#Dun Dubh

[ps1]

Spotlight - Dun Dubh, Isle of Skye, UK

[scotianostra]

On September 12th 1315 Thomas Dun, a privateer from Scotland, sailed into Holyhead, captured an English ship and over-ran Anglesey.

Be thankful for this cracking tale, on what looks like being another quiet day on my history posts, luckily I have loads of pics from yesterday to post!

There isn't a lot known about Thomas Dun before all this, he crops up in the occasional chronicle of the time, several spellings of his name occur, my favourite is Dubh, a privateer is another name for legalised piracy, sponsored by a state, in this case Scotland, specifically, if you look at the date, The Bruces.

To get back to the name, over the few mentions I found about him is one story uses the name Tavish, a Scottish name for Thomas, what a name for a pirate eh" Dubh Tavish, or Black Thomas, just as good a name as another famous pirate Blackbeard!

So why would Robert the Bruce want with a privateer, well after Bannockburn there was no point in just sitting waiting for the English making another attack, so the King sent an army commanded by his wee brother Edward to fight the English in Ireland, which he did with success at first, being crowned King of the Island in 1316.

Black Tavish's main activity was piracy in the Irish sea, directed at English ships. His fleet also acted as a a de-facto navy for the Scots, he is said to have ferried the army over the Irish sea and ran a blockade, starving the English of support.

Dun enters the Irish annals when he is mentioned as taking four ships of the Earl of Ulster just off Portrush in County. The ships were were laden with supplies to help the English war effort including food which was a precious commodity in what was a time of not just war but also famine. Portrush now claims Tavish as their own, running annual pirate festival in his honour.

The Bruce's biographer, John Barbour wrote an account of Edward Bruce’s Irish invasion within living memory of it happening. Edward’s army got into difficulty at Coleraine and Tavish sailed up the mouth of the Bann river to rescue him, ferrying Edward’s soldiers across the river and out of the clutches of the army of the Earl of Ulster.

English chroniclers describe Tavish as "a perpetrator of depredations on the sea" and "a cruel pirate", which is understandable as they were on the wrong end of his activities, however he must not have been a very nice person as John Barbour, writing from the Scottish point of view also calls Tavish a “Scumer of the Se” - scum of the sea.

Tavish raided Holyhead in Anglesey with four galleys and captured a laden cargo ship, the "James" of Caernarvon, it is said after receiving intelligence from a local "rhingyl" (official) who may have sent out a boat to advise him of the opportunity. The Welsh then rose in revolt and Edward II was forced to return to Wales the troops he had recruited to send against Scotland. Now taking the threat of Tavish and the Scots in Ireland seriously, Edward recalled the Cinque Ports fleet as well. When the King of France protested this withdrawal of support against the Flemings, Edward II claimed all his ships were needed for the defence of Ireland.

Edward II had had enough. He ordered a Geoffrey de Modiworthe to construct a special ship and go after Tavish. This was a 140 man galley, very large for those days and probably the fastest vessel in those waters. Even with that, though, they could not catch the pirate and it took an Irish noblemen, John D’Athy, to take to the seas and finally end Tavish’s reign of terror.

In July of 1317, John and his ships intercepted Tavish and his fleet at sea. A sea battle ensued in which 40 of the privateers are said to have been killed and Tavish captured.

Sketches of County Antrim says about the Skerries at Portrush that Tavish “died in his ship there, and was buried on the island, the place of his grave is unknown” but D'Athy is said to have cut off his head and sent it to Dublin.

For King Robert the use of the privateer was only a stop gap, by that time Tavish was done for he was already building his own navy, having instigated a ship building program on the Clyde, a tradition that would continue for most of the next 700 years.

[mostlyuk]

Cleat, Dun Dubh

[arustysnake]

Meta: What is your biggest inspiration for your character? Has it changed over time? How do you think it might change?

Ollie's a real mishmash that came together on the run, and a totally new character to me, so I'm sure I'll find more inspiration to fold in! But really, the key thing is absolutely this group in general. Everyone's wild creative energy is just beautiful to behold!!! And I was browsing the lovely skeletons our majestic mod squad put together, and thought hey, I haven't written anything like that. Could be fun!

There's a crazy corkboard-with-string collection of things under the cut. We'll see where it all goes!

I actually cobbled Ollie's name together from some Irish folklore, because names are hard and I'm a hack - the Oilliphéist is an Irish water serpent (or serpents), and one of the more famous folktales about these creatures involves a character named Ó Ruairc, so! There you go.

Oilliphéist as a word is drawn from oll (great) and phéist (said something like faysht or paysht depending on dialect?) which seems to be used to describe anything on the wyrm-worm continuum of coiling/crawling creatures, from a "fabulous beast" like a dragon, sea serpent, etc. to a literal snake to a literal (or figurative) worm. Range. Love it.

The Oilliphéist(s) is a vaguely fae entity (or entities) - they have similar weaknesses, for instance - and so I've tried to work a little faeish whimsy and weirdness and unsettling, eerie stuff into his family's whole vibe. Natch, I've stolen some of that whimsy from people and places I've known; the O'Rourke house owes a little to my oma's old farmhouse and workshop, full of seemingly endless shelves of hoarded things and creaky architectural oddness and chaotic gardening.

And now for the snake-adjacent human sacrifice gods!! There's this beautiful Irish animated movie called The Secret of Kells - super recommend - and they imagined Crom Cruach, an ancient deity who's on the mysterious side, as this truly unsettling snake creature coiling endlessly in a dark, watery void. Wicked! Crom was something like "the dark/crooked god of the heap/mound," as in, a heap of offerings, a mound of the dead after battle, etc., and was supposedly defeated by Saint Patrick, who toppled his favourite monument at a place called Magh Slécht - the "plain of prostrations/monuments," a hilly area covered in stone tombs. Supposedly, this is where a historical High King called Tigernmas died mysteriously with many followers during some kind of bloody ritual for Crom. Wild!

Crom Dubh, another uncertain sort of god, seems to be based on Crom Cruach and maybe a pirate or highwayman or local chieftain - he also tangled with Saint Patrick, who supposedly turned Dun Briste, where Crom Dubh lived, into the seastack island it is today. Some stories say that's where Patrick sent those snakes/pagans he supposedly cast out of Ireland. And I just think all of that's pretty neat! What it has to do with Ollie and his family, well, maybe nothing! He's heard some very tall tales, lately...

[benvironment]

How kind of the weather to coincide the finest conditions in weeks with a weekend ;-) And what weather it was yesterday over in Argyll! I jumped at the opportunity for sparkling sunshine and headed all the way over to Ford, at the southern end of Loch Awe, to join our most westerly Ramblers Scotland group - Mid Argyll and Kintyre.

As playgrounds go, the group has almost limitless options and I admit I found myself envying them somewhat! Based around Lochgilphead / Tarbert / Kilmartin, they have Knapdale, the forests of Taynish, Crinan, the lochs and the islands to enjoy, not to mention the insane concentration of historical sites in that part of the world.

For yesterday's walk we did a simple loop around the Ederline Estate, taking in the intriguing ruined church and medieval grave slabs at Kilneuair. As most of you elsewhere in Scotland probably experienced, it was a BEAUTIFUL DAY!!! It barely got above freezing, if at all, with frost clinging on anywhere the sun couldn't reach.

