1014: Brian Boru & the Battle for Ireland

by Morgan Llywelyn

  While Sitric in Dublin nursed his hurt pride, perhaps with his mother at his elbow, Malachy Mór and Brian Boru kept encountering one another on the battlefield. The warriors of Leinster and the Danes of Dublin observed from afar, hoping that the two men would wear each other down and leave an opening for a new power in the land.

  When Maelmora, Gormlaith’s brother, was elected king of Leinster, Sitric at once made a formal offer of the resources of his own kingdom to Maelmora, forgetting his earlier submission to Malachy Mór. One might sense Gormlaith’s fine hand in this. Her second marriage had not made her happy – if anything could. The annals do not record whether it was Malachy or Brian who suggested that the two of them combine their forces against Leinster and the Danes, but it may have been Tara that sent an emissary to Kincora. When his back was to the wall, Malachy usually did the prudent thing. An alliance with the ‘Lion of Munster’ was definitely the prudent thing.

  For once, the interests of the two kings were converging, with a common enemy in Leinster. In 999 Brian Boru marched northwards to combine his army with that of Malachy Mór. Maelmora led his forces out to do battle with the two kings, accompanied by a large contingent from Dublin, warriors sworn to his nephew, Sitric Silkbeard. They met at a place called Glenmama, near Saggart in County Dublin. The battle was savage, with heavy casualties on both sides. A large number of Leinstermen died while attempting to escape. At Brian’s order they were surrounded and driven into a flooded ford on the Liffey like so many cattle, then slaughtered on the bank as they tried to get out. Among the slain was Harald, a son of Olaf Cuaran, which made him a half-brother to Sitric Silkbeard.

  When it was obvious the tide of battle had turned against him, Maelmora, fearing capture, hid amongst the darkly funereal branches of a yew tree. There he was discovered by Brian’s son, Murrough. Murrough dragged the humiliated king of Leinster from his perch in the tree while the warriors laughed and made rude remarks. In an act of generosity worthy of his father, Murrough spared Maelmora’s life – an act he would live to regret.

  On the following day, Malachy and Brian marched into Dublin and sacked the prosperous port city. The air was black with the smoke of burning shops and warehouses. Carts were piled high with valuables to be sent back to Dun na Sciath and Kincora. When Sitric offered grudging submission to both kings, his offer was accepted. At Brian’s behest the defeated Dubliners were allowed to return to their homes. Maelmora was given permission to take his surviving warriors back to Naas – although they had to leave their weapons behind.

  We do not know if Gormlaith was in Dublin visiting Sitric when Malachy and Brian arrived with their armies. But she well may have been; she may have seen her husband beside Brian Boru. Malachy was the Árd Rí, but Brian Boru, according to the annalists of the day, was splendid. Their overwhelming victory over the Leinstermen and their Danish allies was dramatic proof that Irishmen united could accomplish what Irishmen divided could not. Unfortunately it was a lesson that would not outlive them.

  Brian remained encamped in Dublin from Christmas through most of February. This gave him an opportunity to familiarise himself with the territory. It was a commander’s habit of reconnaissance which must have been second nature to him by this time. He also would have observed the sea, the darkly turbulent sea that lapped the city walls on the east and dominated the lives and fortunes of its inhabitants.

  Meanwhile Malachy Mór had returned to Dun na Sciath to celebrate. At Glenmama he had observed some of the clever tactics of Brian Boru. The victory had not been his alone and he knew it, but any victory was worth celebrating. He also summoned the brehons to witness that he was setting aside – the Irish term for divorce – his wife, the princess Gormlaith. This was only a small victory for Malachy, but one he obviously felt was necessary.

  As the sun set on the last day of February, Brian returned to Kincora. He could never stay away for long. He needed the fragrant silence of the forested hills at his back, needed the gleaming sweep of the Shannon at his feet. By now he could see, quite clearly, the road fate had laid out for him. He knew his own strength and the strengths and weaknesses of the Árd Rí. There could be no going back, all the chessmen were in place. It was time for the next move on the board.

