiveness. There would also be no recognition of Tibbot as heir or indeed any position of authority within the Bourke community.

  On the other hand, since Emily had fallen for Cirilo some 26 years earlier, James had felt a deep sense of responsibility towards Tibbot and was acutely aware of his mother’s love for him.

  Tibbot, now twenty-five was justified in his annoyance and disappointment. Without apparent wealth and title, he was overlooked for all positions of status within the community. As the years progressed and the abuse of the young man increased, there was the realisation that his day as leader would never come within the community of Bourkes. Understandably, the tacit bitterness and resentment for his clan grew stronger.

  Tibbot was an inward thinker and seldom showed emotion, but he never hid the anger he felt towards his mother’s attacker. Even though the act gave him life, he despised the man who had raped his mother and subjected her to torture, ridicule and resentment. He vehemently blamed Cirilo for the loss of his wealth and inheritance. If he was not already dead, then Tibbot vowed that his mother’s attacker would one day be made to suffer before being sent to hell.

  Emily’s position as the daughter of the MacWilliam afforded her some limited influence within the community. She had managed to secure Tibbot an apprenticeship as a blacksmith’s hand with Shane Barrett, who had been renegade to his clan many years earlier. Over the years, Tibbot’s skills had become both advanced and diverse. They varied from farriery to producing weaponry and armour. Tibbot was Shane’s greatest asset in the business and his intentions were therefore to utilise him heavily until his own son had grown up, learned the skills and taken over the business. Shane considered the decision to give Tibbot an apprenticeship a sensible one. As long as Tibbot needed the work, then Shane was happy to employ him. His income was a handsome reward for such workmanship. Through practice, he had become very accomplished as a maker of fine swords. His reputation in the community ensured that there was a steady stream of work coming his way. On the other hand, he hoped that this was not a job for life. He was also not put off by the prospect of the boy Shane taking the business over at some point in the future. Tibbot’s dreams were for a life as a respected clansman.

  Shane was ageing and his eyesight was not as good as it had been. Tibbot’s skills were now greater than Shane’s. His skills in the smithy were now acknowledged by Shane, who had given him the task of creating a new dress sword for a wealthy client. The more he worked, the more experience he gained and the quality of his workmanship became known widely.

  The hammer rebounded off the glowing metal as he used the re-coil of the bounce to help him to lift the hammer and then drop it with the help of gravity onto the steel. Working as a blade-smith was a labour of love for him but it required a great deal of physical and mental agility as well as skill with a hammer and knowledge of metallurgy. As well as working with horses, he enjoyed the thrill of creating the sleek beauty of a battle sword from raw steel delivered from the local ironmaster. It gave him a sense of pride to see customers walk out of the smithy, carrying their new fresh oiled and perfectly balanced swords and armour.

  The single room workshop was hot, dusty and dark. The walls were littered with tools and items in various stages of completeness. Some items were finished, awaiting customers to collect them and some were surplus, scrap and test items.

  The constant layering and working of the long piece of iron with carbon gave the sword its outer hardness and strength. Too much carbon though would cause the sword to lose its flexibility and become brittle. Not enough and the steel would be too soft. Steel had to be worked for many hours, layering along the length with varying amounts of carbon deposits while removing the slag. This eventually gave the blade a grained and tensile structure.

  The coal and charcoal was burning with less heat than needed since the boy Shane was not there. Tibbot was fond of the young boy, but cursed Shane whenever his job to tend the bellows went amiss. There was now insufficient heat to help maintain the temperature for steel working. This slowed Tibbot and he had to stop working at intervals to tend pump the bellows. The absence of the boy was making him anxious.

  Soon, Shane came running into the workshop.

  ‘Tibbot, there is news that some Lynotts have co
me to Crossmolina and are to hold a contest.’

  Tibbot was not interested in what that the boy had to say but frowned as if to show disappointment in him.

  ‘What contest would be of interest to either me, or you for that matter young-un? I am short on heat, work the bellows and be silent. I cannot listen to you while working the steel. If you need to talk, then talk while pumping.’

