The Silver Stag of Bunratty (15 page)

CHAPTER 18

D
YSERT
O'D
EA

he children slept until well after dawn, and it was only when James entered their room with warm water for washing that they woke up. He had found clothing for them all, though all he had managed to find for Cliar and Maude were boy's trousers and jerkins. But they did not care. They were just very glad not to have to wear the ragged and filthy clothes they had been wearing for many days. They ate in the dormitory and then they were brought to the Great Hall, where Prior Roger was engaged in what seemed to be a kind of conference with some of the other brothers. He smiled at them as they entered the room.

‘Well, children, you have done us a great service with your message. I thank you for that. But I must ask what you will do now? I plan to return to Bunratty, to aid the Lady
Johanna if possible, and I will take you all with me, if that is what you wish.'

The children exchanged glances. They had been so intent on carrying out their mission they had not thought beyond it.

Tuan spoke first. ‘Sir, it would be a point of honour for me to return to Bunratty, but I fear the Lady Johanna plans to have me harmed – indeed killed. Maude heard her making plans for my death with Sir Richard. They have broken their promise, so the agreement binds me no more. I am free to go back to my own people. But I don't know if I can reach my home, for I have no boat and my people's lands are very far away from here.'

Outlaw frowned. ‘That was not well done of Sir Richard and the Lady Johanna. But I will stand surety for you now. I will not let any harm come to you,' said Outlaw. ‘And we shall try to get you back to your own people as soon as we can, for the time for hostages is over. Come with me first to Bunratty, and I will make sure that you reach the lands beyond Cratloe safely.' He turned to Cliar. ‘And you, Cliar, what do you wish to do?'

She sighed. ‘I'll go back to Bunratty, I suppose, and continue to work in the kitchen. I have nowhere else to go. And I want to make sure that Dame Anna is safe. She was
sleeping so strangely the last time I saw her.'

‘Do not be concerned for Dame Anna, child. She disappears at times, like the sun or the moon, but she always returns. And, Cliar, it may be that you have more choices than you think you have,' said Outlaw. ‘But it would be as well for you to return to the castle for the present. As it is for you two – no, Maude, do not protest – I promise you that you will not be long in Bunratty. I may have news for you soon, but I will say nothing now for fear of disappointing you. For the present, I want the two of you close by my side. Will you trust me to do what is best for you?'

Could they? thought Maude. Could they trust this man, famous for his cleverness and word-craft? But they really had no choice. And her father had trusted the Hospitallers. That would have to be enough. She nodded.

‘Good, then. We ride out tomorrow. Today you must rest, for it will be a long journey, though this time you will not have to go on foot. Tuan and Maude, perhaps you could go and talk to Brother Arthur, the groom? You can help him choose which horses you will each ride.' A tall brother with a weathered face stepped forward, smiling.

‘And you, Cliar,' he nodded towards a short, fat brother, ‘Brother Brian will take you to the infirmary, where he will
talk to you about the ways of healing we use here. This place is known as Hospital for good reasons. I know that will interest you. Matthieu, you may go to the scriptorium with Brother Hugh; he has many manuscripts to show you, that I think you will like to see.'

Next morning they set out on the way back to Bunratty. It was a very different journey from the one they had made to Knockainy. As Outlaw had said, long days were spent in the saddle, but they felt safe and protected by Outlaw and his soldier monks. And the weather was beautiful. They rode in sunshine through green pastures flecked with cowslips and buttercups, by ditches where young ferns were uncurling into the light. Everywhere they stopped, they were welcomed, for Outlaw was known and respected throughout this part of the world.

While they rode, Outlaw asked them to tell him of their adventures on their way to him. He, in turn, told them tales of his campaigns, of his journeys far into the wild worlds of lake and mountain and forest to the north and west, where one could travel for days and not meet a human soul. He also told them about the city of Dublin, with its castle and great walls, and about the Hospitaller's house in Kilmainham, one of the most important priories in Ireland. The days went quickly, almost too quickly, for none of them quite knew
what to expect when they reached Bunratty.

Tuan was anxious lest he would somehow be prevented from continuing his journey back to his parents. To Maude and Matthieu, Bunratty had become a prison and they were horrified at the thought of a life spent there with Lady Johanna, who would surely give them no freedom at all after their escape. Maude was especially fearful, in case Lady Johanna would go ahead with the plan to marry her off to the young De Burgh. Cliar was also very unhappy at the thought of returning to Bunratty. But she knew she had to go back. She had to be sure that Dame Anna had woken from that strange sleep, and that all was well with her.

Just after sunrise one morning, after a night when the moon gleamed fiercely against a sky awash with bright stars, Tuan woke and went to join the sentry, Brother Arthur, who was guarding the camp.

‘Look there,' Brother Arthur said, ‘can you see something coming over that ridge to the north?'

Tuan looked hard and saw something moving. Within minutes it became the shape of a horseman, racing his horse over the green hill which had sheltered them from the western wind.

‘He's certainly in a hurry,' said Brother Arthur. ‘You run
and get the Prior, lad. I'll keep an eye here to make sure it's a friend.' A few moments later, he squinted. ‘Well, if it isn't one of Sir Richard's troops. I recognise the livery.'