After the walk there was the obligatory coffee 'n' cake in Kilmartin, but then I drove back to Ford and romped up the conspicuous solitary lump of Dun Dubh, as it has been enticing me all day. I got up to the top just in time to see the sun setting in explosive fashion over the Paps of Jura. The perfect end to a perfect day, in superbly knowledgeable and friendly company :) And another step forward on my quest to walk with every single one of our Ramblers groups. After yesterday it's 51 down, 4 to go!! :-o

Mid Argyll and Kintyre Ramblers walk every two weeks, on Saturdays. Newbies always welcome, so if you're in the area and looking for somewhere to walk at a weekend, why not get in touch: https://www.ramblers.org.uk/mid-argyll-kintyre

[alluneedissunshine]

Skyescape by images@twiston Via Flickr: Explore #4 28/06/2022 Skyescape - Swathes of rain laden clouds roll over the Trotternish ridge peppering the landscape with sunshine and showers in typical Skye conditions. Heavy rain drenches the landscape from the left of Cleat towards Beinn Edra in the distance; in amongst the mayhem, a crack in the clouds allows a welcome splash of sunlight to fall between Cleat and Dun Dubh highlighting the rugged textures of the ridge. A truly incredible landscape and world-class location, made all the more dramatic by the typical ever changing, moody Skye weather; all viewed from the safety of the Quiraing behind Cnòc a Mhèrlich. Isle of Skye, Scottish Inner Hebrides website | instagram | 500px

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Ten

Read on AO3

“We can’t stay here.” 

 “No, we can’t.” Jamie pulled his wife onto his bare chest. “And wee Hamish has sent a letter, requesting his cousin’s aide. Though he was vague on which, I’m sure he wasna comfortable writing Jamie Fraser on something the English could see.” 

 “So we go to Leoch with Fergus?” 

“I willna put ye in danger, the travel there will be treacherous now wi’ the English on our throats everywhere.” 

 “Well, I’m certainly not leaving you, James Fraser. Have you forgotten I’m wanted too? We go together. And, with us gone, Lallybroch will be safer, we’ll be safer for a while. But…” 

 “What is it Sassenach?” 

 “I know you and the sea aren’t close friends, but ports shouldn’t be as monitored as they were right after Culloden. The islands will be safer, Charles even fled to the Isle of Skye to go to France. In the future, some islands are even able to retain some of their culture, their tartan. We can always go there, it would be safer while we wait… for a pardon.” 

 “A pardon?” He was shocked. 

 “Yes. When I returned I placed three letters in the post at Inverness. Copies of historical letters I assume. They may give us the freedom we want.” 

 A sharp breath escaped his lips and he slumped back on the chair. “Christ, a pardon. You know how well that went the last time.” 

 “But this time there’s no more war, we’re done with that horror.” 

 “Aye, we’ll seek Hamish, then if we canna stay, we’ll bide on one of the wee islands.”

 “What’s this about ye up and leaving Jamie Fraser! And dinna think I’m not cross wi’ ye too Claire!”

 “Jenny,” Claire took her hand, “you know it isn’t safe for us to stay here. We got lucky the last time.” 

 “And I’ll no’ have my wife sleeping in a cave.”

 “Well, ye two eejits could at least wait ‘til yer goddaughter is christened! Ye dinna ha’ to leave wi’ yer tails tucked between yer legs so soon.” 

 “Goddaughter.” Her heart warmed and she squeezed Jenny’s arm.

 “I ken yer already her aunt, but ye’d make a fine goddaughter to the lass. I suppose that would make yer daft husband her godfather. Puir lass.” She feigned pity for the tiny girl in her arms. “Would the both o’ ye wait, jes’ one more day?” 

 Claire looked back at Jamie but already knew their answer. “Of course.” 

 The ceremony was brief, the priest wasn’t prepared to perform it so soon. Caitlin gurgled up at Claire in her arms. The holy water was sprinkled over her tiny forehead in the small kirk near Lallybroch. Other than the slight cry from the chill of water, Caitlin was a perfect baby. The Frasers and Murrays all joined back together to Lallybroch to celebrate. They enjoyed a small stew of rabbit and potato, the most filling one in weeks. Father Ross had the death certificate for Fergus ready to sign, but on seeing the boy alive and healthy, he walked towards the fire in the Great Room. 

 “Wait,” Claire shouted to his back. “Don’t burn it. Jenny, will you sign that?” 

 “He’s clearly no’ deid Claire, are ye off yer heid?” 

 “No, it’s just, it’s important that the document isn’t destroyed. I can’t explain how.” 

 “Verra weel.” She plucked it out of the Father’s hands and went off to the study. She mumbled, knowing long ago not to question her sister's strange nature. 

 Claire had ripped through the fabric of her dresses and the contents of her leather bag to pull out every piece of gold, silver, and jewellery that was left during the hours waiting for Father Ross. It was little less than three years’ salary in her time, but now it would support Lallybroch for years to come. She dumped it all out on the dining and the jewels, gold, and silver scattered and clattered against the wood surface. She had put away some for her and Jamie of course, enough to be comfortable on their journey, but even with the small dent into the funds on the table, it was still an astounding sum. Jamie spied her wedding ring on a chain within the pile and raised a brow to her, but she shrugged her shoulders in reply. 

 “A christening gift.” 

 Everyone at the table stared dumbfounded at the treasure disorganised on the table. A ‘Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ’ was supplied by her son. 

 “How Claire?” Ian piped up. 

 “I didn’t steal it if that’s what you're asking.”

 “Well, how on earth did ye find so much?” Jenny yelled, exasperated. 

 “It was my inheritance from my parents and uncle. And the man whose advances I turned down…gave some of it to me.” 

 “Jesus, Mary, and Bride, ye’ve been hiding this away all this time?” 

 “No, I’ve just recently acquired it myself. But now, it can be put to good use instead of rotting in some bank. Take it, Jenny, use it to save Lallybroch from the famine, clearances, and drought to come.”

 Jenny planted a sloppy kiss onto Claire’s cheek and handed Caitlin over to Ian. She grabbed her arms and began jumping excitedly. Claire even thought she heard a squeal from the small woman. Displays of affection from the woman were rare, and Claire felt so happy and touched that she included her in it. 

 “Claire ye have no idea how this will help us.” 

 “I have some idea.” 

 Their packing was done, and the horses were all lined up for the journey. Jenny embraced Claire, and she was reminded of the parting before Culloden all over again. 

 “Ye come back to us sister,” she raised her voice to a shout so Jamie could hear, “I dinna care much if this oaf does.” 

 “I love ye too Janet.” He pulled her from Claire into a giant hug. 

 “Och, ye ken I love ye too, a bràithair. Now, try to come back to us as quick as ye can. Lallybroch will be missing her Laird.”  

 A plant along the trail made Claire pause. It was a forget me not, and though it was only the beginning of March, it was blooming brilliantly against the grass of the glen. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that they were so close to the standing stones when she found it. She knew they needed to go back together, for closure. So she jumped off her horse and scooped her hands into the dirt. 

