A quick recap: in my previous post, I started a look into one of my favourite Robert E. Howard creations, Cormac Fitzgeoffrey. I briefly discussed certain elements of Cormac’s character, specifically his anger, and his relation to Conan. In this post, I will go into more depth about Cormac’s life, as well as a bit of amateur psychoanalysis of his personality and character.

Unlike some of REH’s other historical characters, it is quite a simple matter to date and age Cormac Fitzgeoffrey. In “The Slave Princess”, Cormac divulges some fascinating information about his origins in Ireland.

“Wars and massed battles I have seen in plenty,” said he, lifting his great goblet. “Aye–I fought in the battle of Dublin when I was but eight years old, by the hoofs of the Devil! Miles de Cogan and his brother Richard held the city for Strongbow–men of iron in an iron age.”

Strongbow’s forces arrived at Dublin in September, 1170, making Cormac’s birth year eight years before: 1162. This is a most intriguing date for Howard to choose, for it marks the arrival and departure of two immensely important historical figures, not least in Middle Eastern politics. First of all, the death of Baldwin III of Jerusalem: Baldwin’s demise marks the division in fortunes for the Crusaders which would lead to the famous events of the Third Crusade, which Cormac would take part in. The second interesting fact is that this is the year of Temujin’s birth: obviously, Ghenghis Khan’s affect on world and especially middle eastern history cannot be understated. I do not know if this interesting corroboration was intentional on Howard’s part, but I considered it noteworthy.

Another enigma is that of Cormac’s father, Geoffrey the Bastard. In “Hawks of Outremer,” Geoffrey is called “a renegade Norman knight… in whose veins it is said coursed the blood of William the Conqueror.” William himself was known by the Bastard epithet, making it fitting to be carried down the family line. What is odd about this is that the Norman invasion of Ireland would only begin in 1167, five years after Cormac’s birth. Obviously the renegade Geoffrey fled here, his presence and offspring serving as a grim prelude to the days to come. As the child of native and invader, outcast of both peoples, Cormac serves a prophetic, almost eschatological symbol of the Norman invasions themselves.

Cormac’s early life is harsh and unforgiving, and a possible origin for his later demeanour is revealed in “The Slave Princess”:

“So Wulfgar and I came into the battle and the first wounded man I saw was an English man-at-arms who had once crushed my ear lobe to a pulp so that the blood flowed over his mailed fingers, to see if he could make me cry out–I did not cry out but spat in his face, so he struck me senseless. Now this man knew me and called me by name, gasping for water. ‘Water is it”‘ said I. ‘It’s in the icy rivers of hell you’ll quench your thirst!’ And I jerked back his head to cut his throat, but before I could lay dirk to gulley, he died. His legs were crushed by a great stone and a spear had broken in his ribs.”

Just as Cormac was about to hand a receipt to a man who had done him wrong, fate strikes, and the man dies before Cormac has the luxury of killing him. In rage and frustration, Cormac looses his arrows blindly and rapidly into the throng of Normans and Vikings, not knowing if any arrows hit, nor if any hit a foe. Yet after the cosmos snatched away Cormac’s chance for vengeance, another opportunity comes, this time to carry out his bloody duty as a warrior. Wulfgar, lifeblood seeping away fast, commands Cormac to slay Miles de Cogan: eager to prove himself by slaying a mighty lord, Cormac draws his bow. The arrow flies… and splinters harmlessly on de Cogan’s breastplate. He is dragged before De Cogan, and though he is shown leniency, in the years to come he would gain some measure of satisfaction in drawing a life-lasting wound on Miles’ face. Still, the fact that he did not succeed in killing de Cogan must have eaten away at Cormac.

Perhaps Cormac’s frustration at this first battlefield experience provides an impetus to his ferocity: his shame and anger in his shortcomings as an eight-year-old forcing him to push himself ever further, so that he does not fail again. Even though he shows incredible prowess for a child’s standards, I doubt someone as proud as Cormac would take much solace in such relativism. It might not be the defining factor, but it’s intriguing to think that frustration in failure could be a contributing reason for Cormac’s anger.

Ultimately, failure would likely be a common hurdle in young Cormac’s life. For all the valour of Irish kings and the Norse lords of Dublin, the Norman conquest was simply too powerful to resist. With the support of an English pope, constant squabbling among the petty kingdoms and clans, and the assistance of allies from Flanders, Wales and Leinster, the Irish were fighting a losing battle. Even in the Crusades, the victories of Richard would be undone by the awesome forces of Saladin, Jerusalem becoming a Muslim dominion just after it was retaken by the Crusaders.

Nevertheless, none of these grander failures can be attributed to Cormac himself, and he rarely suffers the indignity of personal defeat after his boyhood. How frustrating must it be for Cormac, a man who can crush a man’s head with a punch and hurl battle-axes like they were hatchets, to know that no matter how ferocious or devastating an individual can be in battle, it could still not be enough to secure victory, or even to ensure that victories last? It may not just be a matter of Cormac’s own inability–being a historical series, Howard could not have Cormac rewrite history to a dramatic extent, no matter how gratifying it might be to see him storm into London at the head of an army of ceithernes and gallóglaigh, crash into the Palace of Westminster and tear the gory crown from the unlucky King John’s head, to become High King of the British Isles and utterly change the history of the world. Alas, it was not to be, though Paul Herman asserts that this inability to forge gigantic happenings in historical adventures may have been one of the dramaturgical chains Howard snapped free from in his creation of the Conan tales.

At the same time, it would be simplistic to tie down Cormac as a “crusader” considering his outlaw status in the stories, and the state of flux of the Fertile Crescent during his time means that lands rotate between Muslim and Christian control on almost a yearly basis. Cormac’s anger finds a suitable outlet in this hellish, war-torn place, which would be forever stained red if the burning sun did not bleach the sand. An ideal place for an angry, violent man to vent his murderous tendencies in the name of King, Country and God.

In The Neverending Hunt: A Bibliography of Robert E. Howard, Paul Herman suggests that it is Cormac, not Kull, who is the true predecessor of Conan. Richard L. Tierney concurs in his introduction to Tigers of the Sea, noting his “rude, basic chivalry” and his implacable fighting prowess. I think there is very much evidence to this claim. Herman cites his barbaric ferocity, his stature, the unapologetic darkness and grimness of his actions. There is also the fact that the Cormac tales were written only a short time before “The Phoenix on the Sword,” compared with the longer time between the Kull and Conan stories. However, I would say that Cormac’s unrelenting rage and starkly sober demeanor separate him from Conan as much as Kull’s intellectualism, insecurity and introspection separate the Atlantean from the Cimmerian. In my opinion, Conan is an amalgam of Kull and Cormac, in some ways: he has the barbarian-to-adventurer-to-king biography and occasional intellectual musings of Kull, with the strength and dynamic nature of Cormac. Of course, there are still things which set Conan apart from both men, most notably his appreciation of wine, women and song.

Just as one can trace the beginnings of certain Conan plots, characters and moments from the Kull stories, there are certain times in the Cormac tales one can sense a flash of the Cimmerian. These, along with other comparisons to historical characters, a look at Cormac’s later life, and an overview of the Cormac tales, will be discussed in Part 3 of my look at Cormac Fitzgeoffrey. Suffice to say, however, that even with only two complete stories and a single draft, Cormac Fitzgeoffrey still has a fascinating history with many intriguing connections to Howard’s other characters, which make him a standout character even among the iconic giants of Howard’s fiction.

Diabolus Volt: A Look At Cormac Fitzgeoffrey, Part One

Calvaria ad Victoriam: A Look At Cormac Fitzgeoffrey, Part Three