The Princes of Ireland

by Edward Rutherfurd

  “She is?” It wasn’t often that MacGowan was taken in, but on this occasion he was. And supposing that it might look strange if he withheld the information, he briefly told her what the errand was. She seemed delighted.

  Shortly after noon, Walsh reappeared looking pleased.

  “I told your wife what you were doing,” MacGowan told him quickly. “So you’ve no need to explain.”

  “Ah.” Did Walsh look awkward just for an instant? If so, he recovered at once. “I was able to persuade him,” he announced with a smile.

  “How did you do it?” asked MacGowan with frank admiration.

  “My husband is not a lawyer for nothing,” said Margaret, linking her arm affectionately through his. “When is she to leave the castle?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow evening at dusk. Not before. You’re to conduct her quietly out of the city through the Dame’s Gate,” Walsh informed MacGowan.

  The lawyer and his wife had left after that to return to their estate; and MacGowan, having sent in a message to the alderman telling him of the arrangements, had gone gratefully back to his house. It was a piece of providential good fortune, he considered, that the gentleman lawyer should have chanced to come by when he did.

  So the grey merchant could find no explanation for the strange feeling that came over him that evening when he thought about Dame Doyle. There was something about the arrangements he didn’t like. He didn’t know why. An instinct. A sense of unease. These were dangerous times.

  Well, he told himself, he must escort her to Dalkey, whatever the danger, since he had given Doyle his word and Doyle, as well as being a friend, was a powerful man. But he resolved to take extra precautions.

  At dawn the next morning, leaving word for her sleeping husband that she had gone into Dublin and would return that afternoon, Margaret Walsh set out from her house. But she had only gone a short distance out of sight when she wheeled her horse round and, instead of going towards the city, headed south towards the Wicklow Mountains.

  The threat of the Gunner and his English troops might concern the people in Dublin, but to Eva O’Byrne it hardly seemed to matter. To those who dwelt in the hills, the slow rhythm of cattle raising in the high and silent places was hardly impinged upon by the ebb and flow of the rival ruling clans down the generations—except when these provided the occasional excitement of a cattle raid. The government of the Pale would change from time to time, but it seemed to her that this underlying pattern of Irish life would always remain the same.

  And wasn’t this exactly the case now? The quarrel between Silken Thomas and King Henry might be about profound issues across the sea; but for the O’Byrnes it had meant some patrols and a big raid down into Butler territory. Rather to his disappointment, Sean O’Byrne had not been called upon to go to raid the Butlers; but now, while Dublin awaited the Gunner, Fitzgerald’s friends in the Wicklow Mountains were preparing for the Butlers to return the compliment. Any day now, parties of men might be expected to appear on the slopes to raid the cattle and even burn down the farms. The O’Byrnes were ready to deal with them, and Sean had made extensive preparations at Rathconan. Secretly, Eva was well aware, her husband was hoping the Butlers’ men would come, and was looking forward to it. “They’ll get more than they bargained for,” he told her cheerfully, “when they start a fight with the O’Byrnes.”

  The stranger came quite early in the morning, a single rider from the north. Having hissed at a man in the yard to fetch Sean O’Byrne, the rider remained outside, still mounted, wrapped in a cloak and with a covered face. When O’Byrne came out, the stranger insisted on moving a short distance away from the house so that their conversation should be private. They were together a quarter of an hour; then the stranger rode away.

  When Sean came back inside, Eva thought he looked somewhat amused, but also excited. He’d be leaving in an hour, he told her, and not returning until the following morning.

  “I’ll be taking the boys and some of the men,” he announced. He sent the stable boy to fetch Seamus. “Tell him to bring his weapons,” he instructed. Fintan was to ride over to two of the neighbouring farmsteads and ask each to gather as many armed men as possible. “I’ll pick you up,” his father told him, “along the way.” But even this, he indicated, would not be enough. “I need at least a dozen, maybe twenty men.”

  What was this all about, Eva asked? Was it a party of Butler men that he had to fight? No, he said, something else. He’d explain it all tomorrow. In the meantime, he said, she mustn’t say a word to anybody. Just that he’d gone out on a patrol. Could he at least, she demanded, tell her where he was going? No, he could not.

  “And what,” she asked, “if a Butler raiding party comes here while you and the men are away? What am I to do then?”

  This made him pause.

  “There’s been no sign of them yet,” he said. “And we’ll be gone less than a day.” He considered. Then he turned to Maurice. “You’re to stay here,” he ordered quietly. “If there’s danger you are all to ride up into the mountains. Do you understand?”

  For an instant, just an instant, she saw the look of dismay in the boy’s handsome eyes. She knew very well how he must be longing to go with Fintan and her husband on this adventure—whatever it was. But in another instant it was gone. He bowed his head gracefully, acknowledging the order, and then turned to her with a smile.

  “It will be my pleasure.” You had to admire his aristocratic style. Sean O’Byrne gave him an appreciative nod.

  “Fintan had to stay at home last time. It’s your turn now.” Soon afterwards he left.

