Granuaile

by Morgan Llywelyn

  Dublin Castle is a hotbed of rumour. Much of it is nonsense, but one thing is certain. English soldiers are pouring onto this island like a plague of rats. Leinster, Munster, and now even Connaught are under the heel of the foreign queen. Only Ulster continues to resist. If I had my freedom I would go to their aid. I would import guns and mercenaries for Tyrconnell and Tyrone.

  I have sent a message to a friend of mine, Black Thomas, the duke of Ormond, for whom I have done a bit of smuggling. I implored him to use whatever influence he has at Elizabeth’s court to help me. I have no way of knowing if he ever received my message. One cannot trust anyone in this place.

  If God is with me you will hear from me again. In the meantime be brave, my son.

  Always,

  Granuaile

  She is awakened before dawn. ‘Arthur Wilton de Grey, the new lord deputy of Ireland, has consented to grant you an audience,’ a gaoler tells her. ‘Prepare yourself.’

  Her clothes are rags, and filthy. ‘I cannot insult the lord deputy by appearing like this!’ Granuaile cries. With an effort, she stands erect and forces her rusty voice to sound strong. Commanding.

  Her gaolers exchange glances. They are not accustomed to being given orders by a prisoner. But there is something about this woman …

  At last one of them fetches a peasant’s gown of coarse homespun that he has taken from some other captive. Granuaile looks at the garment with a mingling of distaste and relief. At least the gown is not badly torn.

  She demands that the gaolers leave her cell while she dresses. This they will not do. Turning her back, she strips off her old clothes and pulls the gown over her head. Long months spent out of the sun and air have made her skin too sensitive. Tugging the rough fabric over her body is painful. She bites her lip until it bleeds.

  Because she has nothing else she washes her face with her drinking water. Her broken fingernails must serve as a comb. She drags them through her tangled locks. It has been months since she paid attention to her hair. She is startled to discover the raven tresses are streaked with silver.

  An armed guard takes her from the cell and leads her through a warren of passages. She tries to memorise the way in case she can break free. It is hopeless, however. Months of captivity have taken the strength from her legs. Besides, the guards have fastened shackles on her ankles as well as her hands. Even if she had the strength she could not run, only shuffle.

  Granuaile is taken to a roughly plastered, low-ceilinged chamber with several windows set in one wall. In front of the windows stands a long oaken table. She can see very little because the light dazzles her eyes. She fears her sight may have been damaged by months of near-darkness.

  One of her guards prods her in the back, pushing her forward. When she stumbles, someone laughs.

  Squinting, she tries to make out the features of the person who faces her across the table. He gets to his feet as she approaches. He is a thickset man with pale eyes. Eyes as colourless as water in a cup.

  To be a leader one must be a good judge of men. Granuaile has spent years reading the character of men from their faces. Lord Grey is newly arrived in Ireland, a place he has never visited before. His features are stern, but there is a certain watchfulness in his pale eyes that hints of uncertainty. He is a man who has yet to find his sea legs in a new situation.

  I can do this, Granuaile tells herself with a sudden surge of confidence. I can play this game.

  Chapter Twenty

  Winning the Game

  Granuaile meets twice with Lord Grey. He speaks neither Irish nor Spanish. Because she does not want him to know that she is educated, she speaks no Latin. It is best if he underestimates me, she thinks.

  When she is first brought before him she jabbers very urgently in Irish, as if she has something important to tell. She waves her arms. She makes wild gestures. Then she catches his eyes and holds them. She begins to speak more slowly. She wants him to think she is being reasonable, even if he cannot understand her words.

  An interpreter is soon provided. Granuaile twists her hands together and bows low in gratitude.

  With no great difficulty she convinces the lord justice that she is a poor, sad old woman. In remorse for her crimes she pounds her breast with her fists. She bites her tongue to make tears come to her eyes.

  Grey is very moved. When she begins to tear her hair out, he motions to one of his guards to hold her hands. Then he comes around the table and strokes her shoulder to calm her.

