1014: Brian Boru & the Battle for Ireland (10 page)

Gaelic warriors either wore their hair long, or
elaborately
braided. If it was long, they might wear
close-fitting
leather helmets to keep the hair out of their eyes when they fought, but leather was no protection against a sword or an axe. For that they must trust in God and their own skill.

Estimates have wildly exaggerated the number of
warriors
who fought at the Battle of Clontarf, but it is safe to say there were probably at least seven to eight thousand on each side. As was customary at the time, Brian organised
his combined forces into three large
catha
– battalions or divisions – which were then subdivided into companies of a hundred warriors each. The highest-ranking kings commanded the battalions; lesser nobles were in charge of the companies. Leaders were appointed for every band of nine warriors, so that each group would be like a little tribe.

Officers of every rank were expected to fight side by side with their men. In the heat of battle even kings received no special consideration.

Ignoring his age, his weariness, and the ache in his joints, Brian was out amongst the warriors every day, in all weathers. His sons worried about him. They noticed what he refused to admit: that it was difficult for him. But these were his men and he must do everything
possible
to prepare them. As always, up until the last moment Brian worried that he might have forgotten something vital. Then there was no time left. It looked like there would be enough men – there must be enough; he did not know how large the enemy force would be but this
must
be enough!

Brian had been waiting, undoubtedly anxious, for news of Malachy Mór’s intentions. He must have been very relieved when Malachy and his personal army arrived at Kincora. A celebratory feast was cut short to allow for
a night’s sleep, and on the following morning the
combined
armies of the two kings got underway. The
annalists
report it was the feast day of St Patrick.

As they set out for their rendezvous with fate, the Gael were attired in the bright colours beloved of their race. The more colours, the higher the wearer’s status. The Book of Rights describes the costume of the noble class: ‘… cloaks of white, red, blue, green, deep purple, variegated, plaid of lasting colour, cloaks of strength, fair cloaks with borders not crooked, cloaks with golden borders and ring-clasps, others bordered with white, and napped cloaks trimmed with purple.’

Princes and chieftains also wore ‘white, glossy shirts and colourful, well-adjusted, enfolding tunics over
comfortable
long vests’. These garments were made of the finest silk and linen. Trimmings of woven gold were not uncommon. Some also had helmets described as ‘golden’ – perhaps brass plates affixed to leather and set with
precious
stones. A man of high rank might wear a heavy gold torc around his neck, not only testifying to his wealth but also useful for absorbing an unexpected blow. His long cloak was made of densely woven, brilliantly dyed wool, lined with fur or with silk purchased from Norse traders. The massive brooch that fastened the cloak was precisely arranged with the sharp point sticking up at an angle,
ready to stab the hand of an unsuspecting assailant who reached over his shoulder.

Gaelic warriors below the chieftainly class were clothed in tunics of saffron-dyed wool, belted at the waist with leather or horsehair. An undyed linen undergarment was considered a necessity. The womenfolk sewed coloured fringe on the hems of the tunics, but once the march was underway the more experienced fighting men ripped it off. In close combat the fringe could be clutched by an opponent and used to hold the wearer long enough for the killing blow. Young Gaelic men, who were vain about their legs, went to war barelegged, wearing a short, snugly fitted jacket and a ‘battle apron’ which extended only to mid-thigh. This garment, often made of plaid, was the forerunner to the kilt of the Scottish highlands.

Older men preferred full-length woollen trews, narrow at the calves and with a strap over the instep to hold them in place, or snugly woven hose crossbound with leather thongs. Their shoes were made of robust rawhide. They too possessed cloaks, although these were usually made of leather. Several layers of greased
deerskin
would keep a man dry in the rain and serve him for a bed at night.

Every company had its place in the line of march, shoulder to shoulder as Brian wanted, his loyal tribes
together with their allies. The battle they faced would not be the Irish against the Vikings, as it is usually and simplistically described. It was not even pagan against Christian. It would be Irish and Viking against Viking and Irish. Inside their skins the various races of mankind are much alike, and in 1014 there was little to choose between one group of combatants or the other. What would make the difference, what always makes the
difference
, was the quality of their leaders.

