Lord of the Sea Castle Read online

  PRAISE FOR LORD OF THE SEA CASTLE

  ‘This lyrical novel is rich in history and evokes a wonderful sense of time and place. Great characters, strident battles and a story to be savoured.’

  David Gilman, author of Master of War

  ‘It’s not just the grim gore of the Anglo-Norman battlefield that springs to life in Butler’s skilful telling. Even better, he finds his way into the minds and spirits of those men for whom the ultimate prize was a nation.’

  E.M. Powell, author of The Lord of Ireland

  ‘From tourneys to treachery; from Welsh Marches to Irish marauders, Ruadh Butler propels us into the tumultuous times of the twelfth century. The clangour of swords and battle cries of knights echo from the pages of ‘Lord of the Sea Castle’, as Butler tells a gripping tale with skill, verve and gusto.’

  Matthew Harffy, author of The Serpent Sword

  ‘A bracing tale of lords and knights slugging it out for power and the chance to shape Ireland, Butler’s vivid account of how the Norman’s forged their kingdoms on these islands and their astute cultural amalgamation has a powerful resonance for modern readers post-Brexit.’

  Anthony J. Quinn, author of Disappeared

  PRAISE FOR THE INVADER SERIES

  ‘Swordland begins with a vibrant and bloody set piece … the beautiful but dangerous landscape of medieval Ireland is well described, and the action scenes there are perfectly pitched and handled with real expertise.’

  Historical Novel Review

  By the creek of Baginbun, will Ireland be lost or won?

  Glossary

  WALES

  Abergavenny – castle controlled by the Braose family

  Aberteifi – castle in modern Cardigan

  Afon Wysg – River Usk

  Brecon – castle in Powys

  Castle Arnallt – Welsh castle in Upper Gwent

  Ceredigion – Welsh kingdom on the west coast

  Deheubarth – Welsh kingdom of South Wales

  Gwent Uwchcoed – Upper Gwent

  Afon Gwy – River Wye

  Gwynedd – northern Welsh kingdom

  Haverford – Haverfordwest

  Melrfjord – Milford Haven

  Nedd – modern Neath

  Oystermouth – castle in southern Wales

  Striguil – castle in modern Chepstow

  Suðbury –Sedbury in Gloucestershire

  Sweynsey – modern Swansea

  Tyndyrn – Tintern Abbey

  Usk – castle in modern Monmouthshire

  Wentwood – forested hills in Monmouthshire

  IRELAND

  Banabh – Bannow Bay

  Bearú – River Barrow

  Uí Ceinnselaig – a tribal kingdom in modern County Wexford ruled by the Meic Murchada family

  Cluainmín – Clonmines

  Fearna – the modern town of Ferns

  Dubhlinn – modern Dublin

  Dun Conán – Duncannon

  Dun Domhnall – Dun Donnell, modern Baginbun Point in County Wexford

  Kerlingfjorðr – Carlingford

  Laighin – the modern province of Leinster excepting Counties Meath, Westmeath, Longford, and Louth

  Mhumhain – Kingdom of Munster

  Osraighe – a tribal kingdom ruled by the Meic Giolla Phadraig family in modern Kilkenny and the southern part of Laois

  Sláine – River Slaney

  Siol Bhroin – Shelburne, a land including the Hook Peninsula in modern County Wexford

  Siúire – River Suir

  Strangrfjorðr – Strangford

  Tuadhmumhain – petty-kingdom roughly equating to modern County Clare, ruled by the Uí Briain family

  Uí Ceinnselaig – an Irish tribe led by Diarmait Mac Murchada

  Veðrarfjord – Waterford; an Ostman city built on a “Windy Inlet” on the River Suir

  Waesfjord – Wexford; an Ostman city built on mud flats with a name which means “Wide Inlet”

