1014: Brian Boru & the Battle for Ireland

by Morgan Llywelyn

  The earl of Orkney leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, listening intently to what Sitric had to say. This was more than a trade proposal; it could be an opportunity of almost unlimited scope. But getting involved would have its dangers. Sigurd was a wily man who had not achieved his place in life by taking foolish risks. If he was going to lend his support to this plan he would have to have guarantees, he told Sitric. A promise of unlimited plunder, perhaps? And slaves?

  Sitric smiled. He replied that he was prepared to make a most generous offer, one the other man surely could not turn down. Plunder and slaves, of course – that went without saying. But if the earl of Orkney would bring an army of Vikings to fight on the rebels’ behalf, his reward would be nothing less than the kingdom of Ireland itself.

  Sigurd stroked his lower lip. He cleared his throat. After a suitable interval he inquired – as if the answer were of little concern – how Sitric could make such an offer. Would it include the city of Dublin? Was young Silkbeard offering to give up his own kingship? Or, for that matter, would the king of Leinster surrender his?

  Sitric had expected this and was prepared. He and Maelmora would retain their titles, he said smoothly, but Sigurd the Stout would be their overlord. They would cede to him ownership of the prosperous trading ports along the east coast and the grazing of all of Leinster. In effect, the earl of Orkney would hold the eastern half of Ireland. From such a position and freed of Brian Boru’s interference, he could easily extend his control to the entire island.

  Still Sigurd hesitated. It was a spectacular offer; almost too spectacular; it smacked of desperation. He guessed there was something Sitric was holding back, a last-ditch bribe he hoped would clinch the deal.

  There was. By all evidence, Sitric Silkbeard had a devious mind. Before travelling to the Orkneys he had weighed up what he had to offer and found it lacking. He had decided on one final temptation to throw into the pot: his mother.

  If Brian Boru had achieved near-legendary status, his third wife had not done so badly herself. Sitric knew perfectly well that Gormlaith was no longer the beauty she once had been. At best she was an old woman who still possessed the fine bones and queenly stature of her youth. She also was vain and greedy and had a viper’s tongue. Yet three separate, and prestigious, kings had chosen her as wife. Three kings! Surely no other woman would ever come close to that achievement again. A woman as unique as Gormlaith would be a prize beyond valuing.

  And if she was claimed by Sigurd the Stout, her son would be rid of her forever.

  Of course, there was every possibility that the earl of Orkney might die in battle and not take Gormlaith after all. Sitric Silkbeard had a contingency plan for this, which he did not divulge to his host. In a game of chess no move was announced in advance.

  Sigurd the Stout listened with incredulity as he was offered Gormlaith’s hand in marriage. This was something he had never anticipated. He had plenty of women at his disposal, including a child bride, but nothing like the woman the Norse sagas already were referring to as Kormlada. She was more splendid than the rising sun! Or so they said.

  He leaned forward, unaware that his mouth had fallen open, while Sitric went into rapturous detail about his mother’s ageless beauty. Her ankle-length hair, her full bosom. Not to mention her kindly disposition and her personal fortune. All the earl of Orkney had to do was kill the Irish high king and Gormlaith would be his, together with the kingdom of Ireland. Once Brian Boru was gone, Sitric insisted, both would fall into Sigurd’s lap like ripe fruit. It was more than mere flesh and blood could resist.

  Sigurd agreed to the proposal, then ordered a feast of gargantuan proportions prepared in celebration.

  Throughout the rest of that day and the day following, the two men discussed plans for the invasion of Ireland. Earl Sigurd boasted that he could mobilise the entire fleet of the Western Isles and also draw additional auxiliaries from the Scandinavian mainland. Tens of thousands, he claimed vaguely, waving his be-ringed fingers in the air.

  Sitric Silkbeard was impressed. He did not doubt that the earl could do what he said. Like Brian Boru, the earl of Orkney had a reputation that did not depend wholly on facts, but owed a lot to clever propaganda. To show that he would be an equally worthy partner in the enterprise, Sitric suggested that the invasion fleet arrive in Dublin Bay on Palm Sunday. He pointed out that Brian Boru had spent years building up a reputation for piety and giving generous gifts to the Church. Such an exceptionally devout Christian surely would be reluctant to fight a battle during the season of Easter. That attitude was bound to affect his followers, which would give the invaders an advantage.

