Strongbow

by Morgan Llywelyn

  FitzHarding and I locked eyes. He understood what I meant. If I had the king’s formal official permission, it would look as if I was in Henry’s favour again. It would improve my own position very much. People would begin to think I might regain the earldom of Pembroke.

  And so I might, if I was successful in this venture.

  But one thing still bothered me. ‘If Dermot Mac Murrough has had everything taken from him, how can he pay to hire a new army?’

  ‘He has gold left,’ FitzHarding assured me. ‘He’s no fool, he held onto his personal possessions and fortune. Besides, he’s willing to give some of his kingdom, and other considerations, to any man who will help him regain his title.’

  Some of his kingdom? Land? I drew in my breath sharply. Land was property. Land was power.

  ‘I’m very interested indeed,’ I told my friend. ‘Keep me informed.’

  ‘I shall,’ he promised.

  Robert FitzHarding was always as good as his word – which may have been why he had powerful friends. I had not been back at my castle for long before the first messenger arrived.

  ‘Dermot Mac Murrough has followed King Henry to France,’ I was told.

  My spirits sank. If Henry had gone to France, that meant he would be very involved in other matters. He had taken a wife, a French woman called Eleanor, and hoped someday to rule both kingdoms. If Dermot appeared at his elbow, chattering about Ireland, Henry might be annoyed. Ireland would not seem very important to him compared to his own dreams. He might well refuse to have anything to do with Dermot Mac Murrough. He could forget the debt he owed – or more likely, he would simply refuse to honour it. Mac Murrough would have to go back to Ireland with his tail between his legs, a king who had lost his kingdom. And I would remain in England, an earl who had lost his earldom.

  It was a bleak prospect. But I really did not expect anything better. My life had never gone well, it seemed to me.

  ‘Why do you spend so much time at the gates of the castle?’ Basilia asked me.

  ‘I’m waiting for a messenger,’ I told her.

  I had a long wait before the next messenger arrived from FitzHarding. When I saw his horse coming up the road, I almost ran to meet it before I recalled who I was. I must be calm and stern and dignified. So I stood where I was and waited for him to come up to me, and for my herald to announce him.

  Then I took the messenger into the hall and waited still longer while the servants gave him food and drink.

  When at last he had wiped the grease from his mouth onto his sleeve, I leaned towards him.

  ‘You have word of Dermot Mac Murrough?’

  ‘I have indeed,’ the man assured me. ‘He found King Henry in France after a long search, and, after a longer wait, he was finally allowed to see him. The Irishman gave his submission to our king, and pledged his loyalty. In return, he asked for an army.’

  ‘Did Henry give it to him?’ I asked eagerly.

  Chapter 9

  AOIFE

  Promises of Help

  My father took the loss of his kingship very hard. A lesser man might have gone mad. But Father’s fine brain never stopped working. When his enemies had his back to the wall, he always thought of a way to outwit and defeat them.

  On the day he departed for England to ask the help of King Henry, I threw my arms around him. ‘May God be with you!’ I said.

  I refused to believe that God was angry with my father. God must know, as I did, that Dermot Mac Murrough was no monster.

  But there is an old saying: ‘Every ass likes to kick at a dead lion.’ When Father no longer had the power of the kingship behind him, people began telling all sorts of lies about him. They even said he had once blinded one of his hostages, the way the new High King, Rory O’Connor, had blinded some of his.

  It was a terrible lie and I was very angry with the people who told it to me. I never spoke to them again. I knew that kings sometimes put out the eyes of men they considered a threat to them, but I had never seen my father be cruel to anyone – not in front of me, anyway.

  I hate it when people lie about him.

  When Tiernan O’Rourke learned that Father had left Ireland, he was very angry. He wasn’t satisfied with having taken the kingship from my father. He wanted still more revenge.

  He attacked Ferns.

  Father had worked so hard to rebuild it after the fire, but now his enemies took it apart stone by stone. They tore down timber walls and levelled earthen banks, and burned everything that would burn.