  To the astonishment of many, Brian arranged a marriage between his daughter, Emer, and Sitric Silkbeard, thus acknowledging his former opponent as a worthy son-in-law. But there was another surprise in store. At about the same time Brian married Sitric’s mother, Gormlaith, the former wife of two kings. The ultimate trophy.

  This latest marriage of Brian’s may not have taken place with religious solemnities; there is simply no record one way or the other. But it served its purpose. If she was a secondary wife as allowed under Brehon law, she was nevertheless in a position of prestige. Mindful of Brian’s unparalleled rise to power and his generosity to the Church, the clergy kept silent about any misgivings. Throughout his career he was always careful to keep the Church on his side.

  Here we are allowed a brief glimpse into the private life of Malachy Mór. Imagine how very hard he laughed, and how very much he drank at the banquet table, when he learned that his erstwhile rival had saddled himself with a liability like Gormlaith.

  There has been some question as to the order in which Gormlaith married her men, but a poem composed shortly after her death contains a clue:

  Gormlaith took three leaps,

  which a woman shall never take again

  A leap at Ath-cliath [Dublin], a leap at Teamhair [Tara],

  A leap at Caiseal [Cashel] of the goblets over all.

  This would indicate that she married Olaf Cuaran first, followed by Malachy Mór, and finally Brian, whose royal seat was Cashel, although he ruled from Kincora. Duvcholly was probably still alive when Brian brought his new wife home to the palace beside the Shannon. Whether or not Duvcholly had children by Brian we do not know. But although she was middle-aged herself by this time, Gormlaith soon conceived and bore Brian a son. They called him Donough.

  The alliance of Brian and Malachy which had proved successful at Glenmama was a fragile one. Since that victory there had been frequent skirmishes between Brian’s warriors and those of the high king. The brief truce which had been to their mutual advantage could not last. Two powerful kings could not share one small island.

  In the autumn of 1002 Brian Boru marched an army to Dun na Sciath, demanding that Malachy Mór give battle to him there or submit the high kingship. Malachy replied by asking for a month to gather his forces. Brian agreed. Malachy made his best effort but could not collect enough men willing to fight Brian Boru. At the end of the allotted time the Árd Rí, accompanied only by his personal bodyguards, went to Brian’s camp. There he submitted without imposing any conditions. His confidence in the Dalcassian’s sense of honour was not misplaced. Brian treated Malachy with respect and even returned to him the fine horses he had offered in tribute.

  Malachy’s contemporaries also respected him. The annalists praised him in the fulsome language of the time, and his partisans resented his treatment at the hands of the upstart Dalcassian. Yet once he died he was all but forgotten, like his predecessors. If it were not for Brian Boru, Malachy’s name would be unknown today. Yet his was an unusual career. He became Árd Rí in 980 and again in 1015, the only man in the history of Ireland to bear that title twice. As high kings go, he was as good as most and better than some. Unfortunately for Malachy Mór, by the time he died in 1022 he had lived most of his life in the shadow of a larger man.

  By making himself Árd Rí, Brian had challenged and effectively overthrown the ancient rule of the kingly houses of Tara and Aileach. He almost might be described as a ‘land leaper’ himself; he certainly was reviled in some quarters as a usurper. Yet in his lifetime he would accomplish more for the whole of Ireland than the Uí Néill kings had done in centuries.

  Although they would not face him in battle, the princes of the north continued to resent Brian, sullenly refusing to acknowledge his au
thority – until 1004. While conducting a royal circuit of Ireland that year he visited Armagh, St Patrick’s holy city, and confirmed the primacy of the city with an entry made in the Book of Armagh. In one final, irrefutable gesture, the entry was signed by his secretary and close friend: ‘This I have written, namely, Maolsuthain ua Cearbhaill, in the presence of Brian, Imperator Scotorum’ – Emperor of the Irish. Brian also left twenty ounces of pure gold, which was an immense sum, on the high altar of the cathedral.

  It would be unfair to Brian to interpret this extravagant gesture as merely a cynical bribe. This was the man who had been repairing and rebuilding churches and monasteries for years. He was well aware that St Patrick’s holy cathedral had repeatedly suffered from raids, and in 996 had been nearly destroyed by a lightning strike that damaged its roof beyond repair. Twenty ounces of gold would buy a lot of slate and pay for the finest workmanship.