  Although Earl Sigurd and many of his followers were also Christians, their Viking blood did not baulk at fighting on holy days. Sitric Silkbeard, half Northman himself, felt the same way. He assured the earl that Maelmora would be just as willing to go to battle as they were. The king of Leinster would do anything to be rid of Brian Boru.

  Sigurd the Stout was well satisfied with the plan. Sitric’s previous defeats in battles against Malachy and Brian were known in the Viking world, but this time, and with so many allies, the earl was confident that things would be different. The forces arrayed against the Árd Rí were sure to win decisively. All of western Europe would bow before their supremacy. The Vikings, who ensured the victory, would gain incalculable treasure and a perfect base for future trade, as well as more land – a lot more land. Well watered, heavily timbered land, with fat cattle feeding on the grasslands, beautiful women waiting to be enjoyed by real men, monasteries full of gold and silver … the earl’s eyes gleamed at the thought. To go viking again! And with such glory waiting. Such an army as no man had seen before was about to be formed.

  They would show their gratitude to Sitric Silkbeard, the earl promised. Sitric’s share of the spoils would make him the richest man in a transformed Ireland. Sitric liked the sound of that. He would be just as happy under a Viking overlord as a Gaelic one; it did not matter so long as his treasury was filled. The earl of Orkney and the king of Dublin concluded their discussions in a rosy glow of mutual satisfaction.

  While Sitric’s longships were still within sight, Sigurd the Stout made himself busy. He organised fleets of envoys to summon warriors from the farthest reaches of his influence. He also charged his three oldest sons, Sumarlide, Bruce, and Einer Wrymouth, to rule his domain during his absence. As yet, Sigurd’s newly arrived child bride by Malcolm of Scotland had given him no sons, but he promised he would lay all the plunder of Ireland at her feet when he returned from the invasion. He probably neglected to mention that he would have to kill the girl’s grandfather to get it. Or that he expected to bring Gormlaith back with him, a woman who would demand a place as queen.

  Such trivial matters were hardly worth considering in light of the advantages to be gained by victory in Ireland.

  After he left the earl of Orkney, Sitric did not sail back to Dublin immediately. First he made landfall on the Isle of Man, which was the stronghold of a pair of notorious pirates. The one known as Brodir claimed to be a supporter of Sigurd the Stout, but like most pirates his only real allegiance was to himself. The other pirate leader, Ospak, may have been his brother. The two had sailed the northern seas for years, sometimes together, always viking.

  Brodir was Sitric’s contingency plan. If Sigurd the Stout failed in his mission, the king of Dublin felt certain that Brodir would succeed. The taciturn Dane was famed both for his ruthlessness and his reputed knowledge of sorcery. Sitric made him exactly the same offer he had made to the earl of Orkney, stressing that Brian had to be killed. Brodir did little more than grunt in response, but the expression in his eyes was enough. He agreed to everything. Including Gormlaith.

  Gormlaith frankly did not care whom she married next, as long as the Árd Rí was dead first. This was not a case of her Christian conscience avoiding a bigamous marriage. Under Brehon law Gormlaith had wed Brian without hesitation while he was still married to Duvcholly. Now
she just wanted him slaughtered.

  Melodramatic as it seems, this whole episode is corroborated by the Norse history of the Orkneys. According to them, it was Gormlaith who had suggested recruiting Brodir.

  Brodir did not bother to inform the earl of Orkney about his own arrangement with Sitric Silkbeard. If everything happened as Brodir hoped, Sigurd the Stout would meet with an unfortunate accident on the field of battle and leave the way clear for Brodir to reap all the rewards. He did divulge his plans to Ospak, however. He intended to take twenty shiploads of warriors to Ireland and expected Ospak to provide another ten. Thirty ships from the Isle of Man! Imagine the plunder they would bring home!