  CHARACTERS

  Alice of Abergavenny – a runaway

  Basilia de Quincy – illegitimate daughter of Richard de Clare

  Déisi – a tribe from modern County Waterford

  Diarmait Mac Murchada – Dermot MacMurrough, King of Laighin

  Donnchadh Ua Riagháin – Donnacha O’Ryan, King of the Uí Drona

  Fionntán Ua Donnchaidh – Fintan O’Dunphy, an Irish warrior

  Henry FitzEmpress – King of England

  Harry the Young King – the heir to England

  Hervey de Montmorency – uncle to Richard de Clare

  Hubert Walter – a priest and court official

  Máel Sechlainn Ua Fhaolain – Melaughlin O’Phelan, King of the Déisi

  Máelmáedoc Ua Riagain – Malachy O’Regan, an adviser to Diarmait Mac Murchada of Laighin

  Ragnall Mac Giolla Mhuire – Reginald MacGillamurray, King of Veðrarfjord

  Raymond de Carew – a warrior in the retinue of Striguil

  Richard de Clare – Lord of Striguil

  Roger de Quincy – son-in-law to Richard de Clare, married to Basilia

  Seisyll ap Dyfnwal – a Welsh chieftain

  Sigtrygg Mac Giolla Mhuire – Sihtric MacGillamurray, a warrior from Veðrarfjord

  Uí Drona – a tribe from the barony of Idrone in modern County Carlow

  William de Braose– Lord of Abergavenny and son of Lord Bramber

  William Marshal – a knight

  Raymond’s conrois

  Gilbert Borard, Walter de Bloet, Asclettin FitzEustace, Amaury de Lyvet, Thurstin Hore, Denis d’Auton, Christian de Moleyns, Bertram d’Alton, Dafydd FitzHywel and William de Vale.

  NOTES

  The ‘Fitz’ prefix is the Norman derivation of the Latin ‘Filius’ meaning ‘son of’.

  A miles (one of a number of milites) is a Norman horseman armoured similarly to a knight but not considered of the same noble rank.

  The Ostmen (East Men) were made up of Fionngall (Fair Foreigners), presumed to be the descendants of the original Norse invaders who populated the cities of Dublin, Waterford, and Wexford (amongst others), and the Dubhgall (Dark Foreigners), who were Danes and arrived a century later following their conquests in northern England. The Danish Uí Ímair (the descendants of Ivarr) quickly became the ruling class in most of these settlements and founded the cities of Limerick and Cork.

  Irish families were divided into clans (tuath) and septs (finte) thus Diarmait Mac Murchada was the King of the Uí Chennselaig (tuath – the descendants of Cennsalach) as well as the Meic Murchada (finte – the sons of Murchad)

  Part One

  The Warlord of Wales

  Prologue

  Gwent, Wales - 1170

  ‘Diarmait Mac Donnchadh Mac Murchada, King of Laighin, to Sir Richard de Clare, Lord of Striguil, greetings,’ the letter began.

  He blinked many times as he re-read the opening line of flowing script. ‘Lord of Striguil?’ he hissed through clenched teeth as he turned his eyes on the foreigner in outlandish garb who lounged by the hearth in the middle of the great hall. ‘I am Earl of Pembroke and he would do well to remember that.’

  The stranger did not blink as the lord of the castle admonished his king. ‘I apologise on Diarmait’s behalf, Earl Richard.’ He bowed his head in equal reverence and contrition.

  Over by the door an old bloodhound stretched his muscular legs, rustling week-old rushes on the floor, before clambering to his feet and plodding towards his master, where he bumped his nose on Richard de Clare’s leg. The earl leant down and rubbed the dog’s ear, and smiled as the animal stared up into his weary face. ‘It is but a small affront, I suppose,’ he told the stranger.

  It had been a cold winter in southern Wales and there seemed to be n
o escape from the frosty weather, even in the great hall of Striguil Castle. The tired tapestries on the walls sagged and sank as a gusting breeze tumbled up the Gwy Valley to find holes in the aged plasterwork and mortar, scattering the cloying smell of damp around the room. Candles flickered and swayed, as did the glowing fires in the brazier which warmed the shadowed face of the foreigner. Two of the earl’s liege men huddled at his side before the flames.

  ‘My friend,’ Richard’s study of the letter continued, ‘the swallows have come and gone, yet you are tarrying still. Neither winds from the east nor the west have brought us your much-desired and long-expected presence. Let your present activity make up for this delay and prove by your deeds that you have not forgotten your engagements, but only deferred their performance.’

