Darerca

CHAPTER 2

The Irish pirates were ruthless. They were armed with typical 5th Century weapons - spears, axes, bow and arrows, and clubs of various kinds. They killed without mercy, and plundered.
They had been watching the three teenagers in the field for nearly sixty minutes whilst they rested in a copse of trees, noting how one lad did all the donkey work whilst his two companions lay around, laughing and joking. Jack White, the leader of the pirates gave the order to move out. "Kill the shirkers," he ordered. "Take the worker captive."
The three lads were startled as the party of pirates burst from the woods. All three turned to run. They recognised brigands when they saw them.
The boy who had been working watched in horror as his two companions were mown down, and he stopped and turned to face the killers, determined to face them if he had to die.
Jack White hid a grin of admiration. He liked people who showed guts. He'd probably have responded in a similar fashion, if the roles had been reversed. He was a man with a brutal face, unfriendly blue eyes, and with a lot of hate in his heart for English folk.
"What's your name, boy?" White asked of the youngster.
"Patrick." He had that lilt in his voice, so peculiar to English folk that White hated, but he told himself that the boy would lose that accent back in the auld sod.
White laughed harshly at his men. "Hear him," he says. "Patrick...trick," mimicking the youngster's accent. "Well, we're going to call you Paddy. That's Irish slang. Call him PADDY," he shouted to his men.
"PADDY," they chorused.
"Mount him on a horse," White ordered. "Tie his hands."
Patrick's eyes fell to his friends. He looked at White. "Are you just going to leave them lying there?"
Once again White hid a grin at the boy's grit. The concern for his friends was touching. However, White now had other concerns, including a growing darkness over the land. "They be dead, Paddy," he explained. "Best worry about yourself."
"Where are you taking me?" Patrick demanded.
"To the auld sod, Paddy. To the auld sod. The land of the leprechauns. Good old Eire. Ireland...your new home."
Patrick felt a strange sensation in his heart when he heard that name. He didn't know why?
It was as though it had something to do with his destiny.
"But my family live here," Patrick protested.
"Your family be dead to ye, Paddy," White lied. "We be your family now."
Patrick said nothing more. He didn't want to draw any more attention to his family than he had to, or to where they lived. He lapsed into silence.
In his heart he told himself that one day he would return.
They bound him with ropes, and forced him to run to keep up with the canter of the horses. By the time they got to the boats, Patrick was bone-tired and his feet were so blistered he could hardly walk.
There was a method to their madness. The condition of his feet made escape all but impossible. A fleeting dream.
Things were changing in the 5th century. Ireland had already seen an influx of the Beaker peoples, and in the 5th century the Celts had arrived, whilst back in Britannia Rome had lost its power over the people. The Celts ushered in the iron age, leaving the old bronze age firmly behind.
Patrick found himself bundled onto a ship with other prisoners that had been taken. All young men. The ship was like a small galley, powered by sails and oars. All of the prisoners found themselves herded to the oars, which had to be used if there were no favourable sail winds.
Each prisoner was given a cup of barley gruel in which water and herbs had been added. It was vile, but Patrick reminded himself he hadn't had any nourishment all day, and he forced himself to drink it. They also got some stale bread.
The journey took a good few hours, and wasn't helped by rough seas. The prisoners were called upon to use the oars a number of times, even the pirates chipping in at times. It became a joint effort.
As soon as they came ashore they were chained again and bundled onto a cart drawn by horses - mangy looking black creatures who had seen better days. It was better than being dragged along behind a horse, Patrick supposed.
They were brought to a local mart, and put into a holding pen like cattle. They were given a bucket of porridge, and bowls. No spoons. Spoons could be made into weapons or tools to free their chains. They ate with their fingers. They were allowed water and a churdled kind of milk.
About one hour later, the buyers started arriving. They eyed the captives with cold, appraising eyes. A chieftain by the name of Milchu bought Paddy, and before the day was out he had been sold on again for a handsome profit.
The new owner put him to work that very night. There was no breaking in period. He was told: "Nil aon obair. Nil aon bia. No work. No food."
It didn't take them long before they trusted Paddy. Most folk came to know him as the 'Holy Boy', because he was always praying to an unknown God. Most people were pagans.
In time he became used to the guttural, harsh tones of the people of the north, because initially he'd found it hard on the ear.
The farmer's wife was a good cook and looked after his dietary needs, the diet was rich and protein filled and included porridge, gruel, meat pastes, pottages, fruits, mainly apples, nuts, flatbreads and leavened wheat loaves, cheeses, both soft and hard, milks both fresh and sour, thickened milk, colostrum, curds, cereals, hen and goose eggs, butter, seaweeds, wild garlic and watercress, honey, fish that included salmon, trout, eels, cod, haddock, and mackerel, and meats that included chicken, beef, hard-cured pork and rabbit. Sometimes if the meat was plentiful, Paddy helped set up the spit that prepared it. Meat done that way gave off a lot of smoke. Other foods consumed included birds, wild boar, wild seabird eggs, goats, deer and hedgehogs. Vegetables included roots, wild leaves, berries and fungi. Shellfish included mussels, razor clams, periwinkles, limpets, prawns and crabs. The food was normally eaten out of wooden bowls. Drinks included spring waters, wine, and various beers made from baked barley breads and oats. Water could also be distilled to make spirits. Poitin was becoming popular in rural areas.
