Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [203]
He was just paying the captain of the vessel when a familiar figure came in sight. Ailred the Palmer was striding along the quay in the direction of the hospital. As soon as he saw MacGowan, he came swiftly towards him.
“I’m glad to see you safe, Kevin,” he said. “Where are you going?”
The silversmith quickly explained the situation and his misgivings.
“You may be right to go.” Ailred glanced up the hill. Fires had broken out in one or two buildings. “God knows what kind of people these English are. You’ll surely find work in Rouen to tide you over and I’ll get word to you of what is happening here.” He was looking thoughtfully at Una. “Why not let Una remain here with me and my wife, Kevin? She’ll be safe in the hospital. We’re under the protection of the Church. She can prepare your house for your return.”
Una was horrified. She loved the Palmer, but she didn’t want to be separated from her family. Above all, she was sure her father needed her. But both her parents seemed in favour of the idea.
“Dear God, child, I’d sooner you were safe in the hospital than out on the wild seas with us,” her mother cried, “and no knowing that we mightn’t all be drowned.” And her father put his arm round her and whispered in her ear, “You could rescue the strongbox, if you get the chance.”
“But Father …” she protested. Everything was happening too fast. It was hard to think.
The ship’s master wanted to leave.
“Go with Ailred, Una. It’s for the best.” Her father turned so quickly that she guessed the decision hurt him as much as it did her. But it was his final word, and she knew it.
Moments later, guided by Ailred the Palmer’s firm but kindly hand, she found herself moving swiftly in the direction of the hospital.
As it turned out, King Diarmait and Strongbow had not instigated the sudden attack on Dublin. Indeed, they had been rather embarrassed when, in the middle of the negotiation with the archbishop, some of the more hot-headed knights, impatient with the delay, had made a rush at the gates and burst through before the defenders had time to realise what was going on. Of course, it worked out well for them: neither Diarmait nor Strongbow could deny it. While they and the archbishop watched, the city had fallen with scarcely a blow. After apologising to O’Toole, the Irish king and his new English son-in-law had ridden into the city to find that there was nothing left to do. The place was theirs.
A few buildings were burned and there was some looting going on, but that was to be expected. Soldiers must be allowed the spoils of war. They didn’t let it go too far, though, and they made sure that none of the religious houses were touched.
More significant was the exodus of inhabitants from the town. This had its good side and its bad side. On the good side, there was accommodation to quarter the whole army. On the bad side, half the craftsmen and merchants in the town had fled across the river or over the sea, and they were a big part of the city’s value. It also turned out that the King of Dublin had slipped away. The best information was that he had taken a Norse ship to the northern islands. That was bad news because it seemed likely that he would try to collect forces for an attack. But for the moment, at least, the city was quiet.
It was four days after the occupation when Una MacGowan set out from the Hospital of Saint John to visit her home in the city. The hospital had not been troubled: indeed, two days ago, King Diarmait and Strongbow themselves, accompanied by several knights, had paid a brief visit to inspect the place. Una had been struck by the tall English nobleman. With his finely drawn, oval face and his splendid bearing, he seemed to her quite as impressive as his kingly father-in-law. They had all treated the place with the same respect as if they had been in a church, and Diarmait