Uneasy Quest

Published in 2020 by

Bizpace Publishing

www.bizpace.ie

Copyright © 2020 George Nash

The right of George Nash to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN (paperback) 978-1-8380920-0-9

ISBN (ebook) 978-1-8380920-1-6

Cover Design and Interior Layout by designforwriters.com

Dedicated to Bernadette Murphy Nash –

my partner in everything

Contents

Guide to Pronunciation of Irish/Gaelic Names

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Friends and Nomads: Chapter 1

Historical Note and Characters

About The Author

Guide to Pronunciation of Irish/Gaelic Names

Bridín: ‘Bree-deen’

Donal: ‘Doh-nahl’

O’Brien: ‘O-Bry-n’

O’Muinacháin: ‘Oh-mween-ah-kawn’

Diarmaid: ‘Deer-mad’

MacMurrough: ‘Mack-mur-o’

Maurice: ‘Mor-iss’

Tadhg: ‘Tige - Tiger – without the r’

MacCarthy or McCarthy: ‘Mack-cart-thee’

Caolach: ‘Kway-lock’

Turlough: ‘Tur-lock’

Déise: ‘Day-sha’

†

The Welsh Names:

Huw: As in the English/Irish ‘Hugh’

Daiwin: ‘Die-win’

Author’s Note

Uneasy Quest is set

during the first two years of the Norman arrival in Ireland (1169-1171). Even though I have generally kept to the historical timeline, some early forays such as the expedition to Limerick where Bridín and Huw meet are fictionalised. Any errors of historical facts and dates are entirely my own.

George Nash.

Chapter 1

Pembrokeshire, Wales

May 1169

Huw Ashe dragged his

father from underneath the bloody body of Arnel de Bourg. De Bourg’s body twitched, his dagger still tightly gripped in his left hand. Instinctively, Huw stepped back, out of range of any strike. He picked up de Bourg’s sword and rammed it into the dying man’s neck, holding it there until the body lay still. His father groaned as he rolled onto his side and was violently sick. On his knees, Huw stared at the bloody bodies of the two men, his heart pounding wildly. At least his father was alive. He looked towards the tree line where de Bourg’s two bodyguards lay. His shocked mind began to come back into focus and he remembered the two bodyguards charging towards his father and his own instinctive reaction with his long bow. Two arrows in quick succession, and both men fell. He remembered the woman turning her horse and galloping away. It wouldn’t take long for her to alert de Bourg’s castle garrison. They had to get away quickly. His father was conscious and he half-dragged, half-carried him to their horses.

‘Sir, you have to mount! We have to get away!’ Huw had never shouted at his father before. Despite the large blood stains on his chain mail and tunic, Huw could not see any major wounds on his father’s body.

‘Sir Giles! Mount your horse!’ Huw pushed him towards the horse. Still dazed from the ferocity of de Bourg’s sword blows, Giles made an instinctive effort to mount. Huw pushed him upwards as the animal stood relatively still. When his father was safely in the saddle, Huw turned to look at the scene. Giles’s sword was still stuck deep in de Bourg’s underarm. He ran to the body and pulled the sword. After wiping the bloody blade on de Bourg’s tunic, he mounted and they rode quickly away. They rode westward for two hours without stopping. Huw kept his mount upsides with the other horse. He feared that Giles might lose consciousness. Even though he got no response, Huw kept talking to his father and made sure he held tight to the horse’s back.

‘Sir, let us pull in and take some water.’ Huw eventually felt safe enough to stop. He had kept to the hilly scrubland, away from the valleys and settlements, knowing that de Bourg’s brothers would send search parties. He also knew there would be no court if they were caught. Sir Giles was a landed baron, but the land disputes had escalated and now the de Bourg family enjoyed King Henry’s favour. Even if Huw and his father did get to court, they faced a death sentence.

‘Huw! We cannot go home.’ Giles had drunk the water and a little wine. He reached up from where he sat on the damp ground and grabbed his son’s arm. ‘We cannot go home!’ he repeated, raising his voice when Huw did not respond.

‘I know, sir. We are headed west along the coast, towards Sir Robert’s castle.’

