Pirate Queen Read online

  While he blusters and threatens, she holds her baby and waits for the storm to blow over. Others know Richard as a violent man. He has only once tried to use force on Granuaile. On that occasion she hit him in the belly with her doubled fist, hard enough to knock the wind from him. She does not think he will hit her again. But if he does, she is ready.

  Granuaile is always ready. On ship or on land, she carries a knife in her belt.

  ‘You do not sail the seas, Richard,’ she says to him when he finally stops shouting and slumps onto a bench. ‘I do. You do not take the risks. I do. The fleet enables me to support my clan as my father did before me. As a chieftain yourself, surely you understand that is my first duty.’

  Granuaile’s father is Dubhdara Ua Máille, The Black Oak of the O’Malleys. He is the chief of the clan. Over the years Dubhdara built up a sea trade extending from Scotland and the North Sea to Spain and Portugal. The Black Oak has only one son, Donal of the Pipes. His mother is not Dubhdara’s wife, however. Besides, Donal has no stomach for the sea. So when Dubhdara grew old, Granuaile took over the O’Malley fleet.

  Being a sea captain is a singular occupation for an Irish woman. Some people are shocked, but her clan is very proud of her. She has even extended the trade routes.

  She is not about to give her hard-won profits to Richard Bourke to pay for petty squabbles with his kinsmen!

  Warfare is the normal condition in Connacht, as it is throughout Ireland. Gaelic clans have always fought over cattle. Gaelic chieftains have always fought to extend their territory. The Normans have readily adopted this way of life because they first came into Ireland as mercenaries themselves.

  Yet in spite of constant conflict, Ireland in the sixteenth century is prosperous. Much of the island is covered with great forests of timber. Well-watered grasslands support large herds of cattle. The woods teem with game and the lakes and rivers are full of fish. The Gaelic nobility wear masses of gold jewellery, and even their servants possess ornaments of bronze and iron. People of all classes dine on beef and bacon and buttermilk. The Gael have dominated this land for two thousand years. It is hard to imagine anything changing.

  Yet change is coming.

  Since the twelfth century, the English have sought without success to conquer Ireland. The Norman mercenaries they have sent have been absorbed into the country. The Anglo-Normans have become, some say, more Irish than the Irish themselves. Now they are called the ‘Old English’, because a new wave of would-be conquerors has arrived from England.

  Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England, has sent shiploads of warriors and administrators to carve up Ireland. They are known as the ‘New English’. They have no desire to become Irish, and have merely come to plunder the country for their monarch. Meanwhile, in foreign seaports, Granuaile has heard tales of a New World beyond the western ocean. The English ruler hopes to seize this New World as well. There is no limit to her greed, it seems.

  As Granuaile hugs her small son to her breast, she thinks about that other she-king across the Irish Sea. She feels a chill run up her spine. If Elizabeth succeeds in her dreams of conquest, what effect will that have on Toby’s life? On his childhood?

  It is less disturbing for Granuaile to recall her own childhood. Gratefully she looks back to the days when she was wild and free.

  Chapter Three

  The Call of the Sea

  When Granuaile was a child, Clare Island was her summer home. In her memories of that distant, happy time, the sun shone every day. She was never hungry or thirsty or frightened. Each day was an adventure.

  In the summer her family went booleying, taking their cattle to the upland pastures to graze. They made huts of wattle and thatch that only lasted for the season. Mostly they lived under the open sky. Granuaile loved the sky at night above Clare Island. Lying on her back in the fragrant grass, she would listen as Dubhdara taught her the names of the stars.

  Cattle were important, providing leather, meat, milk and butter, but the sea was their main source of income. The O’Malley fleet travelled great distances, trading salted and pickled fish, surplus hides and tallow, for casks of wine and ingots of copper. Through the vast network of sea trade they also obtained figs and pomegranates and silk, cumin and cinnamon and saffron. Clew Bay was the home port for these enterprises.

