1014: Brian Boru & the Battle for Ireland (7 page)

In 989 Malachy Mór learned of a rebellion
simmering
in Dublin as the result of a conspiracy between some of the Leinstermen and the Danes. Malachy promptly laid siege to the city. Sitric Silkbeard surrendered without putting up too much struggle, and promised to pay an ounce of gold for every garden in Dublin. Perhaps it was this which subsequently inspired Sitric to strike some of the earliest coins produced in Ireland. They had the
profile
of Gormlaith’s son on them.

While Sitric in Dublin nursed his hurt pride, perhaps with his mother at his elbow, Malachy Mór and Brian
Boru kept encountering one another on the
battlefield
. The warriors of Leinster and the Danes of Dublin observed from afar, hoping that the two men would wear each other down and leave an opening for a new power in the land.

When Maelmora, Gormlaith’s brother, was elected king of Leinster, Sitric at once made a formal offer of the resources of his own kingdom to Maelmora,
forgetting
his earlier submission to Malachy Mór. One might sense Gormlaith’s fine hand in this. Her second marriage had not made her happy – if anything could. The annals do not record whether it was Malachy or Brian who suggested that the two of them combine their forces against Leinster and the Danes, but it may have been Tara that sent an emissary to Kincora. When his back was to the wall, Malachy usually did the prudent thing. An alliance with the ‘Lion of Munster’ was definitely the prudent thing.

For once, the interests of the two kings were
converging
, with a common enemy in Leinster. In 999 Brian Boru marched northwards to combine his army with that of Malachy Mór. Maelmora led his forces out to do battle with the two kings, accompanied by a large contingent from Dublin, warriors sworn to his nephew, Sitric Silkbeard. They met at a place called Glenmama,
near Saggart in County Dublin. The battle was savage, with heavy casualties on both sides. A large number of Leinstermen died while attempting to escape. At Brian’s order they were surrounded and driven into a flooded ford on the Liffey like so many cattle, then slaughtered on the bank as they tried to get out. Among the slain was Harald, a son of Olaf Cuaran, which made him a
half-brother
to Sitric Silkbeard.

When it was obvious the tide of battle had turned against him, Maelmora, fearing capture, hid amongst the darkly funereal branches of a yew tree. There he was
discovered
by Brian’s son, Murrough. Murrough dragged the humiliated king of Leinster from his perch in the tree while the warriors laughed and made rude remarks. In an act of generosity worthy of his father, Murrough spared Maelmora’s life – an act he would live to regret.

On the following day, Malachy and Brian marched into Dublin and sacked the prosperous port city. The air was black with the smoke of burning shops and warehouses. Carts were piled high with valuables to be sent back to Dun na Sciath and Kincora. When Sitric offered
grudging
submission to both kings, his offer was accepted. At Brian’s behest the defeated Dubliners were allowed to return to their homes. Maelmora was given permission to take his surviving warriors back to Naas – although
they had to leave their weapons behind.

We do not know if Gormlaith was in Dublin
visiting
Sitric when Malachy and Brian arrived with their armies. But she well may have been; she may have seen her husband beside Brian Boru. Malachy was the Árd Rí, but Brian Boru, according to the annalists of the day, was splendid. Their overwhelming victory over the Leinstermen and their Danish allies was dramatic proof that Irishmen united could accomplish what Irishmen divided could not. Unfortunately it was a lesson that would not outlive them.

Brian remained encamped in Dublin from Christmas through most of February. This gave him an opportunity to familiarise himself with the territory. It was a
commander
’s habit of reconnaissance which must have been second nature to him by this time. He also would have observed the sea, the darkly turbulent sea that lapped the city walls on the east and dominated the lives and fortunes of its inhabitants.

Meanwhile Malachy Mór had returned to Dun na Sciath to celebrate. At Glenmama he had observed some of the clever tactics of Brian Boru. The victory had not been his alone and he knew it, but any victory was worth celebrating. He also summoned the brehons to witness that he was setting aside – the Irish term for divorce – his
wife, the princess Gormlaith. This was only a small
victory
for Malachy, but one he obviously felt was necessary.

As the sun set on the last day of February, Brian returned to Kincora. He could never stay away for long. He needed the fragrant silence of the forested hills at his back, needed the gleaming sweep of the Shannon at his feet. By now he could see, quite clearly, the road fate had laid out for him. He knew his own strength and the strengths and weaknesses of the Árd Rí. There could be no going back, all the chessmen were in place. It was time for the next move on the board.

