Wars of the Irish Kings (38 page)

From the frightful being’s fists [as she wrang those fabrics], violently the red blood squirted and fell, dyeing the river over. De Clare with his cavalry and the rest took heed to her fashion and behaviour, to the work she had in hand and to the change of the fair proud river’s hue; then to the gentlemen of the Gael that for the nonce were with him, he signified that, in a tongue by vehicle of which she might [be made to] comprehend, this strange and hideous creature they should question as to whose gear and armour was that which she washed. [This being done] she answered them, and to this effect:—

“Armour, raiment and other strippings of de Clare with this sons, chief barons, knights, and young lads of gentle birth, with his squires
of high degree, his oversea-men and his noble Gael, are these which now I wash. Blood and gore of their hurts and wounds and bodies are these crimson rills which thou [that speakest with me] seest carried away with this rushing stream. Haughty as ye go on this your errand, your immolation all together (some few excepted) is very near to you.”

He that conversed with her asked her what was her name, her business and original habitation, and she said: “I am ‘the Water-doleful,’ that in this land’s hill-dwellings often sojourn, but in my origin I am of Hell’s tuatha; and to invite you all I am come now, for but a little while and we [you and I] shall be denizens of one country.”

At this point de Clare enquired: “what is yon weird thing’s message?” and her fellow in the dialogue replied: “in melancholy grumbling wise, and with discordant voice, she makes for us ill-omened presage and evil prophecy on this course we run. But for the very reason that she is fallen in our way, the rather should we infer that all good luck attends us; inasmuch as we may tell that ‘tis as a wellwisher to clan-Turlough-More she comes to frustrate us of this expedition.”

“It is not she that has it in her,” said de Clare, “neither can that she utters work us harm, because a witch cannot be truthful; and she shall not prevail to hinder us but that this time we overrun all Thomond and make her tributary to us. For Murtough O’Brien has not means to encounter even ourselves; whereas the Burkes’ host is on the way to act with us and for ever to hunt Murtough away out of the country.” With that they pass on; but of that colloquy with the hag it resulted that for the night they needs must halt in the open ground of Ruane’s grassgrown hollow cahers.

Concerning the judicious Conor O’Dea: his scouts and sentinels come in with intelligence of de Clare’s being on his way towards him. To O’Hechir (Lochlainn) therefore, and to O’Conor (Felim), hastily he sends to show them the baron’s journey and to pray them come with their irachts in full force, and without delay, to meet the same; to the end that of de Clare (if to such pass it came) they collectively should have terms of peace all the more favourable for the fact that the individual means of each would be found ranked on the same side [so that he could not hope to use them one against the other as his wont was]. Moreover, to de Clare he commissioned O’Grifa (Thomas mac Urhilly) to offer him conditions and tribute.

De Clare’s answer was that, at this time of asking, nor peace nor satisfaction whatsoever would he grant, whether to him [O’Dea] or to any other whom he held to live in inveterate enmity to him, as always they had been with his friends before him.

Which bad news having reached O’Dea (Conor), out of all quarters
he calls in his people, discloses to them de Clare’s reply; hurriedly they debate of this quandary, and that which they hit off and agreed upon was: to ambush the great bulk of their good men well to the rear, out of sight of de Clare’s army; the remnant to hold the “fighting ford” [that which was to be the pivot of the battle] and to protect their preys until Felim O’Conor’s and Lochlainn O’Hechir’s advent to relieve them. To accelerate those captains, again he sends them despatches bearing de Clare’s answer to his overtures.

Let us return to the English leader: as morning broke, he wondered at the stillness of the country round about, just as though every one had been at peace with him. He made of his force three divisions to waste the land in all directions, to kill their women and their “silly [little] boys”: one he detailed to pass by Tulach-O’Dea and westwards on to Rath; another to follow the Fergus through Kinelcualachta down to Magowna; while as straight as might be, he with the notables of his host held a due-west course for Disert, where at that time O’Dea’s residence was, to sack it. When they were come thither, they saw a well ordered detachment of horse and foot that diligently conveyed a heavy prey across the stream westwards; whereupon universally that dense mass of de Clare’s follows them, and by the English a good share of the rearmost chase are killed before they could win over the ford. Withal, boldly O’Dea turns to hold the ford against the enemy, so that, ere long, it had been hard to count them that on either side were slain.

When de Clare made out that it was by that small number the ford so stiffly was held against him, in furious temper he urging on his troops put himself at their head. At sight of the baron in person advancing on them, O’Dea’s handful began “to fight and back” [fight on the retreat] towards the ford at which, and close to hand, the ambush lay. The English continue to follow them hard and massacre them, so that along with de Clare a large body of his men impetuously cross the ford westwards.

Now for the ambush: smartly and boldly they stand up; and while one party of them independently goes to help hold the ford against the heavy shock of the enemy’s main corps [which as yet was not come over], the lesser section joins the chase in lashing and smiting de Clare and company insomuch that, before the overwhelming strength of his reserves could succour him, the O’Deas killed both himself and every man that he had with him. Howbeit, those Gael (so many of them as lived) were forced to refuge in a neighbouring wood; and there their assailants “make of themselves a battle-hedge” to surround them.

But over the hill of Scule, out of the west, here comes red-sworded Felim O’Conor; in whom as in his merry men all, when they were certified
of the many slain, their spirit was magnified and without roundabout or digression he presses on until he is in the thick of it. For the O’Deas, he hacked and rent out a passage, a high road, by which to come out of the wood to join him; and they now, all being of a side, fell to lacerating of their eternal enemies and to fending for themselves, de Clare’s forces all the time {after abandoning of their preys and enormous plunder, marching up compact and crowded and coming on the field). Both parties, Gall and Gael, mowed down and mishandled each other: some diving into and rigidly keeping up the fray and “setting foot to fulcrum”; others indeed scared, and even terrified into flight from off the ground: so that of either set many gentles and fine warriors were destroyed.