  Granuaile had made her first voyage from the dock below the tower house on Clare Island. ‘Stay away from the shore, the sea is not safe for children,’ Margaret, her mother, had often said. But Granuaile was enchanted by the shining, leaping waves, with their crests of white foam. One day she persuaded Dubhdara to take her as far as Achill Island in his boat. The sea was rough but the little girl was not seasick. Her father was very proud. When they returned home, he laughed at his wife’s fears. ‘My daughter is an O’Malley,’ he said. ‘She’s a born seahorse!’

  As a reward, Dubhdara gave Granuaile a coracle of her own – a small, round boat made of hide stretched over a wooden frame. She could paddle herself around in the shallows, and for a time she was satisfied. But not for long. The open sea beckoned to her, a great blue kingdom stretching from sunrise to sunset!

  Granuaile’s next boat was a currach – a long, narrow fishing boat, sealed with pitch to keep the water out. Her father’s sailors did the rowing while she rode in the prow, gliding back and forth among the islands that dotted the bay. She liked to pretend that she was a white seahorse. Or a ship’s captain, like her father. Giving orders. Going to exotic places.

  Dubhdara captained the O’Malley fleet on long trading voyages. Some leaders are cruel to their men, but Granuaile’s father always believed that praise wins more than punishment. The men and young lads who sailed with him adored him. When they came home they told wonderful stories of their adventures in faraway lands.

  Granuaile listened eagerly to their tales. ‘Having to stay home with the women is worse than being in a prison,’ she complained.

  ‘But you are a woman, or soon will be,’ insisted her mother. She dressed Granuaile’s hair in curls and plaits and made her wear petticoats that were always getting in the way. Margaret did everything she could to keep her daughter from going out in a boat. ‘I am always afraid something will happen,’ she said.

  ‘Nothing is happening!’ Granuaile would argue. ‘Nothing! I am getting older and older and everything around me is staying just the same.’

  One fine spring morning in her eleventh year, the girl cut off her long hair and disguised herself as a boy. She sneaked on board her father’s largest trading galley and hid in the cargo hold. She would never forget the way cold water sloshed around her ankles, or the ancient smell of fish that clung to the timbers. Listening to the hiss of water beneath the vessel, she waited for the hours to pass. At last she fell asleep. She woke up chilled and stiff, but at sea. At sea!

  When she was sure they had travelled too far to turn back, she went up on deck.

  At first Dubhdara was angry, or pretended to be. He started to scold her, then began to laugh instead. His laughter was a great, happy roar, like a huge wave breaking. Granuaile rode on the crest of that wave, knowing that everything would be all right. The Black Oak could never remain angry with his daughter for very long. She was too much like him.

  After that she went on every voyage and learned to handle every type of ship. ‘If God does not give me a suitable son, at least he has given me Granuaile,’ Dubhdara is given to say. ‘There is no sailor her equal on Clew Bay.’

  Chapter Four

  The Queen across the Sea

  September, the Year of Our Lord 1569, Rockfleet

  My dear son,

  I am sending you away to be fostered. You are too young to understand, but this is an ancient custom in Ireland. Fosterage creates strong ties between the clan of the original parents and that of the foster parents. Many useful alliances are forged in this way.

  I would have preferred to keep you with me. You are the last babe I shall ever have. But I must think of your future.

 
There is a powerful woman across the Irish Sea whom I have never met. She does not know me, yet I can sense Elizabeth Tudor lurking like a great black spider high up in the corner of a room. Three years ago she sent one of her men, Henry Sidney, to Connacht, seeking submission to the English Crown. He offered the chieftains bribes, which he called rewards.

  On behalf of Clan O’Malley, Dubhdara proudly refused. However, The MacWilliam, chieftain of all the Bourkes of Mayo, submitted. He swore loyalty to the English queen in return for gifts and a promise of peace between his people and hers. The MacWilliam swore his oath in Latin rather than in English. We all know Latin thanks to the Church, and for the sake of trade I also speak Spanish. Very few in Connacht have any English. It is a coarse, crude language, without music. I would not cripple my tongue with it.