  There was no further overt resistance to Brian from the northern Uí Néill. Although they never openly acknowledged him as Árd Rí, Brian took their submission as a given. As far as he was concerned the entire island was his to protect. He willed his body to Armagh and his soul to God. In 1014 Armagh would return the favour by giving Brian Boru the most magnificent funeral ever seen in Ireland.

  During his reign as high king Brian continued with his programme of construction, ignoring provincial boundaries and requesting no permissions from provincial kings. Because he realised that a strong permanent force would be necessary to secure the island from any further invasion, Brian continued to demand discipline from his army. He controversially insisted that the warriors of the Gael welcome Norse and Dane into their ranks. The Vikings had been in Ireland for generations by now, he argued, and their children and grandchildren knew no other home. They should be willing to fight for it. At the Battle of Clontarf, Brian’s Vikings would be amongst his best fighters.

  Although he himself would never leave Ireland, apparently Brian thought in terms of creating a dynasty with a longer reach. He had begun by marrying his daughter Sabia to Cian, which had given the Dalcassians a broader base in the south. While still king of Munster, Brian arranged for his daughter Blanaid to wed Malcolm, prince of Alba – the ancient name for Scotland. There was a strange symmetry to this marriage. The highlands where Malcolm was born had been settled in the sixth century by the Dal Riada tribe from the north of Ireland, the ‘Scoti’, hence the name of Scot Land. In 1005 Brian’s son-in-law was crowned Malcolm II, king of Scotland.

  Two years later, one of Blanaid and Malcolm’s daughters married Sigurd the Stout, earl of Orkney. After the Battle of Clontarf their son Thorfinn was raised by his grandfather, Malcolm II. In 1040 Thorfinn took up arms against his cousin Duncan, who had succeeded Malcolm as king of the Scots. Duncan was defeated at the Battle of Torfness, and afterward was murdered by another cousin who aspired to the kingship, Macbeth – whose grandmother was the daughter of Brian Boru. Macbeth and Thorfinn ruled Scotland between them until both died in 1057.

  When Brian married his daughter Emer to Sitric Silkbeard, king of the Dublin Danes, he must have hoped to establish a more amicable relationship between Gael and foreigner. It might have been possible if human nature had been different. In the final analysis Brian was, more than anything else, a tribal chieftain working for the benefit of his tribe and clan. He was trying to give them something of lasting value. And he very nearly succeeded.

  Duvcholly died in 1009, leaving Gormlaith as the only queen at Kincora. Brian’s other wives have disappeared from history, having taken no active part in events. But Gormlaith was active enough to make up for them all. Her tempestuous nature caused constant problems at Kincora, where she was greatly resented by the other women in the king’s large entourage. Fortunately for them, Gormlaith’s tenure was drawing towards its close, though there was a final spectacular performance before she left the stage. And even after her death in 1030, something of her would remain in the fray …

  There would also be one more dynastic marriage, although Brian would not live to see it. Years after the Battle of Clontarf, Donough, Gormlaith’s son by Brian Boru, married Driella, the youngest daughter of Godwine, earl of Kent. Godwine’s other daughter, Edytha, was married to King Edward the Confessor. Their brother by their Danish mother, Gytha, was Harold Godwine, who would become the last of the Saxon kings of England.

  Through Brian Boru’s children and grandchildren his blood entered the royal bloodlines of Europe, where it still appears in family trees today.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A SPARK IN DRY TINDER

  There are almost as many ways to start wars as there are men to fight them, but the sparks that ignited the Battle of Clontarf may have been struck over a chess board. However, it all began with cows. A lot of cows.

