1014: Brian Boru & the Battle for Ireland Page 5

  The first Vikings in Ireland had not ventured far inland, lacking the organisation to attempt a conquest of the entire island. The sea was their element and so for a while they had stayed within earshot of it. But farming was also part of their heritage. In time the former sea rovers took up the plough. Their first farming communities were set up around their ports: Waterford and Wexford, Limerick and Carlingford. As trade expanded, political alliances were forged. The strongest and most enduring of these would be in Leinster. Christianity still co-existed with paganism in Ireland, so it seemed possible that Gael and Northman might enjoy a similar relationship.

  Not everyone was convinced. With increasing hostility, Gaelic chieftains in other parts of Ireland resisted foreign incursions into their land – although as Brian Boru would later observe, many Irish children were born with Norse-silver hair and sea-green eyes.

  As Dublin grew, shipwrights were in constant demand. A fleet of Danish longships routinely harboured in the bay. Narrow lanes were lined with rows of square houses roofed with thatch. The homes of the prosperous were walled with planks thrust into the earth. Poorer folk made do with wicker, or wattle-and-daub. Timber walkways protected pedestrians from the omnipresent mud and sewage in the streets.

  Cramped shops and awninged stalls bustled with haggling customers. Behind the markets, craftsmen and artisans laboured in their workshops to satisfy demand. Anything that could be bought or sold, from bare necessities to imported luxury items, from swans for the table to nubile women for the bed, was available. Jewellery made of gleaming jet or polished amber from the Baltic or colourful Egyptian glass beads brought high prices. Combs skilfully fashioned from antler horn were a more modest gift for one’s woman. To provide meat for the family table, livestock was kept within the walls of Dublin and grazed on two grassy areas adjacent to the city, Fair Green to the southwest and Hoggen Green to the east. On Sandymount, below Hoggen Green, women and children searched the strand for cockles and mussels.

  North of the Liffey was an expanse of broken, rolling land with occasional pockets of ash, elm and hazel. The little hazel trees were coppiced by industrious Dubliners to provide a bounteous supply of wattles for construction; the hazel nuts were a favourite food of children and goats.

  The population of Dublin did not consist solely of Vikings and their descendants. Increasingly the city was used as a holding point for Irish slaves captured in battle, who were then shipped to distant seaports. A ready market in the distant east was developing for men, women and particularly children. Dublin was turning a nice profit for the Vikings.

  Olaf Cuaran had become king of Dublin in 945 after losing his throne to a rival in Northumbria. He exchanged the Danish stronghold at York for a kingdom in Ireland that stretched from the monastery at Swords in the north to the trading centre at Arklow in the south, and included a fleet of ships in the Irish Sea. When Olaf was baptised most of his subjects followed him into the new religion. His son, Sitric Silkbeard, was raised as a Christian. By the end of the tenth century constant warfare with the Irish had shrunk their dominion to Dublin and its immediate environs, but the Danish city still had considerable influence.

  Meath king and Árd Rí Malachy Mór’s connection with the new young king of the Dublin Danes was seen as a clever move.

  Ireland and Scandinavia were more alike at this time than one might think, right down to the board games they loved to play. Both societies were rapidly becoming Christianised. The base of both cultures was agrarian and agricultural, with landholdings endlessly subdivided. Slavery made a significant contribution to the labour force. Power struggles among the ruling classes were a constant. Interludes of warfare were as frequent as the changes in the seasons. A herder on a lonely hillside or a fisherman casting his nets in the sea might be oblivious to the battles raging across the land, but most people were aware that their circumstances might change suddenly and drastically. For the ordinary man and woman life could be hard. And short. For the nobility it could be lavish … and equally short.

  At the dawn of the eleventh century the Vikings controlled not only the outlying British islands, but much of Scotland and northern England. Former ‘land leapers’ were settling down and consolidating their gains. Earls and princes and even kings, many of them self-appointed, were cropping up everywhere. A man like Sigurd the Stout, who boasted of direct descent from Thorfinn the Skull Splitter, was even prouder to be called the earl of Orkney.