  After Sidney departed, the chieftains forgot about their promises. I could have told him they would. In Ireland pledges are often given between provincial kings and clan chieftains, and they are just as often broken. But Sidney will return. Sooner rather than later, he will return, and with an army at his back. Knowing that surely, I am trying to plan for the future.

  I have decided to have you fostered by another of the Bourke families. Elizabeth’s men seem more tolerant of the Anglo-Normans than they are of the Irish. The day may come when you are thankful to have such connections.

  As for me, I remain Gaelic in my heart and soul.

  Always,

  Granuaile

  Chapter Five

  Rebellion in Iar Connacht

  With a heavy heart, Granuaile sends her two-year-old son to live with Edmund MacTibbott at Castleaffey, south of Burrishoole. She vows to visit him whenever time allows, but the fleet has first claim on her. The bay is teeming with herring, and the O’Malleys are fishermen.

  There are larger fish out in the ocean – fish with no fins or gills, yet they are valuable prey. Granuaile conceals her swiftest galleys among the many islands in Clew Bay. When foreign cargo ships sail past the mouth of the bay, they dart out and attack. Granuaile demands that merchants pay licences for using her waters. If they refuse, she seizes their goods.

  For this the English accuse her of piracy. The accusation makes her laugh. ‘Elizabeth Tudor’s seamen are all pirates,’ Granuaile points out to Richard Bourke. ‘That is how the English she-king increases her wealth. The one called Walter Raleigh is the most famous pirate of them all, and a great favourite of hers, I understand. I suppose she is fond of him in the same way that I am fond of the brave men who follow me.’ She cannot resist boasting, ‘My men know I care about them, that is why they will never desert me.’

  ‘Do not be so sure,’ Richard responds glumly. ‘One cannot be certain of anything in this world. I thought my wife would be loyal to me, yet you give your loyalty to the O’Malleys.’

  ‘I give my loyalty to all who depend upon me,’ she replies. ‘It is not my fault there are so many of them.’

  Even though Toby is now being fostered, he still depends on her. She can feel him as if they are attached by an invisible silver cord. ‘Oh, my little son,’ she cries out to him silently, in the dark of the night. She likes to imagine that her call spans the miles. She sends him little gifts from her voyages, and loving letters.

  The stronghold of Castleaffey houses the large family of Edmund MacTibbott, who is fostering several children in addition to his own. A foster parent must provide at least as well for his fosterlings as he does for children of his own blood. As they grow, the boys will learn the skills of javelin, sword, dagger and dart, as well as horse riding and the use of firearms. Granuaile has begun importing matchlock guns and wheel-lock pistols into Mayo.

  Because the Anglo-Normans, like the Irish, are Catholic, a monk from Burrishoole Abbey gives the children religious instruction. He also carries letters to Tibbott from his mother. Granuaile has asked that the letters be read aloud to her son. The child listens with wide eyes. Even though he does not yet understand all the words, he knows they come to him warm with his mother’s breath.

  There are ever more English vessels in the waters off Connacht. Granuaile imagines that she can feel Elizabeth’s breath on the back of her neck. The English she-king resents every bit of cargo, every gold coin that is seized around Clew Bay. Elizabeth plans to convict Granuaile of piracy and put her in prison. No one has actually said this yet, but Granuaile knows. She knows it as she knows when rain is coming.

  In February 1570, she has Tibbott transferred to another foster parent, Myles MacEvilly of Kinturk Castle. Kinturk is a sturdy castle, farther inland. Safer. There Tibbott learns to read. Granuaile’s letters are sealed with red wax bearing the imprint of three seahorses. The boy’s first attempts at writing are his replies. His mother saves them in a small silver casket which she always keeps with her, even when she is at sea. Sometimes when Granuaile is alone, she takes out the letters and reads them one by one, smiling at the childish scrawl. When she smiles her stern face softens and there is a warm light in her dark eyes.

  Her fears for the future are not without reason.

  Elizabeth’s officials undertake a survey of the entire province of Connacht and divided it into ‘baronies’. They list the clans and chieftains of every barony, including Mayo. This is done to help them set up an English government in the territory. The Bourkes of Carra, Richard’s family, resent this imposed foreign authority as much as the native Irish do.

