AlexanderPrimus- Thanks for reading! I know what you mean about the Gaelic names, I have no idea how they're pronounced; I'm just thankful that I only have to write them.
And without further ado, the next update!
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Tá ár lá linn
Prologue – The Hammer Falls
November 1082
Almost 12 years had passed since the ascension of Muirdertach O'Briain to the ducal throne of Munster, and those years had brought nothing but headaches and misery to the duchy's spymaster, and now de facto ruler, Tadg O'Briain.
Tadg O'Briain, Spymaster and de facto ruler of the Duchy of Munster
As the last rays of sunlight faded away into darkness, Tadg sighed as he looked upon the mountain of paperwork still on his desk. It was a rare occasion now when he got to bed before midnight, and tonight looked no different. The years had not been kind to him, his hair had begun to gray rapidly after his brother took the throne. To be sure, part of it was due to his advancing age, but, and he was loathe to speak ill of his kin, most of it was due to his brother's utter ineptitude at ruling.
"Candle," he called to the servant he knew was sitting near the doorway. He would need it if he was going to look over these grain allocations and tax forms for much longer.
"Will there be anything else sir?"
"Yes, tell my wife I will be unable to join her for supper, and that I'll have mine brought to the study."
The servant bowed before leaving. In truth, it was unlikely he'd eat at all. There was simply no time for things like eating, let alone having a nice dinner with his wife. The role of spymaster had always been taxing; it was difficult to keep track of all the itinerant lords of Ireland and the surrounding countries. He was, however, now more than a spymaster, he was the shadow ruler of the entire duchy. Where he used to only review reports from his various sources in the duchy and abroad, he now reviewed grain shipments, tax collection rates, and ruled on them accordingly. In fact, his brother had become so far removed from the affairs of state that Tadg had been given a signet ring so that he could seal documents on his own, without having to get the Duke's approval.
Tadg set down the most recent form on grain shipment to the county of Urmumu and tried very hard to rub the soreness out of his eyes. He leaned back and thought back to how the last twelve years had gone, and how it'd all gone so terribly wrong.
Certainly the starting point for the downhill slide began with Muirdertach's handling of the Count of Urmumu at their father's funeral. It was a small illustration of the problems that Muirdertach had as a leader. He was indecisive most of the time, and when he did decide something he seemed to have a knack for choosing the one decision that possessed all of the bad consequences, and made him appear the fool. This, however, was really just the beginning of more major problems for the duchy.
In most instances, the handling of the Count would be considered a social faux pas for a ruler, but not much more than that. It was understandable that someone might not have the best head for decision-making right after the burial of their father, so most members of the duchy had kind of shrugged the whole incident off. Soon, however, Muirdertach gave them another stick to club him over the head with. Tadg groaned silently to himself as he remembered Muirdertach's next major blunder in handling his troops.
For centuries, the main thing that kept a chief, king, or other leader in power in Ireland was their ability to gather and lead a group of men as an army. While this had become less necessary in the past few decades with the advent of the concept of claims and titles, it was still a very important skill for any Irish leader. That is why, several months after becoming Duke, it was odd that Muirdertach had not held any troop exercises or review of his troops. In fact, he hadn't so much as consulted with his military officers on what the army might need to be battle ready. It had taken Tadg a full week of pleading, cajoling, and threatening to get his brother to finally go conduct some review of the troops.
Muirdertach had ridden out to one of the border forts along the border of Desmumu and Urmumu. It was a calculated move meant to illustrate that he was prepared should the Count of Urmumu try any sort of shenanigans. The review was going swimmingly as Muirdertach walked around the small wooden complex and reviewed the weaponry. The men seemed to appreciate the attention from their liege, and even asked him to spar a bit with them. If only he'd refused things might not have started their decided downward slide. Muirdertach had never been known for his fighting prowess, but he had been determined to spar with some of his men that day. He'd boldly strode over to a weapon rack and grabbed himself a claymore. He then turned and strode to the sparring ring. Even as his opponent readied himself, Muirdertach was already having trouble with the unwieldy weapon. The men gathered around the sparring circle glanced at each other as they watched the Duke wobble to one side and nearly drop his sword before the marshal finally stepped in and showed him the appropriate grip. The tentative glances turned to snickering and, in some cases, uproarious laughter when, within the first 10 seconds, of the sparring match the Duke's sword was sent flying from his hands and he received a boot to the chest which left him sprawled on the ground. He was quickly picked up by his personal guards, and made a joke in about "being out of practice", but the damage had been done. In less than two weeks, the story was being told in all of the military posts throughout the duchy, and Muirdertach had cemented his position as an inept fighter and leader amongst his military.