  Our poor, beautiful Ferns, destroyed again!

  Afterwards some people said Father had burned it himself before he left, to keep O’Rourke from capturing it, but that wasn’t true. Father loved Ferns, and it was our home. His enemies destroyed it.

  O’Rourke wanted to destroy us as well, since Father had gone beyond his reach. But my uncle, Father’s younger brother Murrough, begged for mercy for us. He and Donal had been left in charge of the family in Father’s absence, and I’m sure Murrough was doing what he thought was right.

  I was angry with him, though. ‘Father would never have begged for mercy from his enemies!’ I shouted at my uncle.

  ‘Would you rather be killed?’

  ‘Let them try!’ I cried. ‘I’ll kill two men for every one who lays hands on me!’

  Murrough gave me a long look. ‘I think you would,’ he said.

  ‘I assure you she would,’ Donal told him.

  But Murrough asked for mercy anyway, and the High King granted it. Our lives were spared. But my brother Enna was taken away as a hostage, to be held against Father’s return.

  Kinsfolk took us in. They were brave to do so, for being kind to any of Dermot’s family could earn the wrath of Tiernan O’Rourke.

  So I spent my first Christmas away from my father, living under a roof that wasn’t ours, wondering what the future held. Our family was torn apart. Father off across the sea somewhere, and poor Enna a hostage many miles away, among our enemies.

  In the chapel, I prayed long and hard with my head bowed over my clasped hands. ‘Please, God. Please take care of my father.’

  We learned that the High King had named my uncle Murrough as King of Leinster in Father’s place. I suppose O’Connor thought Murrough would be grateful to him for sparing our lives, and would be loyal. But he didn’t know what a tight-woven clan we were. When every other person’s hand was raised against us, we drew together more than ever.

  Murrough came to see us a few days after Christmas. ‘I’ve learned that Dermot has followed the English king to France,’ he told us. He brought us food and furs. His words brought us hope.

  Then we waited. There was no more news of Father for many weeks. We didn’t know if he had found Henry, or if he was dead or alive.

  Then on an early spring day of radiant sunshine, when the air was laced with lark song, Dermot Mac Murrough returned to Leinster.

  When I heard his name being shouted across the fields I ran faster than anyone, so I would be the first to see him. He came riding on a lathered chestnut horse, with a small band of men-at-arms following him. Men with foreign faces.

  There was grey in Father’s hair and new lines on his face, but his arms were as strong as ever. He slid from his horse and lifted me high into the air, and I was a woman by then, and sturdy.

  ‘Success, Aoife!’ he cried. ‘I’ve found warriors to follow my banner and I shall reclaim my kingdom! I finally caught up with Henry in France, where he spends much of his time. By marriage he is lord of the greater part of that land. He has agreed to help me. The King of England himself has agreed to help me!’ He gave me a squeeze that took my breath away, and swung me around in the air.

  At first it was enough to be in his arms again, with my nostrils full of the smells of sweat and leather and iron. But when he put me down at last I looked beyond him, to the foreigners with their strangely-coloured shields and unfamiliar armour. There were not very many of them.

  ‘Is that your army, Father? Is th
at all the help the English king would give you?’

  He barked a hoarse laugh. ‘Of course not, this is just a small sample of the force to come. Henry couldn’t give me his own army, you see, because he’s engaged in a struggle for power in France now and needs every man he has. But he gave me permission to recruit warriors for myself among his Norman knights in England and Wales and that’s what I’ve been doing.’

  I gazed at my father in admiration. ‘How did you persuade King Henry to help you?’

  He rubbed his jaw with his thumb, as he always did when he was about to teach me something. ‘Knowledge is power, Aoife. And I had a valuable bit of knowledge. I knew that the Pope, Adrian, was an Englishman. And I knew that King Henry was an ambitious man. Henry had once asked Pope Adrian for permission to undertake the conquest of Ireland. The Pope had agreed, but then Henry became busy with other problems and never acted on the plan.