To the astonishment of many, Brian arranged a
marriage
between his daughter, Emer, and Sitric Silkbeard, thus acknowledging his former opponent as a worthy son-in-law. But there was another surprise in store. At about the same time Brian married Sitric’s mother, Gormlaith, the former wife of two kings. The ultimate trophy.

This latest marriage of Brian’s may not have taken place with religious solemnities; there is simply no record one way or the other. But it served its purpose. If she was a secondary wife as allowed under Brehon law, she was nevertheless in a position of prestige. Mindful of Brian’s unparalleled rise to power and his generosity to the Church, the clergy kept silent about any misgivings.
Throughout his career he was always careful to keep the Church on his side.

Here we are allowed a brief glimpse into the private life of Malachy Mór. Imagine how very hard he laughed, and how very much he drank at the banquet table, when he learned that his erstwhile rival had saddled himself with a liability like Gormlaith.

There has been some question as to the order in which Gormlaith married her men, but a poem composed shortly after her death contains a clue:

This would indicate that she married Olaf Cuaran first, followed by Malachy Mór, and finally Brian, whose royal seat was Cashel, although he ruled from Kincora. Duvcholly was probably still alive when Brian brought his new wife home to the palace beside the Shannon. Whether or not Duvcholly had children by Brian we do not know. But although she was middle-aged herself by this time, Gormlaith soon conceived and bore Brian a son. They called him Donough.

The alliance of Brian and Malachy which had proved
successful at Glenmama was a fragile one. Since that
victory
there had been frequent skirmishes between Brian’s warriors and those of the high king. The brief truce which had been to their mutual advantage could not last. Two powerful kings could not share one small island.

In the autumn of 1002 Brian Boru marched an army to Dun na Sciath, demanding that Malachy Mór give battle to him there or submit the high kingship. Malachy replied by asking for a month to gather his forces. Brian agreed. Malachy made his best effort but could not
collect
enough men willing to fight Brian Boru. At the end of the allotted time the Árd Rí, accompanied only by his personal bodyguards, went to Brian’s camp. There he
submitted
without imposing any conditions. His confidence in the Dalcassian’s sense of honour was not misplaced. Brian treated Malachy with respect and even returned to him the fine horses he had offered in tribute.

Malachy’s contemporaries also respected him. The annalists praised him in the fulsome language of the time, and his partisans resented his treatment at the hands of the upstart Dalcassian. Yet once he died he was all but forgotten, like his predecessors. If it were not for Brian Boru, Malachy’s name would be unknown today. Yet his was an unusual career. He became Árd Rí in 980 and again in 1015, the only man in the history of Ireland to
bear that title twice. As high kings go, he was as good as most and better than some. Unfortunately for Malachy Mór, by the time he died in 1022 he had lived most of his life in the shadow of a larger man.

By making himself Árd Rí, Brian had challenged and effectively overthrown the ancient rule of the kingly houses of Tara and Aileach. He almost might be described as a ‘land leaper’ himself; he certainly was reviled in some quarters as a usurper. Yet in his lifetime he would
accomplish
more for the whole of Ireland than the Uí Néill kings had done in centuries.

Although they would not face him in battle, the princes of the north continued to resent Brian, sullenly refusing to acknowledge his authority – until 1004. While conducting a royal circuit of Ireland that year he visited Armagh, St Patrick’s holy city, and confirmed the primacy of the city with an entry made in the
Book of Armagh
. In one final, irrefutable gesture, the entry was signed by his secretary and close friend: ‘This I have
written
, namely, Maolsuthain ua Cearbhaill, in the presence of Brian, Imperator Scotorum’ – Emperor of the Irish. Brian also left twenty ounces of pure gold, which was an immense sum, on the high altar of the cathedral.

It would be unfair to Brian to interpret this
extravagant
gesture as merely a cynical bribe. This was the
man who had been repairing and rebuilding churches and monasteries for years. He was well aware that St Patrick’s holy cathedral had repeatedly suffered from raids, and in 996 had been nearly destroyed by a
lightning
strike that damaged its roof beyond repair. Twenty ounces of gold would buy a lot of slate and pay for the finest workmanship.

There was no further overt resistance to Brian from the northern Uí Néill. Although they never openly
acknowledged
him as Árd Rí, Brian took their submission as a given. As far as he was concerned the entire island was his to protect. He willed his body to Armagh and his soul to God. In 1014 Armagh would return the favour by giving Brian Boru the most magnificent funeral ever seen in Ireland.