  The new lord justice is not as clever as he thinks. He judges Granuaile by what he sees. She tells herself, he would not long survive at sea, where one must read the tides beneath the surface.

  Among the many rumours she has heard in the dungeons of Dublin Castle is one about Lord Grey. He is to lead the queen’s armies in putting down the Desmond rebellion. Granuaile describes in detail the damage Desmond has done her. She stresses her passionate thirst for revenge. Then she makes an offer.

  ‘If I am allowed to return to my ships,’ she tells the lord justice, ‘my fleet will prevent any supplies reaching Desmond by way of Limerick and the Shannon.’

  Grey listens thoughtfully, then dismisses her. She is not taken back to her cell. Instead she is given a room elsewhere in the Castle, and the next morning he sends for her again. This time she is brought to him without shackles.

  Granuaile knows then that she has won.

  ‘Of course we cannot permit you to resume your piracy and raiding,’ Grey tells her. ‘Such deeds defy the queen’s law.’

  She keeps her face blank. Elizabeth Tudor is building a vast network through piracy and raiding, but she does not mention this.

  She is fighting for her life. Sometimes that is best done with silence.

  Lord Grey says, ‘However, there is one way in which you can retain command of your fleet. If you use them only to deny supplies to the rebel Desmond, your ships will not be seized. Are we agreed?’

  Granuaile bows low. Very low. ‘Her Majesty is most generous,’ she replies.

  She does not actually give her word, however. She lets the lord justice think she has given her word, which is not the same thing. Granuaile is of the Gael – she will not break an oath once given. But never will she swear an oath to her enemies.

  Having to go through an interpreter helps. Without a language in common, there is always the possibility of being misunderstood.

  Grey believes what he wants to believe, as people do. Then he makes a generous gesture of his own. ‘As the queen’s obedient servant,’ Grey tells her, ‘you will be allowed to rest in Dublin for a few weeks to regain your strength. I shall arrange an apartment for you in an inn nearby. A small sum will be provided for your personal needs. You will be able to purchase food and wine and a few bits of clothing. When you are fit for the journey, you will be put aboard the next ship going to Galway.’

  The following day, Granuaile smuggles out a note to her youngest son, now eleven years old:

  My dear Toby,

  Tell your father to have my men meet me with my favourite galley, but not in Galway. Send them to Bunowen to wait for me. And send them armed.

  I am coming home.

  Always,

  Granuaile

  Chapter Twenty–One

  Back to War

  A feeble old woman totters off the English merchant ship onto the docks of Galway. Her shoulders are bowed, her head hangs low. The sailors watching from the deck elbow each other and laugh. They call out a few insults but she does not respond. Then they return to unloading their cargo. One more pitiful, broken prisoner is soon forgotten.

  The sailors do not watch her walk away. They do not see her head gradually come up, her shoulders go back, her stride lengthen. The years fall away from her. By the time she reaches the city gates, Granuaile is once more the she-king of the western seas.

  Granuaile meets with her sons Owen and Murrough at Bunowen, then goes to Achill Island to visit her daughter Margaret. Her children are startled by her changed appe
arance. ‘There is no need to be concerned,’ she tells them. ‘Though my hair is grey and my face is gaunt, my heart is as strong as ever.’

  When at last she sees Toby at Rockfleet she merely puts her arms around him and holds on tight.

  After spending the summer at sea, Granuaile feels restored. The sea is both her home and her business. She rests on its bosom. She ploughs its waters as landmen plough their fields. Its fish are her herds. When she longs for companionship she listens to the voice of the waves.

  The sea has been her teacher, too. There were times at sea when she has been hungry, thirsty, frightened, exhausted, too cold, too hot, and in great peril. Sometimes all in the same voyage. Surviving the hardships of a seagoing life has given Granuaile a quick mind and the ability to endure anything.

