Darerca

CHAPTER 8

There were legends, folklore and myths surrounding the island of Ireland that attracted Paddy's interest. He had discovered a haunting beauty to the land which stirred his soul, despite the fact that he was still a slave and a prisoner. His language skills in Gaelic had also improved, and he found he could converse with the natives in their mother tongue.
It was in ways a strange land, populated by tribes and clans and chieftains.
The overall High King ruled the land from the Hill of Tara, but there were always battles for control. Even though there were roots of Christianity, it wasn't uncommon for one monastery to go to war against another.
Paddy himself found solace within Christianity, especially at moments of quiet solitude when he was in the hills minding flocks of sheep. He had grown since first becoming a prisoner, and he was now a gangly youth. They had sold him to a farmer in Slemish, County Antrim, a not unkind man but one who had a habit of working him to the bone. Still, he was fed well and allowed a certain freedom of movement. But when his employer died, Paddy found himself on the move again, to a place in County Mayo, alongside the Sligo borders. They treated their dogs better than slaves and Paddy determined to escape this grim place. The trees and woods of Focluth helped him to make good his escape.
He headed east, avoiding folk as much as possible.
Mostly he walked, scavenging off the land, eating stuff like raw cabbage or apples and nuts growing from trees. Occasionally he met kind hearted folk who gave him lifts on carts drawn by horses, and who sometimes gave him food. He had an ax with him which he used to make small traps to catch rabbits and fish. Sometimes he came upon farms and would offer to chop firewood in return for a square meal.
The going was hard and tough. However he was young and the years of toil had given him powerful muscles and energy, and the feeling of freedom was like a sweet nectar in his throat. He kept moving, ignoring the vagaries of weather, particularly the harsh cold. He averaged around twenty five miles a day; sometimes more, sometimes less.
There was always obstacles in the way of his progress, either manmade or natural - streams and rivers, woods, mountains, private estates, dykes, hedges and ditches. He was wary of pursuit, but he saw no signs that his ex-employer had sent out search parties after him. He would have been less sanguine had he known that his old foe, Jack White, had been contacted and was even now scouring the countryside looking for him.
The final part of the journey was the hardest, as he had to traverse the mountains of Wicklow. He had heard that this was called the garden of Ireland, and he had to agree. He drank water from the Dartry, a pure crystal like drink. Ice cold. Here there was plenty of wood to make small fires at night. He tried to camp near rivers which allowed him to wash and keep clean. He also needed water for cooking small game that he trapped. He was very capable of living off the land.
After thirteen days of hard travelling, he breathed a sigh of relief as he got close to the harbour at Wicklow. He'd been forewarned in a dream that a boat would take him. There were a number of boats, and one seemed to be preparing for sea. He approached the captain, assuming that the peaked cap on the man's head signified rank.
The man scowled at his approach. He was a burly individual with black hair concealed under a woollen hat, unshaven and a hard face.
"What you wanting, boy?"
"I need to get to Britannia. Willing to work for a passage."
The captain shook his head. "We're going to Gaul. No passages here. Sorry."
Paddy nodded, aware that a few seamen were looking at him curiously. "Gaul would do," he said.
The captain shook his head. "No," he insisted. "We've a full crew."
Paddy started to walk away. There was a small church nearby and he paused to pray.
Some of the seamen noticed this, and being a superstitious lot, they appealed to the captain. "Ah, sure. Take the lad. What harm can it do? He might bring us luck on our voyage."
The captain liked to keep his crew happy. He called out to Paddy. "Hey, boy. Come back here."
"Yes, Sir?" Paddy asked.
"We're bringing a load of dogs to Gaul...have you any experience of looking after animals?"
"Yes, Sir. I shepherded sheep."
"That's good enough," the captain decided. "Go aboard, son. The men will show you your quarters. Report to the first mate in two hours for work duty."
"Gur a mhaith agat," said Paddy.
The captain smiled at Paddy's use of the Irish lingo. "Cad is ainm duit?"
"Padraig," Paddy replied. "Paddy."
"That's a right Irish name, Paddy. Okay, we'll see you later. Get a bit of sleep and some food into you."
"Sir."
As he made his way below decks, Paddy made the sign of the cross.
The first mate caught the captain's eye. "A holy boy," he exclaimed. "You did right to take him."
The captain nodded.

* * *

The crossing to Gaul was arduous enough.
Paddy surmised it was because the waters of the Atlantic were meeting more sedate channels, but whatever of that it didn't help his seasickness. Despite his queasy feelings he still had a job to do aboard. The older men looked out for him and shielded him from the master's barbs. The master was a hard man and a top mariner who knew how to keep his men in tow. Keeping a tight control over the men meant having a good ship, a ship that could be relied on to deliver, and ultimately bring more business and profit to the owners.
So, he kept the men working hard. Days and nights were long.
The ship rocked and rolled, rocked and rolled. If it got too rough the men would seek out Patrick and would ask for his prayers for fair winds and safe pass -age. Often times the sea would indeed calm and Patrick's prestige would go up as a result.
As the trip continued even the hardbitten captain mellowed towards him and gave him easier jobs. There could often be laughter amongst them, especially over meals. The sea was their life and they spoke with pride about ports visited and the women who frequented such spots. Most of their conversation revolved around the sea - pirates, desert islands, treasure, castaways, the rope whipping. They also had their own unique vocabulary and used words like stern, bow, port, starboard, knots, keel, tiller, pier, hatch, and helm. They were also prone to bursting into song and often sang sea shanties.
All in all, they were a good-hearted bunch.
Gaul lay ahead.