22

Hugh de Lacy: Lord of Meath, 1171–7

After a hard-won victory over the men of Waterford at Dún Domnaill (modern Baginbun, Co. Wexford), the newly arrived Anglo-Normans were presented with a quandary. What should become of the seventy or so men they’d captured? Traditional rules of engagement held that they should be treated with mercy. And this is precisely what Raymond le Gros, one of the Norman leaders, proposed. As Raymond noted, the Irish were not the Normans’ implacable foes, but fellow humans, who’d done no more than defend their lands and livelihoods. Their cause was an honourable one, so it would be dishonourable to slay them in cold blood. Mercy was the better part of valour here; and since it was only fortune which had granted the Normans victory, it behoved them to show restraint. Slaying the captives would only bring infamy on the newcomers, sullying their good name. Ferocity was all well and good in the heat of battle, but should be set aside once the fray was over.

Raymond’s impassioned plea was met with murmurs of approval. But just then Hervey de Montmorency, another of the leading Anglo-Norman barons, began to speak. By contrast, he asserted that Julius Caesar and Alexander of Macedon had not achieved greatness by showing mercy, but through armed might and terror. Until the will to resist had been broken, there was no place for clemency. If spared, the Irish captives would just return to their old ways, swelling the ranks of the Normans’ (already considerable) foes. Moreover, had the roles been reversed, the Irish would have shown the Normans no such mercy. As far as Hervey was concerned, the choice was simple: the invaders could either stay the course and kill the captives, or show mercy and sail back home. In the end, Hervey prevailed, as hawks have a tendency to do in times of war, and the Irish were summarily executed – the first in a long line of English atrocities on the island.1

In many respects, this episode, recorded by Gerald of Wales, encapsulates the Anglo-Norman conquest of Ireland. A smaller band prevails against superior numbers, then metes out terrible vengeance. Of particular interest is the clash of cultures illustrated here: were the Norman incomers to stick to their traditional cultural practices, or adapt to local customs? Equally important are the divisions among the invaders. Raymond and Hervey were vying for power and influence within the expeditionary force; and such rivalry would be one of the most important spurs to conquest and settlement in years to come.


For Henry II, Strongbow’s actions presented an opportunity as well as a challenge. Now that his men had begun to carve out domains in Ireland, Henry had the ideal grounds for intervention. The bull he had received from Hadrian IV specified that he was only to attempt conquest at the invitation of the local Irish lords. With Richard and his men running amok, it took little to convince them that Henry was the lesser of two evils. The clause once designed to prevent English interference, now actively invited it.

The conditions were thus met for a papally sanctioned incursion, and Henry was not a man to think twice. He may already have been making plans early in the summer of 1171. Certainly once Strongbow prevailed at Dublin, it was clear that a royal presence was necessary. In September, Henry therefore assembled an army at Pembroke in southern Wales – Strongbow’s old stomping grounds. The king now demanded the absentee earl’s presence. For Richard, survival depended on presenting himself as a loyal vassal, happy to hold his new domains from the king. Gerald of Wales reports that Henry was livid about the conquests made without his consent. And while we must treat such testimony with care – Gerald thought little of Strongbow and places these events (perhaps erroneously) in Gloucestershire – there is almost certainly an element of truth to the tale.2

Despite these tensions, ruffled feathers were soon smoothed and the expedition was able to proceed. In mid-October, the English army landed in Waterford, where Strongbow and his men formally submitted to Henry. In exchange for the crucial port cities of Dublin, Wexford and Waterford, Richard was permitted to retain his position in Leinster, which he now received from the king as a fief. Such arrangements were in the interests of both parties. Strongbow could not hold out against Henry, while the king’s best bet for asserting his authority was to work with those of his men who’d already established themselves in Ireland. A clear sign of rapprochement is offered by Henry’s charters, which from this point on refer to Strongbow as ‘Earl Richard’ (sometimes ‘of Strigoil’) – not quite his father’s title, but an acknowledgement of his status nonetheless.3

Shortly thereafter, Henry received the submission of the local Irish king of Desmond (in south Munster), Diarmait mac Carthaig, before proceeding on to Dublin for a Christmas court.4 En route, Henry and his men passed through Cashel. It was here, just outside the royal complex on the Suir, that Henry received the submission of the king of Thomond, Domnall Mór Ó Briain – the other main player in Munster.

From Cashel, Henry headed to Dublin. The twelfth-century city was already well on its way to becoming the political centre of Ireland. It was the most important of the many Ostmen (i.e. Viking) towns founded on the eastern coast, controlling access to the Irish Sea. Anyone who wished to claim dominance over the island had to make his (or her) influence felt here.5 Since the late eleventh century, Dublin had also been an important point of contact with the Anglo-Norman Church. In a carefully choreographed event, Henry now received the submission of the remaining Irish rulers (save Ruaidrí Ua Conchobair), in a special wooden structure built outside the city walls. The form of submission combined Anglo-Norman and Irish traditions, involving ritual homage, communal feasting and the exchange of hostages. From the perspective of the Irish, this was largely a matter of exchanging one overlord for another (Ruaidrí for Henry), with the possible advantage that Henry was likely to be an absentee high king.