  Over the centuries the tributes demanded by Irish kings had caused endless trouble, which usually centred on the number of cattle involved. The size of a man’s herd determined his status within the tribe. An overwhelming percentage of the cattle population consisted of cows, the bovine male being considered inferior – there are no beef-eating heroes in Irish literature; wild boar was the champion’s protein of choice. Bulls were maintained only for breeding, bull calves were killed for their leather, and bullocks were unheard-of. Sheep were raised for wool and pigs for meat, but the cow was the measure of everything: the unit of value, the primary medium of exchange. Although the life of the community revolved around cows, only women were allowed to milk them. Milk and its products formed a large part of the daily diet. The cow was almost a member of society, and hers was an essential role in calculating tributes.

  The Book of Rights spelt out in precise detail the size of every tribute, so no argument would be possible. But this was Ireland. Argument was always possible.

  During his reign as Árd Rí, Brian gave Ireland a decade of relative peace. There were occasions which demanded a show of strength, as when in 1006 he had to march into Ulster and demand hostages in order to put down a tribal rebellion. But the poets were able to relate with pride:

  From Torach to pleasant Cliodlinna

  And robed in all her finery,

  In the time of Brian, of high side and fearless,

  A lone woman made the circuit of Erin

  And no man accosted her.

  1010 was a bad year for Brian. Domnall, the younger of his two sons by Achra, died of an illness at Kincora. Shortly afterwards Brian received word that his last living brother, Marcan, who had risen through the ranks of the clergy to become abbot of Emly and chief of the clergy of Munster, had also died.

  Brian and death were old acquaintances. But he was sixty-nine and this was bringing it very close to home, reminding him of his own mortality at a time when such things begin to weigh on a man. He must have felt the need to consolidate his holdings.

  At a time lost in antiquity a huge tribute had been demanded of a king of Leinster by a king of Connacht who defeated him in battle. Known as the Boru Tribute, or ‘cattle tax’, this originally consisted of slaves, coverlets, cauldrons, hogs … and cows. Thousands of cows. On their way to the west from Leinster an immense herd was driven across the Shannon at the ford which became known as Béal Boru – ‘The Gateway of the Cattle Tribute’. The Boru Tribute continued to be paid in this way for generations, until eventually the tribute was forgiven or forgotten.

  In 1012, and without warning, Brian reintroduced the hated Boru Tribute upon Leinster and its current king, Maelmora. According to the Book of Rights, the only tribute Leinster specifically owed to the Árd Rí was ‘the venison of Naas’. As king of Munster, Brian was due ‘the privilege of burning north Leinster.’ But Brian was the high king now, and unwilling to settle for tokens. He wanted a full scale submission from Maelmora, one which the king of Leinster could not refute without sacrificing his honour. To this end Brian demanded great herds of cattle and swine, woollen mantles, silver chains, copper cauldrons, bronze pails, and more besides.

  Maelmora was incandescent wi
th rage. He should not have been surprised. The ancient conflict between Munster and Leinster had never really ended. In spite of Brian’s efforts to establish peace, warriors from Leinster had continued to make frequent incursions into the rest of Leth Moga and Maelmora had made no effort to discourage their behaviour. In fact he encouraged it. He was happy to have the cattle they stole fattening on his grass.

  Maelmora’s pride and arrogance had been sorely tested by having a Munster man claim authority over him. Gormlaith’s marriage to the Árd Rí had not encouraged her belligerent brother to mend his ways. The marriage itself was a disaster, as everyone knew. For Maelmora this was just another reason to hold a grudge against Brian Boru. He had rejoiced in every little cut his men took at Brian’s authority.

  Reimposing the Boru Tribute brought the rivalry between the two men to a whole new level. Sourly, the king of Leinster considered his options. They were very few. He knew Brian of old, and was sure the Árd Rí would enforce his demand to the letter. In fact, within days of being informed of the reintroduction of the Boru Tribute, Maelmora learned that Brian’s son, Murrough, had led an army into one of Leinster’s tributary kingdoms, Ossory. They were sweeping across the land, seizing spoils and taking prisoners.

  It was an open invitation to war – a war Maelmora was unprepared to fight against the full power of the high king. But what else could he do? If he sat on his hands and did nothing his people would turn against him. The Gael were a warrior race. A leader who failed to answer the challenge to battle would soon be overthrown. Or worse.

  At Naas the king of Leinster paced through his fort, swore at his women and kicked his hounds.