 “Jamie I want to go to Craigh na Dun before we stop into Inverness.” 

 Jamie pulled back on the reins of his horse and stalled in the middle of the path before Claire. He looked down at his wife and the flowers in her hands.

 “If you don’t want to that’s fine, I just wanted to plant these there, and we might never get another chance to do so.” 

 “Aye, we’ll go.”

 He dismounted his horse in one swift move. Carefully, Jamie helped Claire back up to her horse without crushing the delicate flowers in the process. Jamie passed the reins of his own horse to his son and climbed up behind his wife on her mare. 

 “Fergus, be a good lad and find a place to shelter in Inverness. Something not too in the open, or conspicuous either.” Jamie pulled out the bag of coins and tossed it to him. 

 “Oui, milord. I shall not fail you.” 

 Milord and papa, milady and maman, had become as interchangeable to Fergus as Jamie’s Sassenach, mo gràidh, mo nighean donn, and the countless other affectionate names he could come up with for his wife. 

 “Now off wi’ ye son, we’ll be shortly after.” 

 They held tight to each other, not able to bear even a second of lost connection. Fog clung to the air surrounding the tall monoliths and blocked the vision to the moor below. 

 “I wish I could punch it. But it won’t even let me do that.” 

 “How about this one to the side. Not too much danger of falling in fer yer wee hand.”

 She pulled slightly apart from him for the first time since they created the hi together. Her arm trembled as she reached out to lightly touch the stone closest to the centre one. Though it had become an unwitting victim of its brother’s actions, it would have to do. Lining up her arm, she delivered the first blow that jolted from the cold surface to the bones of her arm and shoulders 

 “Fuck you!” She screamed a gut-wrenching cry as she slammed her fist into the rock. “Fuck you! Fuck!”

 Her breath hitched and Jamie gathered her once again in his arms. He kissed her skinned knuckles. Giving her a few minutes to calm her racing heart and heaving lungs, Jamie cradled her tight to his chest, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. How many more tears would she cry, for something that was only the size of a blueberry? She knew she’d never lose the feeling of grief, but it would become more manageable most days. With her husband there to bear it with her, she knew it would be a certainty. 

 “I’m ready.” She patted his chest. “Are you?” 

 “Aye.” 

 “Do you want to punch it too?” 

 “No, that bastard stone’s taken too much from us. I won’t give it the satisfaction of flesh and blood from my hands as weel.” 

 She wanted to reach out and cradle the voice she had once heard to her chest, protect her against the violence of the stones. But it seemed it was her daughter instead who protected her. Digging the small hole into the ground by the outer stones, she smiled tearfully. Jamie’s strong hands were right beside hers, guiding the dirt away. Together they scooped the small plant into their hands, a mismatch of Jamie’s on top of Claire’s and then Claire’s on top of Jamie’s. They patted the dirt mound and encased the stems in the nutrients. With the task finished, Claire fell into Jamie’s lap and began to weep. She stroked his shirt with dirtied hands and left stains on the white linen. He rubbed the fabric on her back and Claire felt the moisture fall onto her hair and slowly down to her scalp. She offered him her sgian dubh and he etched into the centre stone with sharp angles, leaving the blade there as a gift.  Baby Fraser.  Claire’s hand trembled in his grip and she was almost consoled by the fact that she could feel his shaking too; he didn’t hide how it affected him as well. “I trust yer grandsire and grandmam are keeping ye out o’ trouble  a leannan . I love you. Tell Faith I love her too, and I ken she protects ye up there, but jes’ because she’s older doesna mean ye canna protect her as weel. Jes’ like I do fer yer auntie. Ye mind what yer family says, and we’ll meet again soon enough.” 

 Claire knelt down and gently cradled the small flower in her hand. “I love you, my baby girl. We love you so much.” 

 Jamie ripped off a strip from his sark and wrapped it around her bloodied knuckles with a kiss. They stayed to talk to the stone for a while. Jamie laughed with Claire after sharing an incident from his boyhood about a goat, some string, a bucket of shite, and his sister. Claire pulled out the photos from within her pockets and shared her child-self to their daughters, and the interesting marvels of the future. Jamie was proud he recognised the ‘airyplane’ from when Claire brought out the black and white pictures in the cave. He was bewildered of course at first, cursing the strange magic, but once he saw the brilliant smile of his Sassenach he knew the depiction couldn’t hold any evil. He especially liked seeing her as a bairn, with pigtails and a pink frilly dress and how the photos showed the change from cute baby to mature woman. She set one into the plastic wrap, a photo of her, her parents, and her uncle and buried it beneath the earth. 

 “Your family is with you always, my darling girl.” 

 With one last glance, they rode back to Inverness holding each other on the saddle. 

 Their short stay in Inverness was that: short. After the first night of full bellies and a warm fire, the innkeeper alerted the travellers to the presence of redcoats fifteen miles away. It gave them time to prepare themselves, instead of another hasty retreat to Leoch. 

 It was not nearly as strong of a fortress as it had once been. 

 Claire was put to use straight away, mending flesh and bone. Jamie was spirited away as well to advise his cousin in the Laird’s Tower. The only bright spot was the wonderful Mrs. Fitz. Fergus spent much of his time messing around the surgery and playing with the medicines, much to Claire’s annoyance. No matter how many times he insisted it would not happen again, his nimble little fingers were constantly filching items off of shelves and tables. So she sent him off to the kitchens.

 The ledgers had become impossible, and Leoch was close to ruin from partially funding the Jacobite cause. They felt the sharp absence of those who had fought bravely alongside them. None were left. Most of the men residing in the lands were either too old, too young, or too crippled to fight. There was talk of taking up a deal with the British, to leave Leoch and settle somewhere comfortable in America. Hamish was inclined to that option more and more each day. The Lairdship was not an easy thing for a twelve-year-old, let alone under such stress of a post-war climate. So, it was decided that the MacKenzies would sell Leoch to the British for land somewhere deep in Virginia. As much as it pained them to leave their culture and homeland in the hands of those bastards, they had no other choice. The lands produced nothing, the woodlands sparse, and their supplies pilfered by roaming soldiers. Claire felt guilty for the small amount of gold tucked into her dresses, but she told herself the amount she was left with couldn’t save them all. They stayed in constant communication with Jenny through letters and informed her of their impending move. Jenny wrote back to her cousins,  Alexander and Elizabeth Malcolm , just as often, if not more eager to know they were safe. 

 In the blistering heat of the summer, Claire, Jamie, and Fergus travelled in the safety of the band of MacKenzies. Virtually no redcoats bothered them on their way, patriot to king and country as the Laird most certainly was in their eyes. 

 At Ullapool, they said their last goodbyes as they split to different destinations. Jamie couldn’t possibly survive a month-long journey across the water. They purchased passage on the  Serendipity  and waited. 

 Jamie wretched off the side of the gangway as the ship made port. Stornoway, and from there they would hopefully find somewhere to settle down. A croft, north of Stornoway soon came to their attention. Most of their money went to purchase the land outright, they weren't too keen to rent one out as other crofters did, knowing the clearances would hit Scotland hard. So, Alexander Malcolm, his wife, and his son, began to build a home out of the small abandoned cottage. They hoped it would be temporary but would be fine if it wasn’t, for they had all they needed already: each other.