As important as Henry’s political manoeuvres were his ecclesiastical interventions. Since his arrival, the king had been in contact with the local papal legate, Gilla Críst (Christian) of Lismore. Gilla Críst had been a staunch supporter of Diarmait in 1166; he was also a proponent of the reforming ideals popular within the Anglo-Norman Church. For a king keen to justify his invasion in religious terms, the bishop was a natural ally. Henry passed through Lismore on his way to Cashel, ordering the construction of a castle there – a type of fortification as new to Ireland as it had been to Wales and England a century earlier. And while at Cashel, he met with the local archbishop, laying plans for a major Church council. Invitations were sent out throughout Ireland; and a few months later – probably in early 1172 – a council was convened. Like Dublin, Cashel was a deeply symbolic setting. It was the traditional ceremonial centre of the kingdom of Munster in the south west, from which the legendary king Brian Boru and his heirs had ruled their domains.6

We know of the council almost exclusively from English sources. And the silence of the local Irish annals – which typically record such events – is significant. It was in the interests of Henry and his apologists (who in this context may have included Gilla Críst) to emphasise the pan-Irish nature of the gathering: here was Ireland’s new high king, taking essential steps to reform the island’s Church. Yet it seems unlikely that all the bishops of Ireland attended, particularly since Ruaidrí continued to resist Henry in the west. Indeed, later in the year we hear of another council, at Tuam. The province of Tuam, which had recently been created at the synod of Kells (1152), precisely comprised Ruaidrí’s domains. This was clearly a counterpart to the council of Cashel, and Ruaidrí himself attended. And just as Henry’s council is only mentioned in English sources, so Ruaidrí’s is uniquely recorded in the Annals of Tigernach, a work with close ties to the local rulers of Connacht.7

Henry’s actions must therefore be viewed through the prism of local Irish politics. He was supporting those dynasts who’d fallen foul of Ruaidrí and was warmly welcomed by those elements of the Church closely aligned with them. What we are observing is therefore not a case of Anglophile reform at loggerheads with Irish recalcitrance, but competing versions for how politics and reform should play out – and which churches and rulers would benefit.8 Independent of Canterbury’s efforts, large elements of the Irish ecclesiastical establishment (including Gilla Críst) had now embraced calls for change, attempting (with varying degrees of success) to bring local custom more closely in line with continental norms. At Cashel, Henry was piggybacking on these efforts.9 With local bishops berating their flocks in increasingly strident tones, Henry could present himself – how cynically, we may never know – as an agent of reform. This lent his expedition, like that of the Conqueror to England, the air of a holy war, conducted in the name of the faith.10

Provided Gerald’s version of events can be trusted (and at least in this regard, it probably can), the council concerned itself largely with matters already raised by local Irish reformers over the course of the previous century: the institution of formal diocesan structures; the payment of tithes and Church dues; and the observance of Church teachings on marriage and incest. What was new were not the measures, but the alliance between reformers and the Angevin court – a court which could bring much greater influence to bear.11

For Henry, there was a further significance to these events. In late December 1170, only just over a year before the council, six of his men had been responsible for the violent death of Thomas Becket, the archbishop of Canterbury. News of this spread rapidly, earning Henry and his dynasty infamy across Europe. It was partly to avoid meeting with the legates of Pope Alexander III that Henry had embarked for Ireland in the autumn of 1171. Anything he could do to burnish his (considerably tarnished) reputation would therefore be welcome. And what better way to win over the pope, than to work with his local agent towards the reform of the Irish Church? This was not the only effort Henry made to reconcile himself with the ecclesiastical establishment. It was soon after his return from Ireland that the king adopted the formula ‘by the grace of God’ (Dei gratia) in his royal style, underlining more strongly the God-given (and God-fearing) nature of his authority.12

In early 1172, Henry was at the height of his powers and may well have contemplated an expedition against Ruaidrí. In the end, how-ever, he was drawn away by affairs in his English and continental domains. Henry could not ignore Alexander III forever; and his eldest son, Henry the Young King, was now threatening rebellion. Before departing, however, Henry set his Irish affairs in order. He formally granted the kingdom of Meath (Mide) to one of his leading barons, Hugh de Lacy, on the same terms that he’d conceded Leinster to Strongbow.13 Hugh had come over with Henry and been employed in castle-building up to this point. Hugh’s new domains bordered on Richard’s to the north, and he was clearly intended to keep the latter in check. Henry had learned the lessons of the Welsh March: aristocratic ambition would be encouraged (and rewarded) in Ireland, but aristocratic state-building would not.

