Grace O’Malley Biography

My name is Gráinne Ní Mháille, known as Grace O’Malley, Queen of the Connaught Seaboard of
Ireland, Chieftain of Upper Owle O’Malley. The Pirate Queen of Ireland. One of the last tribal rulers of our
land, and one of the few to successfully defend their territory from English conquest. At this time, I am fifty-six
years old.
I was born in 1530 at Belclare Castle, near Westport in County Mayo. My father was Owen O Mháille,
known as Dubhdara, meaning Black Oak. He was the Chieftain of our clan. My mother, Margaret, was also a
part of the Clan O Mháille. I was my mother’s only child, though I do have a half-brother on my father’s side,
Donal na Piopa.
Unlike most lords of Ireland who make a living off of farming, our people are seafaring folk. We trade,
we fish, and we demand rightful payment for use of our coasts to do such activities. Though Brehon law forbids
women from inheriting the mantle of Chief of the Name, my brother’s illegitimacy and my parent’s lack of
another heir led to my tanistry since the age of eleven.
I was raised on Clare Island off the coast of Mayo, where I was educated to a greater extent than my
peers. I was surrounded by my mother tongue of Irish, but I also learned English, Spanish, Scottish, Gaelic and
French, both from my schoolings and my travels. Local legend tells that in my youth, I wished to join my father
on one of his expeditions. He refused due to my long hair, which could get caught in the ship’s ropes. However,
I am very stubborn. Out of spite, I embarrassed my father by cutting nearly all my hair off, which earned me the
nickname “Granuaile”, meaning Bald Grace. My stronghold on Clare Island ended up with that name as well.
The legend became so widespread that some believed me to be bald to do this day, which is thankfully untrue.
At age sixteen, I was married off to Donal O’Flaherty, also an heir to the chiefdom of his clan. It was a
union of politics. Only to bring together our clans, as well as in anticipation of Donal’s expected lordship over
West Connacht. But we found a way to love each other. We ruled side by side, as equals. I am very, very astute.
Donal was even the one to teach me the art of pirating. I bore three children during my first marriage: my sweet
Owen, kind and forgiving, just like his namesake; my beautiful daughter Maeve, who I see myself in every day;
and my little shite stain of a son, Murrough. That bastard was sure to take after his father’s love for war. But his
hatred for women is all his own. He would beat my daughter mercilessly, and I would scream and beg and shake
him to stop, and he’d never listen. I no longer…
Donal’s ambitions for lordship were dashed when Queen Elizabeth appointed his kinsman, Sir Murrough
O’Flaherty as Lord of West Connacht. A year later, in 1565, Donal was ambushed and assassinated by Clan
Joyce, our enemies who for years had been trying to take control of Hen's Castle from us. When the Joyces
moved to seize the castle, I fought back, hard, and forced them to retreat. They thought I would resist, but no. I
defended what was rightfully my husband’s. After my victory I returned to my own lands and established my
residence in Granuaile’s Castle on Clare Island, where it is said I took a shipwrecked sailor, Hugh de Lacy, as
my lover. Our affair was cut short, as he was killed by Clan MacMahon of Ballyvoy. First my Donal, then my
Hugh. I wanted vengeance. I attacked the MacMahon castle of Doona in Blacksod Bay and ruthlessly killed
Hugh’s murderers on Cahir Island. I earned a new nickname. “The Dark Lady of Doona.”
In 1566, I took a new husband, Richard Bourke, called “Iron Richard”. We divorced soon afterward, but
with him I had my youngest, my precious Tibbot, whom I gave birth to at sea. Many believe I commanded that
ship and engaged in battle with Barbary pirates right after I bore Tibbot. Regardless, I engaged in countless
battles long after that. I was still not satisfied with my revenge against MacMahons, so I sailed for Ballycroy
and attacked the garrison at Doona Castle, overpowering the defenders and taking the castle for myself. It was
not the only time I interrupted someone’s prayers with an attack. Legend tells of another lord who stole my
property and fled to a church for sanctuary. At first I waited out the thief. I’ve always been very, very primal. I
was sure he would surrender or starve to death, whichever came first was fine by me. However, that thief dug a
tunnel for himself and escaped. When I went for the attack, the hermit who took care of the church broke his
vow of silence to scold me for attempting to harm someone who had sought sanctuary.