  Whether they were brothers or just colleagues, Brodir did not know Ospak as well as he thought he did. The conspiracy against Brian Boru was making Ospak extremely uncomfortable. For years he had listened with wholehearted admiration to stories about the Irish king. Brian seemed to be everything that Ospak himself would like to be. As the conspiracy gathered speed he began making different preparations. Ospak was his own man.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CALL TO ARMS

  At Kincora Brian was aware of the storm clouds gathering. Ever since the old outlaw days in the hills of Clare he had relied on a network of trustworthy runners to gather news for him. The bog and forest which blanketed much of Ireland made it all but impossible for a man to know what was going on even twenty miles away, but Brian had long since solved that problem. Fleet-footed messengers and deep-lunged shouters on hilltops kept him well informed. He knew which of the Leinster tribes were loyal to Maelmora and which were, if not disloyal to their king, at least wavering.

  It was no surprise to Brian to learn that Maelmora and Sitric were conspiring against him yet again, combining their armies and calling on their allies throughout Ireland. The two kings had the limited vision common to their time. They thought only in terms of what they could get for themselves. They envied the Árd Rí’s successes which they could not emulate, and hated him for the riches and power which were his but not theirs.

  In the season of Christmas an unexpected visitor appeared at the main gates of Kincora. The stranger had sailed a fleet of ten Viking longships up the Shannon and beached them below Béal Boru. When he answered the challenge of the high king’s sentries by identifying himself as Ospak, from the Isle of Man, and further claimed he was a friend of Brian Boru, he and his party were ushered into the palace immediately. At sword’s point.

  We can imagine Brian’s initial suspicion of an unknown Northman accompanied by two hundred warriors. But he was willing to listen. After offering the strangers warm water for washing and ale or buttermilk for drinking – the initial hospitality required under any conditions – Brian gave Ospak his undivided attention.

  The pirate described in detail the plans for the invasion of Ireland, holding nothing back. He said that Brodir’s warriors were heavily armed and already sleeping aboard their twenty ships at night. Ospak added that he did not want to be involved in going to war against such a good man, but Brodir had kept pressuring him. Reluctantly, Ospak had gathered enough warriors to fill ten ships and taken them to an inlet on the other side of the harbour from Brodir’s. Ospak’s oldest son was with them.

  Then he told an amazing story. One night a great commotion was heard in the sky above Brodir’s ships. Startled awake, the men hastily seized their weapons – just in time to be drenched with a shower of boiling blood. They covered themselves with their shields but in spite of this many were scalded. The shower of blood lasted until sunrise. The following day a man died on each one of Brodir’s ships.

  On the second night there was another terrifying attack. This time it consisted of the Vikings’ own weapons leaping out of their hands and scabbards, and striking one another in mid-air. The following day one man died on each of Brodir’s ships. The third night, while the frightened and exhausted men tried in vain to sleep, an army of ravens attacked them from the sky, rending and tearing their flesh with iron claws. The following day yet another man died on every ship.

  Brodir, furious and secretly terrified, went to Ospak and asked what this could possibly mean. Ospak replied that it was a warning from his pagan gods to give up the enterprise. Brodir angrily refused. That same day, Ospak and his warriors had slipped out of the harbour, although Brodir tried to stop them, and set sail for Ireland.

  Brian may have felt a shiver go up his spine at Ospak’s story, but he did not doubt the truth of it. The Gael were as superstitious as the Northmen. Already the battle to come was attracting bad omens – and old women and young warriors were experiencing visitations.

  At the conclusion of his narrative Ospak said he had come to Ireland to fight for a man whose nobility meant more to him than his own Viking heritage. To demonstrate his sincerity he brought forward his son, and requested that they both be baptised in the Christian faith by Brian’s priest. It was done as he asked. And Ospak and his company were welcomed into Brian’s army to fight side by side with the warriors of the Gael.

  As the cold of winter stubbornly dragged on, Brian Boru made ready for one more battle. It cannot have been easy. He had thought the days of fighting were behind him; he had hoped he could enjoy the peace he had constructed. But this was Ireland, and war was again on the wind.