That incident had left the Duke shaken to his core. He seemed incapable of making any decisions and would frequently countermand his own orders. This lead to problems across the board like uneven taxation (because the Duke had a habit of sending and then recalling tax collectors at random, which led to some provinces being taxed twice and some none at all), this led to unrest, which the Duke let fester and swell because he was too nervous about what decision to make. And, of course, there was the Bread Incident a few years ago. Tadg audibly groaned at just the thought of it. He'd been at the middle of most of these problems, trying with all of his might to keep the duchy together, but it was becoming an increasingly difficult task. With that in mind, he picked up the last report and began a quick scan. Just grain being shipped to Urmumu, nothing all that interesting, but something was nagging at the back of his mind. Tadg shuffled through some papers on his desk and produced another report.
Yes! Another large shipment of grain to Urmumu only a few weeks before, and his agents had report large groups of peasants moving along the roads in Urmumu, which was normally not something to be alarmed about, but...coupled with the grain. Tadg set the reports down and leaned back in his chair, stroking his goatee. What was going on in Urmumu? He brought out a blank piece of paper and began writing.
Elsewhere in the castle
Ailean O'Briain laughed as he deftly parried a blow from his sparring partner. It may not have been clear to everyone, but Ailean knew the fight was over; he'd found his opponent's weak point, and was just waiting for his opportunity. Enna Ua Mordha, his opponent, swung his sword meanacingly whilst circling Ailean. Ailean, for his part, kept calm, always facing his opponent. Enna was a good fighter, but had a tendency to favor pure brawn over any sort of martial style. He would subject his opponent to unrelenting, powerful attacks until they were too tired to resist, but Ailean had a plan. Enna's strategy depended on his opponent choosing to meet him and block or parry the blow, so, Ailean would do neither and, instead, let his opponent swing the heavy practice sword at air until he grew tired himself. So far, the strategy was working. Enna's attempt at being menacing wasn't enough to cover his flushed cheeks and sweat-soaked brow. He raised weapon to attack and swung down hard, a powerful overhead strike. Ailean, instead of blocking the strike, lightly dodged out of the way and struck Enna straight across the back with the flat of his practice sword, which sent him flying and left him sprawled on the ground. Ailean smiled in satisfaction before jogging over to help up his friend.
"Oi, Ailee, sparring isn't as fun when you're the one getting thwacked," Enna groaned as he was helped to his feet.
"True enough, I think that's why the aim is to not get thwacked." Ailean chuckled.
In truth, the whole exchange was odd for two reasons. First, no one expected Ailean O'Briain to be any good with a weapon at all. This was due mostly to the fact that he was the son of the decidedly inept Muirdertach O'Briain.
Ailean O'Briain, son of Muirdertach O'Briain, and heir apparent to the Duchy of Munster
It was also odd for another reason. Ailean's opponent, Enna Ua Mordha, was a member of the rival duchy of Leinster. The relationship between Munster and Leinster was always wavering between love and hatred. This was due mostly to the fact that they constantly competed to be the most powerful political force in Ireland. Recently, however, the two had been on amicable terms as both Dukes had been having problems with adjusting to being the ruler of a large duchy. For his part, the Duke of Lenster had sent a small diplomatic group to Munster; it was meant to serve as a sort of permanent diplomatic link between the two territories, so that future problems could be solved before they were blown out of proportion. So far, the group had had mixed success. Most people could remember the warfare that raged between the two less than a decade ago, which was only ended by marrying Torrdelbach O'Briain's sister to the then Duke of Lenister, Diarmit Ua Mordha.
