This is the story of how Richard de Clare, Count of Striguil, aided by the Warlord took three hundred knights and carved out a kingdom for himself in Ireland. The Kingdom of Leinster would be grown, by King Henry into the whole Kingdom of Ireland. A fast-moving story which takes the reader from the reclamation of Scotland to the Welsh Marches following the fortunes of the Warlord, his son and the men who march behind their banners.
This is the story of how Richard de Clare, Count of Striguil, aided by the Warlord took three hundred knights and carved out a kingdom for himself in Ireland. The Kingdom of Leinster would be grown, by King Henry into the whole Kingdom of Ireland. A fast-moving story which takes the reader from the reclamation of Scotland to the Welsh Marches following the fortunes of the Warlord, his son and the men who march behind their banners.
The story was fascinating to write as I could not have made up a more fantastic story. From the 200 hundred knights to the routing of a 1,000 strong Irish army by ten knights and ninety archers and men at arms led by Raymond le Gros and a herd of cattle!
Excerpt
We were passing Penrith when the scouts rode back. “Lord, there are Scots waiting close by Brougham Castle. They are hiding in the walls and on the other side of the river too.”
“Did they see you?”
Alan of Bowes looked offended but he just shook his head, “No, lord. We did not use the road.”
“How many men are there?”
“Their numbers were hard to estimate, lord, but I would say there were sixty of more in the castle and another fifty in the woods. The ones in the woods were mounted.”
I tried to picture the place we had camped. There was a bridge over the Eamont which led to the castle. The road then continued east to our home. They would attack us once we were on the bridge. It was a clever move. I turned to speak to Dick. “They mean to attack us on the bridge.” He nodded his agreement. “I would have you and all of our archers ride ahead and secure the bridge. I will lead the knights and men at arms to the woods where the horsemen wait. Can you hold those who will come from the castle?”
“We can and if they get too close we can mount and ride as though heading east.”
“Good. Brother Peter, you and your bodyguards will go with the archers. Dick will keep you safe.” I turned to Alf, “Go and tell Harold One Eye to take charge of the baggage train and keep on the road. They are to follow the archers.” As he rode off I shouted, “The rest of you prepare for war! We are going to upset some Scots!”
My men cheered. I wondered if the Scots would hear us. The woods in which they hid was just a mile and a half away. I decided that I didn’t care. If they heard and were prepared it would not save them. Dick and the archers galloped towards the bridge with Brother Peter and my two men with them. Harold One Eye and the other servants, with swords drawn led the baggage after the archers. I raised my spear and spurred Alciades up the slope across the open ground towards the woods in the distance. I knew we would be seen but that did not matter. The leader of the horse would have a dilemma; which of our two bodies would they attack or would they realise that their trap had failed and withdraw? Indecision is the worst of faults in a leader. They delayed and in that time, we approached to within four hundred paces of the woods above the small farm.
They decided to charge us. We were not, as we normally were, boot to boot. The ground did not suit that. We were one loose line. The Scots were on smaller horses than ours. Some were armed with spears and others javelins, Only the four knights who led them had mail. I recognised the banner as that of Fitzalan but I could not see him. He was a large and distinctive warrior who wore a full helm. This knight had an open helmet. That meant it was one of his knights. I rested my spear on my cantle and I pulled my shield a little higher. Most of the Scots had the round shield their forebears had borne. They were easy to carry and very useful when on foot. On a horse they offered little protection.
I chose the man I would hit. Their mailed men were to my right and I could not reach them. It seemed to me that they were trying to get at my archers. Sir Hugh and his men at arms held the right. He and Sir Harold would deal with them. I spied a Sergeant at Arms. He had a mail vest and open helmet. He was leading some men who had no mail. He had a spear. The Scots were always brave, not say reckless warriors. This one was no exception. He came at me eagerly. Perhaps he saw my mail and horse as prizes worth the risk. He had momentum for he was coming down the slope. I lifted and couched my spear. He held his overhand. We were approaching spear to spear. I pulled back my right arm as I spurred on Alciades. I began to move my long shield across my middle. My full-face helmet restricted my view but it also meant that I would only be hurt with a very lucky blow through the eye piece. A long spear, wavering up and down is hard to control. I was aiming for his middle. Timing was everything and I pulled back and punched it at him when he was five paces from me. As I had expected his spear came for my head and clanked off the side of my helmet. It shook my head. I felt my spear strike metal and then tear through into his middle. He screamed in pain. As my spear was torn from my hand I drew my sword.
I ignored the Sergeant at Arms. He was dead, badly wounded or unhorsed. I was just in time to bring up my shield and block the blow from my left. A Scot had seen my victory and tried to strike me unawares. Helped by the slope I wheeled Alciades around and swung my sword across the Scot’s back. My blade bit through to the bone. He threw his arms up as his spine was severed and his lifeless body tumbled to the ground. I used the slope to continue down towards the mailed men who had been fighting Sir Hugh and Sir Harold. I saw that two of them, with the banner of Fitzalan, were heading west to Carlisle. Their followers galloped after them.
Ahead I saw that the men in Brougham Castle had sallied forth and were charging towards Dick and his archers. They had dismounted. I saw Brother Peter, my men and the servants with the baggage heading west. Dick and his archers lay between them. I turned to Alf, “Signal reform!”
He took the horn and sounded it twice. I spurred my horse down the slope. Sir Gilles and Wulfric flanked me. I saw that Wulfric’s war axe was bloody. “These Scots are brave but they are no opposition.”
I said nothing. I was watching Dick and his archers as they calmly mounted and headed west. The Scots were so intent on pursuing them that they had not seen us. Dick was riding slowly to encourage them. He would be able to stop any time he chose and send arrows at them. We crossed the bridge three abreast and then, on the other side, I slowed to allow the rest of my men to form a line.
There was a wail as the Scots realised their fellows had not managed to stop us. This time I recognised the banner of Galloway. A cow’s horn sounded and most of the Scots stopped and then began to head back across the Eamont. I wheeled my horse and the line of mailed and mounted men I led hurtled down towards the river. My sword was the best weapon to use. I leaned from my saddle to sweep it across unprotected backs. It bit into flesh and hacked into skulls. Even helmets could not stop my sword from killing. Even when a helmet did not break the iron bar that was my sword fractured their skulls. The river took many of the survivors. I saw Fergus and his son, along with their mounted men, swim the river and clamber up towards Brougham Castle. They had survived but thirty of their men lay dead.
I reined in, “Alf, sound halt.”