It was the only avenue of escape Huw could think of. He knew their own castle and holdings would be attacked and searched. There was silence for a few moments as they drank.

‘We will have to leave Wales. The de Bourgs are not people to be appeased.’ Giles looked across to where his son sat. ‘Huw, I am sorry to have dragged you into this.’

‘Sir, you tried everything with de Bourg – discussion, intermediaries, law. He was not for listening. Neither was the King.’

‘I did not wish to fight him. I did not want to kill him.’ Giles’s voice trailed off as his throat dried.

‘I know, sir. I know.’

†

Robert fitz William greeted his brother and nephew warmly. He was shocked at their fatal encounter with de Bourg, and the sight of Giles’s bloodied body. They helped Giles to the infirmary and Robert sent for a healer.

As Giles was being treated, Robert and Huw sat by the fire in the great hall and drank warm wine.

‘Huw, I did not think to see you again so soon. And in these circumstances… this is a bad business, Huw.’ Robert always spoke what was in his mind. ‘Your shoulders have filled out this last year. How old are you now, seventeen?’

‘Just eighteen, sir.’

‘Your cousins are away in the valleys. Can’t keep track of them. Your hair has grown long!’

Huw laughed. His uncle’s quick-fire speech was infectious. It had always made him laugh during his eight years living in the household.

‘How is your Latin, Huw? Have you kept it up, and the longbow?’

‘I still practice bow and sword every day, sir. Just as you taught me. Maybe not so much Latin.’ Huw smiled in response to his uncle.

‘Your mother and brother?’

‘They were happy when I left them last week to go to Sir Giles. Daiwin is sixteen, grown as tall as I am.’ Huw paused. Both men were silent for a moment.

‘Bad business. I will arrange to get news to them when it’s safe.’ Robert took another drink. ‘Your mother is a strong woman. Daiwin will want to join you.’

‘Indeed, sir.’ Huw pictured his hot-headed half-brother gathering his bow and sword, and riding to protect them. He trusted his mother to use her guile to keep him occupied in the village.

‘They dare not attack me, and if they do, we will defend!’ Robert fitz William’s anger grew as he reflected on what had happened.

‘Brother, Huw and I thank you, but we cannot stay.’ Giles glanced at Huw. It was as if he was declining an invitation to a feast. ‘We know you would keep us and defend us, but this matter has gone too far. There will be death sentences. The de Bourgs will have the law. The King will find it easy to condemn us, and anyone who helps. You must not become involved; I will need you to stay safe and see after my family while I am away.’

‘Away?’ Robert looked puzzled.

Huw also looked at his father. He had recovered his senses. Once he had washed and changed into fresh clothes, his injuries seemed less severe, and he had walked unaided from the infirmary. But they had not spoken about any escape plan.

‘Huw and I will go to Ireland!’

‘Ireland, sir?’ Huw could not hide his surprise.

‘With de Clare?’ Robert spoke as he stood up from the table.

‘De Clare?’ Huw looked at his father and uncle in turn.

‘Richard de Clare is raising an army to help an Irish lord regain his lands. Our cousin, Robert fitz Stephen, is to lead the vanguard. I’m sure he will take us on.’ Giles paused for a moment and looked at Huw. ‘Our land and livelihood here is forfeited. Strongbow’s expedition may give us a chance of a new life. At worst, we will escape the certain death that awaits us here.’

‘Strongbow?’ Huw’s confusion continued.

‘De Clare is known to some as Strongbow,’ Giles smiled briefly.

‘It might work, if we can keep you hidden until fitz Stephen sails.’ Robert had been silent as Giles explained matters to Huw.

‘I believe fitz Stephen’s departure is imminent. We must not stay here more than a day.’

‘A day! No time to lose. I will send a rider to Milford to alert fitz Stephen. You shall have armour and horses, and any coin I have at hand.’ Robert fitz William paced the floor as he planned. ‘Huw, what do you need?’

Giles exchanged a brief smile with his son. His brother was always action first. ‘Robert, we are in your debt again. Maybe one day, we can return and repay you.’

Robert waved his hand in dismissal as he opened the door and roared for his steward to attend.

