His death prematurely reported.
Early in the summer of 1534 a report reached Ireland that Kildare was to be beheaded, and his son and brother arrested. A poor retainer of his house living near Kilcullen is said to have brought to Lord Offaly from London a little silver-gilt heart and a pair of black dice, with a verbal message from his father bidding him not to trust the Irish Council, but to keep out of the way lest he should lose life and liberty. About the same time a private letter from Thomas Cannon, who had been in Skeffington’s service, confirmed the sinister rumours already afloat. In days when there were no newspapers such letters were handed about freely, and this one fell into the hands of a priest who read English with difficulty, and who put it aside until he had time to spell out its meaning. A retainer of Offaly’s, who chanced to stay the night in the priest’s house, used the letter as a shoe-horn, and forgot to withdraw it. Undressing in the evening he found the paper, read it out of curiosity, and found to his dismay that it announced Kildare’s death. He at once took the fatal missive to James Delahide, who carried it to the Vice-Deputy. Delahide was one of those whose advice Kildare had directed his son to take: he now counselled him to rebel and to avenge his father’s death.[127]
His son rebels.
Though his death was at hand Kildare still lived, and there is no reason to suspect foul play: he was old and suffering from wounds, and confinement or anxiety may well have hastened his end. But his impetuous son assumed the worst, and at once prepared for war. His Irish connections O’Neill and O’Connor approved his resolution; but the Earl of Desmond, Sir Thomas Eustace of Baltinglass, Fitzmaurice of Kerry, Fleming, Lord of Slane, and most of the Anglo-Irish well-wishers of his House, counselled prudence. Lord Chancellor Cromer, a grave and learned divine, gave similar advice. But Rehoboam would not be persuaded. On St. Barnabas’ Day he rode through Dublin with 140 armed retainers, each wearing a silken fringe on his helmet, a mode of decoration which gave Offaly the name by which he is best remembered. Passing through Dame’s Gate the Geraldines forded the Liffey and rode to St. Mary’s Abbey, where he had summoned a meeting of the Council. No sooner had the Deputy taken the chair than his armed followers invaded the council-chamber, and waited with ill-concealed impatience while their leader made a speech, in which he declared himself no longer King Henry’s officer, and called on all who hated cruelty and tyranny to join him in open war. He then tendered the sword of state to the Primate, who besought him with tears in his eyes not to do so mad and wicked an act. ‘They are not yet born,’ he said, ‘that shall hereafter feel the smart of this uproar.’ The Chancellor’s speech was probably unintelligible to most of the intruders; and the effect of it was at once dispelled by an Irish bard named Nelan, who recited a long heroic poem in honour of Silken Thomas, and upbraided him with lingering too long. Stung by this taunt, Offaly replied that he was much obliged to the Archbishop for his advice, but that he came to announce his own intention and not to seek counsel: he then threw down the sword and left the room. He was now a subject, and the Council at once ordered his arrest; but the Mayor had no force at his command, and the rebel was allowed to rejoin his forces on Oxmantown Green. Archbishop Alen, who had good reasons for fear, took refuge in the castle, and the Chief Baron, who accompanied him, wrote to Cromwell for help.[128]
The Butlers remain loyal.
It was rumoured that Offaly would destroy everything in the Pale, so that no support might remain for a royal army: he gave out that he would kill or banish everyone born in England, and declared forfeit the goods of all who remained loyal. He wrote to his cousin Lord Butler, offering to divide Ireland with him if he would help to conquer it; but Butler, one of the ablest of his race, declined with proper indignation. He refused to barter his truth for a piece of Ireland, and was not at all disposed to hang for good fellowship. ‘Were it so,’ he wrote ‘(as it cannot be), that the chickens you reckon were both hatched and feathered; yet be thou sure, I had rather in this quarrel die thine enemy than live thy partner.’ Ossory had left the King but a few days before, having undertaken for himself and his son to assist to their utmost power the due course of law, and above all strenuously to resist the usurped jurisdiction of the Bishop of Rome. Skeffington was again Deputy, and Ossory promised to maintain his authority. The Government was in fact placed to a great extent under the protection of the House of Ormonde. In return for these promises, and in consideration of the singular confidence and trust which the King had conceived in the Earl and his son, and in respect of the truth which always had continued in them and their blood to the Crown of England, and as a token of confidence in their ability, the Government of Tipperary and Kilkenny, and of other districts at the Deputy’s discretion, were granted to Ossory and his son. They were not the men to renounce such solid advantage for the shadowy realm which their rash kinsman offered.[129]
Murder of Archbishop Alen.
It would have been well for Archbishop Alen had he adhered to his first resolution of remaining inside the castle walls, which, as it turned out, were quite able to protect him. Six weeks after the first outbreak, and while the rebels were threatening Dublin, he put himself under the guidance of Bartholomew Fitzgerald, a confidential servant, who brought a small boat to Dame’s Gate. The Archbishop embarked, but the wind was contrary and perhaps the boatmen hostile; at all events, the boat stuck fast on the sands at Clontarf. The fugitive took refuge in a gentleman’s house at Artane; but Offaly appeared at the door next morning and ordered two of his followers, John Teeling and Nicholas Wafer, to bring out the Archbishop. They dragged the old man out of bed, and brought him before their leader. Alen begged for mercy, acknowledging that his captor had no reason to wish him well, but claiming regard for his office if not for his person. Offaly turned away contemptuously, and, speaking in Irish, ordered his men to ‘take away the churl.’ Teeling and Wafer immediately dashed out the Archbishop’s brains. Robert Reyley, who, if not actually an eye-witness, must have been close at hand, was at once sent off to Maynooth with a casket which was found on Alen’s person, and he afterwards swore that he did not know whether Offaly ordered the murder or not. The rebel chief always maintained that his intention was to detain and not to kill; but he thought it necessary to send his chaplain to Rome to seek absolution.[130]
Dublin is threatened.
The sword of state which should have protected them having been exchanged for a rod to scourge them, the citizens of Dublin were left to their own slender resources. Instigated by Offaly, and assisted by John Burnell of Balgriffin, a gentleman of the Pale, the O’Tooles descended from their mountains and ravaged the flat country to the north of the city. In an attempt to intercept the raiders on their return, the citizens were defeated with great loss near Kilmainham. Assuming that they were at his mercy, Offaly offered the citizens their lives if they would let him enter to besiege the castle. John White, the Constable, who was afterwards knighted for his services, made no objection provided he were allowed time to victual. A spirited Alderman, John Fitzsimons, furnished a great part of the provisions[131] at his own expense, and also employed a smith in his own house to forge a chain for the drawbridge. To such a state of destitution had Geraldine ascendency brought the principal royal fortress in Ireland. Another Alderman, Francis Herbert, was sent off to beg help from the King.[132]