Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [232]
He blinked and looked up. In the darkness, she supposed he could not clearly see her face. His eyes were blank.
“It is Una. From the hospital. Do you not remember me?”
“Agh.” Was it the beginning of a smile? “Una.”
Then he keeled over sideways and lay entirely motionless.
She stood there several minutes to see if he came round. He didn’t. Then a man came along the lane, pulling a handcart from the Fish Shambles. It was time to take action. “I am from the hospital,” she told him. “This is one of our inmates. Could you help me get him home?”
“We’ll have him home in no time at all. Open your eyes, me darlin’,” he shouted into Ruairi’s ear. But when this had no effect he bundled him, not without a few jarring bumps, into the cart and started off behind Una, who led the way.
Father Gilpatrick was rather surprised, late in November, to find Brendan O’Byrne at his door. He wondered for a moment whether, for some reason, Brendan wanted to discuss his sister with him and tried to think what he could say in her favour that would not be at variance with the truth.
But it seemed that Brendan had more important business to discuss. Explaining that he had felt in need of advice, Brendan let him know further that he had come to him in particular because of his discretion and his knowledge of England after his residence there.
“You will know,” he continued, “that the O’Byrnes, like the O’Tooles, with their territories to the south and west of Dublin, have always had to take careful note of events both in Dublin and in Leinster. Now it seems we are to have English kings in both. The O’Byrnes are wondering what to do.”
Gilpatrick liked Brendan O’Byrne. With his quiet precision, he had the brain of a scholar. As far as Gilpatrick knew, the chief of the O’Byrnes had not yet come down to King Henry in his wicker palace. He told Brendan, therefore, exactly the game he thought Henry was playing in tempting the Irish kings into giving him homage by threatening them with Strongbow. “And note the man’s cleverness,” he added, “for as well as de Lacy in Dublin as a counterweight, Henry has Strongbow’s other lands in England and Normandy which he can threaten any time Strongbow gives him any trouble.”
O’Byrne listened carefully. Gilpatrick could see that he had immediately appreciated all the finer points of the assessment. But his next question was even more impressive.
“I am wondering, Father Gilpatrick, to what it is exactly that our Irish chiefs are swearing. When an Irish king comes into the house of a greater king, it means protection and tribute. But across the sea in England, it may mean something different. Can you tell me what that is?”
“Ah. That is a good question that you have asked.” Gilpatrick looked at him with admiration. Here was a man who looked for deeper causes. Wasn’t this exactly the conversation he had started with the O’Connor High King and with the archbishop, neither of whom, he realised, had really understood what he was trying to tell them. Carefully he outlined to Brendan how the feudal system operated in England and in France.
“A vassal of King Henry swears loyalty to him and promises to provide military service each year. If a knight cannot appear fully equipped and armed himself, he pays for a mercenary instead. So you might think that this is similar to the cattle tribute an Irish king would receive. A vassal also goes to his lord for justice, just as we do. But there the similarity ends. Ireland since time out of mind has been divided into tribal territories.