On a brisk March morning Brian Boru’s army crossed the Shannon at the ford below Kincora and headed northeast. Murrough, now forty-three years of age, rode beside his father at the head of the Dalcassians. But all eyes were fixed on the Árd Rí. A tall old man sitting straight as a pine tree on the back of a prancing horse, with no fear in his eyes or his heart. His great sword was at his hip. That was what the men needed to see: Brian Boru able and ready for battle.

Murrough had been thoroughly briefed in Brian’s battle plans. So had his brothers, Conor and Flann. Even if one of them fell, the others knew their father’s mind and would see that the other officers adhered to the strategy he had so carefully worked out. It was crucial to ensure that the battle had a definite shape and a pre-ordained conclusion. The discipline Brian had worked so hard to
instil in his army was about to be tested as never before.

There were chieftains and warriors Brian could not control, and he knew it. In the fever of battle everything could go terribly wrong.

Throughout the march Brian held open a place of honour in the front rank for the former high king, and had an exceptionally fine horse waiting for him. But Malachy did not take it. He rode on his own horse in the very midst of his warriors, with an attendant leading his spare mount, an unbroken stallion from Meath. The army from Meath was supported by a large force from
Waterford
, Hiberno-Norse warriors loyal to Brian.

The middle ranks of the marchers were occupied by warriors from Tipperary and the midlands, some
Leinstermen
who had decided to stand with Brian after all, kings from Oriel and Fermanagh, Ospak and his men, and southern Gaelic tribes such as the Decies. A
contingent
of the Hiberno-Norse from Limerick was followed by a troop of sturdy warriors from Connacht. The
current
king of Connacht, a son of Cathal Ua Connor, had for his own reasons declined to join Brian. But other Connachtmen did. Brian entrusted them with guarding the rear – a position of the greatest danger which offered a splendid opportunity for valour.

Murrough was bringing his own son, Turlough, to take
part in the first great battle of his life. Turlough was only fifteen, but that was the age for taking up arms – in the eleventh century a boy was considered a man at fifteen. Another who was almost but not quite fifteen was
Donough
, Brian’s son by Gormlaith. The boy was eager to fight but Brian was not willing to see him on the
battlefield
yet. Instead, he put Donough in charge of a cavalry troop assigned to forage for provisions to re-supply the main army. The boy chafed at the assignment; he resented being kept away from the excitement, the thrilling glory he imagined. By the time he finally reached Clontarf he would be thirsting for blood.

In the years following the Battle of Clontarf, men from every Gaelic clan in Ireland would claim to have fought with Brian Boru. Not all of them did. Some never received the summons. Others promised to come, then failed to do so. There were those who simply could not see anything in it for themselves and forgot the whole idea. But enough of the Gael assembled to take part in the march from Kincora to Clontarf – and earn
themselves
a place in history.

Once they crossed the Shannon and entered
Leinster
, Brian’s army was in enemy territory. No matter how they approached Dublin, they would have to go through Leinster. Dublin was, in effect, a kingdom
within a kingdom, surrounded on three sides by
Leinster
. On the fourth side was the sea.

Brian Boru was giving a lot of thought to the sea.

The battle to come was on the minds of other men as well. Brian’s royal son-in-law, King Malcolm of
Scotland
, was fully occupied defending the Scottish borders against both Northmen and Saxons, but when he learned of the upcoming invasion he had despatched a company of highlanders to go to Brian’s aid. These were led by Donald, Great Steward of Marr, chieftain of a branch of the Owenacht tribe that had settled in Scotland, and Murray, the Great Steward of Lennox. They would reach the northeast coast of Ireland in time to march south and meet Brian Boru’s forces during Holy Week. These welcome reinforcements would have given Brian some comfort had he known about them in advance, but he probably did not. He had to rely on what he had, including the battalion that had accompanied Malachy Mór to Kincora.