During his reign as high king Brian continued with his programme of construction, ignoring provincial boundaries and requesting no permissions from
provincial
kings. Because he realised that a strong permanent force would be necessary to secure the island from any further invasion, Brian continued to demand discipline from his army. He controversially insisted that the
warriors
of the Gael welcome Norse and Dane into their ranks. The Vikings had been in Ireland for generations by now, he argued, and their children and grandchildren
knew no other home. They should be willing to fight for it. At the Battle of Clontarf, Brian’s Vikings would be amongst his best fighters.

Although he himself would never leave Ireland,
apparently
Brian thought in terms of creating a dynasty with a longer reach. He had begun by marrying his
daughter
Sabia to Cian, which had given the Dalcassians a broader base in the south. While still king of Munster, Brian arranged for his daughter Blanaid to wed Malcolm, prince of Alba – the ancient name for Scotland. There was a strange symmetry to this marriage. The highlands where Malcolm was born had been settled in the sixth century by the Dal Riada tribe from the north of Ireland, the ‘Scoti’, hence the name of Scot Land. In 1005 Brian’s son-in-law was crowned Malcolm II, king of Scotland.

Two years later, one of Blanaid and Malcolm’s daughters married Sigurd the Stout, earl of Orkney. After the Battle of Clontarf their son Thorfinn was raised by his
grandfather
, Malcolm II. In 1040 Thorfinn took up arms against his cousin Duncan, who had succeeded Malcolm as king of the Scots. Duncan was defeated at the Battle of
Torfness
, and afterward was murdered by another cousin who aspired to the kingship, Macbeth – whose grandmother was the daughter of Brian Boru. Macbeth and Thorfinn ruled Scotland between them until both died in 1057.

When Brian married his daughter Emer to Sitric
Silkbeard
, king of the Dublin Danes, he must have hoped to establish a more amicable relationship between Gael and foreigner. It might have been possible if human nature had been different. In the final analysis Brian was, more than anything else, a tribal chieftain working for the
benefit
of his tribe and clan. He was trying to give them something of lasting value. And he very nearly succeeded.

Duvcholly died in 1009, leaving Gormlaith as the only queen at Kincora. Brian’s other wives have disappeared from history, having taken no active part in events. But Gormlaith was active enough to make up for them all. Her tempestuous nature caused constant problems at Kincora, where she was greatly resented by the other women in the king’s large entourage. Fortunately for them, Gormlaith’s tenure was drawing towards its close, though there was a final spectacular performance before she left the stage. And even after her death in 1030,
something
of her would remain in the fray …

There would also be one more dynastic marriage, although Brian would not live to see it. Years after the Battle of Clontarf, Donough, Gormlaith’s son by Brian Boru, married Driella, the youngest daughter of
Godwine
, earl of Kent. Godwine’s other daughter, Edytha, was married to King Edward the Confessor. Their brother by
their Danish mother, Gytha, was Harold Godwine, who would become the last of the Saxon kings of England.

Through Brian Boru’s children and grandchildren his blood entered the royal bloodlines of Europe, where it still appears in family trees today.

CHAPTER FIVE

A S
PARK IN
D
RY
T
INDER

T
here are almost as many ways to start wars as there are men to fight them, but the sparks that ignited the Battle of Clontarf may have been struck over a chess board. However, it all began with cows. A lot of cows.

Over the centuries the tributes demanded by Irish kings had caused endless trouble, which usually centred on the number of cattle involved. The size of a man’s herd determined his status within the tribe. An overwhelming percentage of the cattle population consisted of cows, the bovine male being considered inferior – there are no beef-eating heroes in Irish literature; wild boar was the champion’s protein of choice. Bulls were maintained only for breeding, bull calves were killed for their leather, and bullocks were unheard-of. Sheep were raised for
wool and pigs for meat, but the cow was the measure of everything: the unit of value, the primary medium of exchange. Although the life of the community revolved around cows, only women were allowed to milk them. Milk and its products formed a large part of the daily diet. The cow was almost a member of society, and hers was an essential role in calculating tributes.

The Book of Rights spelt out in precise detail the size of every tribute, so no argument would be possible. But this was Ireland. Argument was always possible.