  In common with most rulers of his time, Sigurd the Stout had several wives and concubines over the years and sired a number of children. His youngest son was named Thorfinn in honour of his famous ancestor, and would be six years of age at the time of the Battle of Clontarf. Little Thorfinn was not present for the battle, but his oldest brother was.

  A sometime ally of Sigurd’s was called Brodir, a Danish pirate who claimed to be both prince of the Isle of Man and chief of the Danes of Denmark. Whether or not the claim was true, he did have a number of followers. Mercenaries under his command roved through the Western Isles and pillaged the coastal settlements of Britain. Brodir was famed for his savage nature and his coarse black hair, which was so long he tucked it into his belt. His was a strange story. When he was a young man Brodir had been baptised as a Christian, and even appointed a deacon in the Church. Later he had reverted to the paganism of his ancestors to accommodate the violence of his chosen way of life. It was rumoured that he also practised the dark arts of sorcery. Like Sigurd the Stout, Brodir would meet his destiny at the Battle of Clontarf.

  In 1014 Dublin was ruled by Sitric Silkbeard, whose mother, Gormlaith, was living with him. Few men ever had such a mother. Of Gormlaith the poets truly said, ‘She was the fairest of all women and best gifted in everything that was not in her power. She did all things ill over which she had any power.’

  The Irish pronounced her name Gurmla, the Scandinavians would call her Kormlada, and commemorate her in their sagas. It would be fair to say she was Ireland’s Helen of Troy.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE PRINCIPALS

  Had Brian Boru operated on a larger stage or in a different era he could have been world famous. If he had undertaken foreign conquest he might have been mentioned in the same breath as Caesar and Napoleon. There is no denying he was a man of large appetites. Four wives and a large number of children testify to his virility, and his record in battle was unsurpassed. In addition to physical strength he possessed a brilliant, questioning mind and an uncommon ability to see the larger picture. On his climb to the top, Brian seems at times to have been a giant among pygmies. He came from a background tightly circumscribed by tradition and religion. When it was to his advantage he conformed, but he could just as easily overthrow the old rules with one slash of the sword and create new ones, apparently undeterred by conscience. As a leader of men he must have been mesmerising. There is no other way to account for his meteoric rise to power.

  Cogadh Gaedhel re Gallaibh, which translates as ‘The War of the Irish with the Foreigners’, is the oldest surviving account of Brian Boru’s career. It was compiled from three early manuscripts, two of which now exist only in fragmentary form, and was commissioned by Brian’s great-grandson, Muirchertach Ua Briain. Some claim parts were written by Brian’s trusted friend, the royal poet Mac Liag. The descriptions of the Battle of Clontarf were taken from accounts given by the survivors and handed down for two generations. Although condemned by Brian’s detractors as a mere hagiography, the text is as immediate as a journalist’s report from the front.

  The picture it gives of Brian shows him as brilliant and unpredictable. An opportunist who understood the value of surprise, in negotiations he was cunning and patient. His military genius lay in doing things the Gael had never done before. He created the first navy in Ireland; at one time three hundred boats were moored near his stronghold on the Shannon River. He mounted his best captains on horses to increase their mobility, thus creating the first Irish cavalry, in spite of the fact that Irishmen traditionally foug
ht on foot. Realising that there was a natural advantage to offence, he developed a network of spies. A war party expecting to take him by surprise would be alarmed to discover Brian coming to meet them and attacking first. An enemy seeking to capitalise on Brian’s mistakes would be disappointed, because he never made the same one twice. He thoroughly scouted the ground before engaging in battle; if he did not like what he saw he lured his opponents to a position more advantageous for himself. The clever stratagems Brian had discovered while studying Caesar and Xenophon became part of his arsenal. As he grew older he actually fought less and less, preferring to win bloodless victories through cunning and guile.