  In the autumn the pope sends a small force of French, Spanish, and English troops to the southern coast of Ireland. Their purpose is to unite the Irish against the heretic Elizabeth. They are seeking help from the earl of Desmond among others. Although Desmond treated Granuaile badly, she decides to be his ally in the struggle.

  ‘My enemy’s enemy must be my friend,’ she tells Richard Bourke.

  There is much to do. Employing all her skills of secrecy, she begins importing guns for the princes of the north. The earl of Tyrone, Hugh O’Neill, and his ally Hugh O’Donnell are determined that Ulster will not be conquered.

  Some of the O’Malleys and the O’Flaherties attempt to come to the aid of the pope’s invasion force. They urge The MacWilliam to join them. He refuses, but Richard Bourke accepts. He leads a band of warriors to plunder territories known to be sympathetic to the English.

  Although they do not live as man and wife any more, Granuaile is quietly proud of Richard-in-Iron.

  Then Sir Nicholas Malby replaces Sir Edward Fitton as governor of Connacht. Malby seizes a castle belonging to Richard’s chief counsellor. He puts its occupants – men, women and children alike – to the sword. This demonstration of deliberate cruelty frightens Richard’s followers. They claim they must go home to help with the herds, to help with the harvest … and they melt away. One after another, they melt away.

  When Malby captures Burrishoole, Richard’s defeat seems certain.

  Granuaile tells him that making a voluntary submission is better than being taken prisoner on the battlefield. ‘Tell them what they want to hear,’ she says, ‘and at least you will survive.’

  But Richard has the bit in his teeth now. He does not play games, he insists, he is a warrior! He will fight to the death!

  ‘And to the death of our son,’ Granuaile retorts. ‘If you continue in this reckless way, Tibbott will pay for it.’ She orders her men to seize Richard and bundle him onto a ship to Scotland. There he is left to reflect on his position.

  Some time later, when Granuaile learns that Shane MacOliverus is failing in health, she brings Richard back to Ireland. Although he grumbles, he does as Granuaile insists. Together they travel to Galway to offer his submission to Malby.

  Granuaile stands at Richard’s shoulder as he bows before the Englishman – but she does not bow. She listens as he makes promises of submission – but she does not speak.

  Her eyes stare off into a far distance.

  Malby is surprisingly pleasant to the pair of them. After the formalities are over he offers food and wine. He even compliments Richard on the exceptional energy of his wife.

  Granuaile pretends not to understand, but when Malby smiles at her she briefly smiles back. He is only human after all.

  In November of 1580, Shane MacOliverus dies. Over the objections of the dead man’s younger brother, Malby allows Richard-in-Iron to assume the title of The MacWilliam.

  The revolt in Mayo is over.

  But Granuaile is still secretly running guns into Ulster for O’Donnell and O’Neill.

  In September of 1581, Richard-in-Iron is granted a knighthood. Granuaile and young Tibbott attend the ceremony in Galway. She stands with her hand on her son’s shoulder. Her face is set in a proud mask. People assume she is proud of Richard. In actuality she is thinking of the large number of muskets she has just managed to obtain for Hugh O’Neill, Earl of Tyrone.

  Ireland is far from conquered.

  There are many tides beneath the surface.

  Chapter Twenty–Two

  The Princes of the North

  June, the Year of Our Lord 1582, Rockfleet

  My dear Toby,

  I understand that your foster-father, Myles MacEvilly, has made you his heir. Most Anglo-Normans do not make generous gestures without expecting to get something out of it for themselves.

  You are fifteen now. Pay heed to what I tell you about the ways of the world, Toby. If you are willing to learn from my experience, you will never have to pay the price I have paid for wisdom.

  Thanks to my help, Richard Bourke is now The MacWilliam. Myles MacEvilly needs The MacWilliam’s support against an English officer who is trying to claim some of his holdings. By indicating his intention to leave his estate to you, MacEvilly obligates your father to protect it.

  Protecting property under the new English law is not straightforward. In case of a dispute, one must prove right of ownership to the magistrates. If Richard’s personal army is not enough to protect MacEvilly land, his title probably will be. English magistrates are more impressed by titles than by men.