  As always, Brian would have overall command of the army. His three oldest sons would receive choice assignments. Murrough – now known to friend and enemy alike as the Yew of Ros, after the famous tree that had yielded Maelmora to him – would be senior officer under the high king. Together with Flann and Conor, he would command the armies of Thomond, the most successful warriors in Munster.

  Brian appointed his next son to remain at Kincora and administer affairs in his absence. Tadhg, whose mother was Achra, was a serious, level-headed man who could be relied upon to remain steady no matter what happened. Brian’s family and numerous grandchildren would be safe in his care. Until the victory was won and the triumphant warriors came home again.

  From Kincora the call to arms went out. The season of the warrior had arrived half a year too early – summer was the traditional time for battle. But in 1014, the first three months of the year were fully occupied with gathering and consolidating armies. The northern Uí Néill were conspicuous by their absence. It was too late for any further conciliatory gestures in their direction anyway.

  One of the princes of the Uí Néill did respond favourably. Malachy Mór welcomed Brian’s messengers to Dun na Sciath and fed them lavishly on venison and honeycomb. They returned to Kincora praising the generosity of the former high king. They also brought his pledge of a thousand warriors.

  From before dawn until long after sundown, Brian was busy organising his army and planning his campaign. had done it all before, so many times. Every detail must be worked out in advance, with contingencies to allow for unexpected problems. Brian had never fought a battle large or small that did not throw up some nasty surprises. He decided against taking his cavalry with him. The enemy they were going to face would be afoot. With a large number of men on the battlefield, horses would get in the way. He would limit them to mounts for himself and his most senior officers, plus one highly mobile band for which he had special plans: before the main body of his army reached Dublin, Brian planned to send his mounted warriors to ravage and burn the region north of the city. Dublin was the only actual town in this part of Ireland, but there were several tiny, outlying Norse settlements and some prosperous farms in the region known as Fingal (which means ‘the fair foreigner’). The sight of scorched and smoking earth would greet the invaders as they came ashore. Brian had won more than one battle with what we today would call psychological warfare.

  The days sped past. There were unsubstantiated rumours that the invasion fleet was already underway. The precincts of Kincora, which were capable of garrisoning three hundred warriors on a permanent basis, were stretched to capacity as tribal armies poured in from every part of Ireland. Hostages remaining in the gue
sting houses were summarily released and sent home. Their places were taken by chieftains and princes. The lawns around the palace were black with warriors who slept wrapped in their leather cloaks.

  Brian was cheered to see the numbers of strong, eager young men – and not so young men – who hurried to Kincora to answer his call. He went out to greet each of his old allies as they arrived, to exchange news and views, to assure one another that all would be well, and to cast a calculating eye on the size and condition of the weaponry they brought with them. At the back of his mind was always the thought: would it be enough? Without the northern Uí Néill – and those in the south who chose to stand aside for their own reasons – could it be enough?

  The ironsmiths at Kincora were kept working, even by torchlight. In battle the Gael employed a variety of weapons. The sword was standard and came in several styles: a leaf-shaped thrusting sword like the Roman gladius; a shorter instrument known as a dagger or dart; and a longer sword with a sharp edge and a sturdy hilt decorated with precious metals or animal teeth. The first two types were preferred for close combat. The longer weapon was indicative of high status and usually reserved for single combat. Brian Boru, who was a tall man, wielded a sword over half his height in length. The hilt reputedly was made of alloyed gold and set with jewels.

  Irish battle spears came in several sizes, each with its own descriptive name, and were used both for thrusting and for casting. Their heads were of bronze or iron, made to a high standard. Some were broad and flat, others had a needle-sharp point. Still others were shaped like leaves with slightly rippled edges that would leave an even more grievous wound when they were pulled from the body. An exceptionally cruel weapon was a spear with a forked head and sharp, sickle-shaped barbs on both sides, reputedly modelled on the famed Gae Bulga of Cúchulainn. Unfortunately, no examples of this have ever been found by archaeologists. The annalists describe the Irish spears that were used at Clontarf as ‘glittering, well-riveted, empoisoned, with well-shaped, beautiful handles fashioned of white hazel.’