through the gates, I saw the first pile of bodies. They lay everywhere in the laneways of the town. I couldn’t help seeing them.
Until that day Father had tried to keep me safe from the sights and sounds and smells of battle. Now I saw it all. This was not a game and these people would never get up and walk away, laughing.
I shuddered. ‘What have we brought into Ireland?’ I asked Father.But he didn’t answer.
The ways were so clogged with bodies we had to get down off our horses and walk. Soot drifted on the air. My fine clothing was soon black with it, and I could feel the weight of ash on my face.
Ahead of us we could hear men yelling. A woman came stumbling towards us, her clothes torn and her hair wild around her face. ‘They’ve killed our chieftain!’ she moaned. In her grief she didn’t recognise us, but thought we were citizens of Waterford.
My father stopped and put a kindly hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll say a prayer for him,’ he said.
She looked at him with grateful tears in her eyes, then ran on.
Strongbow must be somewhere up ahead, where the yelling was.
Men in foreign armour were running in and out of houses, carrying loot. One of them started to speak to me but Father drew his sword, and gave the man such a black look he backed away.
On we went through the ruined town, picking our way among smouldering timbers and piles of rubble.
Then we saw a crowd gathered in front of the cathedral. A crude platform had been built there. Afterwards I learned it was where the invaders had executed one of the local chieftains. As we approached, several of the men in the crowd turned towards us.
All at once I was frightened. My heart began beating so hard I thought they could see it jumping inside my gown. I wasn’t afraid of the strangers in their armour, or of the dead bodies on every side.
I was afraid of change.
I didn’t want my life to change. Adventures were lovely, but I had always been able to go home at the end of the day to my own family and my own familiar place.
Strongbow would put an end to that. He would change everything.
My feet began to drag through the rubble and ash. Father gave me a sharp glance. ‘Come, Aoife,’ he said. ‘There’s no turning back.’ I heard an echo of sadness in his voice that frightened me still more, buthe caught hold of my arm and pulled me forward.
One of the men waiting for us was Hervey de Montmorency. He was talking to a taller man who had long arms and a short neck, a man wearing badly dented armour. As we drew near, de Montmorency said something to this man, then pointed right at me.
I didn’t need anyone to tell me that the man in the battered armour was –
‘Strongbow!’ cried my father, hurrying forward.
Strongbow was not what I expected. In my mind, a man with that name should have been a splendid giant, more mighty than anyone, with lightning flashing from his eyes. A warrior like Cuchulain, who could freeze his enemies’ blood with a glance.
Richard de Clare wasn’t like that at all. He was just a man, almost as old as my father, a tired-looking man with grime on his face. He had taken off his iron helmet and held it cradled in one arm. His hair was sandy-red, and thinning. When he spoke his voice was almost as high as a woman’s.
‘I see you’ve brought one of my rewards,’ he said to Father. Then he looked into my eyes, and smiled as if pleasantly surprised.
Chapter 18
RICHARD
A Strange Irish Custom
Waterford town had been bravely defended by its people. Fear made them fight even harder. They were afraid of us because of what my uncle had done to their most important men. It had been a brutal act, and when I learned of it I wasn’t pleased. I don’t think it’s wise policy in time of war to make people hate you too much. That can make peace impossible, later.
My uncle and I argued over it, and over the fate of the two chieftains of the town. At last we had come to an agreement. One was executed, to satisfy Hervey
Until that day Father had tried to keep me safe from the sights and sounds and smells of battle. Now I saw it all. This was not a game and these people would never get up and walk away, laughing.
I shuddered. ‘What have we brought into Ireland?’ I asked Father.But he didn’t answer.
The ways were so clogged with bodies we had to get down off our horses and walk. Soot drifted on the air. My fine clothing was soon black with it, and I could feel the weight of ash on my face.
Ahead of us we could hear men yelling. A woman came stumbling towards us, her clothes torn and her hair wild around her face. ‘They’ve killed our chieftain!’ she moaned. In her grief she didn’t recognise us, but thought we were citizens of Waterford.
My father stopped and put a kindly hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll say a prayer for him,’ he said.
She looked at him with grateful tears in her eyes, then ran on.
Strongbow must be somewhere up ahead, where the yelling was.
Men in foreign armour were running in and out of houses, carrying loot. One of them started to speak to me but Father drew his sword, and gave the man such a black look he backed away.
On we went through the ruined town, picking our way among smouldering timbers and piles of rubble.
Then we saw a crowd gathered in front of the cathedral. A crude platform had been built there. Afterwards I learned it was where the invaders had executed one of the local chieftains. As we approached, several of the men in the crowd turned towards us.
All at once I was frightened. My heart began beating so hard I thought they could see it jumping inside my gown. I wasn’t afraid of the strangers in their armour, or of the dead bodies on every side.
I was afraid of change.
I didn’t want my life to change. Adventures were lovely, but I had always been able to go home at the end of the day to my own family and my own familiar place.
Strongbow would put an end to that. He would change everything.
My feet began to drag through the rubble and ash. Father gave me a sharp glance. ‘Come, Aoife,’ he said. ‘There’s no turning back.’ I heard an echo of sadness in his voice that frightened me still more, buthe caught hold of my arm and pulled me forward.
One of the men waiting for us was Hervey de Montmorency. He was talking to a taller man who had long arms and a short neck, a man wearing badly dented armour. As we drew near, de Montmorency said something to this man, then pointed right at me.
I didn’t need anyone to tell me that the man in the battered armour was –
‘Strongbow!’ cried my father, hurrying forward.
Strongbow was not what I expected. In my mind, a man with that name should have been a splendid giant, more mighty than anyone, with lightning flashing from his eyes. A warrior like Cuchulain, who could freeze his enemies’ blood with a glance.
Richard de Clare wasn’t like that at all. He was just a man, almost as old as my father, a tired-looking man with grime on his face. He had taken off his iron helmet and held it cradled in one arm. His hair was sandy-red, and thinning. When he spoke his voice was almost as high as a woman’s.
‘I see you’ve brought one of my rewards,’ he said to Father. Then he looked into my eyes, and smiled as if pleasantly surprised.
Chapter 18
RICHARD
A Strange Irish Custom
Waterford town had been bravely defended by its people. Fear made them fight even harder. They were afraid of us because of what my uncle had done to their most important men. It had been a brutal act, and when I learned of it I wasn’t pleased. I don’t think it’s wise policy in time of war to make people hate you too much. That can make peace impossible, later.
My uncle and I argued over it, and over the fate of the two chieftains of the town. At last we had come to an agreement. One was executed, to satisfy Hervey
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