In the castle, however, the Ua Mordha's were welcomed with open arms, and Ailean had become fast friends with Enna. In fact, Enna was about the only person in all the castle that could match Ailean in a duel, though that wasn't apparent from today's result. The pair began walking toward the castle's kitchens with the intention of securing themselves one of the pies they knew would be waiting on the chef's cooling racks. Their plans were foiled, however, by the arrival of the most feared woman in the entire duchy (to children in the castle anyway), Alis Ua Aedhagan, the duchy's steward. Alis was really only the steward in name. Ailean's uncle, Tadg kept a pretty tight-fisted grip on all aspects of the duchy and was suspicious of anyone that tried to take on any more responsibility than he gave them. Alis, therefore, was reduced to being what was essentially a head nanny for the castle. The boys cringed as she approached
"You two better not be intending to go and steal some food from the larders. If I have the cooks come one more time to me and complain I'll have both your hides!"
Enna and Ailean gave each other a sly look before Ailean responded innocently, "Oh honest Lady Alis, we weren't going to get none of chef's pies, we was just thirsty is all."
Alis crossed her arms and pursed her lips. She was having none of their nonsense.
"Now you two don't be going and telling tales like that. I'll have Father Tizzone down here and let him deal with you if you little rapscallions keep on like that."
The boys gulped. Father Tizzone was an Italian priest that had just arrived from Rome. He had a very harsh and dogmatic way about him while he preached, and that attitude transferred over fairly easily in the way he corrected those who he felt strayed from the straight and narrow path to God. The children had given the nickname "God's Wrath" to Father Tizzone's corrective lessons.
Enna was the first to respond by saying, "Oi mam, we don't wan no trouble, let's keep Father out o'this."
Ailean nodded in agreement. Even the Duke's son wasn't safe from the wrath of God.
"Right, we were just going to go find the Marshal to see if he'll give us an extra lesson before dinner."
Alis put her hands on her hips.
"Oh no you're not. You boys have had quite enough practice for one day judging by all that dirt all over your clothes. No, it's straight up to your rooms to change for dinner. Especially you Master Ailean, you can't meet future duchesses lookin' like a potato farmer."
The boys stood motionless for a minute before shrugging and heading off towards their quarters. Ailean may not have shown it, but these meetings always made him uncomfortable. He didn't really care much for the girls that all fawned for his attention. He had his mind set elsewhere. Specifically, he had his mind on the young Raghnailt Ua Mordha.
Raghnailt Ua Mordha, daughter of the Duke of Leinster and object of Ailean's desires
She'd arrived with the envoys from the duchy of Leinster, and he'd been smitten ever since. The problem was, his father had expressly forbid any marriages between the two. Muirdertach had been a soldier, briefly, in the fights against the Ua Mordha's, and had borne them a deep resentment ever since. In fact, most people were surprised he'd allowed the envoys to come at all. Ailean sighed as he reached his room and changed clothes, maybe he'd get a chance to sneak out with her after he'd listened to all the others prattle on about nothing. One of her best qualities, to Ailean at least, was that she wasn't afraid to run around and swordfight like the rest of the girls. Though, at the end of the night, she always insisted on being rescued by him like she was a damsel in distress. Ailean shrugged as he finished getting ready and headed down to the dining hall.
In truth, he just liked being able to talk with her. She was the first person that he was really able to open up and be honest with, especially with matters concerning his father. While his father did his best to keep him insulated, Ailean had heard the murmurings about his father, and, to a lesser extent about him. His father's failings had started to make people question whether it was wise to let the O'Briain family be in charge anymore, and the whispers had only increased since Muirdertach's self-imposed seclusion from the world. If what the servants were saying was true, his father's health had taken a huge hit since he'd entered his own little exile in the upper reaches of the castle. Ailean wasn't sure what he'd do if his father died and he was expected to take over as duke. The very thought of it made his palms sweat and a tightness grow in his chest. He didn't think he was ready, sometimes, he thought he never would be.
