The Northmen in Britain

by Eleanor Hull

All day long, from sunrise till evening, the battle was fought. At full tide in the morning the foreigners beached their boats, but when the tide returned at night, they were being everywhere routed before the Irish, who rushed down upon them from the upland, pushing them farther and farther backward toward the sea. Then, as they turned to fly, hoping to regain their vessels, they saw that the rising tide had lifted the boats from their resting-places and carried them out to sea, so that they were there caught between their enemies on the land and the sea behind, with no place of safety to turn to. An awful rout was made of them, and the sounds of their shouting and war-whoops and cries of despair were heard by the watchers of the fort. Then Brian’s daughter turned to her husband. “It appears to me,” she said, “that, like gad-flies in the heat, or like a herd of cows seeking the water, the foreigners return to the sea, their natural inheritance. I wonder are they cattle, driven by the heat? But if they are they tarry not to be milked.” The answer of her husband was a brutal blow upon the mouth. Close to the weir of Clontarf, where the River Tolka seeks the sea, Turlough, the young grandson of Brian, pursued a Norseman across the stream. But the rising tide flung him against the weir, and he was caught on a post, and so was drowned, with his hand grasping the hair of the Norseman who fell under him.

The day on which the battle was fought was Good Friday, 1014. King Brian himself was too aged to go into battle; besides, it was against his will to fight on a fast-day; so his bodyguard made a fastness round him with their linked shields upon a little height, and from the time of the beginning of the combat he knelt upon a cushion, with his psalter open before him, and began to read the psalms and to pray aloud. There was with him a young lad, an attendant, who watched the course of the fighting from the height, and from time to time he told his master what was going forward. After the King had said fifty psalms and prayed awhile he asked his attendant how the battle went.

“Intermingled together and closely fighting are the battalions, each of them within the grasp of the other,” said the boy; “and not louder would be the sound of blows of wood-cutters on Tomar’s Wood if seven battalions together were cutting it down, than are the resounding blows that fall from the swords on both sides upon bones and skulls.” The King said: “Do you see the standard of Morrogh, my son?” “It is standing,” said the lad, “and the banners of Munster close about it; but many heads are falling round it, the heads of our own clan and the heads of foreigners also.” “That is good news,” said the King. Then the lad readjusted the cushion under Brian, and the King prayed again and sang another fifty psalms; and all the time the fighting was going on below. “What is the condition of the battalions,” Brian asked again, “and where is Morrogh’s standard?” The lad said that there was not a man on earth who could distinguish friend from foe, so covered were they all with gore and wounds; but as for the standard of Munster it was still standing, but it had passed away to the westward. Then the King said: “The men of Ireland will do well so long as that standard stands.”

So the lad adjusted the cushion again and the King prayed and sang fifty psalms more; and now the evening was drawing on. Brian asked the attendant again, in what condition the forces were. The lad replied: “It seems to me as though Tomar’s Wood were all on fire, and that all the young shoots and undergrowth had been cut away, leaving only the great oaks standing; so are the armies on either side; for their men are fallen thick, and only the leaders and gallant heroes remain alive. For they are ground about like the grindings of a mill turning the wrong way. Yet it seems to me that the foreigners are defeated, though the standard of Morrogh is fallen.” “Alas! alas! for that news,” said Brian. “The honour and valour of Erin fell when that standard fell, and the honour of Erin is now fallen indeed; and what avails it to me to obtain the sovereignty of the world if Morrogh and the chiefs of Munster are slain?” “If thou wouldst take my advice,” said the lad, “thou wouldst mount thy horse and take refuge in the camp, where every one who escapes alive out of this battle will rally round us; for it seems to me that the foreigners are afraid of retreating to the sea, and we know not at any moment who may find us here.” “Indeed, my boy,” said Brian, “flight becomes us not; and well I know that I shall not leave this place alive. For Evill, the fairy maid who guards our clan, appeared to me last night and told me that I should be killed this day. Wherefore take my steed and escape, and arrange for my seemly burial, and for my gifts to the Church, for I will remain where I am until my fate overtakes me.”