During his reign as Árd Rí, Brian gave Ireland a decade of relative peace. There were occasions which demanded a show of strength, as when in 1006 he had to march into Ulster and demand hostages in order to put down a tribal rebellion. But the poets were able to relate with pride:

1010 was a bad year for Brian. Domnall, the younger of his two sons by Achra, died of an illness at Kincora. Shortly afterwards Brian received word that his last living brother, Marcan, who had risen through the ranks of the
clergy to become abbot of Emly and chief of the clergy of Munster, had also died.

Brian and death were old acquaintances. But he was sixty-nine and this was bringing it very close to home, reminding him of his own mortality at a time when such things begin to weigh on a man. He must have felt the need to consolidate his holdings.

At a time lost in antiquity a huge tribute had been demanded of a king of Leinster by a king of Connacht who defeated him in battle. Known as the Boru Tribute, or ‘cattle tax’, this originally consisted of slaves,
coverlets
, cauldrons, hogs … and cows. Thousands of cows. On their way to the west from Leinster an immense herd was driven across the Shannon at the ford which became known as Béal Boru – ‘The Gateway of the Cattle
Tribute
’. The Boru Tribute continued to be paid in this way for generations, until eventually the tribute was forgiven or forgotten.

In 1012, and without warning, Brian reintroduced the hated Boru Tribute upon Leinster and its current king, Maelmora. According to the Book of Rights, the only tribute Leinster specifically owed to the Árd Rí was ‘the venison of Naas’. As king of Munster, Brian was due ‘the privilege of burning north Leinster.’ But Brian was the high king now, and unwilling to settle for tokens.
He wanted a full scale submission from Maelmora, one which the king of Leinster could not refute without
sacrificing
his honour. To this end Brian demanded great herds of cattle and swine, woollen mantles, silver chains, copper cauldrons, bronze pails, and more besides.

Maelmora was incandescent with rage. He should not have been surprised. The ancient conflict between Munster and Leinster had never really ended. In spite of Brian’s efforts to establish peace, warriors from Leinster had continued to make frequent incursions into the rest of Leth Moga and Maelmora had made no effort to
discourage
their behaviour. In fact he encouraged it. He was happy to have the cattle they stole fattening on his grass.

Maelmora’s pride and arrogance had been sorely tested by having a Munster man claim authority over him. Gormlaith’s marriage to the Árd Rí had not encouraged her belligerent brother to mend his ways. The marriage itself was a disaster, as everyone knew. For Maelmora this was just another reason to hold a grudge against Brian Boru. He had rejoiced in every little cut his men took at Brian’s authority.

Reimposing the Boru Tribute brought the rivalry between the two men to a whole new level. Sourly, the king of Leinster considered his options. They were very few. He knew Brian of old, and was sure the Árd Rí
would enforce his demand to the letter. In fact, within days of being informed of the reintroduction of the Boru Tribute, Maelmora learned that Brian’s son, Murrough, had led an army into one of Leinster’s tributary
kingdoms
, Ossory. They were sweeping across the land,
seizing
spoils and taking prisoners.

It was an open invitation to war – a war Maelmora was unprepared to fight against the full power of the high king. But what else could he do? If he sat on his hands and did nothing his people would turn against him. The Gael were a warrior race. A leader who failed to answer the challenge to battle would soon be overthrown. Or worse.

At Naas the king of Leinster paced through his fort, swore at his women and kicked his hounds.

Once again, Brian did the unexpected. While
Maelmora
was struggling to find a solution to his problem, a messenger brought a graciously worded request from Kincora. Would it be possible for the king of Leinster to supply the Árd Rí with three tall masts for his fleet on the Shannon? The Árd Rí would be most grateful. The implication was obvious. By gifting Brian Boru with three of the mightiest oaks in Leinster, Maelmora might hope to escape further punishment.

The astonished Maelmora hastened to comply. His fort
was thrown into chaos as he called for his finest apparel and jewels, collected whatever baubles he could find to offer as further diplomatic gifts, and sent gangs of
foresters
to locate and cut down the tallest oaks in the
province
. He also demanded a company of strong men from the three foremost Leinster clans. Each clan would be responsible for carrying one mast to Kincora. Maelmora’s own clan, of course, would carry the largest. The entire procession would make a fine display.

Crowds gathered outside Naas to watch the king and his party set out. It was a festive occasion. Women waved, children cheered, and barking dogs got in the way. The journey took almost a week, with Maelmora demanding his men trot at top speed every step of the way. By the time they reached the east bank of the Shannon everyone was tired and out of sorts. Maelmora, however, insisted he felt as strong as ever. Before they stepped onto the bridge which Brian had built to span the river above the ford, Maelmora ostentatiously put his own shoulder to the largest mast. The rough timber tore a heavy silver ornament from his tunic, a royal gift from Brian Boru in an earlier time.