A millennium later it is impossible to know just what Brian felt about the former high king, the man he had displaced. They had been enemies and they had been allies, but in Brian’s mind there must have been a
question
about Malachy. He was seven years younger than Brian and he had more time left to him. If Brian died in
the battle to come it would be to Malachy’s advantage. He probably would be asked to resume his high
kingship
. Malachy was a Christian and not a bad man; Brian did not believe the Meathman wished him ill. Yet who could say what he might do when opportunity
beckoned
? Brian Boru had never hesitated to make the most of his own opportunities.

The army’s route took it more than halfway across
Ireland
, climbing hills, fording streams, skirting treacherous bogs and pushing through dense forests that would have been impassable but for the roads that had been cut by Brian Boru. To follow the line of march today one would pass near the towns of Nenagh, Roscrea, Portlaoise,
Kildare
, and Naas before reaching the western outskirts of Dublin. By automobile on the motorway it is a pleasant drive of some three hours, allowing a brief stop for lunch. For thousands of foot soldiers carrying their battle gear, living off the land as much as they could and coping with mud and uncertain weather, it could take several days.

During the course of the march the officers met every night to discuss the matters uppermost in their minds, which ranged from provisions to armaments to the physical condition of the troops. Malachy Mór always appeared for these conferences, but made few
contributions
. The man with a reputation for conviviality had
little to say. When the Árd Rí tried to find subjects for conversation that would draw him out, the former high king seemed disinterested.

Whatever thoughts were on his mind, Malachy did not share them with Brian Boru.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
HE
D
RAGONS
A
RE
C
OMING

T
rue to his word, Sigurd the Stout recruited a number of Viking princes to join his invasion fleet. The Western Isles contributed a great number of warriors, as did Scandinavian colonies elsewhere. The Viking network was not cohesive but it was expansive, stretching from Iceland to the fringes of Russia. It also was, for its time, highly mobile. The longships which left the sheltered harbour at Scapa Flow sailed to almost every shore known to be occupied by Northmen, Vikings who would be eager to plunder Ireland.

Viking ships were a miracle of maritime design. The best were clinker-built of weathered oak planks, affixed
with large iron nails and caulked with wool or animal hair and pitch. The vessels were wide through the body but swooped upwards at prow and stern to form an
elegant
curve. The deck was constructed of pine for lighter weight, fitted with rowing benches on either side and a gangway down the middle. Rollers to be used in
beaching
were stowed lengthwise under the seats. The
warriors
, who doubled as oarsmen, slept on their benches. All toilet facilities were over the side.

The bottom was flat amidships, where a tiny cabin offered what little protection was available from wind and wave. A leather cover could be pulled over the
occupants
, who would have been only the ranking officers or perhaps fragile cargo. Below the waterline the
construction
was strong yet flexible, in order to give with the force of the waves. A stepped mast held a large, square sail sewn of heavy linen, which could be raised or
lowered
by means of a tackle on the forestay. The deep keel was some twenty centimetres thick, broad in the centre but gradually diminishing towards the sternpost. This not only maintained stability in rough water but also
permitted
the use of the sail on open sea, greatly increasing range and speed.

The nearest equivalent may have belonged to the ancient Phoenicians. The remains of a Phoenician ship
with what appears to be a seagoing keel were discovered off the Azores in the twentieth century. The Romans, for all their ingenuity, had nothing so clever; even their fabled triremes, with three rows of oars, were coaster boats.

For all its technical excellence, the Viking ship was most famous for the dragonheaded prow. This was the terrifying object the Christian monks first saw emerging from the sea mist. Not every seagoing vessel boasted such an emblem; it was reserved for the ‘Dragon’ class
warships
, which also had the dragon’s tail on the stern. But most Viking vessels were ornamented in some fashion. Like the Gael, even the lowest Northman had an innate love of beauty.