  The earl grimaced. He had not forgotten his promise to Diarmait Mac Murchada, but he had his reasons for delaying. Henry FitzEmpress, the King of England, was not a man to second-guess and Richard knew that if he made even the slightest move that earned Henry’s displeasure, it could cost him his few remaining estates or even, depending on the King’s famously unpredictable mood, his liberty. Henry had already taken Richard’s holdings in Normandy and Buckinghamshire, but worse to Richard was the withholding of his father’s title of Earl of Pembroke – all because he had backed the wrong horse during Henry’s war for the throne against Stephen de Blois.

  Richard looked down at the letter again, allowing his finger to trace the intricately winding and strange Irish lettering scratched on the thick vellum: ‘The whole of Laighin has been recovered,’ he read aloud, ‘and if you come in time with a strong force the other four parts of the kingdom will be easily united to this, the fifth. You will add to the flavour of your coming if it be speedy; it will turn out famous if it is not delayed, the sooner the better and all the more welcome. The wound in our regards which has been partly caused by neglect will be healed by your presence; firm friendship is secured by good offices and grows by benefits to greater strength.’

  Richard read the paragraph again and felt his heart leap. It seemed that Diarmait had now set his sights higher than simply recapturing the provincial throne from which he had been exiled four years before. He now wished to be High King of all Ireland and that meant that he would still require Richard’s help. The earl turned his eyes heavenwards and thanked the Saviour for finally answering his prayers. There had been many occasions since Henry FitzEmpress’ ascension that he had appealed to God for help. Denied royal patronage as well as the income from his forfeited estates for sixteen long years, Richard had quickly found himself deeply in debt. His remaining lands could not provide enough to pay both warriors and the king’s taxes, and so, under pressure of his obligations to the distant monarch, he had limited his expenditure on his army. Many milites had left his service. It had not been long before Welsh raiders had sensed the weakness and targeted his borders, rustling sheep, cattle and goods whenever they could. Churches and monasteries which looked to him for protection had been attacked; villages and manors had been mercilessly pillaged; whole families had been carried off to be sold in the Danish slave markets in Ireland and beyond. All appealed to their lord for help and protection, but he could give none.

  He wished his mother could be at his side to see him during his moment of triumph. Lady Pembroke had spent every waking moment working towards Richard’s return to favour. She had forced her son to entertain many influential courtiers, those with the ear of King Henry, at great expense at feasts in Striguil where only the best foods were served, and the best garments and entertainment permitted. But nothing not the expensive presents, the grand gestures, offers of friendship, bribery, coercion or extortion had worked to raise Richard de Clare in King Henry’s affections. His mother had died the unhappy parent of a poor and pitiable man.

  Then, one day, Diarmait Mac Murchada had come into his life and suddenly Richard felt he had stumbled upon a path to lead him back from ignominy. Word had arrived that Sir Hervey de Montmorency, his father’s half-brother, was bringing an Irish king to Striguil with plans for a great adventure, one that promised vast wealth to anyone who helped him to regain his lost throne in the land of Laighin. He believed that even his late mother would have been proud of his efforts to organise all pomp and ceremony for the arrival of his royal visitor. No extravagance had been considered too much and he had borrowed a vast sum of silver from a Jew, Aaron of Lincoln, so that Striguil Castle could be adorned in splendour. New crimson and gold banners showing the arms of his noble family flowed from the walls of the great hall and everywhere were reminders of their ancient power and prestige. Two days of feasting had been planned and even the great Bishop of Worcester had promised to cross the Severn and attend the conference. Richard had brought in musicians from London to entertain the numerous influential nobles that he had invited at short notice. He wanted everyone who mattered to see the moment of his glory. He wanted to show them all that even kings attended the court of Richard de Clare. He wanted to see their jealousy with his own eyes. Everything had seemed to be taking a turn for the good.

  Then Diarmait and Sir Hervey had arrived in his hall.

  Both men could have been mistaken for beggars, such was the dreadful condition of their clothes. They had few warriors of note, no servants, and even the bearded harpers in the king’s entourage addressed him as an equal. Richard had baulked in embarrassment and confusion at the sight of the pair, angry that his dream had been destroyed as quickly as it had formed in his imagination. Neither Sir Hervey nor King Diarmait looked like they could afford a sword, never mind help Richard to raise an army. There would be no glory or riches or so he had thought.