"I guess there's some things you just can't change," he said quietly to himself before entering the dining hall. He saw the long line of girls waiting to be introduced to him and sighed...it was going to be a long night.
The Count's castle in Urmumu that same day
Sechlainn Ua Faeláin, Count of Urmumu and generally disloyal fellow
Sechlainn Ua Faeláin was reclined lazily in his throne, his head thrown back as a servant fed him grapes when a messenger from the Duke arrived. As the man approached, Sechlainn quickly sat up causing the servant to jump and drop the grapes she had been holding. The count, without a moment's hesitation roughly grabbed her and threw her down the small flight of steps that led to the raised dais that held his throne. She cowered there for a moment, before scurrying out past the messenger. Sechlainn smiled, he liked making sure that the servants knew their place. His smile quickly contorted into a frown that bordered on snarling when the messenger approached and began speaking without waiting for his approval.
"My Lord Ua Faeláin, I come on behalf of His Grace, Muirdertach, Duke of Munster and Count of Desmumu and Tuadmumu. He demands that you make all haste to his castle in Desmumu, and tha..."
The guards flanking the messenger slammed their fists into his stomach at a flick of Sechlainn's hand. He did absolutely hate servants that pretended to be above their station.
"My lord, you'd assault a..."
The messenger was hit again. This time it caused him to fall to the floor where the guards proceeded to kick him. The count let this go on for a bit before motioning for the guards to stop and finally speaking to the messenger.
"Servants in my household know to speak when they're spoken to, I trust you've now learned the same lesson."
Sechlainn grinned as he watched the messenger slowly rise and nod his head. Blood was dripping from his nose where one of the guard had kicked him and bruises were already starting to form on his face.
"Now what would the Duke want with me?"
The messenger looked around nervously before replying.
"My lord, he wishes you to come and swear fealty to him again, and to answer some questions regarding your recent travels to Gwynedd."
Sechlainn sat there, his face assuming a mock seriousness.
"Oh, that sounds very serious. I guess I'd best be on my way."
The messenger had not, apparently, realized that the count was mocking the whole situation made the mistake of responding.
"Yes, I should think it is fairly serious. The Duke isn't pleased, your lordship."
At this, Sechlainn smiled and folded his hands.
"Oh, I'll bet he isn't, and he's going to be even less pleased with my answers. Of course, he'll never hear them till it's too late."
The messenger looked confused, but had begun to realize something was amiss here, and began to slowly back out of the hall.
"My lord? Certainly you don't plan to do anything rash."
Sechlainn laughed and it sent a chill down the messenger's spine.
"Rash? Oh no, I've planned it out quite well. The Duke still wonders why I went to Gwynedd. Well, he'll find that out soon enough. In fact, why don't you go tell him yourself. I've got the perfect message you can take to him."
The messenger hadn't yet reached the door, and he stopped to respond.
"And what message is that?"
Sechlainn smiled again as he stepped lightly down from the dais and walked down the length of the hall toward the messenger. Once he'd finally gotten within arm's length of the messenger he stopped.
"Yes, now do try to remember it. I'm sure you won't have any trouble, it's rather direct."
Suddenly, the Count lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the messenger's throat. His guards moved to pin the struggling man's arms to his sides. Sechlainn cackled as the life drained from the messenger's eyes. After a few minutes, the messenger was dead and Sechlainn let the body drop to the floor and turned to his guards.
"Cut off his head and send it back to the Duke. I think that will suffice for a reply to his request."
Sechlainn strode back to his throne and whirled around before taking a seat.
"Oh, and marshal the troops, we need to look our best when the Duke of Gwynedd arrives to finalize the arrangements."
The guards bowed before dragging the body out of the hall. The count sat on his throne and stroked his chin. Soon, all his plans would come to fruition, and he could hardly contain his excitement.
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And so ends the fourth chapter of Tá ár lá linn. What are the Count's plans? Will Muirdertach come out of seclusion to deal with them? Can Tadg hold the duchy together through the crisis? Find out in the next chapter!