dedalus Posted July 19, 2012 Share Posted July 19, 2012 Fill ar ais go hÉirinn de Conor MacArt The Return to Erin of Conor MacArt ca. 1575 (following his many travels and adventures as outlined in the previous seven episodes of this uplifting, sad, but in many ways useful tale for the beneficial training of Christian Youth) Three years in a darkened prison, by God, and myself snivelling and whining for food, kissing hands of any man who brought me water. God blast the heathen Jew and Paynim! I would roar in my black and fearful cell and the rats would cock their heads to listen. Bert, my servant, had been summarily executed, thanks be to God, he with no more stories to tell, caught stealing bread from homeless orphans. ‘Twas that bread that barely kept me alive until the summons came, a flood of sunlight, illuminating stones, the cause of a shriek of pain. The chains and manacles were roughly removed, and I was bathed and shaved and pomaded. Arra, this is looking good, says I to myself. A ship. The Great Suleiman has paid your ransom I was curtly told, and I confess I was none too pleased, but then we fell among moustachioed Cypriot pirates. There was a great furore and a clanging of swords and when they came down to kill us all, I sang Kyrie, Kyrie Eleison, Kyrie Kyrie Eleison. They dropped to their blood-drenched shaggy knees and asked if I was a priest. I was, I told them, and was escorted most politely to the upper deck. I did solemn funeral ceremonies for the Christian dead while the Turks were simply cast over the side. I suggested a collection for the widows and children. Now that I had money I was ablaze to get ashore and was dropped, feigning illness, on an island called Rhodes. It took me half a year to get to Marsillia in France. Erstwhile friends, with exceptions, feigned not to know me, and it was a weary journey from the south to the north. At long last I gazed on the turbulent, grey northern sea. England? No, I hardly think so. That Queen is no friend. But a long sea journey will cost more than I possess. Sadly, regretfully, I settled on robbery and murder. Green and yellow, under clouds, beyond blue rushing waves, appear the long and longed-for fields of Erin. Home is the wanderer, what fate awaits me now? Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Join the conversation
You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.
Note: Your post will require moderator approval before it will be visible.