[enricomartino]

Happy St Patrick Day! Down Patrick Head, a remote cliff of Mayo Country. Here according to a legend, the pagan king Crom Dubh refusing the conversion to Christianity by St Patrick, would take refuge on this rock, the Dun Baiate, still part of the coast. After vain attempts the saint would have touched the ground with a stick collapsing part of the promontory and leaving the king to die alone on the Dun Baiste. #turismoirlanda #visitireland #mayocounty #stpatrickday #saintpatricksday #seascape #wildatlanticway #landscape #onassignment #nikon #cliff #bbctravel #cnntravel #huffpostgram #travelmagazine #travelphotographer #awesomeplaces #natgeo #traveldeeper #letsgosomewhere #instagood #instaoftheday https://www.instagram.com/p/CbNEONoMydq/?utm_medium=tumblr

[azvolrien]

Because I’m a worldbuilding nerd who wanted to share: here is a list of what all the place names on the Sea Loch map mean, not including the ones already in English. Ahem, ‘Imperial’.

The lochs:

Myrkfjord - Dark Fjord

Kaldrfjord - Cold Fjord

Ulvsfjord - Wolf Fjord

Bjarnafjord - Bear Fjord

Loch Dubh - Black Loch

Loch Gorm - Blue Loch

Loch Crom - Crooked Loch

Loch Deas - South Loch

The settlements:

Valsnes - Whale Headland

Drekaheim - Dragonhome

Isgard - Ice Court

Skogsvik - Forest Bay

Hafanger - Seafield

Ornsdal - Eagle Valley

Ornfell - Eagle Mountain

Skipway - Ship Bay

Selwick - Seal Bay

Torsey - Thunder Island

Inverbeg - Little Confluence

Kinlochdubh - Head of the Black Loch

Duncraig - Crag Fort

Calabeg - Little Harbour

Auchtertan - Marten Upland

Dun Ardech - Horse Headland Fort

Aird - Headland

Willan - Elbow

Glenmara - Sea Valley

Eelerness - Eagle Headland

Inchmuchty - Pig Meadow

Kinlochdeas - Head of the South Loch

Ardnacreag - Headland of the Crag

[blogelenanic]

Ancient landscape por images@twiston Por Flickr: Ancient landscape - Looking across from the Quiraing to the unique and ancient landscape that is the Trotternish Ridge, with the summer greens of Cnòc a Mhèrlich, Cleat and Bioda Buidhe catching the shifting light on an otherwise gloomy afternoon. Isle of Skye, Scottish Inner Hebrides website | instagram | 500px | twitter

[scotianostra]

On September 12th 1315 Thomas Dun, a privateer from Scotland, sailed into Holyhead, captured an English ship and over-ran Anglesey.

There isn't a lot known about Thomas Dun before all this, he crops up in the occasional chronicle of the time, several spellings of his name occur, my favourite is Dubh, a privateer is another name for legalised piracy, sponsored by a state, in this case Scotland, specifically, if you look at the date, The Bruces.

To get back to the name, over the few mentions I found about oor ain pirate, one story uses the name Tavish, a Scottish name for Thomas, what a name for a , Dubh Tavish, or Black Thomas, just as good a name as another famous pirate Blackbeard!

So why would Robert the Bruce want with a privateer, well after Bannockburn there was no point in just sitting waiting for the English making another attack, so the King sent an army commanded by his wee brother Edward to fight the English in Ireland, which he did with success at first, being crowned King of the Island in 1316.

Black Tavish's main activity was piracy in the Irish sea, directed at English ships. His fleet also acted as a a de-facto navy for the Scots, he is said to have ferried the army over the Irish sea and ran a blockade, starving the English of support.

Dun enters the Irish annals when he is mentioned as taking four ships of the Earl of Ulster just off Portrush in County. The ships were were laden with supplies to help the English war effort including food which was a precious commodity in what was a time of not just war but also famine. Portrush now claims Tavish as their own, running annual pirate festival in his honour.

The Bruce's biographer, John Barbour wrote an account of Edward Bruce’s Irish invasion within living memory of it happening. Edward’s army got into difficulty at Coleraine and Tavish sailed up the mouth of the Bann river to rescue him, ferrying Edward’s soldiers across the river and out of the clutches of the army of the Earl of Ulster.

English chroniclers describe Tavish as "a perpetrator of depredations on the sea" and "a cruel pirate", which is understandable as they were on the wrong end of his activities, however he must not have been a very nice person as John Barbour, writing from the Scottish point of view also calls Tavish a “Scumer of the Se” - scum of the sea.

Tavish then extended his activities. He raided Holyhead in Anglesey with four galleys and captured a laden cargo ship, the "James" of Caernarvon, it is said after receiving intelligence from a local "rhingyl" (official) who may have sent out a boat to advise him of the opportunity. The Welsh then rose in revolt and Edward II was forced to return to Wales the troops he had recruited to send against Scotland. Now taking the threat of Tavish and the Scots in Ireland seriously, Edward recalled the Cinque Ports fleet as well. When the King of France protested this withdrawal of support against the Flemings, Edward II claimed all his ships were needed for the defence of Ireland.

Edward II had had enough. He ordered a Geoffrey de Modiworthe to construct a special ship and go after Tavish. This was a 140 man galley, very large for those days in the Irish Sea, and probably the fastest vessel in those waters. Even with that, though, they could not catch the pirate and it took an Irish noblemen, John D’Athy, to take to the seas and finally end Tavish’s reign of terror. In July of 1317, John and his ships intercepted Tavish and his fleet at sea. A sea battle ensued in which 40 of the privateers are said to have been killed and Tavish captured.

Sketches of County Antrim says about the Skerries at Portrush that Tavish “died in his ship there, and was buried on the island, the place of his grave is unknown” but D'Athy is said to have cut off his head and sent it to Dublin.

For King Robert the use of the privateer was only a stop gap, by that time Tavish was done for he was already building his own navy, having instigated a ship building program on the Clyde, a tradition that would continue for most of the next 700 years.

[betweensceneswriter]

Second Wife-Chapter 15: By the Ballocks

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously -  Chapter 14 : The Crowded Bed Two is company. Four is a crowd.

“There’s men as are sensible,” she said to me, with a wicked smile, “and beasts as are biddable. Others ye’ll do nothing with, unless ye have ’em by the ballocks. Now, ye can listen to me in a civil way,” she said to her brother, “or I can twist a bit. Hey?” (Outlander 588).

     “Daddy…Daddy…Da!!” The voice got progressively louder, until finally Jamie woke from his sleep. He opened one eye first. He had been sleeping on Jenny and Ian’s couch, and there was a patch of spittle left on the brocade where he must have been sleeping with his mouth open.

    “I’m an old man!” Jamie grumbled, his voice still gritty with sleep. “Snorin’ and droolin’!”

    Joanie laughed as he sat up, and came close to him to smooth out his hair and retie his queue. “Yer hair looked fair awful!” she giggled. “But I fixed it.”