  It was one of those warm September days when a huge blue sky stretched cloudless, over the hills, and the great sweep down to the plain spread out until it turned into a haze. There was a hint of smoke in the air.

  Eva spent the rest of the morning quietly. After she had completed her household chores, she went into the little orchard and picked up the apples that had fallen, taking them back to the storeroom where she laid them out on a long wooden table. Later they would be boiled and preserved. Maurice attended to the cattle. The herd was all down from the hill, grazing now. He had an old cattleman to help him; also Seamus’s wife and young children. In her care also were a stable boy and three women who worked in the house, Father Donal and his family, and the old bard. These were the only people at Rathconan that day.

  The hours passed slowly. In the early afternoon, Eva sat in the orchard. It was very quiet. Apart from the occasional lowing of the cattle on the pasture above and the soft scraping of the breeze on the crisp apple leaves, all was silence. She wondered where Sean was and what he was doing, but she had no idea. Whatever it was, he had seemed cheerful and confident enough. After sitting for an hour, she got up to return to the house. Perhaps, she thought, she would start boiling those apples now.

  But before she reached the door, she heard a shout. It came from Maurice. He was running towards her. She saw Father Donal just behind him with the old bard.

  “Troops!” Maurice called. “Butler’s men. Coming up the valley.”

  She saw them herself just a moment later: a party of men, some on horse and some on foot coming towards Rathconan. They were not two miles away.

  “You think they are Butler men?” she asked Father Donal.

  “Who else?” he replied.

  “I’ll have horses ready in a moment,” Maurice told her. “Then we must go up into the hills.”

  “They’ll take the cattle,” she pointed out.

  “I know.” The young fellow didn’t look happy about it. “But those were your husband’s instructions.” He paused. “Perhaps,” he suggested, “if we can get you and the women to a place of safety, Father Donal could stay with you and I and the men …”

  She smiled. There looked to be twenty armed men approaching. Was this brave and handsome boy really proposing to tackle them with the aid of the old cattleman, the stable boy, and the bard? “No,” she told him. “We’ll stay together.” Yet it
was a terrible thing, to abandon the house and the herd to the raiders. The cattle were their wealth, their livelihood, their status. Deep within her, generations of her forefathers, cattlemen all, rose up in anger. Sean might have foolishly left the herd at risk, but if she could possibly do so, she meant to save it, or part of it, anyway. Could the herd be split and some of the cattle hidden? Was there time? And it was then, remembering something she had once seen in her childhood, that Eva had an idea. It was daring and dangerous. And it would also take skill. She looked at Maurice Fitzgerald.

  “Would you like to try something with me?” she asked. “It’s a risk, and if it doesn’t work, they’ll maybe kill us.” Then she explained what would have to be done.

  How strange it was, she thought, as she watched his face. Moments before, torn between his desire to do something and his duty to follow Sean’s instructions, the handsome, dark-haired boy had looked so anxious. Yet as he listened to her proposal, which might cost them all their lives, his face seemed to relax. A light came into his eye. An expression she had seen once or twice on her husband’s face in his youth suddenly appeared on Maurice’s—a look of fine, devil-may-care excitement. Yes, she thought to herself, these Fitzgeralds were Irish, right enough.

  “Listen then,” she said, “and I will tell you what it is we need to do.”

  At the time when the Butler raiding party was approaching Rathconan, Sean O’Byrne and his men were high in the mountains and far to the south. The party now consisted of eleven riders. All of them, including young Fintan, were armed.

  Not that Sean expected a fight—a brief scuffle was more likely. They’d be attacking in the dark, with the advantage of surprise; there was a limited and clearly defined objective; and it was quite probable that their quarry would only be accompanied by two or three men. The main thing was to find the right place for the ambush before dark, and to rest the horses. He thought he knew the place. A quiet spot with some trees for cover on the road that led to Dalkey.

  It had certainly surprised him when the Walsh woman had turned up like that. He’d remembered her from the time he’d gone to take the oath from her husband, the lawyer; but he hadn’t paid much attention to her then. Her proposal that he should kidnap the alderman’s wife had surprised him even more.

  Why was she doing this? he had asked. She had her reasons, she told him. That was all she would say. But she must hate the Doyle woman considerably, he thought, to take such a step. Why do women feud? Over a man, usually. You’d have thought she’d have been a bit old for that, really, he mused; but perhaps a woman was never too old to be jealous. Anyway, whatever her reasons, the rewards of this business could be huge. That was what attracted Sean O’Byrne.

  The deal that he and Margaret Walsh had struck was simple enough. He was to capture Dame Doyle and hold her for ransom. It wouldn’t be the first kidnap of this kind in recent years; but normally there would have been serious repercussions if a relatively obscure figure like Sean O’Byrne had dared to abduct the wife of a man as important as Doyle. The present circumstances, however, with Doyle in armed conflict with the Fitzgeralds, presented a wonderful opportunity; and though Silken Thomas had granted Joan Doyle a safe-conduct out of the city, that would hardly extend beyond the suburbs. On the open road down at Dalkey, she was on her own, and Lord Thomas Fitzgerald probably couldn’t care less what happened to her there. Once O’Byrne had obtained the ransom money from the alderman, he was secretly to pass half of it to Margaret. Very secretly. No one—neither his own family nor Margaret’s husband—was to know that she had any part in the business; but her claim to a half share was clearly reasonable. She had brought him the idea, and was telling him when and where Dame Doyle would be travelling. O’Byrne had agreed to the bargain at once.