While he waited impatiently in his stronghold in the Orkneys, Sigurd the Stout was not thinking of beauty – or if he was, it was the beauty of the treasure he hoped to take from Ireland. He did not have long to wait; boats soon began arriving. The fierce fighting men of the
Shetlands
and the Hebrides were the first to join the
Orkney-men
, but within days contingents appeared from what is modern-day Cornwall, Flanders and parts of England. Men whose names were famous in the northern lands flocked to the Orkneys to take part in what promised to be a great adventure. Among them were several
chieftains
from the Hebrides, who were friends and allies
of Sigurd’s: an intrepid explorer called Hrafn the Red, who claimed to have travelled ‘to the ends of the earth’, and recently had converted to Christianity; the wealthy Erling of Straumey, who was eager to supply additional weaponry for the undertaking; and Thorstein, son of Hall of the Side. Some years earlier Thorstein had come to the Orkneys from Iceland with his friend Flosi, who was now a trusted retainer of Earl Sigurd. Every person who entered Sigurd’s hall was met by Flosi first.

The women did their part. To them fell the task of sharpening the weapons and rubbing the chainmail armour with fat until every link glistened. Sigurd’s elderly mother presented her favourite son with a new banner which she had sewn herself, a bright yellow flag featuring a black raven, the favourite symbol of Wotan, god of war. When the wind blew it looked as if the raven on the banner was flapping its wings. ‘You will be safe under those wings,’ the old woman promised Sigurd.

At about the same time, a supernatural vision of Earl Sigurd with blood on his face appeared to the
inhabitants
of the Orkneys. A man who knew him well saw him approaching on a horse and hurried forward to offer aid, thinking the earl was injured – before he could speak the figure vanished into thin air. A similar vision was reported by crofters and goatherds and an old woman
spreading her washing on the ground to dry.

Prophesiers as far away as Iceland rolled the bones and reported that an horrific battle soon to be fought would destroy ‘all the brave men of the North’. But the dark omens which had not been enough to dissuade Brodir did not deter Sigurd either. He trusted in his mother’s promise.

While he waited for the day chosen to embark, the earl strolled down to the harbour many times to admire his assembled fleet. His personal ship, the flag ship that would carry his banner, was the most prepossessing of all. The fabric of the single sail which now lay folded in the stern was boldly striped in purple and yellow. The gunwales were painted in discordant shades that would appear garish to the modern eye, while the sides of the vessel were ornamented with carved wooden images of cavorting dolphins and leaping stags. The most thrilling figure of all was the immense dragon head on the prow. It was painted in brilliant crimson and gold, complete with cruel fangs and flaring nostrils. Although its jet black eyes were made of polished stones, they seemed alive with an insane fury.

When he saw his ship Sigurd felt the pride of a man admiring his firstborn son.

Like Brian Boru, the earl took inventory of the
weaponry which would be at his disposal. The
Scandinavians
were arriving well armed. Their skilfully made swords were larger than the average Irish sword. Norse examples which have been discovered by archaeologists measure between sixty-one and eighty-one centimetres long. Some had only one sharpened edge; others had two. These were the heavy two-handed swords which almost rivalled the axe in destructiveness. The pommel and guard of the swordhilt was sometimes ornamented with neatly inlaid pieces of gold, silver and copper. By the eleventh century many of the Norse were literate, and inscribed their swords not only with ogham runes invoking the aid of pagan gods, but with prayers in Latin, beseeching Christ’s support.

Iron-headed lances were carried into battle, but only as part of an initial assault. They were too awkward in
close-quarter
encounters. Shields were made almost entirely of wood, with a heavy bronze boss in the middle to protect the hand holding the shield.

Pride of place among Viking weaponry belonged to the Lochlann battleaxe, another weapon made to be used two-handed. The heavy iron heads were perfectly weighted and took a sharp edge. It was claimed that a powerful axeman could slice through an opponent’s neck, then on the backstroke slice through both legs just
below the knee. Reputedly the unfortunate victim fell in three parts before he knew he was dead!