    “Now, wee lassie, why are ye wakin’ yer father from his deep slumber?” Jamie rubbed his eyes, feeling ridges in the skin of his cheek. The pattern on Jenny and Ian’s couch was now imprinted on his face. Wonderful.

    “I want to go swimming in the mill pond,” she said. “But Ma said I canna go alone. Would you come watch me?”

    “But wee one, ye didna bring any extra clothes for swimming,” Jamie said.

    “That’s not stopping Ian, Michael, Janet, and Marsali,” she said, pouting. Jamie’s eyes widened.

    “What do you mean, Joanie?” Jamie asked, attempting to keep his voice calm.

    “They took their clothes off to go swimming,” Joanie announced confidently.

    Jamie stared at her, his forehead wrinkled. Then he jerked alert, startled, realization flooding his features. “Joanie, where’s yer ma?”

    “She’s upstairs, sleepin',” Joan answered. “Or, she was until I asked her if I could go swimming.”

    “But she went back to sleep after ye left her room?”

    “No,” Joanie responded reassuringly, shaking her head and frowning. “When I told her I didna need a swimming costume cause Marsali, Michael, and Ian weren’t wearing any, she woke up. And she said, ‘Go get yer da,’ so I figured she wanted you to help me swim.”

    “Oh, Christ,” Jamie swore, pulling on his boots as quickly as he could.

    “What’s wrong?” Joan asked, concerned. Jamie generally tried not to swear around the girls.

    “If Marsali is swimming wi’ boys wi’out her clothes on, yer ma is going to kill first her and then me…Or first me and then her.” He shook the last remnants of sleep out of his head, grabbed a large blanket, and headed quickly towards the mill.

    In the years since Jamie lost his shirt on the water wheel, Ian and the boys had excavated a large area below the mill which they had turned into a pond, for a reservoir. They used the power of the mill to pump some water to the grain fields, and it assured them a water supply in case of drought. Of course, it was Scotland, so that was rare. The children liked to use the mill pond for refreshing on hot days, or just to amuse themselves. Today fell into the amusement category, as it was May, and the sky was still gray and overcast.

    Jamie muttered to himself as he approached the mill pond. Looking ahead, he could see black and golden heads of hair, both on women’s bodies, wearing skirts and shawls. Jenny. . .and Laoghaire. For a moment, he considered turning around and heading back to the house. Jenny could oversee her own children; Laoghaire could take care of Marsali.

    But remembering Laoghaire’s reaction to Marsali starting her courses, he realized it would be cowardly of him and more traumatic for Marsali for him to stay away.

    “Ian Murray, Michael Murray!” Jenny was exclaiming sharply. “Get out of the water this instant!! What on earth are you thinkin'?” The boys were pulling themselves out of the water, cupping their hands around their ballocks and arses. Jenny sharply swatted each of them on the side of the head as they skittered past her to the piles of clothing on the rocks by the gravel entry to the pond. Jamie stretched the blanket out like a curtain and stood between the boys and the pond as they hastily tried to pull shirts and breeks on over wet skin. He told them with his eyes and eyebrows, no words needed, that as soon as they were dressed, they’d better make themselves scarce.

    “Thanks, Uncle Jamie,” said Ian, making a face.

    “Aye, thanks Uncle,” Michael agreed.

    “We didna do anything,” feisty Janet insisted to the indignant mothers as the boys dashed away over the grassy fields toward Lallybroch in the distance. She and Marsali were still huddled shoulder-deep in the water. “The lads turned their backs to let us get in first, and then we looked away for them. Ye canna see far in the water. We thought you’d prefer it to us getting our clothing all wet.”

    Jamie could see, from the tight set of Laoghaire’s lips, that Janet’s explanation was not adequate.

    “Shall we let the girls get out?” Jamie asked. “I can turn my back, Jenny, and you and Laoghaire can hold the blanket to give the lassies a place to dress. I dinna want them to catch their death of cold just because you’re angry at them.” He handed off the blanket and turned his back, shaking his head. Lassies were so much more complicated than lads, that was for certain. Of course, he wasn’t convinced that Ian and Michael would have kept their end of the bargain. He knew he’d seen Jenny a time or two as a teenager. Education, he figured. Living on a farm you saw a lot more than just private parts. It wasn’t a perfect education however, he considered ruefully, remembering a young man with some misconceptions needing to be kindly corrected on his wedding night.

    After attempting to squeeze any extra water out of their hair, the girls dressed, and the five headed back to the house. He’d warned Joanie to find something else to do. He imagined there’d be some heated discussions on their return.

    When they entered the house and found their way into the front parlor, Marsali and Janet huddled next to each other on one couch, and Jenny, Laoghaire, and Jamie sat on the other one, facing them. Jamie noted that Laoghaire was already starting to sniffle.

    “Where are the lads?” Janet snipped. “We arna the only ones to blame.”

    “No doubt they’ll have their own sort of consequence later,” Jamie said. “Ian and I will discuss it.”

    “Janet already told you,” Marsali said, stubbornly lifting her chin. “We chose to swim this way to save wash, and it wasna a problem. We didna do anything wrong.”

    “The boys didna touch you, Marsali?” Laoghaire asked, obviously speaking over a sizeable lump in her throat.

    “Ma!” Marsali exclaimed. “Ye dinna think I’d do any such thing wi’ my cousins, d’ye?”

    “Nor me, wi’ my brothers?” Janet piped up. “Other than that I’ve seen them nekkid since they were wee little things.”

    Jamie raised a finger, seeking permission to speak. “I will say, Janet, that yer bodies are not the same as when ye were wee little things. A time comes when it isna right for boys and girls to be in each other’s company nude!”

    Laoghaire had started quietly weeping. Jenny and Jamie met each other’s eyes in confusion.

    “Laoghaire,” Jamie said. “I dinna think ye need to worry. When Jenny and I were children, if I wasna listening to her well enough, she would reach under my kilt and grab me by the bollocks to make me listen to her.”

    Wee Janet burst out laughing as Jenny blushed and glared at Jamie. “Ma, really? Well, I never did that wi’ Ian or Michael.”

    Marsali got up from the couch and knelt at Laoghaire’s feet, then grabbed her hands. Looking up at her mother, she said seriously, “Mama, I know how important it is to you that I marry well. I willna do anything that could endanger that. We were just swimmin’.”

    Laoghaire tried to quell her tears. Jamie reached over to pat her shoulder. He felt her stiffen slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

    “I need to check the roasting chicken,” Laoghaire sniffled, getting up from the couch. She and Marsali headed to the kitchen, wee Janet following behind. Brother and sister sighed as they met each other's eyes.

    “Shall we walk?”

    They walked in silence for a time, Jamie moderating the length of his strides so that Jenny could keep up with him. Without intending to, Jamie turned them toward the Fraser cemetery up on the top of a hill, with a view of fields, lake, mountains, and farms.

    Since they were already there, the siblings met each other’s eyes and climbed up through the break in the wall, gently laying their hands on the precariously balanced stones as they passed them. Jenny followed as Jamie wended his way through the lichen-covered gravestones towards the ones that marked the graves of Brian Dubh Fraser and Ellen MacKenzie Fraser. And Matthew Fraser. They stood, looking at the trio of stones etched with names and dates.