  Shane moved across to the hearth and began squeezing the leather bellows together, wiping the sweat from his brow and sniffing up the dust as the heat built up. Shane glanced at Tibbot to test if this was enough to satisfy him.

  Shane continued with his news.

  ‘It is a contest to attest who may be a great warrior by breaking in a wild horse from the Lynott stock. It is said that the winner will be fostered by the blind Lynotts and will become the elected chief.’

  Tibbot wiped his brow again, placed the sword across the anvil and leant against the wall to catch his breath.

  ‘Ah, clan leader of the Lynotts, now that is a title of honour,’ he said sarcastically.

  Tibbot stopped his work and rested the sword on the anvil. He took a moment to consider what Shane had just told him. Maybe, it would not be such a bad title? A new leader would be able to make a fresh start with the new community. He would have land of his own. They would consider him to be the person he should have been within the Bourkes, he would be, a leader of men. On the other hand, winning such a competition might give him some status within the community. He could always refuse the offer if he did not like it.

  ‘Where are they now, Shane?’

  ‘They are at the castle at Dael, proclaiming the occasion to all who pass by on the road to Crosmollina.’

  Later, Tibbot emerged from the hot forge, his face black with soot and his clothes worn and soiled. He stretched his arms and paused while his eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine. Walking along the riverbank towards Dael, he was unaware that this was where he had been conceived in a frenzy of love many years earlier.

  Emerging from the distance, but in front of him, appeared a small convoy of carts with the increasing sound of moving wheels and hoofs. He stood at the roadside to allow the horses and carts to pass without any danger to him. He noted three carts, loaded with men and children all being driven by women of varying ages. They were from the Lynott townlands. The carts led a group of several young and wild horses, walking slowly with one front leg tied up to pacify them. The leg ties had been applied outside the town and were a method of preventing an animal from kicking or bolting. Tibbot disliked this treatment, frowned and pouted his lips as the beasts walked past him. He smiled a dimpled grin with sympathy at one of the horses which raised its head to look at him. Staring it in the eye with his head held as low as the beasts, he stroked it on the neck as it limped past. The animal gave Tibbot a fixed gaze, turning his head to follow him. Tibbot made eye contact once more smiling as it went past him, allowing his hand to brush along its body to its hind.

  He decided to follow the carts into the town, where they joined the travellers that Shane had told him about. It looked as though the competition was to be a large event. Tibbot had realised that he needed to be involved.

  A middle-aged man was being helped down from the cart by the wild girl Molly. He straightened his posture and wasted no time in taking up position at the village cross. He prepared to address those who were intrigued enough to take the time to witness the spectacle.

  ‘I am Niall Lynott, the blind priest of Garranard. I beg you to take serious regard to my news. I have today gained agreement through the council of Clan Bourke. Before the next two weeks have passed, the Lynott clan of Tyrawley will elect as clan leader any man or boy, who can make humble the wild steeds we have with us. This must be done in the quickest time possible. If we have more competitors than horses, then we will send for fresh stock. Let it be known by all who enter the bout that whoever should emerge as the winner will be fostered into the Lynott community by Thomas and will take up title. They will without doubt become our leader.’

  Tibbot was at the peak of his physical ability, helped by hard, heavy work in the Smithy. He was an excellent horseman, but more importantly, he understood and communicated with them. He knew that his way was the only way of gaining their full trust and exploiting their natural willingness to please. Could he somehow make himself understood to horses? He knew their needs, motivations and moods so guessed that he could.

  Over recent years, he had developed an ability to communicate with horses and was a natural rider. Expertise in riding was common, but his skill in understanding their minds was unmatched. Ever since he was a young boy, he had sought to achieve solace with animals and was known in the village for his special relationship with horses. Tibbot’s talent with horses was widely known and he received significant farrier work due to his ability to change shoes quickly, without discomfort for the beast. The animals seemed to accept Tibbot and it was clear that he had a natural understanding of them. He was acutely aware of their intelligence and they understood his body language, tone and behaviour. His love of horses provided him with a friendship that he did not even get from his own clan. His life had been filled with rejection, solely because of his appearance, but horses accepted him and showed great affection towards him. Working as a smithy’s apprentice at the forge increased his contact with horses and gave him more opportunities to interact with them.