Yet if Hugh and Richard were in some sense rivals, they were also allies.14 Anglo-Norman control was only well-established in Dublin and Leinster, and might easily be challenged, with Ruaidrí Ua Conchobair still angling to recreate his old dominance. By establishing another Anglo-Norman lordship, in an area where Ruaidrí had longstanding influence, Henry was creating a buffer zone for the new colony. Hugh was an excellent choice for the job. Like Strongbow, he was a marcher lord, who was well acquainted with the complex dynamics of conquest and colonisation. Hugh was also related to Richard, having wed the earl’s cousin, Rose of Monmouth.

English and Irish sources vary considerably in their presentation of Henry’s expedition. The former see this as a transformative event, the moment Ireland was finally brought within the Anglo-Norman fold. The latter see Henry simply as the most recent in a long line of high kings. Both perspectives are justified. In the long run, English conquest did indeed prove lasting and transformative. But in the short term, very little changed. When Henry departed in 1172, effective Anglo-Norman influence was limited to Leinster and the old Ostmen ports on the east coast. And there was every chance that their presence would prove fleeting. For the grants made to Hugh de Lacy were largely speculative. In early 1172, Henry did not have Meath to give. The kingdom was largely under the control of Tigernán Ua Ruairc, Ruaidrí’s old friend and ally (who’d submitted to Henry at Christmas). Hugh would now have to win the kingdom for himself. All Henry’s grant provided was the assurance that any gains would be duly approved by the king.

Tigernán was thus the main obstacle to Hugh’s ambitions. Tigernán had been an enemy of Diarmait. And these factional lines continued to inform Irish politics for years to come, pitting the more recent arrivals against Ruaidrí and his associates. Strongbow and his men had dealt with the high king in 1171; now it was Hugh’s turn to do likewise with Tigernán. He advanced as far as Fore in modern Westmeath, before agreeing to meet Tigernán at Tlachtga Hill (the Hill of Ward), just east of modern Athboy. This was the site of an Iron Age hillfort, which was closely associated with the kingdom of Meath. Five years previously, Ruaidrí Ua Conchobair had held an assembly here; now it was to be a place of parley. What precisely happened at the gathering remains unclear. Anglo-Norman sources say that Tigernán sought to ambush Hugh and his men, who saw through the ruse and struck down the Irish king. Irish sources, by contrast, claim treachery on Hugh’s part. Either way, the result was the same: Tigernán was beheaded. His body was then hung upside-down north of Dublin, while his head was displayed above the gate of Dublin Castle, before being sent on to Henry II.15

Once again, the normal Anglo-Norman conventions of war had not been extended to the Irish. Indeed, Hugh was not alone in this behaviour, and these acts echo the earlier actions of Strongbow and his men, who’d publicly beheaded Áskell Ragavalsson and Murchad Ua Brain, two other of Ua Conchobair’s leading allies.16 That some Anglo-Normans were troubled by such violence is revealed by Gerald of Wales’s report of the executions at Baginbun, with which we began this chapter. It’s doubtful whether the events there played out precisely as Gerald reports. Raymond was Gerald’s cousin, while Hervey was a nephew of Strongbow. And as elsewhere, Gerald is seeking to undermine the fitz Gilberts to the advantage of his own kin. In fact, the dramatic exchange of speeches is closely modelled on Sallust’s War of Catiline (Bellum Catilinae), with Raymond’s calls for clemency echoing those of Caesar, and Hervey’s insistence on vengeance drawing on Cato’s response. Still, the underlying tensions were real enough. And it’s instructive that even Gerald, one of the most vociferously anti-Irish commentators of the era, should express such implicit sympathy for the Irish.17

Within ecclesiastical circles, there was likewise disquiet about the nature of the conquest of Ireland; and alongside stereotyped images of barbarism, we can also see signs of sympathy.18 In French vernacular literature, which probably takes us closer to the attitudes of the Anglo-Norman barons responsible for the conquest, such shades of grey are clearer still. The Song of Dermot and the Earl, one of our most detailed accounts of the invasion, glories in bloodshed in a manner we would not expect elsewhere in the British Isles (save perhaps in parts of Wales and Scotland). Yet the attitude shown to the native Irish is one of clear, if at times grudging, respect. They are not uncivilised barbarians, but honourable (if culturally distinctive) foes. Their fault is not cultural or religious, but political: in ejecting their rightful lord, Diarmait, the Irish had proven themselves traitors and rebels.19

If warfare in Ireland was more violent than in England or Normandy, it was because the incomers adapted to local custom, as Gerald’s report suggests. As children of the March, both Hugh and Richard were acquainted with straddling cultural worlds in this fashion. Still, adaptation presumes a degree of knowledge and understanding. And Hugh seems to have been particularly successful at winning over the Irish inhabitants of Meath. It was one thing to kill off a few political rivals; it was quite another to establish a stable regime. For this, hearts and minds had to be won. The process had begun in Leinster with the family and friends of Mac Murchada; now Hugh extended it to the local peasants and aristocrats of Meath.

