Free Strongbow by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

poor blinded Enna at the border of our land like a sheep sent to market, with his hands and feet tied tight with leather thongs, and his poor empty eye sockets gaping.
    He was alive, but no more than that.
    I sat beside him in his chamber and bathed his wounds. The sweetest holy water would not make him see again, nor restore the life he could have had. My tears mingled with the water I used on his face.
    ‘Aoife?’
    ‘What is it, Enna?’
    ‘Are you crying?’
    His hearing seemed to be sharper, now that he couldn’t see. I rubbed my eyes with my fist. ‘I never cry.’
    ‘I can never cry again,’ my brother replied.
    I promised myself then, that if Strongbow destroyed my father’s enemies I would marry him and be a good wife to him, even if he had bulging eyes and a fat belly.
    But when was he coming to Ireland?
    That question was on everyone’s tongue. At Ferns we spoke of little else as the year wore away and one battle followed another.
    Father’s hired warriors were good fighting men. They won more than they lost, and Father brought back many cattle and much loot from the chieftains they defeated.
    But the Anglo-Normans hadn’t come to Ireland for cattle. They wanted land. Wexford wasn’t enough for them. They asked for more and more. Father gave bits and strips, but they were never satisfied.
    Then we received bad news indeed. ‘The High King is preparing a great hosting with many warriors,’ a messenger announced to my father. ‘O’Connor is bringing together the largest army seen in Ireland for many years. He means to break your back, if you resist him.
    ‘But he’s a generous king, and offers you one chance to avoid your own destruction. Turn against the foreigners you’ve brought into this land, and the High King won’t attack you.’
    Father was furious. ‘Tell the High King that these men came to Ireland at my request, and I won’t betray them now. What sort of man does he think I am?’
    But the Normans didn’t like the sound of the army the High King was gathering. Some of them came to Father with a suggestion of their own. ‘Winter is coming,’ they reminded him, ‘and winter is a bad season for war. The ice and mud make fighting very hard. We think we should go home for the winter, and return to you in the spring.’
    He tried to argue with them, but they wouldn’t listen. They didn’t all leave. FitzStephen, who was now master of Wexford, was glad enough to stay and enjoy his new wealth, and some others stayed with him.
    But Father’s forces were seriously reduced.
    ‘What will you do now?’ Donal asked him.
    ‘Perhaps I’ll make peace with O’Connor,’ Father said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Just for a while. Just until Strongbow arrives.’
    ‘Do you still think he’s coming?’ I wanted to know.
    ‘I’m certain he is. I have the man’s word, and if I read him rightly, he’s not one to lie,’ Father assured me.
    Later that same day, however, I was crossing the courtyard just in time to see a messenger set out on a fast Kildare horse. When I asked at the stable, I was told he was heading for the coast, with a message from Father to be sent to Strongbow on the next ship to England.
    Come to me, Father was urging the Norman. Come as soon as you can. Don’t forget your promise.
    The harvest was gathered, a fine heavy harvest as it always was when my father was King of Leinster. Then the nights drew in, long and cold and dark, and winter was upon us. Men sat huddled around the hearth, talking about the battles of the past and the battles to come. Talking of Strongbow, and the victory he would one day win over O’Connor and O’Rourke.
    Mor and Sive talked mostly about Dervorgilla. ‘The blame for all our troubles lies at her feet,’ they told each other. ‘She urged Dermot to take her away from her cruel husband, and stealing her was the worst thing he ever did. It cost him a kingdom and could cost him his life one day. It’s all the fault of Dervorgilla!’
    I