The horseman arrived, breathless and red-faced. He threw himself from his horse to bow to Prior Roger. The children recognised him as Henry, one of the guardsmen of the castle. His eyes were wild and his armour gone, his clothes were tattered and blood-stained.

‘My Lord, I have terrible news for you. Sir Richard has been killed at Dysert O'Dea. His forces are scattered. Many are dead or taken prisoner by the Irish.'

Prior Roger took the man by the arm. ‘Here, friend, seat yourself.' He turned to one of the servants. ‘Bring drink and food quickly, and look to the horse. Now, my brother, tell me what you can.'

The children stood silently while the man told his story. Even though they had known that Sir Richard would be killed in the battle, it was still a shock to hear that it had actually happened. Sir Richard De Clare, the proud Lord of Bunratty, the great warrior, was no more.

‘It was terrible to see. We went bravely to the battle at Dysert; our spirits were high, for our spies had told us that we far outnumbered the Irish.' Henry spat. ‘There was some treachery there. And Fat John was a part of it.'

‘We came across the river,' he continued, ‘and there was an old woman there, washing clothes, and she looked at Sir Richard and said:
“You will not return from this battle. Red will be your fine white flesh and red will be the white towers of your fine castle.”
And then we saw the water was turned red, and the shirt she was washing was covered in blood. And Sir Richard became angry and raised his sword, but when we looked again the dame was gone, and there was nothing but a heron watching us, with a bright, knowing eye. And they say that the banshees to the east set up a terrible wailing that night, for though An Claraghmore was Norman English, he was also a great warrior and lord of his people.'

The man paused and took a deep breath.

‘So we came into the valley. Everything was green but the land was silent, strangely silent, as if the birds of the air had deserted the place. And we thought that the Irish had fled away for fear of us. We pitched camp at the place called Ruan. Its name might well have been Ruin, that place! The next morning Sir Richard divided us into three parts, sending some of us to harry the O'Dea cattle and take on the forces in the woods to the west. Sir Richard himself led the attack on a small force that came to meet us at the ford of the river. We rode towards them so proudly …'

The man paused and swallowed.

‘There were so few of them it seemed as if we should be able to defeat them easily, but it was a trap. They drew us across the ford, and then … then hundreds more rose up, as if from the very earth, and attacked us. There was a great rushing and howling as they sang out their accursed war cries and they came upon us from all sides. We had no hope of defeating them. The blood was everywhere, staining the river red. I saw Sir Richard killed, with a blow from behind from an axe. It split his helmet and his mail and he fell to the ground, one of his feet still caught in his stirrups. His horse panicked, and ran with him, caught like that for some way, until his page came and released his foot. Then his horse fell too, hit by an arrow, shrieking like a man in his agony. And after that there was slaughter and more slaughter. I never wish to see such slaughter again.' The man stopped, exhausted.

‘But how did the Irish know that Sir Richard was going to attack Dysert O'Dea?' asked Prior Roger.

‘There were spies in his own army, sending scouts to the clans. They say Fat John was the main one, and that was why he did not ride with Sir Richard. They say he was paid well, but little good the gold has done him. One of Sir Richard's loyal men – Robert the Marshal – took his
revenge on him, for he lives no more. He was found with his face down in the Shannon, drowned.'

The children exchanged glances. At least there was one less horror in their world.

Tuan did not know what to feel. Should he be glad that the English had been defeated? Of course he was; yet it all seemed so sad and horrible; such a waste of men's lives. He could see it, the battlefield, hear the cries of men and horses, and feel the pain and fear everywhere around him. It was such a terrible story for such a beautiful morning.

‘De Clare then is dead, then, and the castle undefended,' said Prior Roger, his face grim. ‘The word will soon spread that Bunratty is no longer protected. We must go as quickly as we can to Lady Johanna and the child. We'll cross the Shannon at Limerick.'

They rode as fast as they could into the lowlands by the Shannon, and arrived at the gates of Limerick just before they were due to be closed for the night. The sentries recognised Outlaw and asked him if he was going to King John's castle, but he shook his head.

‘We ride as early as we can in the morning; I will stay in the inn that the brothers use here. I am on private business, on my way to Bunratty.'

As they made their way in the twilight through the
narrow streets, noisy and crowded and smelling strongly of horse manure and human sweat, Tuan and Cliar kept close to Prior Outlaw. Neither had been in a town before, and they were slightly awed by the sight of so many people, and so many buildings all cramped in together, but Maude and Matthieu told them that it was a very small town by comparison to the ones they had seen – Rome and Paris and Antwerp.

Outlaw laughed. ‘You must come to Dublin,' he told Tuan and Cliar, ‘for it is bigger and has its castles and towers and cathedrals. And as I have told you, our house at Kilmainham is a goodly one.'

They were soon at the inn, a low, thatched building, its courtyard protected from the street by a grey stone wall. A wooden door was the only entry and it was closed tight. Cliar knew she would like the place as soon as she saw that the sign hanging outside showed a magnificent stag standing proudly against the background of a green forest. Outlaw knocked twice and the innkeeper, a tall, stout man with a merry face, opened up and greeted them. After instructing the grooms to look after the horses, he shook Prior Outlaw's hand and said: ‘Welcome to the Stag's Head. 'Tis a pity I did not know you were coming, for I have already given my best room to a knight that came here
with some of your brothers just yesterday. A fine man he is, and it seems that he's on his way to Bunratty too.'