In referring to Strongbow, de Lacy and their men as ‘Anglo-Norman’ so far, we have dodged the question of their identity. As we’ve seen, Norman immigrants to southern Italy soon put down roots; and by the time Roger extended his domains to North Africa, they can only be considered Norman in the second or third degree. In England, similar processes were afoot. By the mid-twelfth century, large sections of the ruling elite had started to identify as English, even though they were of Norman descent and spoke French. By the time Richard and Hugh set foot in Ireland, these processes were all but complete.20

Richard’s and Hugh’s conquests were undertaken under an English banner, as contemporaries knew full well.21 The Irish annals typically speak of the incomers as ‘foreigners’ (Middle Irish: Gaill). But when they specify further, they write of them as ‘English’ (Sagsannaich). In doing so, they reflect the conquerors’ perceptions of themselves, as the Song of Dermot and the Earl reveals: throughout the poem’s 3,000-plus lines, it’s always the English (Old French: Engleis) whom fitz Gilbert and his men are said to lead. But if the invaders saw themselves primarily as English, in cultural terms they remained firmly Franco-Norman. They spoke the distinctive Anglo-Norman dialect of French, as the Song attests; they conducted warfare Norman fashion, introducing castles and knight service to Ireland; and at the highest levels, they maintained landed interests within the duchy, as revealed by the substantial de Lacy and, later, Marshal holdings across the Channel (William Marshal having eventually succeeded Strongbow to Leinster).

With Tigernán removed, Hugh was now able to secure his position. Warfare often caused displacement in the Middle Ages (as in the modern world), and the invasion of Ireland had been no exception. The conflicts saw many smallholders seek safety and security in neighbouring regions. Now Hugh was keen to lure them back. He offered conciliatory terms, restoring lands and rights to their prior holders. At the same time, he made sure to install his own cadets within a series of local lordships. The key to success lay in balancing the interests of local smallholders with those of the incoming Anglo-Norman elite.

But just as Henry’s speculative grant of Meath was starting to resemble reality, Hugh was recalled (alongside Richard) to help the king face down a rebellion by the Young King. In their absence, the Irish went on the offensive, putting much of Meath to the torch. It would be 1175 before Hugh was in a position to return. He now found himself almost back to square one. After a year of active campaigning, Hugh had made good the losses, re-establishing himself in central Meath and extending his authority to the south and west. It remained to be seen how committed Hugh was to his new domains, however. He continued to have landed interests in Normandy and the Welsh March; and, by the end of 1175, he was back at the royal court in England, albeit in part to deal with Irish affairs. For Hugh’s future in Ireland, the death of Richard fitz Gilbert in April 1176 proved decisive. This opened up new vistas in Ireland, where Richard had been the de facto leader of the Anglo-Norman party since 1172. In the following years, Hugh would dedicate his full resources to achieving a similar position. He went on to marry the daughter of Ua Conchobair, and was soon the leading figure in Irish politics.22

For his part, King Henry had originally foreseen Ireland as a domain he might entrust to his brother William. Younger sons and brothers were a perennial problem for medieval monarchs. By the time Henry went to Ireland in 1172, he’d accommodated William elsewhere. But with four sons of his own, he must have been aware that these new lands would soon come in handy. In 1175, Henry came to terms with Ruaidrí Ua Conchobair, agreeing to limit direct Anglo-Norman control in those parts of Meath, Leinster and Munster that were already in the hands of Richard, Hugh and their men. In exchange, Henry received formal (if largely nominal) acknowledgement of his overlordship over Connacht. Soon thereafter, at an important assembly at Oxford in 1177, Henry conferred Ireland on his youngest son John. The 1170s had seen much strife between Henry and his elder sons, who jostled for power and influence. As a result, the obsequious John was fast emerging as the king’s favourite. Yet, as the youngest of four, John’s prospects were poor. Henry now hoped that Ireland would offer John a kingdom of his own. It provided a base for future claims to the English throne; and if these failed, it might serve as a worthy consolation prize.23

Though it would be another eight years till John stepped foot in Ireland, the country was rarely far from his mind. And while the island never became a regular stop on the royal itinerary, Ireland figures much more prominently in the politics of John’s mature years than it did in those of his father or brother.24 For better or worse (often worse), Ireland’s and England’s fates were now firmly intertwined.

Yet just as Norman influence was being extended in Britain and Ireland, it was starting to be contested in mainland Europe. Would John’s empire survive the test?

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