A short distance from my native Carrickmacross, lies an unassuming area known as Aclint. This spot, while not naturally breathtaking, focuses attention as being the site where a significant battle was likely to occur 425 years ago in Irish history, but didn’t. Located on the border of Louth and Monaghan, it bridges Leinster and Ulster.
Bearing significance in the 1599 backdrop, Aclint thus featured as a boundary region between the remote outskirts of the Pale and the persistently Gaelic North. This led to it becoming the place of an infamous encounter on the 7th of September of that same year. The confrontation was between Hugh O’Neill, who was the leading figure of Gaelic Ireland at the time, and Robert Devereux, the 2nd Earl of Essex, praised for his charm and military acumen in England.
During this time, O’Neill was in prime form, with his nine-year-long war already accoladed with victories against the English in Clontibret (1595) and Yellow Ford (1598), therefore establishing him as a formidable adversary for Queen Elizabeth I. As a result, the Queen, in late March 1599, commanded a massive army, the largest ever deployed to Ireland, under Essex’s leadership which was cheered on by onlookers in London, of whom William Shakespeare may have been a part.
However, their departure from the city was marked by an abrupt shift in weather from sunshine to a heavy downpour of rain and hail. This possibly unsettled the normally confident Essex, who thereafter demonstrated a perplexing hesitancy in carrying out his main objective upon arrival in Ireland. Breaking protocol, Essex opted to head south instead of north and targeted weaker Gaelic factions for effortless victories. Concurrently, his army was gradually depleted due to poor weather, disease and rebellion.
A chivalry aficionado, Essex proceeded to knight a number of his disciples, stirring skepticism back home about what we might currently term his ‘cult of personality’, and drawing scorn from the Irish who quipped that he only ever unsheathed his sword to bestow honours.
In the late part of July, a frustrated Elizabeth decreed his immediate departure northwards. Yet, once the pair finally congregated in Aclint, O’Neill’s troops had evolved into a force as formidable as that of Essex.
O’Neill, however, showed hesitance in engaging in combat, considering the potential benefits politics could offer. Using his perception of vulnerability, the crafty leader praised his inexperienced adversary while showing humility by addressing him from the centre of the river, with the London man towering on the other side.
O’Neill fondly remembered campaigns with Essex’s father, the first Earl, from previous years when he was still a faithful yet ambitious servant of the crown. As the duo negotiated potential peace agreements, O’Neill’s bid for religious freedom was met with ridicule from Essex, comparing his horse’s interest in religion to O’Neill’s.
O’Neill politely declined Essex’s archaic notion of resolving their conflict through a duel, considering he was around 50 at the time. Their half an hour parley, although tempted to be declared as a turning point in Irish history, merely delayed the inevitable downfall of O’Neill by two years.
However, it truly became a turning point when, subsequent to further negotiations and a tactful truce agreement from O’Neill, Essex disobeyed orders and returned to England without initiating combat, on September 24th. He hastily rode back to London to present his version of events before Elizabeth’s informants, shockingly surprising the queen in her morning chambers. Her reception was frosty and dismissive. Henceforth, the tale took a tragic turn reminiscent of a Shakespearean drama.
With Elizabeth’s death imminent and the anticipated power void, Essex’s suspicions about his opponents at court held substance. Prior to his poorly planned coup attempt in February 1601, some of his supporters arranged and viewed a performance of Richard II, a play by Shakespeare about the overthrow of a monarch — somewhat a reflection of the Irish wars.
Ignoring the warning signs cost Essex his life in the Tower of London on February 25th, 1601, as his actions sparked rumours of rebellion, with evident inspirations seen in a newly launched Shakespearean play, Julius Caesar. This play, premiering in London while Essex was returning from Ireland, made no mention of the Irish Wars – a taboo issue punishable by death – but was rife with themes of rebellion, honour and the risks associated with regicide.
Meanwhile, Shakespeare’s latest work hosted subtle undertones hinting towards more recent events, although ancient Rome was the outward theme. Essex overlooked these subtle messages, which were largely reflective of his own circumstances and misdeeds.
In another sequence of events, Hugh O’Neill remained invincible for some time, until he and Gaelic Ireland faced their downfall at Kinsale. Despite the Essex debacle, the dignity of the title endured, resurrecting itself thirty years later when the third earl, progeny of the second, returned to construct a castle in south Monaghan, ultimately leading to the foundation of the town of Carrickmacross.
Previously, the queen had voiced her frustration with her advisers, explosively declaring her identity as Richard II. The conspiracy later led to the first recorded execution of a man for sponsoring a Shakespeare play, embedding these events in history.