For the present, however, “sober ways, politic shifts, and amicable persuasions” were the rule.  Chief after chief accepted the indenture which made him owner in fee simple under the king of his tribal lands.  These indentures, it is true, were in themselves unjust, but then it was not as it happened a form of injustice that affected them unpleasantly.  Con O’Neill, Murrough O’Brien, McWilliam of Clanricarde, all visited Greenwich in the summer of 1543, and all received their peerages direct from the king’s own hands.  The first named, as became his importance, was received with special honour, and received the title of Earl of Tyrone, with the second title of Baron of Dungannon for any son whom he liked to name.  The son whom he did name—­apparently in a fit of inadvertence—­was one Matthew, who is confidently asserted to have not been his son at all, but the son of a blacksmith, and who in any case was not legitimate.  An odd choice, destined, as will be seen, to lead to a good deal of bloodshed later on.

One or two of the new peers were even persuaded to send over their heirs to be brought up at the English Court, according to a gracious hint from the king.  Young Barnabie FitzPatrick, heir to the new barony of Upper Ossory, was one of these, and the descendent of a long line of turbulent McGillapatricks, grew up there into a douce-mannered English-seeming youth, the especial friend and chosen companion of the mild young prince.

While civil strife was thus settling down, religious strife unfortunately was only beginning to awaken.  The question of supremacy had passed over as we have seen in perfect tranquillity; it was a very different matter when it came to a question of doctrine.  Unlike England, Ireland had never been touched by religious controversy.  The native Church and the Church of the Pale were sharply separated from one another it is true, but it was by blood, language, and mutual jealousies, not by creed, doctrine, or discipline.  As regards these points they were all but absolutely identical.  The attempt to change their common faith was instantly and vehemently resisted by both alike.  Could a Luther or a John Knox have arrived, with all the fervour of their popular eloquence, the case might possibly have been different.  No Knox or Luther however, showed the slightest symptom of appearing, indeed hardly an attempt was made to supply doctrines to the new converts.  The few English divines that did come knew no Irish, those who listened to them knew no English.  The native priests were silent and suspicious.  A general pause of astonishment and consternation prevailed.