1014: Brian Boru & the Battle for Ireland (8 page)

With a heavy silver cup in his hand, Maelmora
sauntered
over to join the spectators around the chess table. The king of Leinster drained his cup and set it down, then leaned against the nearest carved and painted oak pillar and folded his arms across his chest. A sneer of
contempt
was hidden by his beard. After a few minutes he called attention to a possible move Murrough had
overlooked
.
Brian’s son heard the remark but was not aware who had spoken. He took Maelmora’s suggestion. At his opponent’s very next move, Murrough realised the move had cost him the game. Whirling around on his stool, he saw the king of Leinster grinning at him.

‘That was the sort of advice you gave the Danes at Glenmama!’ Murrough burst out.

Maelmora replied with equal rancour. ‘The next time I give them advice they won’t be defeated.’

Both men were on their feet now, fists clenched.
Murrough
shouted at the Leinsterman, ‘Then, you coward, you had best tell them to have a yew tree ready for you to hide in!’

Or so the story goes. Now, no Irishman called another a coward with impunity. Knowing he dare not kill
Murrough
where he stood, the enraged king of Leinster stormed out of the hall. He and his followers left Kincora without waiting to bid Brian farewell. In a short time they were on their way to Naas.

When the Árd Rí returned to the great hall his people crowded around him, elbowing one another aside in their eagerness to relate the dramatic incident. From the moment he glimpsed Murrough’s face, however, Brian knew all he needed to know. He ordered a messenger to hurry after the king of Leinster and invite him – with
profuse apologies – to return to Kincora, so that matters between the two kings could be peacefully resolved.

Maelmora was in no mood to be pacified. When
Brian
’s messenger caught up with the Leinstermen,
Maelmora
himself beat the hapless man to death with a
horse-rod
made of yew wood and left him on the side of the road with his brains spilling out of his skull. By the time his body was found it was too late for anyone to stop what had been put in motion.

Maelmora summoned the heads of the Leinster tribes to an assembly at Naas. There he described how he and the entire province had been mistreated by the so-called high king. The usurper from Thomond must be destroyed! Nothing else would satisfy the honour of Leinster.

Even in the grip of rage, Maelmora knew he could not defeat Brian Boru without help. He sent envoys to seek aid from every king and chieftain in the land, promising battlefield glory. Success attracts begrudgers and Brian’s success was almost incomprehensible to less gifted men; although his firm allies remained loyal to him, petty kings whose allegiance to the Árd Rí was less than
certain
began to waiver. Wondering if there was something in this for them.

But when Maelmora’s request reached the princes of
the Uí Néill, Malachy Mór actually refused to side with the king of Leinster against the man who had taken his throne.

In Dublin, Gormlaith ranted about the abuse she had suffered at Brian’s hands. Sitric Silkbeard repudiated his father-in-law and revoked any submission to him. The Danes of Dublin were told to prepare for battle, one more time. Sitric was still young, but he was no fool. Like Maelmora he was aware that Brian Boru would be hard to defeat if he was fully roused. This time they must hand the old man a defeat from which he could never recover. Without Brian Boru, Ireland would be ripe for conquest. The potential for plunder would be immense. What an opportunity it would be for the right men! Sitric became very busy indeed.

Bad news travels faster than good news. Throughout the five provinces it soon became known that a revolt against Brian Boru was in the making.

Usually so decisive, Brian had yet to act. The abrupt unravelling of the plans he had implemented over so many years seems to have unsettled the ageing high king. His sons stepped into the breach. Murrough, in particular, was very busy from 1010 to 1012, perhaps to help put the death of his brother, Domnall, out of his mind. Again and again he led the Dalcassians and their allies against
dissident chieftains. Once one was put down, another sprang up. Rogue bands infiltrated Louth and even royal Meath, fomenting rebellion. Murrough complained to his father, ‘They are not content to be content!’

Maelmora asked the king of Aileach, a prince of the Uí Néill and thus one of Malachy’s own kinsmen, to attack Meath and intimidate Malachy’s followers to such an extent that Brian Boru would get no help from that province. An expeditionary force composed of warriors from what is now Cavan, Leitrim and Longford marched on Malachy’s fortress, Dun na Sciath. The invaders put the fort to the torch and ravaged the surrounding
territory
. One of Malachy’s sons was slain as he fought to defend his clan’s hereditary stronghold.

In an attempt to show himself as Brian’s staunch ally – and thus discourage Aileach from making any further attacks on him – Malachy led an army to battle the
combined
forces of Sitric and his uncle Maelmora outside of Dublin. He paid a high price for this political move. Malachy’s troops were soundly defeated and another of his sons was killed in the fighting.

A deeply disheartened Malachy Mór finally appealed to Brian Boru for help. It must have been hard for the former high king to swallow his pride, but Brian rewarded him with an instant and positive response. The Árd Rí’s
army, reinforced by a contingent from Connacht and another from the Northmen of Waterford, marched into Leinster, burned Naas and thoroughly routed
Maelmora
’s men. Brian himself stayed in the province for three months while his combined army plundered southern Leinster. The victors then marched on to Dublin and blockaded the city for another three months.