  The more he considered the merits, the more he felt inclined to enter the competition. After careful thought, Tibbot resolved to enter, but out of courtesy, he consulted with is mother. He told Emily before he would put his signature against Niall’s entry list.

  ‘My mother, I wish to enter the competition being proposed by the Lynotts.’ Emily understood that he was not happy and needed to improve his prospects as well as his esteem, but for a moment, she considered the selfish side.

  ‘But my son, I may lose you if you are fostered to another clan.’

  ‘I would never leave you wanting and would take you with me whatever the outcome of the competition. If I become the tanist, then I will dictate the terms. I have for many years been denied any status as a clansman because of my colour and because of my background. I therefore wish to enter the competition and perchance make a future for myself with friends. Perhaps they will respect my ability and worth as a warrior.’

  Emily was concerned at first but understood Tibbot’s frustrations. If only he knew the truth, he would understand and his bitterness would not be so great.

  ‘My son, I do not blame you for the resentment you hold for the Bourkes and their refusal to give you title. You have a good notion and if you win and would be given the respect that should have been yours from the start of your life. I feel sure you will be an important leader, whatever the outcome of the competition and I wish you well. It is I who will cheer the most on the day of your test.’

  He was a brave, bright and promising young man. Even though the Lynott Clan was lowly one, it would give him status and prospects which the Lochtar Bourkes would never afford him.

  The Competition

  There was a delay in staging the competition to enable sufficient time for the communities to spread the word of the contest. Candidates would need to learn of the event through word of mouth. The pause was also to give people sufficient time to travel into Tyrawley to either spectate or compete in the event. It would also allow the Lynotts an opportunity to establish the quality of the applicants and sift out the hopeless cases, then allowing the hopefuls to take part.

  On the day of the event, selection was made to assign competitors to the untamed colts based on size. There were more competitors than colts, but age and physical appearance was used to sift out the candidates who were weaker and obviously not of the standard needed, either for the competition or as a prospective leader of the Lynotts. During the selection process, Tibbot was not surprised when an attempt was made by some young men to prevent him from taking part in the competition. They jealously clai
med that Tibbot would not be able to lead. A Bourke shopkeeper suggested that he was unfit for the title and was the son of an untrustworthy woman, let alone his father. These arrogances made Tibbot even more determined.

  Before he addressed Tibbot’s application to compete, Niall asked to see him.

  ‘Many people say that I should not grant you a place in the competition. Can you tell me why I should allow you?’

  ‘Father, I would be the rightful tanist to James Bourke if it were not taken from me by the will of Walter, my grandfather. I am of sound character despite the doings of my mother and my rapist father.’

  ‘What is there inside you that makes you want to take such risks, Tibbot?’

  ‘Father, every day is a risk for me. The colour of my skin makes me a subject of ridicule, taunts and bullying. All clans reject me. Only my mother remains at my side. I believe that a clan of blind men would therefore not judge me by race and embrace me as a leader who will guide others to greatness.’

  Niall quickly sensed the victimisation and oppressing nature of the complaints and felt some sympathy towards Tibbot.

  ‘You are wise, young Tibbot. Your appearance makes little difference to me. What matters is the content of your soul, and I believe that to be good. I will grant your application and wish you luck in the tournament.’

  What mattered for Niall was the sincerity of his voice and there was something fresh and optimistic about him. Niall was keen to allow him to continue and rejected all claims against Tibbot, emphasising that it was a fair and open competition for all who held certain promise and virtues. He reminded all that the title would simply be given to the winner of the competition.

  Tents, stalls and markets were placed around the field and there began active bartering and wagers amongst the local people. To reach a decision, each competitor was rated on how long it took him to bring the colt under control after mounting. If the rider was thrown, then they were eliminated from the competition. The beasts were truly wild horses from stock which had never been domesticated and so they would be a challenge to any man.