Chapter 2

Wexford, Ireland

March 1170

Huw waited patiently and

listened as Maurice Regan spoke about supplies and the weather and the latest political intrigues. He knew that Regan would eventually arrive at what he really wanted to discuss.

‘On another matter, Huw, my master’s son-in-law, Donal O’Brien, King of Thomond, wishes to break from under the thumb of the High King. It is likely that O’Connor will attack O’Brien and force him into submission. He has asked King Diarmaid for help.’ Regan paused to take a draft of wine. ‘My Lord wishes to request our Norman allies to go to O’Brien’s assistance to defend Limerick against the High King.’

‘You have mentioned Limerick before, sir; where is this place?’

‘My Lord calls it the arse-hole of Ireland,’ Regan laughed. ‘It is way west of here, at the mouth of a large river. Getting there requires a long trek across some wild Irish land, but a strengthened alliance with O’Brien could prove valuable to us all,’ Regan hinted that rewards would be forthcoming for the Normans’ assistance.

‘I will inform my lords of your request. I’m sure they will want to help Lord MacMurrough’s son-in-law,’ Huw replied.

‘Thank you, Huw. My King and his nobles have great respect for you.’ Regan paused and looked at Huw. ‘Your language skills and diplomacy have helped our alliance greatly.’

‘Your teaching has helped, sir. This is a complex country with many Kings, though I only know of some.’

‘Indeed,’ Regan laughed. ‘There are some I chose not to mention, but you should get on well with O’Brien and the Munster men.’

‘Munster?’

‘A warlike province to the south west. Two kingdoms now, with O’Brien in the north and the MacCarthy to the south. Often at war with each other.’

‘A bit like Leinster then?’

‘Some would say more savage and clever,’ Regan laughed again. ‘We try to leave them to themselves, except when the High King takes an interest.’

‘As now?’

‘Yes, as now. Lord MacMurrough does not wish O’Connor’s influence to grow.’

‘Will O’Connor start a war in Munster?’ Huw was keen to know what might face his comrades in Limerick.

‘He will threaten and rattle his spears but a show of power will send him home. More so if our Norman allies display their strength.’

‘I will explain this to Sir Robert. When would you wish us to travel to Limerick?’

‘The minute you are ready. Our spies in Connacht tell us that O’Connor is gathering an army to march south.’

‘Connacht?’

‘O’Connor’s kingdom to the west.’ Regan was enjoying Huw’s confusion.

‘So many kingdoms for a small country.’

‘We would rid ourselves of a few with your help.’

‘I’m sure we will agree to assist Lord MacMurrough’s son-in-law in Limerick.’

†

The expedition to Limerick was the first time since coming to Ireland that Huw and his father had been separated. They had fought together on many of MacMurrough’s raids, as the dispossessed King re-asserted control in Leinster. Now, Robert fitz Stephen had required Sir Giles to stay in Wexford as the main Norman forces departed under Sir Robert’s command. Huw was concerned they would be away for months, and he would not be there to protect his father. He smiled as he considered the irony of this role reversal: the child worrying about the wellbeing of the father.

‘Huw, is there no end to these bloody boggy pathways?’ John Daws lilted in his Welsh accent. ‘My boots and clothes are all sodden wet. I think this whole country will drown someday.’

‘What makes it so different to south Wales, John Daws?’ Huw spoke what most within earshot had been thinking. ‘It never rained over your village, I suppose.’

They had been on the march for four days. The Irish scouts had said it would take four or five days to reach Limerick, but progress had been slow. The 300-strong Welsh archers were lightly clad and could move quickly even on the myriad of pathways that meandered through the heavily-forested and boggy terrain of central Ireland. The hundred or so men-at-arms and the fifty heavily-armoured mounted knights moved at a much slower pace, and so the archer band constantly had to wait for their Norman comrades. Their food supplies were running low, and they would have to forage if they did not reach Limerick soon. No shortage of water at least, Huw thought, and smiled to himself.

‘I don’t think there’s much to smile about, Huw boy,’ John Daws drawled on. ‘What if we run out of food, then? We’ll have to go looking in some of them villages we saw.’