While he was saying these words a party of the Northmen approached with Brodir at their head. “There are people coming toward us up the hill,” said the boy, “and all our bodyguard are fled.” “What like are they?” inquired the King. “A blue, stark-naked people they seem to me,” was the reply. “Alas!” said Brian, “they must be foreigners in armour: for the Northmen fight not like our people in their tunics, but with blue armour on their bodies; and no good will come to us if it is they indeed.” Then the old man arose and pushed aside the cushion and unsheathed his sword. But Brodir marked him not, and would have passed, had not one of his followers, who had been in Brian’s service, recognized the King. “The King,” he cried, “this is the King!” “No, no,” said Brodir, “this old man is a priest.” “By no means so,” replied the man; “this is the great king, Brian.” Then Brodir turned, and swung his gleaming battle-axe above his head, and smote the King: but ere he did so Brian had made a stroke at him, and wounded him in the knee, so that they fell together; but Brian, the King, was dead. The lad Teigue had thrown his arm across the King to shield him, but the arm was taken off at the stump with the same blow that slew the King. Then Brodir stood up and with a loud voice exclaimed: “Now may man tell his fellow-man that Brodir hath felled King Brian.” But not long was his triumph: for Ospac his brother and some of the Munstermen came up, and they took Brodir alive, and put him to a cruel death there upon the spot.

Death of Brian Boru at Clontarf

Two incidents must still be told. The first concerns the raven banner that Earl Sigurd carried to the fight. It was made in raven-shape, and when the wind blew out the folds it was as though a raven spread its wings for flight.[32] The banner, which was wrought with fine needlework of marvellous skill, had been made for Sigurd by his mother, a princess of Irish birth, whose father was Karval, Prince of Dublin. So clever was she that she had a reputation for witchcraft, for men thought her knowledge was greater than that of a woman. She was a person of spirit and mettle; for once when her young son, Sigurd, asked her advice as to whether he should go out to fight with a Scotch earl, whose followers were seven times greater in number than his own, she scornfully bade him go. “Had I known that thou hadst a desire to live for ever,” she had said, “I should have kept thee safely rolled up in my wool-bag. Fate rules life, but not where a man stands at the helm; and better it is to die with honour than to live with shame. Take thou this banner which I have made for thee with all my cunning; I ween it will bring victory to those before whom it is borne, but death to him who carries it.” This was true; wherever the raven banner went victory followed after it, and men were slain before it, but he who was standard-bearer always met his death. Thus the banner came to have an evil fame, and it was not easy to find a man to carry it into battle.

In the battle of Clontarf the banner was borne aloft before the earl, but one of the bearers after another had fallen. Then Earl Sigurd called on Thorstein, son of Hall o’ the Side, to bear the flag, and Thorstein was about to lift it when a man called out: “Do not bear the banner; for all those who do so come by their death. Through it three of my sons have been slain.” “Hrafn the Red,” called out the earl, “bear thou the banner.” “Bear thine own crow thyself,” answered Hrafn. Then the earl said: “’Tis fittest that the beggar should bear his own bag, indeed”; and with that he took down the banner from its staff, and hid it under his cloak. Only a short time after that, the earl fell, pierced through by a spear.

The other incident also concerns Thorstein, the brave young Icelander who had accompanied Sigurd to Ireland. He was only twenty years of age, and as fearless as he was brave. When flight broke out through all the host of the foreigners, Thorstein, with a few others, took their stand by the side of Tomar’s Wood, refusing to fly. At last, seeing that hope was past, all turned to follow with the rout save Thorstein only. He stood still to tie his shoe-string. An Irish leader, coming up at the moment, asked him why he had not run with the others. “Because I am an Icelander,” said Thorstein, “and were I to run ever so fast I could not get home to-night.” The Irish leader was so struck by the young warrior’s coolness and courage that he set him at liberty. Thorstein remained for some time in the household of the Irish King, when all his fellows returned home, and he was well beloved in Ireland.