  As he sat reading Diarmait’s letter, the earl recalled the mocking laughter of the gathered nobles echoing around the heavy stone walls of Striguil. He tried in vain to stop his ears and cheeks turning red. It was said that the whole March of Wales derided him and repeated stories that Richard de Clare entertained vagrants at his castle. Nobles scoffed and even mere villeins on the streets ridiculed him as he passed by.

  Richard dragged a clammy hand through his thinning, dusty hair as he remembered his most recent humiliations.

  While his servants had pulled the gaudy banners from the walls of the great hall and hounded the hired minstrels from the castle bounds without payment, Diarmait and Sir Hervey had cornered Richard and described their ambitious plans and his part in them. By then Richard had become angry and, despite his desire for the wealth and land which Diarmait offered, he had driven a hard bargain for even considering giving his help to their scheme. His disappointment had shaken free an obsession in Richard’s soul – one that he would accomplish even if it claimed his life. He would recover his reputation.

  Every proposal suggested by Diarmait and Sir Hervey had been met with hard bargaining until, in the end, the foreigner had offered something which Richard had not believed possible: a crown.

  He had almost choked on his mug of wine when the exiled king had made the offer. Diarmait would marry his daughter to Richard and through her he would have claim to the throne of his reclaimed kingdom of Laighin after her father’s death. That very night he had made solemn promises in the presence of sacred relics and churchmen that he would help Diarmait in his great cause, and since that day he had carefully plotted and contrived to make his dream come about; money had been borrowed, ships built, weapons forged and warriors engaged with the promise of knights’ fees across the sea.

  While he had organised his forces to invade, Diarmait Mac Murchada had lost patience with his slow progress and had journeyed further into Wales where he had found himself a small band of disreputable Normans to act as his bodyguard while he went ahead to Ireland. Those who he had employed were considered thugs and troublemakers by most civilised men, and Richard was no different. He had doubted that Robert FitzStephen and his mercenaries would be any benefit to Diarmait, unless the Irishman’s aim was to raid, rape, pillage and steal from his enemies and allies alike. However, F
itzStephen had led the small warband to re-conquer Diarmait’s kingdom of Laighin, defeating the vast army of the High King of Ireland in the process. He had been rewarded with rule over the merchant town of Waesfjord and over two hundred thousand acres of land. FitzStephen, an illegitimate half-breed, now had a greater estate than Richard, a male-line descendant of the Dukes of Normandy and an earl of the realm! Distraught when he had heard of FitzStephen’s success, Richard had convinced himself that he had let the best chance to rescue his reputation pass him by. But then Diarmait’s letter had arrived in Striguil. The King of Laighin still desired his help and offered an even greater prize than before.

  Diarmait had referred to FitzStephen’s success in his letter and Richard carefully recited those lines: ‘Our friend Sir Robert, son of Stephen, has led our forces t oa great victory over our enemies at the forest of Dubh-Tir.’ Richard frowned heavily, causing more worry lines to appear upon an already worried brow as he re-read the words. Hervey de Montmorency had been right, he decided. FitzStephen was trying to subvert him in Diarmait’s regard. Could he also be aiming to assume his throne, he wondered?

  ‘We are now the master of our homeland, the lands of the Uí Ceinnselaig tribe,’ Richard stumbled over the peculiar words, ‘and by our force of arms, we have been made king. But with your power beside ours we will conquer a greater kingdom still. I await your reply and your long awaited presence.’

  Richard carefully allowed the piece of parchment to fold. The heavy blood-red wax seal and white linen ribbon clattered on the wooden table top as the letter folded back into shape with a sharp hiss. For many minutes he said nothing. Instead he considered carefully the contents of the correspondence.

  ‘Tell me, Master Ua Riagain, what do you make of this Robert FitzStephen character?’ Richard de Clare finally asked the newcomer.

  Máelmáedoc Ua Riagain gazed into the fire. It had been he who had borne the letter across the Irish Sea from his master’s fortress at Fearna. He had been accompanied on his journey by Richard’s uncle, Sir Hervey de Montmorency, and, from Máelmáedoc’s side, the old Frenchman sneered at the mention of FitzStephen.