But the tactics of siege and blockade were not strong points with the Gael. They were too eager for action, too ready to fight. Plus the weather was against them. The ground froze and the game fled; the farmers in the area were hostile and determined to hang onto
whatever
resources they had. It became increasingly
difficult
for the army to live off the land. As Christmas approached, their supplies dwindled until Brian had to face the possibility of a mutiny in the New Year.
Reluctantly
, he gave the order to return to Kincora. There he could rest and gather his energies, and prepare for the future. After an indecisive campaign he badly needed a brilliant success to maintain his supremacy. He was no longer a young man. He knew that one more battle would probably be his last.

Just one more great victory to cement all he had accomplished.

Then he could live out his days beside the Shannon,
below Craglea, in the palace he loved, where every room, every passageway and outbuilding was of his own design. He could see it so clearly. He would gather his entire family around him. Murrough and Flann and Conor and Tadhg and their wives and children, nieces and nephews and cousins. All together under one broad roof. His clan. They would eat at his table and sit by his fire, safe in the knowledge that their future was as secure as Brian Boru could make it.

Sitric Silkbeard, many years younger than Brian and born with a belligerent disposition, wanted a great victory too. Brian’s ignominious retreat to Kincora – that was how Sitric saw it – told him the old man was used up and ready for the killing stroke. To destroy the Irish Árd Rí would enhance Sitric’s reputation beyond anything his ancestors had done. Of almost equal importance, it would please his mother, possibly even put a stop to her increasingly hysterical tirades.

Gormlaith seemed intent on making her son’s homelife a hell on earth. Night and day she spewed out her hatred for the man who had been the third king to reject her. The third king who did not want her! To Gormlaith, Brian must have represented all the cruelty and injustice in the world.

Sitric’s mother’s loathing for Brian Boru was
counterbalanced
by his wife’s oft-expressed admiration for her father, that same Brian Boru. Marrying Sitric had not made Emer a Viking woman; she would remain Brian’s daughter and a proud Dalcassian all her life. She boasted of her lineage at every opportunity and denigrated
Gormlaith
’s Leinster blood. The two women were frequently at one another’s throats while Sitric was caught in the middle. A king should not have to live like that! Brian Boru must finally cease to be a blight on Sitric’s life.

Sitric Silkbeard found a way.

CHAPTER SIX

T
HE
N
ORTHERN
C
ONSPIRACY

I
n the dead of winter, when Scapa Flow was like a sheet of beaten lead and his men were yawning with boredom, the earl of Orkney was pleasantly surprised to receive a royal deputation from Ireland. Three longships flying Danish banners arrived with the setting sun over their shoulders. The commander of the little fleet was no less than Sitric Silkbeard. Beneath a heavy cloak he was dressed in his most impressive royal regalia. Around his neck was a massive gold collar. His brown hair was divided into neat plaits, as was his beard. Before setting foot on land he fixed a gold circlet securely on his brow.

Sigurd the Stout hastened to give the king of Dublin
a royal welcome. Sheep and goats who had been quietly grazing on the sparse grass were snatched up, their throats cut, and their bodies skewered over open firepits while they were still twitching. The earl’s servitors scoured the settlement that had grown up around his stronghold, demanding the best food and drink for his visitors. Small stone ovens were emptied of cooling bread while the women of the house wailed at their loss and complained that their children would be left starving. Nets full of freshly caught fish were seized from angry fishermen at water’s edge and carried on the run to the earl’s kitchens.

While slaves showed Sitric and his party to the thatched guesting house and urged them to rest themselves after their journey, frantic activity was taking place elsewhere. Large vats of beer and ale were being dragged into
Sigurd
’s great hall, which resembled the overturned body of a massive boat. When the vats were opened their yeasty fragrance filled the room.

That evening an extravagant feast was served by
torchlight
. Shadows danced beneath the curved ceiling. In honour of his guests Sigurd even allowed his womenfolk to attend, though of course they did not eat with the men. The party lasted late into the night and well into the next day. When little was left but gnawed bones and breadcrumbs – and drunken men sprawling on the floor
of the hall – Sigurd settled himself to hear what his guest had to say. He expected the ruler of Dublin had come in person to offer him a new and beneficial trade proposal.

Instead, Sitric said he was organising a rebellion in cooperation with his uncle, the king of Leinster. Their purpose was to overthrow the Irish high king, Brian Boru. For this bold move, Sitric was recruiting allies amongst the Vikings of the northern isles.

Now Sigurd really was surprised. Even in the Orkneys, Brian’s name and career were familiar. Norse longships carried information across the sea much more quickly than news of events could travel over land. Brian Boru had long been a hero figure to the Scandinavians, who celebrated an exceptional warrior no matter what his race. As late as the thirteenth century the prolific
Icelandic
writer, Snorre Sturlasson, would refer to Clontarf simply as ‘the Brian battle’, indicating that Brian Boru was still so well known that no further explanation was necessary.

Sigurd the Stout knew that Ireland was politically
fragmented
and socially unstable. He also believed the Gael suffered from a sort of madness that made them
willing
to fight to the death in order to hold onto
treacherous
bogs and impenetrable forests. For these reasons, any attempt to conquer the entire island would involve
battling one disparate tribe after another, year after year, until the invader’s men were used up and the prize was as distant as ever, which was why no northern warlord had tried it in the past. Yet under the Dalcassian Árd Rí, there was said to be unity between some of the most bellicose chieftains. There were also rumours of new roads being cut through forests and bogs being drained to create arable farmland.

Ireland had begun to look like a land worth conquering.

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.