Sean Hoy, the man he worked for, was fond of the poitin. The Hoys were part of a clan that included the Haugheys and the Hoeys and were fuedal lords of County Antrim. They regarded themselves as a noble family, and they had the land and the holdings to prove it. To say nothing of the connections. Their holdings included buildings, horses, cattle and sheep, and various tools and implements used in connection with farming.
The main living quarters were enclosed within a ringfort. Houses were constructed with materials that were to hand - mud, stone and straw. Many of them were also circular in shape, with conical, thatched roofs. At night, Paddy often had to herd animals into the enclosure, depending on the season. Sometimes he even looked like one of the flock. The sheep were mostly black in colour, and Paddy was wearing a black wool coat made from the animal skin of a sheep that had perished on the high slopes.
In contrast, the landowner wore different colours, but his clothing mainly consisted of a brat, a woollen cloak and a long leine, or tunic, that stretched to the knees. The brat was fastened with a crios, or belt and a dealg, a brooch. Women were normally attired in an even longer tunic. Men wore the dealg at their shoulders, and women at their chests.
Both sexes wore their hair habitually long, and most men sported beards.
The seasons brought different festivals. Following the burning of dead folk on funeral pyres, the community often initiated the tailteann games. The first part of the games involved singing mourning chants called the guba, and the druids would continue with cepogs, mourning songs. The druids would then light a massive fire and this was the second part of the festivities. Then the games would begin: jumping, running, spear sport, boxing, swordfighting, archery, wrestling, swimming and horse racing. The festival wasn't just a test of physical ability; it also included competitions in singing, dancing and storytelling, and there were also special craft competitions for goldsmiths, jewellers, armourers and weavers. At the tailend of the competition the druids would also arrange a mass wedding, and couples could either stay together or separate. Sometimes taillten marriages resulted and were fully recognised under the law.
Paddy spent most of his time in the hills with his trusty sheepdog. He liked the outdoor life, and the way the landscape changed as the light changed. It was a land of different hues and shades and shadows. Browns and greens intermingled. High overhead, an eagle soared. Paddy knew it was an eagle from its huge wingspan.
What he always had to be alert for was the presence of grey wolves. Anything in fact that had the potential to harm his flock, including wild dogs, and wildcats.
His thoughts turned to his family back in Britannia. He wondered what they were up to? They'd have worried about his sudden, inexplicable disappearance, especially in light of his companion's deaths. They probably would have guessed at his likely fate. Irish pirates had been snatching young men for years. It was something that concerned Britain, and they'd appealed for assistance from Rome. However, the influence of Rome in this part of the world was waning. The Roman Empire had finally collapsed.
Some saw a justice in it, considering the events in Jerusalem, some three hundred years ago. But then again, maybe it was just the passage of time. The days of the Egyptian Pharaohs had been numbered too; as had the Persians, the Abyssinians, and even the great Chinese dynasties.
It was when he was in the fields, working alone, that his thoughts wandered. He often found solace in silent prayer, something his grandfather had introduced into his life. He knew one person who would never stop looking for him, his sister Darerca. He could nearly see her in his mind's eye, riding that horse of hers, scouring the countryside in search of her brother. Within the family she was known as a hunter or huntress.
Paddy looked up from his reverie as he heard the sound of a horse approaching, and his face creased in a smile. It was Grainne, Hoy's wife.
She often rode out in the mornings to talk with the young shepherd boy. There was a sweet innocence to him that she liked. She'd once confided to Paddy that she merely tolerated her husband; there was no real love there. The man was too businesslike in his ways, too shrewd, and a touch cruel at times - sure look at how he uses you Patrick. Keeping you as a slave, working you to the bone, holding you captive against your will. "It's wrong," she stated adamantly.
He knew their marriage had been an arranged one. "Sure, that's life Grainne," Paddy remarked.
"You know they have a name for you around here?" She didn't know how he could be so calm about his circumstances.
"A name?"
"They call you the Holy Boy."
Paddy shrugged his shoulders.
"Did you get that holiness from that man you told me about before...your grandfather?"
"From Potitus, yes," Paddy confirmed. "He's a priest."
"A married one, yes?"
"Yes."
"And what about your father?"
"He's a deacon."
"That's like a priest as well, isn't it?"
Paddy nodded. "The practice centres around an ancient Celtic tradition."
Grainne listened spellbound as Paddy outlined the different schisms that had arose in the early church. She found to her surprise that she was beginning to lose her pagan beliefs and found her faith growing in this new God that their shepherd boy so passionately believed in.
Darkness was beginning to close its vicelike grip on the land when she started. She had been out much later than anticipated. She stood hurriedly: "I must get back, Patrick."
He helped her onto her horse. "See you later," he said. "Supper."
She nodded and rode off down the valley. Paddy watched for a moment, and then began rounding up his flock.