    “Where shall we put ye, Jamie?” Jenny asked sharply.

    “Put me?” Jamie turned to her. “What an odd question, Janet. Where there’s room. By Da.”

    “No, ye clot-heid. Not when you die. Now. Because yer actin’ like ye’re already dead.”

    But he was dead, Jamie thought, absurdly. He had died back at Culloden Moor; no, he had died at the stones—at Craigh na Dun.

    He realized how foolish those thoughts were. “I’m not dead, Janet, nor am I acting like it. I came out and helped wi’ getting the wee fools out of the pond. I at least thought to bring a blanket. And I brought my family here for Marsali’s birthday."

    “I grant ye that,” Jenny said. “But yer heart’s not in it.”

    Jamie put his fingers to his temples. “Ye women weary me. I’m surrounded wi’ them all day long, and now ye’ve got more to add to the ways I feel like I will ne’er be enough.”

    Jenny looked at her brother, and saw the lines of weariness on his face. And yet, she didn’t relent. “Ye are a man, James, so be one. She isna coming back.”

    Jamie turned to her, eyes narrowed.

    “This life,” Jenny said, her arm taking in the surrounding view. “This? This is what you get. Down there in that stone house? That’s the wife you get. Those are the daughters you get. I’m the only sister you get. Ian’s the only brother-in-law.”

    “Now, Janet,” Jamie had bristled at the mention of Joanie and Marsali. “I love those little lassies like they were my own. I live each day as if it’s the only one I have because I know how precious time is.”

    “What about yer wife, then?” Jenny asked. She put her hands on her hips, making herself resemble a fierce little bantam hen.

    “What have ye been wheedling out of Laoghaire?” Jamie asked accusingly.

    “She says you try. But she also says that you come to her as if you expect something of her, and she always feels like she’s disappointing you!”

    Jamie turned away with a gruff grumble. “I dinna ken that I ever feel I’ve ended a day with Laoghaire happy.”

    “Ye canna expect this marriage to be the same as what you had with Claire. This is what there is, Jamie. Did you hear me? Stop lookin' for what ye had before.”

    Jamie gazed out over the countryside, then began to speak contemplatively.

    “Tell me, Jenny, having known love with Ian, would you be satisfied with a shadow of that love?”

    “I would try,” Jenny responded.

    “I have tried, Janet,” Jamie said quietly. “But ‘tisna even a shadow. She’s a wall, a darkness that absorbs everything I give and shines nothing back to me. I’m weary. I canna be myself with Laoghaire. I make a wee joke? It hurts her feelings. I come to her in our bedroom, and the next day she’s screamin' and cryin' and willna tell me what I’ve done.”

    The two stared at each other, foreheads wrinkled. Finally, Jenny chuckled wryly.

    “D’ye think marriage is easy, Jamie?” Jenny said. “Ye were married for three years; now ye’ve been married for four months. Ian and I have been married for twenty-four years. Do ye not know that sometimes Ian and I hate each other? Sometimes I canna bear the sight of the man. Sometimes he thinks I’m a shrew and a harpy.”

    She saw the look on her brother’s face and glared at him. “And dinna say that sometimes I am a shrew and a harpy. For I ken that’s what ye were thinkin’, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.”

    Jamie recited a proverb he’d heard from his father:

    “Ceannsaichidh a h-uile fear an droch bhean, Ach an duin' aig am bi ì,”*

    At Jenny’s lowered brows he translated: “Everyone can rule a shrew, Except the one she’s married to.” Jamie drew his sister to him, her head underneath his chin. “Ah, Janet,” he said. “Ye are a shrew and a harpy. And I love ye anyway.” He kissed her on the forehead, grabbed her by the hand, and led her away from the stones.

    They stopped at the crest of the hill to look over the land.

    “This, Janet?” Jamie asked, a question in his voice.

    “This is what there is, Jamie.”

    Jamie sighed deeply. “Janet,” he asked, as he stepped down before her and reached a hand back to help her down. “I’m no wearin’ a kilt. But why do my ballocks hurt?”

    She scoffed, and gently boxed his ear. “Gille gòrach*. I love ye, too.”

* foolish boy

On to Chapter 16 : Comfort She needed to go somewhere for comfort...

[thirdeyetraveller]

HOW TO VISIT LALLYBROCH FROM OUTLANDER - ULTIMATE GUIDE TO MIDHOPE CASTLE

HOW TO VISIT LALLYBROCH FROM OUTLANDER - ULTIMATE GUIDE TO MIDHOPE CASTLE | #lallybroch #outlander #midhopecastle

[fusion_text]Yes, Outlander fans, Lallybroch is real and you can become the next Lady or Laird of Lallybroch if you wanted too!

Lallybroch is the ancestral castle home of Jamie Fraser. Who is also known as James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser (JAMMF), Laird Broch Tuarach, Alexander Malcolm, Red Jamie, Mac Dubh, The Dun Bonnet and the man of all men.

As a huge Outlander fan myself, visiting…

[celtfather]

20 Rockin' Irish Drinking Songs #424

Rock out to the Top 20 Irish Drinking Songs from the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast.

The Celtic Kitchen Party, Stout Pounders, The Barley Boys, Homeland, Bridgid's Cross, Hair of the Dog, Musical Blades, Ceann, Boston Blackthorne, The Brazen Heads, St. Jame's Gate, Bangers and Mash, Rebels and Sinners, The Fighting Jamesons, Barleyjuice, Bourbon & Shamrocks, Battlelegs, Sgian Dubh, Screaming Orphans

I hope you enjoyed this week's show. If you did, please share the show with ONE friend.

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast is dedicated to growing our community and helping the incredible artists who so generously share their music. If you find music you love, buy their albums, shirts, and songbooks, follow them on Spotify, see their shows, and drop them an email to let them know you heard them on the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast.

Remember also to Subscribe to the Celtic Music Magazine. Every week, I'll send you a few cool bits of Celtic music news. It's a quick and easy way to plug yourself into more great Celtic culture. Plus, you'll get 34 Celtic MP3s for Free, just for signing up today. Thank you again for being a Celt of Kindness.

VOTE IN THE CELTIC TOP 20 With the new year comes a new votes in the Celtic Top 20. This is our way of finding the best songs and artists each year. Just list the show number, and the name of as many bands in the episode as you like. Your vote helps me create next year's Best Celtic music of 2019 episode.  Vote Now!

THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

0:06 - "All For Me Grog" by The Celtic Kitchen Party from Sociable!