  ‘But I knew Henry must still want Ireland. What king would not want a land as rich as this? So when at last I was granted an audience with Henry I swore to him my loyalty, which would give him a foothold in Ireland, if he would support me against my enemies.’

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. ‘You offered your loyalty to a foreign king?’

  Father merely shrugged. ‘Rory O’Connor or Henry Plantagenet, one High King is very like another. All any of them want is tribute, and I would as soon pay Henry as Rory. In fact I would rather. The English High King has done me no harm.’

  Father’s words made sense to me. They always did.

  ‘So were you able to recruit many warriors among the Norman knights in England?’ I wanted to know.

  ‘I did indeed. Every knight has his followers, much like a small king, and several such bands will be coming to Ireland to fight in my name soon. They won’t all come at once, but the first of them will arrive this very spring. And in due course they will be joined by the man I’ve engaged to lead them. Then let my enemies beware!’

  ‘Who is this man?’ I wanted to know.

  ‘His name is Richard de Clare. But he’s known as Strongbow.’ Strongbow.

  I had never heard the name before, yet it sent a shiver up my spine.

  Chapter 10

  RICHARD

  A Kingdom of My Own

  After Dermot Mac Murrough gained Henry’s permission to raise an army, he returned to Bristol once more and stayed with Robert FitzHarding. I was summoned to meet him there.

  My first impression of the former King of Leinster was that he was the largest man I had ever seen. Very tall, very broad, with a voice made hoarse by constant yelling in battle, he would strike fear into your heart if you faced him with raised swords between you. In Robert FitzHarding’s house, however, he was soft-spoken and polite.

  He wanted something from me and I wanted something from him. We were very pleasant to one another.

  ‘Like myself,’ Dermot said to me, ‘you’ve been robbed of a title and lands that were yours by right.’

  ‘I have,’ I agreed.

  ‘I can offer you more land and a better title,’ he said. ‘Ireland is fat, with green grass and gold in the streams. Come help me win back my kingdom and you’ll have a kingdom of your own there.’

  We were facing one another across Robert FitzHarding’s table. Now I leaned back on my bench, folded my arms, and looked at Dermot through slitted eyes. I wanted him to know I wasn’t easily fooled.

  ‘I had one of the most powerful titles in this land,’ I said. ‘Earl of Pembroke. What can you give me that would be better? And what lands can you offer me, when your own kingdom has been taken from you?’

  Dermot had expected my questions. ‘When Leinster is mine again we needn’t stop there. With a strong enough Norman force behind me I could challenge O’Connor himself, and become high king. Then I would have limitless land to offer you.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I replied. ‘But that’s a dream. What can you give me now that’s solid?’

  ‘Even if we only win back Leinster I can give you a larger part of it than ever your family held in Wales,’ Dermot assured me.

  I scratched my head. I didn’t know how large Ireland was, only scholars knew such things. And I had no idea how much land there might be in the province called Leinster. Dermot’s words were tempting, but still he wasn’t offering me anything I could count on. I would need a powerful reason to gather men-at-arms, leave my own land, and risk dying on foreign soil, fighting in what might well be a lost cause.

  Dermot saw my hesitation. A gleam came into his eyes. ‘I can offer you something else as well,’ he said. ‘Something that’s in my power to give you this very minute. You’re a widower, I believe?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I have a daughter called Aoife, who is as strong as a stone and as merry as a bird. There’s no woman her equal in England, Wales, or Scotland. Come to Ireland and fight for me, and she is yours, to be your wife and bear your sons.’

  As merry as a bird? I gave him a hard look, but there was no lie on his face. He was telling the truth about her, I would have sworn to it.

  ‘She’s young, this Aoife? And healthy?’

  ‘Both in full measure,’ Dermot assured me. ‘And she’s a king’s daughter, a princess. How long has it been since one of your family married a princess?’ he asked shrewdly.

  I was dazzled, I admit it. Even my father would have been proud of me, if I married a king’s daughter.

  First, of course, we would have to make Dermot a king again.

  I turned to Robert FitzHarding. ‘Do we have King Henry’s official permission for me to be involved in this venture?’