  When they learn that some of the O’Flaherty clan are rebelling in Iar Connacht, Richard wants to go south and join them. He persuades Granuaile to give him enough gold to finance an assault on an English garrison beyond Galway. ‘Be loyal to me for once!’ he argues. She can hardly refuse. With a fresh supply of weaponry, Richard and his men march off to war.

  Unfortunately they find themselves on the other side of the battle from the old MacWilliam, chief of the entire Bourke clan in Mayo. Because of his submission to the Crown, The MacWilliam stands with Elizabeth’s supporters.

  At Rockfleet, Granuaile waits tensely to hear the outcome. In her mind she is already framing a letter to Toby, telling him of victory over the foreigners.

  On land messages are shouted from hilltop to hilltop, from man to man, in the old Gaelic way. In one day news of a battle can travel halfway across Ireland. But the news, when it comes, is not good.

  The battle in which Richard took part has settled nothing. As often happens, both sides claim victory. He returns to Rockfleet to lick his wounds. ‘You have wasted arms and men and what do you have to show for it?’ Granuaile demands to know. But she gives him a hot meal and hospitality. Any defiance of the English pleases her.

  Unfortunately, the battle has left the large Bourke tribe badly split, between support for, and opposition to, the English Crown. When the old MacWilliam dies shortly afterward, Richard expects to become the new chieftain. ‘I proved myself by being willing to fight the English,’ he reminds his kinsmen.

  The Bourkes elect a man called Shane MacOliverus instead. He has a reputation for being lavish with his hospitality, even more lavish than he can afford. He also is a man who will do almost anything for a quiet life.

  Although Shane MacOliverus names Richard as his tanaiste, his chosen successor, that is small comfort. Richard is furious. In his own mind, he had already become The MacWilliam. Once more he stalks through Rockfleet, muttering and slamming his fist against the furniture.

  Granuaile observes, ‘I think the Bourkes are frightened of Elizabeth, Richard. So they have elected a chieftain with a peaceful nature, one who has not made English enemies.’

  ‘It is no comfort to think of my kinsmen as cowards,’ Richard growls.

  ‘Be patient. Shane MacOliverus will not live forever. Power shifts and shifts again. Sometimes it seems like one great game, like the chess I used to play with my father in the hall at Belclare. Men move here and there, words are spoken, threats are made. Strategy is everything. Listen to the advice I give you and bide your time.’

  Chapter Six
/>   Christmas at Belclare

  ‘You only married me to get your hands on Rockfleet Castle!’ Richard shouts during one of their frequent rows.

  Granuaile laughs. ‘You forget that I have strongholds all around Clew Bay, and even a castle in Iar Connacht which I won for myself with a sword in my hand. I would hardly have married you for another set of walls and a roof.’

  ‘Then why did you?’

  She shrugs. ‘I no longer remember. Because both our families wanted it, I suppose.’ She is genuinely fond of Richard Bourke, a handsome man with dark auburn hair and bright blue eyes, but she will never admit this. He is certainly a more satisfactory husband than her first one was. But Richard now lives elsewhere and visits only at her invitation.

  Richard tolerates the situation because Granuaile is a valuable asset. A wealthy wife is highly prized by the Anglo-Normans. Granuaile even has the ability to increase her wealth through her own actions. Unfortunately she is a difficult woman. Her gunpowder temper can explode in his face when he least expects it. If he makes her angry enough, she will hit him with her fists like a man. He suspects she might even attack him with a sword.

  People whisper that Granuaile is a better man than Richard Bourke. This should make him angry, but he is secretly proud. Who else has such a wife?

  On one of his visits to Rockfleet, Richard sees her practising with an Italian wheel-lock pistol she has acquired on one of her voyages. Granuaile has set up a row of targets beyond the kitchens – bundles of straw tied together in a manlike shape. Taking the heavy pistol in both hands, she braces herself. She squints her eyes, bites her lip, holds her breath and fires. Her aim is deadly.