3:15 - "Wild Colonial Boy" by Stout Pounders from Pour Decisions

6:18 - "Raggle Taggle Gypsy" by The Barley Boys from The Days of Abundance

11:14 - "Mrs. McGrath" by Homeland from We Never Got This Far Alone

15:30 - "Drunken Sailor" by Bridgid's Cross from Half Two

18:18 - "Whiskey in a Jar" by Hair of the Dog from Let It Flow

21:11 - "Leaving of Liverpool" by Musical Blades from Up the Ante

24:18 - CELTIC FEEDBACK

27:20 - "Old Dun Cow" by Ceann from Making Friends

30:58 - "Black & Tans" by Boston Blackthorne from County Kerry to Kerry Park

34:14 - "Wind That Shakes the Barley" by The Brazen Heads from Who's Your Paddy

37:30 - "All Around My Hat" by St. Jame's Gate from Happy Life

41:09 - "Star of the County Down" by Bangers and Mash from Quicksand Cafe

43:25 - "Spancil Hill" by Rebels and Sinners from Day's Just Begun

47:30 - CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

49:01 - "Rocky Road to Dublin" by The Fighting Jamesons from Every Day Above Ground

52:38 - "Tim Finegan's Wake" by Barleyjuice from Six Yanks

56:39 - "7 Drunkin Nights" by Bourbon & Shamrocks from Shocks & ARRRR!

1:01:14 - "Wild Rover" by Battlelegs from Lost My Shoes

1:05:46 - "Whiskey You're the Devil" by Sgian Dubh from Frightening All the Dogs

1:10:24 - “Follow Me Up to Carlow” by Screaming Orphans from Taproom

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn, The Celtfather. To subscribe, go to Apple Podcasts or to our website where you can become a Patron of the Podcast for as little as $1 per episode. Promote Celtic culture through music at http://celticmusicpodcast.com/.

  CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

* Helping you celebrate Celtic culture through music. My name is Marc Gunn. I am a Celtic musician and podcaster. This show is dedicated to the indie Celtic musicians. I want to ask you to support these artists. Share the show with your friends. And find more episodes at celticmusicpodcast.com. You can also support this podcast on Patreon.

FairPlé aims to achieve gender balance in the production, performance, promotion, and development of Irish traditional and folk music. They advocate for equal opportunity and balanced representation for all. Visit their website for more details about this great organization.

TRAVEL WITH CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS

Every year, I take a small group of Celtic music fans on the relaxing adventure of a lifetime. We don't see everything. Instead, we stay in one area. We get to know the region through it's culture, history, and legends. You can join us with an auditory and visual adventure through podcasts and videos. Join the invasion at http://celticinvasion.com/

THANK YOU PATRONS OF THE PODCAST!

We hit our 14th year anniversary at the end of July. Your kind and generous support of this show each and every week are the reason it still exists after 14 years.

There are many ways to support the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast, throughs donation, buying bumper sticker, pint glasses or t-shirts. But the best way of all is to become a Patron of the Podcast.

You can make a pledge of a dollar or more per episode and cap how much you want to spend each month. Your generosity funds the creation, promotion and production of the show. It allows us to attract new listeners and to help our community grow. And you also get episodes before regular listeners.

And when we hit a milestone, you get an extra-long episode. We are super close to getting a two-hour instrumental special.

You can become a generous Patron of the Podcast at http://patreon.com/celticpodcast.

I want to thank our Patrons of the Podcast: Chris C., Dwayne B., Cathy H., Kevin Leahy, Trevor, Murray F

  I WANT YOUR FEEDBACK

What are you doing today while listening to the podcast? You can send a written comment along with a picture of what you're doing while listening. Email a voicemail message to celticpodcast@gmail.com

Robyn Dobbs emailed: "Good morning Marc, on my way to the Scottish Highland Games in Blue Lake, California."

Hester emailed: "Good day. My name is Hester I am from South Africa. I like Celtic music and I was looking for a station that plays Celtic music. I came across your podcasts and I love it so much.

This is really my favourite podcast to listen to even though I don't get to all of them, it is the only thing that I listen to on TuneIn radio. I absolutely love bagpipes, making your podcasts even more special. Thank you for keeping traditional music alive. (Even if it is not my culture)  Keep up the good work."

Adriana Sanroman emailed: "Hello from Mexico! I have enjoyed your podcast from the very first year and I really did love the last episode with Jesse Ferguson. In fact, the guest episodes have been amazing. I usually listen to you while working, I work as an archaeological conservator in a field lab in the middle of this hectic city. Thanks for the amazing work and go brágh!"

Beth Hlabse emailed: "I just wanted to thank you, Marc, for episode 418. I really needed something positive in my life right now and this episode definitely was that. Peace”

Kim Knebel emailed: "Dear Marc, Thank you for the countless hours you give to creating these podcasts, keeping up your newsletter and all the other things you do and are involved in. I want to say "bravo" to you for calling out whoever the arse was that had something bad to say about the guest host(ess), Susan, and your efforts to support FairPle. Good music is good music no matter who is playing. Sad but true, women are misrepresented in many venues, have been for quite some time. My mother, who would be 105-6 were she alive, couldn't be the textile designer she wanted to be, because that was a man's domain in her era. So, I thank you and all those who are working to gain more recognition for women in the arts and in general.  Slainte!"

  Check out this episode!

[kayawagner]

SO6 Barrow of Blood

Publisher: Starry Knight Press

Barrow of Blood

  A Horror “One-Shot” Adventure

Compatible with Most Fantasy RPG systems

Recommended for 4-6 player characters of levels 6 to 8

                                                                                                                  You thought you had found a peaceful farm to spend the night at.

But all is not as it seems: the farmer’s son has been missing for 5 days!

The young fool went seeking fame and fortune in an ancient barrow mound.

  Hello and welcome, adventurers and Game Masters! 

In this adventure your players are tasked with finding and rescuing a missing sage and, if possible, completing his final quest and recovering the lost treasures he was seeking in an ancient barrow mound. Inside the barrow mound your players will face a host the vampire court of a long dead kingdom, and all their undead and demonic minions! It’s up to them to stop these evil beings from breaking free and laying waste to the countryside. So sharpen those stakes and pull out the garlic, it’s time for some vampire hunting! 

This supplement contains a completely original ONE SHOT adventure, fully detailed and ready for immediate use with very little preparation by the GM or the players! Inside you will find great Old-school art and a detailed isometric map, with keyed encounters for each area. This module also includes a fully detailed map of the nation of Dun Bhriste, done in the Old School style, with information for further exploration. A quick night of role-playing fun right at your fingertips!

This module also provides wonderful background information and additional areas for adventure for those GM’s setting their campaigns in the author’s ever expanding campaign world, which now comprises four different kingdoms: Jarlburgh, Alderburgh, The Red Eagle Barony, and Dùn Bhriste. 

This adventure takes place in the woods near the Dubh Glas farm, which is located near the farming village of Clachan Fial, in the author’s campaign world. Clachan Fial is a medium sized village which lies just south of the well traveled trade route between Dùn Bhriste, this region’s capitol city, and Baile Átha Quinith, the capital of the neighboring nation of The Red Eagle Barony. It is the setting for the Starry Knight Press module S02 Clash at Fort Valour and the adventure Lair of the Toad, in supplement SR1 Zero Level Player Rules. (all of which are available for purchase on DriveThruRPG). 

This book features 28 pages of excitement and thrills, with players facing a horde of blood sucking vamps, and it is sure to please discerning GMs and players everywhere!

As an ADDED BONUS, as a purchaser of one of my modules you also get, ABSOLUTELY FREE, a copy of the inaugural issue of my Old School RPG zone, CAVALIER ATTITUDE!!