  Brian had a darker side. On occasion he was subject to violent outbursts of temper. After his victory against Ivar of Limerick, Brian not only pursued the defeated Norsemen back to their base, he ordered Ivar’s dispirited warriors to be rounded up and forced to watch while his army looted at will and set fire to the town. When they found a crowd of Irish children huddled in terror – little boys and girls the Norse had kidnapped to sell as slaves – Brian ordered his men to march an equal number of their captives onto Singland ridge, near Limerick. There the hapless Norsemen were put to the sword. It was said that Brian beheaded many of them himself.

  The reputation for ferocity that he gained during his early years would serve him well later, when many of his opponents preferred surrender to fighting him.

  If Brian could destroy, he could also construct. He built bridges and cleared new roads in order to make it easier to concentrate his troops for attack or defense. Described by a twentieth-century military historian as ‘a notable builder of forts’, he erected and garrisoned substantial fortresses at Roscrea, Cahir, Bruree, and Limerick. From their extant sites we can deduce that he had a keen eye for the defendable position, as well as knowing when a location offered offensive opportunities. In addition to his military constructions he built a number of churches, including those at Killaloe, Iniscaltra and Tuamgraney.

  The programme of improvements Brian began as king of Munster would continue throughout his life. Even after a thousand years, a few fragments of his many achievements remain. One is the carved stone doorway of the church at Tuamgraney, a few miles north of Killaloe. The ancient church now houses the East Clare Heritage Centre.

  During these years Brian took yet another wife, Duvcholly, a daughter of Cathal Ua Connor, king of Connacht. Their marriage substantially strengthened his personal connections with the western province, whose warriors were famed for their fighting ability. By now it was obvious he was thinking very far ahead.

  Brian’s heart belonged on the wooded banks of the Shannon. Although as king of Munster he technically ruled from the royal seat at Cashel, he began building a permanent, well-fortified residence very near, if not actually incorporating, the old ringfort of his childhood at Béal Boru.

  Brian called his new stronghold Kincora – Ceann Coradh in Irish, translated as ‘The Head of the Weir’. Kincora took its name from the old fishing weir below Béal Boru. Weirs were openwork cages built around oak stakes and placed in a stream as a trap for eels and river fish. Properly bedded deep in the streambed, weirs might last for many years. In view of the future, it seems almost prescient that Brian chose to name his residence for one.

  For the rest of his life Brian Boru would rule from his palace at Kincora, no matter what other strongholds he claimed. But ‘palace’ is a misleading term; Kincora was actually a very large stone and timber fort, containing a great hall and royal apartments among its principal rooms. It stood amid the numerous smaller offices necessary for supporting the entourage of a great king. The entire compound, surrounded by a high timber palisade, was capable of garrisoning hundreds of warriors in addition to housing Brian’s growing family and entertaining an endless procession of guests.

  Although Brian would make many alterations in Kincora over the years, seeking to improve it as his own stature grew, one of its fittings was unvarying. Tradition dictated that a royal candle of enormous size with a great bushy wick must always be kept burning at night in the presence of a king. A special iron candle holder as straight as a spear was designed for this purpose. The young man whose job was to light the king-candle every night and extinguish it with the coming of dawn was an honoured member of the royal entourage. He was the king’s personal attendant, and at all times wore a bag belted to his waist containing flints and a steel for striking fire.

  Tradition also required that a king have a poet. Brian’s was a man called Mac Liag, for whom Brian built a home on a little island in nearby Lough Derg. The island is still there. With its memories.

  Brian had never been outside of Ireland. At the time he built Kincora he had not even seen the stronghold of the current Árd Rí, so he was free to build his residence limited only by the bounds of his imagination. The annalists claim that Brian personally designed two separate passages connecting the banqueting hall with the kitchens, one passage to be used by servants carrying the food in, and the other for removing the empty serving dishes. The exact seating arrangements in the banqueting hall were carefully drawn on a large chart to make sure there were no lapses in protocol. Kings and princes, poets and judges each had their special place of honour.

