Strongbow (10 page)
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
After so long a wait, once Strongbow reached Ireland things happened with dizzying speed. No sooner had we learned of his arrival than a messenger came from him, inviting Father to take part in the capture of Waterford.
My father was startled. He told me, ‘I thought Strongbow would want to meet me first so we could plan together. I thought he’d want my advice, my ideas, my leadership …’
‘He doesn’t appear to need it,’ I remarked thoughtlessly. It was the first time I ever recall hurting my father’s feelings, and I was sorry at once.
Father went off by himself, with a black scowl on his face. He made no effort to hurry to Waterford. Nor, as it proved, was there any need. Within two days we learned that Waterford had fallen, and now Father was being formally summoned by the conqueror.
‘Richard de Clare, Earl of Strigul, requests Dermot, King of Leinster, together with his daughter Aoife, to attend him at once in Waterford town,’ the messenger announced.
Father was both furious and admiring at the same time. ‘The man struts like a peacock!’ he cried. ‘How dare he all but order me to come? What arrogance.’ Then he smiled. ‘What a victory, Aoife. Imagine. Two days in Ireland, and he has already taken Waterford.
What can I not do with such a man on my side?’
My mother was terribly excited. ‘You’re going to meet the man you may marry,’ she kept reminding me, ‘and we want you to look your best.’
I tossed my head. ‘Let him worry about looking his best for me. If I don’t like him, I won’t marry him.’
Mother sighed. ‘You’re still like a wild animal. I hope this Strongbow can tame you.’
But Father merely said, ‘Don’t shame me, Aoife.’
Then my feelings were hurt. I would never, ever, do anything to shame him! So I stood quietly and let them plait my hair and bathe my body and dress me in fine robes. Our stock of gold and silver ornaments was not as large as it had once been, but rings were found for my arms and fingers, and a band of gold was twisted around my throat. Then I was wrapped in a new wool cloak and Father with his own hands set me upon the second best horse he had.
Followed by his warriors, we rode for Waterford.
Even from a distance, we could see the dark spirals of smoke rising from the captured town. I remembered the day I had seen Ferns burning, and wondered if Father was thinking of that too. But when I looked at him his face was blank. He stared straight ahead.
The northern gateway of the city gaped open, for the big timber gates had been torn from their iron hinges and burned. It was like Ferns all over again, but worse. We could smell death on the warm August air.
As we rode through the gates, I saw the first pile of bodies. They lay everywhere in the laneways of the town. I couldn’t help seeing them.
Until that day Father had tried to keep me safe from the sights and sounds and smells of battle. Now I saw it all. This was not a game and these people would never get up and walk away, laughing.
I shuddered. ‘What have we brought into Ireland?’ I asked Father.
But he didn’t answer.
The ways were so clogged with bodies we had to get down off our horses and walk. Soot drifted on the air. My fine clothing was soon black with it, and I could feel the weight of ash on my face.
Ahead of us we could hear men yelling. A woman came stumbling towards us, her clothes torn and her hair wild around her face. ‘They’ve killed our chieftain!’ she moaned. In her grief she didn’t recognise us, but thought we were citizens of Waterford.
My father stopped and put a kindly hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll say a prayer for him,’ he said.
She looked at him with grateful tears in her eyes, then ran on.
Strongbow must be somewhere up ahead, where the yelling was.
Men in foreign armour were running in and out of houses, carrying loot. One of them started to speak to me but Father drew his sword, and gave the man such a black look he backed away.
On we went through the ruined town, picking our way among smouldering timbers and piles of rubble.
Then we saw a crowd gathered in front of the cathedral. A crude platform had been built there. Afterwards I learned it was where the invaders had executed one of the local chieftains. As we approached, several of the men in the crowd turned towards us.
All at once I was frightened. My heart began beating so hard I thought they could see it jumping inside my gown. I wasn’t afraid of the strangers in their armour, or of the dead bodies on every side.
I was afraid of change.
I didn’t want my life to change. Adventures were lovely, but I had always been able to go home at the end of the day to my own family and my own familiar place.
Strongbow would put an end to that. He would change everything.
My feet began to drag through the rubble and ash. Father gave me a sharp glance. ‘Come, Aoife,’ he said. ‘There’s no turning back.’ I heard an echo of sadness in his voice that frightened me still more, but
he caught hold of my arm and pulled me forward.
One of the men waiting for us was Hervey de Montmorency. He was talking to a taller man who had long arms and a short neck, a man wearing badly dented armour. As we drew near, de Montmorency said something to this man, then pointed right at me.
I didn’t need anyone to tell me that the man in the battered armour was –
‘Strongbow!’ cried my father, hurrying forward.
Strongbow was not what I expected. In my mind, a man with that name should have been a splendid giant, more mighty than anyone, with lightning flashing from his eyes. A warrior like Cuchulain, who could freeze his enemies’ blood with a glance.
Richard de Clare wasn’t like that at all. He was just a man, almost as old as my father, a tired-looking man with grime on his face. He had taken off his iron helmet and held it cradled in one arm. His hair was sandy-red, and thinning. When he spoke his voice was almost as high as a woman’s.
‘I see you’ve brought one of my rewards,’ he said to Father. Then he looked into my eyes, and smiled as if pleasantly surprised.