Louis “sirlou” Kahn Starry Knight Press January 2018

Price: $7.50 SO6 Barrow of Blood published first on https://supergalaxyrom.tumblr.com

[celticseastar]

Chapter 1  Dubh linn

Maire’s first post.

…and there was a small cottage along the big sea, nestled in some trees where Maire went for alone time.  On this morn she rose to sit outside it along the rocks to enjoy the quiet.  There was not even a ripple to lap upon the shore and the sands were firm and wet with stillness.   A perfect time for thinking….. Restless and slow, the huge ball of orange fire, lifted out of the sea, and a cloudy Irish sky welcomed it.  Maire welcomed it as it was reliable.  The Irish believed that water….the air, earth, and fire were the elements of life.  Her people were grateful for it.

Downstream, there would wake, a bustle on the wooden quay; as shipbuilders resumed their work once more.  Maire thought about the way of life in Fingal Town.   Three cultures living in harmony; the Picts, the Norse and the Irish….even she had them in her veins….and she desired  that she would live to tell the tale.  

Her father and those before him wanted it so …made it so that his descendants would remember the lessons, the struggles and the dreams of those who came before.  Maire knew her roots; and as she gazed out over the Irish Sea, a warm pride filled her.  

Morning was Maire’s favorite time.  It was a time for musings, a time to make connections and to make sense of her being.  Something in her past had made this so, this desire to look for beauty among those who had come before in order to go forward.  Maire knew she was different than her sister and brothers.  She wished there was a way to “keep” the stories she knew.  She could read and write.  She dreamed of writing it down....making a book~ like the monks in the monasteries.  But her people were pagan.  Not that being a lover of the old ways was backward, but she loved knowledge.

Maire started coming to the cottage, even as a child with her mother.  Sometimes they came because her father had gone: traveling…meeting with clans or other minor kings in Mide….  sometimes he was at a Dyflin Town meeting with the underlord, King Silkbeard, who was also Maire’s uncle.  She was of Viking descent through her mother.  

As she grew older her mother, Maul Muire ingen Amlaib went to the cottage to be alone.  Maire feared she was sad….and that is when she became lonely.

This morning she was at the cottage alone, and when she awoke, ventured out onto the rocky shore. A few stray auburn tresses blew across her face as a gentle mist soothed her cheeks.  As she walked she drew near to the wooden quay, where long ships were roped, built, and hoisted.  Maire waved to a group of workers as they were just arriving for the day.  Most were Norsemen, yet because through the years, the Irish had intermingled and married, the two cultures had become one.

Moving back toward solid land, Maire caught the whiff of coffee and pork wafting through the air.  It’s origin was the bar on the corner on the main street which fed onto the quay.  

Lifting her linen skirts, the princess entered the open doors, lowered her face, not really wanting to draw attention, she slid onto a small wooden chair at a table near a window which overlooked the sea.

Her thoughts ventured out, studying the shapes and sizes of the Viking ships lining the horizon beyond the shipyard which were tied along the Dublin shoreline.  Gulls were gliding and feeding overhead, while the smoke from fisheries and shouts from men gathering up nets, and lobster pots flew into the crisp, morning air. She scarcely noticed when the barkeep placed a mug of cocoa and a nutty scone before her.

This was a place she had frequented often…mostly as a young adult, but even when she was a child, she would come here, with her mum.  Everyone knew she did not live here, in Dubflin, as it was called by the Ostmen.  The people, her people, the Irish before that, named it Dubh linn meaning “black pool” because it was located where the River Liffey and other streams met as a deep bay. But she loved it.  It was taught to her even then, that this was a place to come for comfort.  A place free from attitude, where one was not judgmental because everyone was the same yet different.  

Maire was sure she was overthinking this morning, but hadn’t she heard her father, the King of Mida, tell a King in the North that he was looking to marry her off?  Didn’t she know that it was important that she marry another with O’Neill bloodlines or at least with those of her mother?  Her elbow was now bent on the table, her hand rested submissively on her forehead.  She did not want this.  Not now, not ever.  Memories of her mother’s tears and unhappiness came flooding back to her…Mael Muire, daughter of Ambaib had not taken to the life of a Celt.  Maire knew there were other reasons for her mother’s despair, but she had given her husband four children just the same, the eldest being Maire.

Maire began her tired musings; about how she might escape the whole royalty scene.  How she might fall in love with a sailor and escape all the politics and conflict in Ireland at the time.  How she might find romance and together they would find a beautiful ‘island somewhere to settle on.  There had to be such a place, the oceans should be full of them.  Who and where would that be, she mused, and exactly what was love?  The princess closed her eyes to imagine, just in time to notice a sandy haired monk clothed in a brown hooded robe, slide into the chair opposite hers.  

“Father Cinaed!  Good morning, how are you?”  she tried to sound welcoming.  ”You caught me in a daydream.”

“That I did, Maire, as I’ve been standing here for a while waiting for you to invite me to sit.   I am fine, and what about you?  What brings you to Dyflin this morn.”

“Weel, I stayed in the cottage last night.” He nodded understandingly and sat silent, allowing her to continue.  He knew that there would be a story behind her coming.”  She winced, knowing he would drag it out of her if she hedged.

“Things are unhappy at home.  My father spends so many hours at Dun na Sciath…I fear mother may leave him.”  The monk drew a breath, he knew the Mide King had made many unpopular decisions as of late.  So many had been pleased when he had triumphed over the renegade king from the southern part of the island.  So many had seen it as a victory, and that peace would prevail.  But now the greedy Munster leader was thirsty for more…and Maul Sechnaill was considering submission.  

“We are caught in the middle, Maire.”  We have friends here in Dyflin.” His head lifted, so his eyes could scan the bar.  Up until then, both had been huddled close, their voices low.  Cinaed had attended formal education as Maire had, at the monastery in Kildare.  There he had studied religion, and she literature and history.  Both could read and write.  Because of the spread of Christianity, many scholars, bishops, artisans and musicians, had gathered at the monastaries which were thankfully protected throughout Ireland.  Children with royal blood attended classes there, but even common folk could attend the one in Kildare.  It was founded by the famous priestess, Bridgit.  She was now regarded as Saint Brigid for her diligence and faithfulness to draw others to the Lord.

Maire frowned, “I admit, I’m not knowing where I fit, Cinaed.  I love my father.  I know I’m like him.  My love for stories… and our past.  But I want more than the life of a royal.  I fear I will be unhappy just as my mother if I marry and have children.”

The two friends were silent.  Cinaed would understand as he had made his break from a powerful clan ten years prior, so that he could go to the monastary.  Cinaed was amazingly talented in art and had made his home on Lambay Island.  It had been established followers of Columba, Roman Catholic Bishop, then ransacked by Vikings in the late sixth century.  Cinaed was one of a party of artists and religious to rebuild and recover the settlement.  He worked in the scriptorium there.  

“You are young Maire, and you are smart.  I will pray for you.” He  whispered as he rose from his chair.  I must go to visit a family who has lost a child to disease.  Pray for me, Maire.

Maire sat, ashamed of her petty problems, after hearing the weighty ones of another.  She reached for his hand, squeezed it and smiled.  “I will.”

There were so many sorrows in life, she thought, and so many kinds of love.  How long would it take to learn it all?  Probably forever.