  By this period there is no further mention of Mor, or even of Achra, in the annals, although the children they had borne to Brian were with him at Kincora. Achra’s son Domnall would die there of an illness in 1009 or 1010, but Mor’s Murrough would be with Brian for the rest of his life. All that Brian Boru knew or achieved would be Murrough’s inheritance.

  Amongst the traditions Brian chose to overthrow was that of tanistry, by which a king’s successor was elected from amongst suitable members of the royal family. Brian Boru left nothing to chance. He was determined that Murrough would be his successor, heir not only to his power but to his every thought and idea. The best of Brian would go into the son who was most like him. As a grown man, Murrough may have resented his father’s continuing efforts to educate him, but it was necessary. Someday he would be grateful.

  Kincora is long gone but Béal Boru is still there, defying time. The remains of the ancient ringfort are two kilometres north of the present village of Killaloe. One may still observe sections of stone wall smothered in ivy, fittingly crowned by trees. In Brian’s time Béal Boru was the location of a major ford on the Shannon, Ireland’s largest river, which divided east from west. Roughly translated, Béal Boru means ‘The Mouth (or Gateway) of the Cattle Tribute’. A sizeable percentage of the cattle travelling longitudinally across Ireland would cross the river at this point. It would be hard to overestimate the ford’s importance to a cattle-based economy. Control of the ford from their nearby stronghold probably gave Brian’s Dalcassian ancestors their original power.

  If it is possible to deduce a man’s character from his actions, by now we have an idea of Brian Boru. But what of his opposite number, his sometime ally and frequent opponent, Malachy Mór? Malachy had been born in 948, seven years after Brian, with every expectation of a rich and satisfying life. His parents were of the princely class and he had the unqualified support of the powerful Uí Néill. All he had to do was behave as a high king should, following traditions laid down for centuries.

  Like Brian, Malachy Mór kept a scribe at his elbow throughout his career, commemorating his victories and praising his hospitality. We have only one surviving comment from Malachy about the Battle of Clontarf: the most horrific eyewitness account of all comes from his scribe.

  Most of Malachy’s contemporaries, if they were not engaged in battle with him, liked the man. The annalists portray him as a generous, gregarious individual, a real ‘man’s man’, who was well suited for the traditional niche he held in life. He was simple in the way that strong men were simple in those times. He lacked the labyrinthine turns of mind of a Brian Boru.

  Undoubtedly he was brave, however, and able to uphold the demands of his kingship. When provincial kings tested their power against him he alwa
ys rose to the challenge. Connacht and Leinster were proving particularly troublesome, with their tribes invading other provinces, raiding cattle and generally disregarding the law. For almost fifteen years both Malachy in Meath and Brian Boru in Munster would be engaged in sporadic warfare with belligerent tribes who refused to accept their individual authority. The ongoing divisions within Ireland made stable governance almost impossible.

  Brian won such battles more often than Malachy Mór. In 988 Brian sailed his fleet up the Shannon and delivered a stinging defeat to an army of recalcitrant Connachtmen at Lough Ree. It was probably shortly after this that he married Duvcholly. Thereafter the province of Connacht was less hostile, at least to him.

  Alas for Malachy Mór, he did not have an asset like Duvcholly. Soon after marrying Gormlaith of Leinster he realised he had stepped into a hornet’s nest. Her temper was sudden and explosive; her moods violent and unpredictable. Meanwhile, Gormlaith made discoveries of her own. A virile warrior king in his middle years could not be bullied like doddering old Olaf Cuaran, nor could he be manipulated like her callow son, Sitric. Gormlaith was not content with the placid role in life the Árd Rí assigned to her, so she began casting about for a way to amuse herself. The Árd Rí was away from home for long periods at a time. And Dublin was only a few days’ journey in good weather.

  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.