  Robert drew a letter from his bosom. ‘This is signed by the king himself,’ he said. ‘I shall read it to you.’

  A flicker of contempt crossed Dermot’s face. He looked at Richard. ‘You cannot read? A Norman knight cannot read? Here, give it to me.’ He snatched the letter from FitzHarding.

  In a day of surprises, nothing surprised me more than discovering that the Irishman could read as well as any scholar!

  ‘The letter reads thus,’ he said, his eyes quickly scanning lines he must surely have read many times before. ‘Henry, King of England, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, to all his men and to all nations subject to his sway, greeting. Whenever these letters come unto you, know that we have received Dermot, Prince of Leinster, into our grace and favour. Wherefore, whoever shall be willing to give him aid in recovering his kingdom, shall be assured of our favour.’

  Assured of our favour. Assured of Henry’s favour. I drew a deep breath. I would be happier if my name were mentioned, but this would do. It would have to do.

  But I must be careful. I must drive as hard a bargain as I could, for I knew that no opportunity such as this would come to me again. I was admired for my strength, not my brains, yet on this one occasion I used my brains.

  I pretended I still was not willing. I cleared my throat several times. I shuffled my feet. I got up and paced the room, pausing to gaze out the deep-set window towards the quays.

  ‘Mmmm,’ I said.

  Out of the corner of my eye I watched FitzHarding and Mac Murrough. Both thought I would have agreed by now.

  But they were asking a lot of me. If they wanted my help, they had to pay. And I wasn’t going to agree until I was certain I had run the price as high as it would go.

  Of course, Dermot Mac Murrough might lose his temper and walk out at any moment. I knew that. But I would be no worse off if he did.

  So I waited.

  At last I heard him push his bench back, stand up, and walk across the flagstoned floor towards me. He didn’t touch me, but he stood close behind me, gazing out the same window.

  ‘You’re a clever man, de Clare,’ he said. ‘I like that. I’m sometimes reckless, myself, so I admire a man who takes time to think.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘I offer you land and an exceptional wife,’ Dermot said.

  ‘You do.’ I continued to look out the window. Gulls w
ere wheeling through the sky, dropping to earth to fight over scraps.

  Dermot drew a deep breath. ‘Robert FitzHarding tells me you’re a fine warrior, the ideal man to lead this invasion. For such a man, there must be a special … reward.’

  My heart began hammering in my chest. I didn’t know what he was going to offer me, but I knew from the tone of his voice and the look on his face that it would be very valuable. I knew I was beginning to win, after a lifetime of having fortune go against me.

  ‘Come to Ireland and fight for me,’ said Dermot Mac Murrough, ‘and restore me to my kingship, and when I’m dead it shall be yours.’

  I stared at him. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Am I not clear? Make me King of Leinster again, and I say you will be King of Leinster after me.’

  The room was so quiet, both Dermot and Robert heard me swallowing hard. This was beyond anything I had imagined.

  A kingdom. The Irish man was offering me a kingdom!

  King Richard.

  A land of my own and a title beyond my wildest dreams!

  A huge bubble swelled in my chest. I felt as if I was going to burst.

  At the time, it didn’t occur to me to ask Dermot if he had the right under Irish law to pass his title on to a man of his choice. Robert never thought of it either.

  ‘You offer too much to resist,’ I said to Dermot Mac Murrough. ‘If we can agree on the details, I’m your man.’

  He smiled at me then, and I smiled back. Only when I saw him smiling did I realise what sad eyes Dermot had.

  Probably mine were just as sad. Except on this day.

  Robert FitzHarding sent for fine French wine with which to toast our venture. Then Dermot and I got down to the hard business of settling the details. How many men he would need, how many weapons, how many horses. The horses were very important. He felt that even a small amount of cavalry could do great damage to the native warriors, who usually fought on foot.

  It would take me some time to gather the army he wanted, I told him. I didn’t explain just how little real power I had, or how hard it would be for me to recruit enough men. I simply said it would take time.