That in which the Gael were now, was a sad plight indeed, the greater part of their men having perished, and before their faces lying piled in death, they were driven to form themselves into a fast impenetrable phalanx that their enemies should not break though them; and he among them that had the least on his hands, him four of his fierce foes beset at once. Besides and beyond all which, O’Conor (Felim) and de Clare’s arrogant hot-headed son (that after his father’s death was fair gone wud [mad], rushing at all and sundry) came together. Equally rapid as were their well-meant blows, yet not long their combat retained this equilibrium; for Felim wounds and rewounds and triple-wounds the Englishman and, in all his gentlemen’s despite, converted him upon the spot into a disfigured corpse.

Again now we take up O’Brien and the men of Thomond: after having at the goad’s point driven Mahon O’Brien’s prey, in Echtge’s leafy borders they rested when certain of their own near friends and favourers that were in de Clare’s host hurried off to the chief advice of the baron’s vigorous enterprise, and the motive of his journey. To Murtough O’Brien it was as a violent mortal sickness that ever his faithful natural friends should come to lie under merciless oppression of those English; therefore on the instant his gentlemen and irachts all (horse and foot) assemble and, before clearing and full shining of the day, across the grasslands of the open plain strike westwards, past the pleasant hill of Uarchoill [Spancelhill], westwards still to the Fergus, ever as hard as they could go. Broad Fergus being crossed, in all directions they see the land aflame, hear it resound as with one mighty outcry. Soon they descry headlong folk (hard to stay), and swiftly flying groups that head towards them; insomuch that they found it a main effort to check the fugitives in their mad career. Dejectedly then, and they scarce able to contain themselves, these narrate the deaths and losses [of which we have heard].

As for O’Brien’s gentlemen and men, as one they intensify their travail to relieve their friends in common danger: some abandon their mantles
and “rampart-arms” [missile weapons]; others leave behind them their horses and all superfluous weight; for they (so many as thus divested themselves of armour) thought that on foot they would make better play over the rough intricate paths. When at last they neared the spot in which the tug of war went on (which they did without halt for formation, without consideration or respect shewed by loon to lord, by man-at-arms to high commander), O’Conor seeing them at a distance [and not knowing them] said, angrily despairing: “a pity ’tis; for we this poor remainder of the Gael stand in need of succour more than does our foe. Still, now that out of this pinch there is no way for us (since to fly beseems us not), on our bitter enemies avenge we ourselves handsomely, and in such guise that after us they shall not muster strong enough to offer battle to our friends!”

With the lionlike chief’s exhortation their valour blazed and their strength expanded, in such measure that right through the pale English they made for themselves “a warrior’s gap” and common path, to go [as they thought] to this fresh enemy’s encounter. But when they knew their fellows, loudly they emitted three cries: one of joy and welcome; one of triumph and exultation for the deeds that they had done, the slaughter they had made; lastly, a groanful cry of lamentation for their own hurts and losses. Here [at last] the wounded fell to the rear of the others as they fought; from their respective directions both parties [O’Conor and the O’Deas on the one hand, O’Brien and Clancullen on the other] charge each towards each, in form so grim that neither may one count nor [consequently] recite all that fell of them [friend and foe] while the thing lasted, so imperious was their desire to reach their comrades and to join their forces. So dour the hand-to-hand work was, that nor noble nor commander of them [the English] left the ground, but the far greater part fell where they stood. Nor was Lochlainn O’Hechir with his iracht who came on the scene a little before O’Brien, idle in the tight-jammed press.

There remains but to say that the gentles of the pale English being extinguished utterly: both knecht and battle-baron, both knight and aspirant, the common herd (so many as survived) took to shift for themselves. Which when the Gael perceived they followed them hard and close; seeking to get round them [head them off] so that not a soul of them should pull through, for they esteemed that now, de Clare and his son and Mahon O’Brien’s two sons with the gentlemen of his iracht and people being fallen, there was an end of the cleavage among them [the Dalcassians] all. Nevertheless, by main fighting strength Brian Bane mac Donall mac Brian Rua came off; but he never cried halt until he had crossed Shannon eastwards [into Duharra], where for his race he (with Murtough O’Brien’s goodwill) effected a settlement.

As for O’Brien and his people: with cutting down and expeditious slaying of their perpetual enemies, earnestly they follow the rout right into Bunratty of the spacious roads; and (a thing which never had happened) the manner in which he found the town before him was: deserted, empty, wrapped in fire. For upon his wife’s and household’s receiving of the tidings that de Clare was killed, with one consent they betake them to their fast galleys and shove off on Shannon, taking with them the choicest of the town’s wealth and valuable effects, and having at all points set it on fire. From which time to this, never a one of their breed has come back to look after it.

G
ERALD FITZGERALD
, known as Gerrold Mor or Gerald the Great, the eighth earl of Kildare (1456-1513), was the most powerful man in Ireland for over thirty years. A descendant of one of the original twelfth-century Norman invaders, he called himself an Englishman, married the cousin of an English king, and was rewarded for his services to the crown with that most English of orders, Knight of the Garter. Although he spent part of the year 1495 imprisoned in the Tower of London as a traitor, this had more to do with his support of the House of York during the War of the Roses than with anything Irish. A year later he was reinstated as the king’s deputy (governor) of Ireland. It was a post he would hold until his death in 1513 from a gunshot wound, making him one of the first—if not
the
first—major Irish political figure to end a career that way.