Waterford town had been bravely defended by its people. Fear made them fight even harder. They were afraid of us because of what my uncle had done to their most important men. It had been a brutal act, and when I learned of it I wasn’t pleased. I don’t think it’s wise policy in time of war to make people hate you too much. That can make peace impossible, later.
My uncle and I argued over it, and over the fate of the two chieftains of the town. At last we had come to an agreement. One was executed, to satisfy Hervey de Montmorency and those who thought like him, and the other was spared to balance the scales. I wanted these strangers to know that I could show mercy.
Waterford was ours. The first step was taken, there was no going back.
Dermot Mac Murrough arrived with the first of my rewards, the one that would assure me of the others. ‘Strongbow!’ he called as he came striding towards me through the ruined town.
Beside him was a very young woman, with heavy red hair and Dermot’s own wilful expression. She was surely the daughter he had promised me as a wife. I liked the look of her. Her mouth was shaped for laughing.
She was not laughing now, however. She didn’t look happy, she
looked more like a shy child. For a moment she put me in mind of my sister Basilia, though they were not in any way alike.
I smiled at her gently, as I would have smiled at Basilia.
A spot of colour came into her cheeks then. She raised her chin and drew a deep breath. Her fists were clenched, but she held them down at her sides as if hoping I wouldn’t notice. I watched her put on her courage like a cloak, and meet me with her head up.
‘This is the princess Aoife of the Red Hair,’ said Dermot Mac Murrough.
He was proud of her. His eyes told me.
There was soot on her face and her clothing was stained with mud and cinders, but Aoife was like a bright light in that dark place. She was tall and strongly built for a girl, and in her face was the pride of kings.
I was very pleasantly surprised. In marriage a man takes what he gets, because marriage is arranged to unite powerful families or to make new allies, and the daughters of important men are often plain. I hadn’t expected anything more of this one.
But one thing was more important to me than her beauty.
Dermot had told me I would be his heir, I would succeed him as King of Leinster. Under English law, my marriage to his daughter made that certain. His crown would pass to me, I thought, and he had given me Aoife just as he would give me the crown. The two went together. Or so I thought.
I didn’t know anything yet about Irish law.
Having seen and admired my bride-to-be, I began talking with Dermot Mac Murrough. The tall red-haired girl stood between us for a few moments, then added her voice to ours. Her Latin was just as good as mine, I was startled to discover.
‘Why are you discussing my marriage as if I weren’t here?’ she wanted to know. ‘I haven’t yet said I would marry this man, Father.’
‘Of course I’ll marry her,’ I told Dermot over her head.
Aoife stamped her foot. ‘But I mightn’t marry you!’ she said directly to me.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could a woman refuse to marry the man her father selected for her?
I looked at Dermot Mac Murrough. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. ‘What is this?’ I asked.
My uncle coughed. ‘Ah … there’s something you should know, Richard. About these Irish.’
‘What is it?’ I asked impatiently. My men were staring at us.
‘A woman must give permission to the marriage, you can’t force her,’ my uncle told me.
I was astonished. That was like asking a cow’s permission before you bought it!
Raymond le Gros snorted with laughter. I turned to glare at him. Then I looked back at Aoife. She was watching me very closely. I felt as if she was weighing me in her mind.
I was in a strange country, among people with strange customs. It would be so easy to make a mistake and not even know I had done so.
If it was the custom among the Irish, it would surely do no harm to ask Aoife to marry me, I decided. It would be just a formality, of course. The marriage had long ago been agreed between her father and myself.
Or so I had thought. Watching her, I wasn’t sure. She had a mind of her own, her eyes told me. She might well refuse me. This was a young woman who might well turn on her heel and walk away from me, leaving me alone with the men laughing at me.
I had never been in such a position before, not with a woman. I didn’t want her to turn her back and walk away. Chewing the inside of my lip, I tried to think of the right words to say.
‘Please,’ I began. That sounded all right. ‘Please.’ It was easier the second time, but I mustn’t beg. I was Strongbow, Norman knight,
conqueror of Waterford. I swallowed hard. ‘Marry me,’ I said.
She was still looking at me with that measuring look. She unclenched her fists, and began playing with her long braids. For the first time I noticed something else, and I thought it was an Irish custom too. Long, narrow stones had been pushed through her plaits here and there. I wondered if the Irish thought that was beautiful. What an odd people!
I smiled at Aoife again, hopefully. I didn’t know what else to do.
The silence had grown very long when at last she smiled back. Her face was indeed made for smiling. ‘I shall marry you, Richard de Clare,’ she decided.
Suddenly I felt as if I was standing in a beam of sunlight.
Until he let it out in a sigh, I didn’t realise that Dermot had been holding his breath. She could have refused me, then, and he couldn’t have forced her. The choice had been hers!
I had had a narrow escape.
There was talk then of the marriage to take place tomorrow. Aoife had her own ideas, and said what she thought. Irish women must be like that, I told myself.
‘I want to be married in the cathedral, with the bishop,’ Aoife said firmly.
‘This cathedral?’ Dermot asked.
‘I would rather be married in Dublin, with Archbishop O’Toole giving us his blessing, Father, but Dublin is in the hands of your enemies,’ Aoife replied. ‘So Waterford will do.’ She turned toward me. ‘You’re going to capture Dublin though, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am. Er, we are,’ I assured her.
She nodded, satisfied, and stopped toying with her hair.
That evening, while Waterford still smouldered, we held a council of war and agreed to march on Dublin next.
After my marriage to Aoife of the Red Hair.
