Aoife of Leinster: The Price of a Throne (The Hiberno-Norman Chronicles Book 1) by Sean J Fitzgerald

Author:Sean J Fitzgerald [Fitzgerald, Sean J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Coldwater Publishing House
Published: 2024-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

CILL OSNADH

Kellistown, Co. Carlow

August 1167

They were both wrong. A week after we arrived in Ferns, the scouts Donal had sent north brought word that the old alliance that had driven us from Ireland had re-formed. Rory O’Connor had joined forces with Tiarnan O’Rourke in North Leinster, and they were marching south from Wicklow. Mac Giolla Patrick, who had acquired half of my father’s kingdom to the west, had marched to join them.

Hearing of the hurried arrival of the scouts, I rushed from the bright late-summer light into the dusky hall. As my eyes adjusted, I could see the war council gathered, with my father sitting on the dais, glaring at the exhausted young scout, who had ridden hard south to Ferns through Fid Dorcha (the Dark Wood). This forest spread across the land, from the high reaches of the mountains of South Wicklow to the rich fertile pastures surrounding Ferns. O’Connor had had his army cut a pass through this forest when he last drove us away. Its purpose was to give him quick access to our land should it prove troublesome again; he was making good use of it now. In Ireland, roads were narrow, pitiful tracks which did not allow armies to move quickly. It wasn’t the mountains which hindered movement in Ireland but more the thick, impenetrable ancient forests of dark oak and towering yew trees which blanketed the lands. Closer to the settlements and towns, the people cleared land for grazing pastures. There were some areas around the larger towns where fields were made for the sowing of crops, but for the most part, the cleared land was used for grazing cattle and growing their winter fodder. Our lands hadn’t been stripped bare of the forests for shipbuilding or crop fields, as I had seen in Britain.

‘Mac Giolla Patrick will be with the high king by now,’ the scout gasped as he gulped water from the cup he grasped.

‘He’s not the damn high king—he’s the king of nothing here!’ my father snarled, rising from his chair and moving towards the frightened lad.

‘He meant nothing of it, father,’ Donal intervened. ‘Leave him be.’ Replenishing the young scout’s water from a jug, Donal said, ‘You’ve done a great service to us, lad. Well done.’ He smiled. ‘Now tell me what you saw. How many are they, and how long before they march and reach Ferns?’

‘Thank you, Donal.’ He drank deeply and, recovering himself, looked up and continued. ‘They are already moving. There must be at least two thousand. And that’s before Mac Giolla Patrick joins them.’ He gulped greedily from the cup again.

‘Two thousand!’ my father yelled, hurling his tankard at the scout. ‘Why was I not told sooner?’ he demanded. ‘We can’t fight them again. Get the men ready and bring all the livestock and food stocks into the town. We can hold out here until Strongbow arrives.’

Donal, stunned by the size of the approaching force, stated that he believed he could gather at most four hundred men to oppose them.

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