‘No one will let you go near any villages, John Daws. Not with those Irish women around, anyway.’ Huw poked Daws in the back with his bow stave and made him jump.

‘Right you are, Huw boy, he can’t be trusted with sheep, never mind women,’ Will Hen squeaked with laughter.

Huw laughed as they marched on. Daws and Hen. The big and the small. Huw was tall but Daws towered over him. Broad-shouldered, he could shoot an arrow farther than anyone in the troop. Will Hen was small and slight and spoke with a strange, squeaky, north Wales accent. He was deadly with a knife at close quarters. They had arrived in Wexford with Sir Robert fitz Stephen’s Norman army nearly a year ago. Daws and Hen were part of the archer twenty-five under Huw’s command.

‘You there, hold up!’ a knight called, as he approached from the rear on horseback. ‘Where is Huw Ashe?’

Huw stepped out from his comrades in front of the Norman knight’s horse. The animal reared up and nearly unshipped his rider.

‘I am Huw Ashe,’ Huw spoke calmly, as he reached out and held the horse’s rein.

‘Sir Robert fitz Stephen wants to talk to you at the rear of the column,’ the rider eyed Huw.

‘Tell Sir Robert I will be there shortly.’ Huw let go of the horse’s rein.

‘See that you do, archer,’ the knight replied, as he turned his horse away.

‘You’re in trouble now Huw, boy,’ John Daws guffawed, punching Huw in the arm.

‘Keep following the scouts, and don’t let Daws be prattling on about food all the time.’ Huw turned and followed the knight back along the sodden pathway.

‘Huw Ashe, how are you enjoying your trip across this fine land?’ Fitz Stephen welcomed Huw warmly. Meiler fitz Henry slapped Huw on the back in greeting as the group of knights dismounted.

‘Let us talk as we walk,’ Fitz Stephen smiled as the party trudged along the soggy ground. ‘Huw, you are to interpret when we meet with the Munster King. MacMurrough tells me that O’Brien only speaks a rough form of Gaelic. He has a close counsellor called Munchin or Munichain.’ Fitz Stephen had difficulty with the Irish names. ‘I want you to talk to this counsellor and find out as much as you can about the situation and what we might be facing.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Huw responded. ‘Do we know anything about this Limerick town?’

‘A bog hole, was it, that MacMurrough called it?’ Meiler fitz Henry’s voice carried loud through the morning air.

‘Worse than that!’ one of the other knights answered.

†

Two days later, the mist gave way to driving rain as they continued to trudge through heavy bog land. At least Limerick was visible up ahead, or so the scouts told Huw, as they trotted back along the column to inform the commanders.

‘Can’t see a thing in this rain,’ John Daws continued in his complaining tone to no one in particular. ‘Do you think they cook their food in Limerick?’

‘We’ll soon find out. There’s a welcoming party up ahead on that ridge.’ Huw could make out about a dozen horsemen on a raised piece of ground in the middle of what was mainly flat terrain.

‘I hope we don’t have to fight them, Huw, before we get our dinner,’ John Daws’s voice was a bit edgier than it had been while giving a running commentary on their surroundings as they marched across Ireland.

The archer troop slowed to standstill as they saw the mounted warriors ahead. Shortly, fitz Stephen and two mounted knights rode up from the back. One of them towed an un-mounted horse.

‘Mount up, Huw Ashe, and come with us,’ fitz Stephen called to Huw as his horse walked by. Fitz Stephen, Huw and the two knights trotted forward towards the men on the ridge. Four riders left the group and advanced slowly to meet them.

When the two groups met, a small, flabby man in an ornate purple cloak addressed the Norman group in Latin.

‘I am O’Muinacháin, counsellor to Donal O’Brien, King of Munster. My master, the King, requests that you accompany us to his camp, where food will be provided before he holds council,’ O’Muinacháin spoke formally and slowly in a high-pitched nasal voice.

Huw translated into Norman French, even though fitz Stephen and the others probably understood the Latin. Fitz Stephen gave his assent, sending the knights back to inform fitz Henry to organise the men to follow.

