Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [233]
“Such arrangements are not unknown in Ireland,” Brendan remarked.
“That is true,” Gilpatrick agreed. “At least since the time of Brian Boru, we have seen Irish kings grant estates to their followers on what would formerly have been thought of as tribal lands. But these are exceptions; whereas across the sea, everybody has to hold their land that way. Nor is that all. When a vassal dies, his heir must pay the king a large sum in order to inherit—it’s called the relief fine. There are numerous other obligations as well.
“And in England in particular, an even harsher system operates. For when William the Norman took England from the Saxons, he claimed that all of it belonged to him personally by right of conquest. He had every square yard of England assessed for what it could yield and had it all written down in a great book. His vassals there only occupy their land on sufferance. If anyone gives trouble, he doesn’t just come to punish them and take tribute. He takes the land away and gives it to anyone else he chooses. These are powers far beyond anything any High King in Ireland has ever dreamed of.”
“These English are harsh people.”
“The Normans are, to be precise. For some of them treat the Saxon English like dogs. An Irishman is a free man, within his tribe. The Saxon peasant is not. It has generally seemed to me,” Gilpatrick confessed, “that these Normans care more for property than they do for people. Here in Ireland, we dispute, we fight, we sometimes kill, but unless we are truly angry, there is a human kindness and consideration among us.” He sighed. “Perhaps it is just a question of conquest. After all, we ourselves are content to own English slaves.”
“Do you think any of our Irish princes imagine they could be making these English commitments when they come into Henry’s house?” asked Brendan.
“I don’t suppose so.”
“Has Henry told them?”
“Surely not.”
“Then I think I see,” Brendan said thoughtfully, “how it will go. At a later date, the English—not Henry, who is clearly very devious—but the English lords will genuinely believe the Irish have sworn to one thing, and the Irish will think they have sworn to another, and both sides will mistrust the other.” He sighed. “This Plantagenet king comes from the devil.”
“It has been said of all his family. What will you do?”
“I do not know. But I thank you, Father, for your counsel. By the way,” he said smiling, “I have not had the chance to see your family and your sister. Will you give them my greetings. Fionnuala especially, of course.”
“I will,” Gilpatrick said as Brendan left. And a fine thing for this family it would be, he thought, if you married her. But you’re far too good for her, Brendan O’Byrne. Far too good.
It didn’t take Una long to see the good in young Ruairi O’Byrne. After the first night’s sleep at the hospital he appeared well enough in the morning, and she had supposed he would leave. But by the middle of the day he was still there. Indeed, he was quite content to talk to the inmates, who seemed to like his company. Fionnuala was not there, and seeing Una in need of assistance, he more than once stepped over to help her with her tasks. The Palmer’s wife thought him a very pleasant young man. The Palmer himself, though not unfriendly, muttered that a young man of that age ought to have better things to do, for which his wife rebuked him.
Ruairi showed no desire to move on that day, but said he would be glad to sleep in the men’s dormitory. The next morning he told Una that he must buy a horse in Dublin so that he could return to the O’Byrnes. Fionnuala was due in, but he left early before she arrived