Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [183]
It was later that evening, when he had retired to his chamber, that he heard their voices out in the courtyard. At least, it was certainly Doyle’s voice, low and menacing, that murmured something he could not catch, and then: “You’re a fool.” It was said in French. “You can never repay.”
“I’m completely in your power.” The voice was that of a young man, urgent and plaintive. It must be the fellow he had seen that evening. This was followed by a harsh murmur from Doyle. The words were indistinct, but the tone was threatening. “No!” the young man cried. “Don’t do that, I beg you. You promised.”
They moved away after that and Peter heard no more. But one thing was very clear to him: Doyle was sinister, and the sooner he left the better.
The following morning, without warning, Doyle told him to saddle his horse, take his weapons, and accompany him to an exercise yard near the eastern gate. There he found several men-at-arms practising swordplay, and after some words from Doyle, he was invited to join them. The dark merchant watched him for some time and then quietly departed, leaving him to make his own way home later on. Peter did not see him again until the evening.
It was that evening, however, that Doyle remarked to him, in his usual saturnine way, “There is talk of an expedition. To Ireland.”
If nobody had succeeded in dominating all Ireland since the days of Brian Boru, it was not for lack of trying. One after another the great regional dynasts had tried to gain supremacy; Leinster and Brian’s grandson from Munster had both had their turn. The ancient O’Neill were always watching for a chance to regain their former glory. At present, the O’Connor dynasty of Connacht claimed the High Kingship. But no one had truly achieved mastery, and the chronicles of the time adopted a telling formula to describe the position of most of these monarchs: “High King, with Opposition.” So while the rulers in the huge patchwork of Europe began to amalgamate territories into ever greater holdings—the Plantagenets now controlled a feudal empire consisting of most of the western side of France, as well as Normandy and England—the island of Ireland continued to be split between ancient tribal lands and rival chiefs.
The latest Irish dispute concerned the kingdom of Leinster.
For some time now, the ancient province of Leinster had been controlled by an ambitious dynasty from Ferns in the southern, Wexford part of the territory. But ambitious King Diarmait of Leinster had made enemies. In particular, he had humiliated a powerful king, O’Rourke, by eloping with his wife. Now this cheated husband, together with others, had turned on Diarmait of Leinster and forced him to flee.
It was a considerable surprise to Plantagenet King Henry, who was down on his domains in France, when they told him: “King Diarmait of Leinster has arrived here to see you.”
And it was with some curiosity that he answered, “An Irish king? Bring him to me.”
The meeting was certainly strange: the Plantagenet monarch, sandy-haired, clean-shaven, quick and impatient in his movements, dressed in tunic and hose, sophisticated, French in language and culture, face-to-face with the provincial Celtic king, with his thick brown beard and heavy woollen cloak. Henry actually spoke some English—an achievement of which he was rather proud—but no Irish. Diarmait spoke Irish, Norse, and some French. But there was no difficulty in communicating. For a start, Diarmait had brought with him his interpreter—Regan by name—and failing