O’Brien’s camp looked like a small wooden town, surrounded by a large number of rough fabric tents. The camp was close to a wide fast-flowing river, with a walled town and a busy port on the opposite bank. As Huw rode towards the camp he could see in the distance that the river broadened into what looked like an estuary. They must have travelled across Ireland and reached the western coast. He gazed at the walled town of Limerick with some wonderment. Protected by the waters of the large river, it was far from the ‘bog-hole’ that MacMurrough had described. Conversation on the journey to the camp had been muted, with O’Muinacháin reluctant to engage in discussion. Huw listened as O’Muinacháin and the other Irish officers spoke to each other in Gaelic. He understood enough to know that they were scathing of Huw and his rank. O’Muinacháin resented having to ride in Huw’s company. He also seemed suspicious and apprehensive about the presence of the Normans. On the only occasion that O’Muinacháin addressed him directly, it was to try to find out the overall strength of the Normans in Ireland, and if additional forces would follow from England. Huw was polite but evasive with his answers.

When the soldiers and archers had pitched their tents, and hot pottage with bread and ale had been distributed, the Norman leaders were summoned to the great hall. King Donal O’Brien was seated on a raised chair with O’Muinacháin and his nobles standing around. All were well dressed in ornate robes and seemed prepared for a formal occasion. Huw was immediately aware of the rough state of his own clothes and those of the Normans, after their long march across the country. O’Brien rose and spoke in Gaelic. Huw understood much of what he said and recognised that he was issuing a formal welcome to the Norman lords and army. O’Muinacháin immediately translated O’Brien’s words into Latin. Huw did not translate into Norman French and did not reveal he had understood O’Brien’s Gaelic. Fitz Stephen made a formal response, and O’Brien began to introduce his nobles, who stepped forward and nodded as their names were called.

O’Brien called forward his wife Orla and introduced her two lady-attendants as his cousins. Huw heard only one name, Bridín O’Brien, as the ladies bowed to their King and his guests. He stared at Bridín as she bowed. Her long dark red hair was plaited and, as she rose, his eyes met hers for a moment. He thought he saw a brief flicker of a smile on her face before she and her companion melted back into the group standing around the King. Was that a smile of greeting, he wondered, or was she just smirking at the state of his clothes and the dirt in his hair?

The guests were invited to sit at the banquet tables and the smell of roast meat made Huw realise how hungry he was. He hoped John Daws, Will Hen and the boys were well fed. Throughout the meal, Huw felt that Bridín O’Brien’s eyes occasionally glanced in his direction, but anytime he looked she was busily eating or talking with the Irish nobles. O’Muinacháin sat close to Bridín. The King’s small fat counsel attacked his food gluttonously, but also kept a wary eye on Bridín. As the drink flowed and the talk became louder, Huw was able to cast longer glances at Bridín and O’Muinacháin, without being observed. O’Muinacháin slobbered over the table as he stuffed enormous quantities of meat into his mouth. Huw saw that he passed some of the choicest meat on to Bridín’s plate. She smiled at O’Muinacháin but at the same time paid him little attention. O’Muinacháin’s eyes had become glazed and his face redder as he downed more and more of the strong drink being served from earthen jugs. His eyes darted fleetingly from his food to Bridín and then to whatever man she was talking to. Huw noticed that Bridín stopped short of flirting with O’Muinacháin and the other men around her, and yet seemed to be attentive to all.

His thoughts of Bridín were interrupted as someone at the King’s table began to sing. The conversation and laughter died down as the man’s strong voice carried across the room. The King and his nobles seemed transfixed by the song. Huw understood enough of the Gaelic to know that the song was about the O’Brien kingdom in Munster and the losing of a fateful battle. As the song went on, tears welled in the eyes of the King and some of his nobles. The Normans at Huw’s table were silent, knowing that what was happening was important to their Irish hosts, even if they didn’t understand the words. Huw observed a quizzical look on fitz Stephen’s face and nodded to him. He would explain the words later. Meiler fitz Henry drank deep from his cup, trying to drown a stifled laugh.

When the man finally finished singing, the room erupted with loud cheers and applause. Swords appeared and were banged loudly on the