Maelmora tucked the ornament into the gilded bag of personal valuables that he carried around his waist, and completed his journey.

At Kincora the king of Leinster was greeted by Brian himself with elaborate courtesy. There was the
customary
exchange of gifts. Maelmora’s entourage was directed to their quarters while the two kings shared goblets of red wine and chewed on honeycomb in the great hall. They discussed the weather, the condition of the roads, the length and weight of the timber masts. No mention was made of the Boru Tribute. Nor of Gormlaith, who did not appear at the welcoming ceremony. Brian assured Maelmora that his sister would be joining them for a celebratory banquet that evening. Meanwhile Maelmora was to enjoy all the hospitality the palace could offer, which was considerable. Brian had ordered an
exceptionally
lavish display put on for the king of Leinster.

Brian’s generosity to a defeated foe was legendary. Acting through Murrough, Brian had punished enough of Leinster to satisfy himself. He then had forced its king to an act of submission, and was now willing to
forgive
if not forget, provided Maelmora behaved himself in future. Turning enemies into friends, or at least allies, was one of Brian’s many tactics. It could be of advantage to both sides.

What followed became part of Irish folklore. The
incident
, which has several versions, may or may not have happened at all, but given the natures of the people
involved there may well be a germ of truth in the story.

Maelmora was basically a simple man who did not
recognise
the occasion for what it was. He was still spoiling for a fight. With set face and gritted teeth he endured the formalities being pressed upon him. He may even have thought Brian was mocking him. He dared not attack the Árd Rí in his own stronghold, with armed guards at every doorway, but there was someone on whom Maelmorda could vent his simmering anger. As soon as Gormlaith appeared, her brother took the silver ornament from his bag and handed it to her, demanding that she sew it back on. Like a servant. She who had married three kings!

Eyes flashing, hair tossing, face white with fury,
Gormlaith
hurled the ornament into the fire. She roundly cursed her brother, condemning him for having accepted Brian’s ‘bribe’ in the first place. She assailed the king of Leinster with the most cruel insults from their shared childhood, and even called him the high king’s lap dog.

Brian was dismayed. His attempt to establish amity with the king of Leinster was being torn to shreds. Over the years the Árd Rí had learned to control his temper, but this time Gormlaith had gone too far. With a grim face, Brian led her from the great hall to the privacy of their own chambers. There, following what must have
been a protracted and monumental quarrel, he told Gormlaith he was going to set her aside.

For a woman of her temperament the insult was beyond bearing. Gormlaith demanded the best horse in the king’s stable – as a noblewoman she was entitled to ride – and prepared to depart that same afternoon for Dublin. Sitric Silkbeard would give his mother the respect she deserved!

Gormlaith and the attendants who accompanied her on her journey would be following a road made safe for female travellers by Brian Boru.

In the clear light of a new morning Brian might have regretted his decision to divorce her. He, who could take the long view and foresee consequences, might even have sent for Gormlaith to come back to him. But there was no time. Before the day was over something far worse had happened.

While Gormlaith and Brian were preoccupied with their quarrel, Murrough had returned to Kincora sooner than expected. He and Maelmora were badly startled to encounter one another in the hall. With an effort at princely dignity, the two men managed to limit their reactions to a curt nod and an icy stare. Murrough went to the apartments set aside for him, washed himself and put on fresh clothing. He then returned to the great
hall and engaged Conaing, Brian’s nephew, in a game of chess. Although it was a ploy to pass the time until Brian joined them, both men took the match seriously. Chess was always taken seriously. Spectators gathered to watch the match.

Although it was not yet midday the great hall of
Kincora
was brilliantly lit, ablaze with firelight as well as the flickering flames of hundreds of beeswax candles. Brian liked to keep the shadows at a distance. Scented rushes were piled calf-deep on the flagged floor, adding their perfume to the fragrance of pine cones burning on the hearth. Scores of the high king’s guests, numerous
courtiers
and members of his own extended family eddied about the hall, talking, laughing, exchanging the gossip of the day. Anticipating the banquet to come. At one end of the long room a harper played softly, with his eyes closed and his head bent over his instrument. Kincora was dreaming, waiting for Brian Boru to bring it awake.