  There was only one thing he hadn’t worked out. How much money should he ask for? He realised that it would be a substantial amount—probably more money than he had ever seen in his life. Though he knew exactly the worth of any cattle inside or outside the Pale, O’Byrne had no idea of the price of a Dublin alderman’s wife.

  “When you have her,” the Walsh woman had promised, “I will tell you what to ask.” And O’Byrne was ready to acknowledge that the lawyer’s wife would know best. “But what if we can’t get the asking price?” he had enquired. “What if they won’t pay?”

  The Walsh woman had given him a grim smile.

  “Kill her,” she said.

  They were coming slowly up the slope, taking their time. There were twenty of them: ten mounted, ten on foot. Six of the foot soldiers were simple kerne—men drawn from the land to fight for pay. But four were the terrifying gallowglasses with their long-handled axes and two-handed swords: they would make mincemeat of all but the most highly trained men-at-arms.

  They had already been to Seamus’s house and found it deserted. Eva had wondered if they would set fire to it, but they hadn’t bothered. They were gradually approaching her house.

  She had taken good care. If the raiding party thought the house was defended, they might spread out so they could take cover. But even from a distance, it was evident that the house had been hastily abandoned. The door was wide open; one of the window shutters was flapping in the wind, creaking and banging. Still packed close together, they advanced.

  The open ground below the house was flanked on one side by a stand of trees; on the other was a low wall. The ground sloped very gently. The riders were still about a hundred yards from the house when Father Donal, who was standing concealed by the trees, gave the signal.

  The thunder of hoofs began quite suddenly. It seemed to be coming from two places at the same time, so that the raiding party paused for a moment in confusion, looking from one side to the other. Then, gazing in horror, they saw what it was.

  The two herds of cattle came round the tower house from both sides. They were already running hard, and as the two bodies came round the tower and converged, they became a single mass of horned heads, the riders behind them whooping, shouting, and cracking whips so that they broke into a stampede. One, two, three hundred cattle were pounding and thundering down the shallow slope, a great wall of horns, a huge weight, ten, a dozen beasts deep, bearing down upon the raiders unstoppably. The men looked for an escape. There was nowhere to go. The great herd filled the whole space between the trees and the wall, and in any case, there was no time to reach either of these. They turned to flee, but the cattle were already upon them. There was a crack, a crash, a terrible roar.

  From where she was riding, by the line of trees, Eva saw the moving wall of cattle smash into the men. She saw a sword fly up into the air, heard a shout and a horse scream; and then, only the flowing banks of the cattle, like a river in spate. Behind her, also mounted, she could hear the old bard, whooping and laughing, as excited as a boy; across on the other side near the wall, his face tensely concentrated, his cheeks lightly flushed, she could see Maurice riding in amongst the herd. How handsome he looked, how fearless. Just for an instant she realised that she was half in love with him. Perhaps in all the heat and excitement she had become a young woman again herself, but in the magnificent illusion of the moment, it seemed to her that the young aristocrat was what her own husband might have been, in the years of their youth, if he’d been finer.

  The cattle had passed over the attackers now, and were spilling down the slope below. Maurice was working his way round, skilfully turning them. Behind, where the raiding party had been, was a scene of carnage.

  If the horsemen had been quicker, if they had not hesitated, they might have survived by wheeling round and running with the herd.

  Several had tried, but too late, and had collided either with each other or the foot soldiers. Three had started to run, but not fast enough. The great engine of the herd had either smashed into the horses or overtaken them from behind, borne them down and then trampled them into the earth. The destruction of the men on foot had been even more complete. It made no difference whether they were horsemen, kerne, or the
mighty gallowglasses: the herd had passed over them all. Arms, legs, skulls, and breastbones had been cracked and crushed; their bodies mangled or pulped. The great axes of the gallowglasses lay with cracked shafts, their heads useless.

  For this was the ancient stampeding of the cattle, an Irish battle tactic as old as the hills. Though Eva had only seen it done once, when she was a child, it was not something you could ever forget; and as every person at Rathconan, from herself down to Seamus’s youngest child, was adept at driving cattle, it had not been too difficult for them, few though they were, to stampede and drive a herd of three hundred.

  Seamus’s wife was coming across now. She’d been driving them from behind. The women from the house arrived, too. They surveyed the wreckage. A number of the men were already dead. Others lay groaning. One of the big mercenaries was even trying to get up. The women knew what to do. At a nod from Eva they took out their knives and went from one man to another, slitting their throats. Eva dismounted and did the same for the unfortunate horses. It was a bloody business, but she felt triumphant; she had saved them all. And as Maurice came back, just as she was finishing, he too gave her a look of triumph, love, and joy.