  I find this strange. An English title can be bought or sold or bartered like a bale of hides. If any man can own one, how can such a thing be valuable? Under Gaelic law a chieftain is elected by his people. Through his wise judgements, his generosity, or his military prowess, he earns the right to lead. Yet the English persuade foolish men to trade their Irish chieftaincies for English lordships.

  Sometimes I despair for the future. We are too easily impressed. The foreigners appeal to our greed and offer us puffs of wind, while they steal our true gold from us.

  We must outwit them, Toby. And we can.

  Always,

  Granuaile

  Granuaile continues to sell her services to the princes of the north. She hopes the guns she brings into Ireland will help to break the grip of the foreigners. She would carry the weapons for free if necessary, although she does not say this to her clients.

  The chieftains of Tyrconnell and Tyrone entertain her in their strongholds. One of O’Donnell’s sons, a merry lad called Aed Rua, becomes her favourite. He is not as old as Toby, yet he is as brash and bold as a grown warrior, and his people love him dearly. Great things are predicted for Red Hugh.

  Meanwhile Richard Bourke’s family is at the height of its power. In Mayo, Granuaile appears in public at his side. She takes full advantage of the protective cloak her position as his wife offers. The English do not understand that she is an independent woman.

  Chapter Twenty–Three

  The Death of Richard–In–Iron

  The following year, Richard-in-Iron fights his last battle. It is a battle with illness, and one that he cannot win. Granuaile is more distressed by his death than she cares to admit. Many disliked him, but she has had no cause to complain of him. Once he realised that her judgement was better than his and consented to be guided by her, they had a smooth enough voyage together.

  With Richard dead, there is fresh trouble. The English have named the younger brother of Shane MacOliverus as The MacWilliam. Some of the Bourkes will not accept MacOliverus as chieftain, because he was never tanaiste. Edmund Bourke of Castle Barry was Shane’s chosen successor. The Bourkes split over the issue. With the English interfering, all Mayo may become a battlefield.

  October, the Year of Our Lord 1583, Rockfleet

  My dear Toby,

  You are sixteen years old now, a grown man. Richard’s stronghold at Burrishoole is part of your inheritance. I urge you to go there and take up residence at once. I feel confident that Malby will not object. Some of your Bourke kinsmen might, though. If necessary, I shall send for your O’Flaherty half-brothers to come up from Iar Connacht and
help you defend your holding. Murrough is an aggressive man and always happy to fight. Owen is more peaceful of nature, but he can handle a sword or pistol well enough. I know, for I taught him.

  I shall remain at Rockfleet. My favourite galley is moored at the foot of the tower. My men sleep in the banqueting hall and guard all the approaches. Anyone who attacks me here, English or Anglo-Norman, will regret it.

  What I have I hold. Mind that you hold what is yours.

  Always,

  Granuaile

  The tall, lean woman prowls the battlements of Rockfleet. A rising wind whips her hair into her eyes. She tosses her head impatiently. Although she can smell ice on the wind and knows hail is coming, she prefers to be outside. She will not go in until the storm forces her to take shelter.

  How different the tower seems, she thinks, without Richard. It had not been his home for years – during most of their marriage he lived at Burrishoole. Yet now that he is gone, Granuaile senses him on the stair, in the armoury, in the great hall. Sometimes in the night she hears him snoring in bed beside her. When she jumps up and lights a candle, no one is there.

  No one is ever there. Only her memories.

  Her memories stalk the battlements of Rockfleet Castle.

  A shiver runs up her spine. The rain has not begun, but Granuaile is cold. She makes the sign of the cross on her breast and turns to go inside.

  Against her expectations, Mayo remains at peace. The battles that raged over the chieftainship are over. The brother of Shane MacOliverus holds the title. Cathair-na-Mart was burnt to the ground and Granuaile’s half-brother Donal is homeless, but at least he is still alive. When he whines, she reminds him that he has much to be thankful for.