In 1576, in respect for my own lands, I engaged in surrender and regrant with Sir Henry Sidney, younger
brother to Phillip Sidney. Despite the change in power structure, I still maintain control over the Connaught
Seaboard, since Rockfleet is over a week's march from Dublin, and I am so often at sea, control by the Crown
over my territory remains very weak. I had every reason, and took every opportunity, to limit the power of
England's “Kingdom of Ireland” over my part of the country. I never refused them, but I also have a birthright
and a debt to my people. An expedition from Galway led by Sheriff William Óge Martyn attacked my castle in
March 1579. However, we put them to flight and they barely escaped.
About this time, as English power steadily grows in Ireland and my power is steadily encroached upon, I
sent a petition to Queen Elizabeth. I asked her, “to grant me some reasonable maintenance for the little time I
have to live" and in return, I would offer, “a surrender at my hands" of the lands of my two acknowledged sons
and my two surviving nephews. I asked for "free liberty during my life to invade with sword and fire all your
highness enemies wherever they are or shall be... without any interruption of any person or persons
whatsoever.”
Throughout all this, King Phillip II of Spain has been courting me, as our union would offer the Spanish
Catholics a direct entrance to England through Ireland. I’ve fought with the Spanish numerous times at sea, but
as of now, only to defend Ireland. Not England. Yet.
I am here at this salon because of Queen Elizabeth’s appointed governor of Ireland, that bastard Sir
Richard Birmingham. He first imprisoned me at the start of this year, and I narrowly escaped execution, but at
the cost of losing my influence and wealth, putting me at the brink of poverty. However, a fire lit in me when I
discovered Birmingham’s arrest of Tibbot, who he charged with treason, his capture of my brother Donal, and
his murder of my son Owen. My son Murrough sided with Birmingham after Owen’s death. You Christian folk
might call him a Judas. This Richard Birmingham took my land, took my power, took my wealth, and I stood
firm. But the moment he decided to take my sons, one way or another, I had no choice but to petition the Queen
for their release.
I have sailed to England to plead my case to Queen Elizabeth. Richard Birmingham has no doubt
poisoned her opinion of me, detailing false myths of my piracy, claiming I was leading a four decade-long
revolt against the Queen. None is true. I have nothing but respect for the Queen. I know what it’s like to be
denied your own birthright. To have those closest to you, your own flesh and blood, despise you because of
your sex. I may not agree with England’s conquest, but I am very aware of who wears the crown here.
So to Elizabeth: I don’t need my land. I don’t need my strongholds. I have no fancy things as you do. All
of it gone. I just want my son back. And if he is released, and your governor, Richard Birmingham is removed
from his position, you have Ireland’s protection against Spain and all their allies.
However, if denied, King Phillip II’s offer of marriage seems far more appealing. I have no love for
Catholics, but I have no real love for Protestants, either. It’s all meaningless to me. But it sure matters quite a bit
to your lot. I am more than aware of Mendoza’s business here, and whether or not I comply or retaliate is on
you, Elizabeth. I am the Pirate Queen for a reason. I am never unarmed, even in court. A pirate can not afford
that.
If Sir Birmingham is removed, my son and brother freed, I give you my defense. But if refused, perhaps
to maintain your power over even the smallest scraps of Ireland, I would recommend hiding a dagger under
your skirt as well, even with all your finest guards at your behest. I have no land. I have no strongholds. I have
no fancy things. Yet I am here. A small, powerless Queen from the coast of measly Ireland crawled her way up
to here. If I can do all that with no power at all, imagine what I can do if I am the bloody Queen of Spain.