Body armour was a distinguishing feature of the Vikings. Warriors fortunate enough to follow a wealthy lord were outfitted with hauberks, long coats of
bluish
-green chainmail links that reached to the knee. The sleeves were usually short, although sometimes long enough to cover the hands. Beneath their hauberks the men had padded coats to protect their skin from the bite of the metal links. They wore metal helmets which were conical in shape and fitted with a nose piece, a long narrow strip riveted to the forehead of the helmet and extending over the end of the nose. Viking helmets did not have large cattle horns attached to them – this is a modern convention beloved of cartoonists who do not realise what a liability it would be in battle, when an opponent might grasp the horns and twist off his adversary’s head.

Graphic illustrations of Viking armour being worn by Norman warriors are found on the famous Bayeux
Tapestry
. This masterpiece was commissioned by the
half-brother
of William the Conqueror shortly after William’s historic victory at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. The tapestry depicts the entire event in vivid detail. As an interesting footnote to history, the successful
invasion
which would shape the destiny of England for centuries to come, and affect Ireland as well, involved a second-generation Viking – the half-Danish Harold Godwine – fighting and losing to a third-generation Viking, William, duke of Normandy. ‘Norman’ is a
corruption
of ‘Norseman’, and was the name given to the Vikings who settled in France.

As Earl Sigurd and his auxiliaries made ready for what they expected to be the successful invasion of
Ireland
, Brodir was putting the finishing touches on his own contribution to the army. This included a thousand Viking mercenaries equipped with chainmail armour. They were under the command of an exceptionally brutal Norseman called Anrud, a son of Elbric Long Ears. Anrud was reputed to be the only man on earth whom Brodir himself feared.

Neither the Vikings nor the Irish were known for their ability as archers; both primarily used the bow and arrow as hunting weapons. But Brodir equipped some of his men with bows and poisoned arrows. The dark Dane had made one fortune from his violent enterprises and he was determined to make another. Like ravens
scavenging
a battlefield, he and his warriors were going to carry away the spoils of Ireland.

Come what may, Brodir was determined that Sigurd
the Stout would not be taking Gormlaith back to the Orkneys.

The earl was of a different opinion. While the invasion fleet seemed to increase exponentially he had found time to fit out a special apartment close to his own royal
quarters
. It was fitted with furs and silks and feather-stuffed beds, lamps and candles and bronze braziers to keep a princess warm. Sigurd had never met an Irish princess and had no idea what one would like, but that did not matter. She would live as he dictated. She would be his trophy. The sagas would tell of Sigurd and Gormlaith for generations to come.

Sigurd the Stout was a happy man. It was as if
Valhalla
itself were about to open its gates and welcome him inside. The morning of departure for Ireland was the best morning of his life.

They sailed out with the tide. Earl Sigurd was
standing
in the prow of the lead vessel with one hand on the dragon’s head. Above him the raven banner whipped in a rising wind. Black wings opening and closing. When the earl turned to look back he could see a vast flotilla
following
him. Every sail was raised, every ship was crowded with men. Boasting, laughing, shouting raucous insults at one another.

It was like the old days, Sigurd thought, before the White
Christ. These were the days of Red Thor come again.

Their journey took them south out of Scapa Flow, into Pentland Firth, then into the dark and treacherous waters of the Atlantic. As they approached the ocean the wind changed. It blasted down upon them to such an extent that sail was not only useless but dangerous. The rowers bent to their oars with all their strength, fighting to keep the ships to their course.

Past Dunnet Head and Strathy Point and the
treacherous
waters of Cape Wrath. Beaching the boats only to sleep. Then away again. South along the Minch and the Little Minch and then the Sea of the Hebrides, where they were joined by the fleet of the Hebrideans.

As they made their way amongst the Western Isles other vessels sallied out to join them. Three or four were
longships
, but most were small fishing boats or simple dugout canoes. They could not hope to make the entire journey but they wanted to be a little part of it, to sit by their fires and boast of having sailed with Sigurd of Orkney. Only once in a lifetime, but well worth living for!