Maitiu' and Philip travel to Eire - Pirates, poems, and poteen....

An Irish Odyssey

 

 

n all of my travels through this world I have never met a more welcoming group of people than the patrons and employees of the Wicked Eye.  It all starts with a publican who surrounds himself with good people.  Heber MacPhearson has been that kind of publican.  He is also a good husband to my cousin, Fionnula, and he is my friend.  I am a foreigner but I have been received as family despite our differences.

 

This was on my mind as I sat next to Philip Alexander MacAlisdair, one of my drinking buddies, prior to my annual sojourn back home to Ireland.  We were sitting by a snug turf fire staring out the window when I asked, "How would you like to accompany me to Ireland?  I would love for you to see Waterford.  We could drop in on Fionnula and Gwen's people.  You can be sure they have heard about the grand poet of Kyntyre.  Besides having your company I would also enjoy your poetry."

 

Philip replied, "I have always desired to see the land of the Dal Riada, the home of Columcille, Finn MacCumhall, and Cu' Chullain.  I would like to hear your poets reciting in the court of the Earl of Desmond and listen to a 'real' seanchai'.  Besides, I have heard the ale is grand and the Irish girls are a sight to behold."

 

Katie Macleod had entered the room, along with her cousin, Maureen - just out of our sight.  "I heard that, Philip, you blagard.  Irish girls indeed!  Are you going with that amadan, Maitiu'?  That is sure to be a misadventure."

 

I replied with a bit of Irish charm, "Ah, there's Katie, the flower of the MacLeods.  Your voice is as sweet as a lark in the morning." 

 

Katie replied, "Your flattery is insincere, Irishman, you bogtrotter.  Why don't you make a story about that!" 

 

Fionnula and Gwen, sitting across the room couldn't resist joining in. 

Fionnula said, "Is that Katie picking on you, cousin?" 

Gwen chimed in "But I liked what Philip said about pretty Irish girls. Really Katie, Philip should go.  Black Tom Butler is in London with his cousin Elizabeth and Maitiu's ale has been known to calm any pirate."  

 

Katie sighed, "Of course he will go if he has a mind to but I don't have to like it."

 

I am fortunate I have an occupation that allows me to travel home once a year.  The Earl of Desmond and Sir James Mossman have established a trade agreement that I help facilitate:  Gold for ale.  The Earl has more ale than gold and Mossman has more gold than ale.  It seemed simple enough.  I am considering setting up a brewery in Scotland but that will require negotiations between the Lords and Royal approval.

 

Heber MacPhearson gets his ale at wholesale.  Fionnula has some kind of influence over the Earl and Sir James to get this deal for her husband.  It seems mysterious to me and I have learned to never underestimate my cousin.  You would think I, in turn, would get my own ale gratis but Heber makes me run a tab.

 

Soon the day came and Philip and I boarded the vessel bound for Waterford.  No one, not even Philip, knew of the great sum of money I carried on my person.  Of course, I never told Heber, he would have me use it to pay off my tab.  These are Sir James’s funds for the ale.  We shared this ship with a large troop of Redshank mercenaries.  These are fine Scottish lads, mostly from the Isles, coming down to Ireland to fight during the summer months for some Irish lord who would hire them.  These fighting men on board assured no harassment by pirates on the way down.  I always had a half dozen extra kegs of ale on board to assure no harassment on the way back.  The extra ale was viewed by Sir James and I as just another cost of doing business.

 

I was not at all pleased Sir James had hired a Norwegian to captain the ship.  He mostly hires Scots who know the ways and customs of the people on the west coast of Ireland.  The Norwegian was a  heretic and an eejit. He fussed about making petty orders to his crew and he was constantly debating with me or anyone who would listen the evils of Catholicism.  His English was horrible and his Gaelic was worse.  While Philip and I did our best to avoid him the Redshanks just ignored him or growled at him whenever he passed by.

 

We arrived in Waterford in record time due to the unusually fine weather, not due to Captain Heretic.  When the Redshanks disembarked they headed straight to the taverns along the quay.  There they would drink and brawl until they were hired out.  For that reason Philip and I went straight to the house of Sir John of Desmond, the Earl's brother, to pay for the ale.  I visited the brewery and viewed the facility and spoke to the staff.  I made sure we visited Gwen and Fionnula's people as those two had given Philip correspondence to share.  Philip was a hit with the poems, especially the poems of praise for our patrons.  My cousin Nora was quite taken by my Scottish poet/friend.  She listened in wonder and delight but before he could sweep her off her feet I told Nora about the wrath of Clan Macleod.  She wisely backed off, much to Philip's annoyance.  I wonder if Katie will ever thank me for that.

 

Our return trip was scheduled on a Sunday afternoon.  The winds were fair, the tide right and it was a beautiful day.  The Norwegian didn't work on the Sabbath, he was some brand of Calvinist, so we lost a day.  Being a good Catholic boy I went off to hear Mass.  Philip passed on my invitation and wandered off to commune in some oak grove.

 

When we departed Monday the ship was loaded with ale and whiskey and we were sure to make good time.  As we rounded by Bantry Bay we met with turbulent weather.  Poor Philip, never was he so sick.  I really had to keep an eye on him.  I thought he might throw himself overboard.  Or more likely myself for bringing him on this trip. 

 

The storm delayed us by at least 2 days more as we had to put into Galway for repairs.  A port like Galway has many eyes and ears and mouths.  I told Philip we would surely have visitors outside of Galway Bay.  The O'Malleys knew we were coming and they also knew full well what was onboard.

 

Encountering the O'Malleys off the west coast of Ireland is never pleasant.  With diplomacy, forbearance, and a half a dozen barrels of ale we can usually secure a safe passage through their territory.  This captain, the Calvinist heretic, wanted to fight.  It was his false belief that if he delivered more barrels of ale and whiskey he would get payed more.  We were in no position to fight.  We had two small cannon one fore and one aft.  They were more for show than for fight.  We would be outmanned and outgunned but he would spare the six barrels we would get the rest of the shipment through.  I pleaded with him to allow me to do the talking but he would have none of it.  When the O'Malleys approached he fired.  We were doomed.  Philip was as daft as the Norwegian.  The Poet-Warrior wanted to fight. 

I said, "Are you daft man?  We'll be cut to ribbons and for what?  Ale!  I can always brew more.  Get in the curragh man and let's leave!" 

We each grabbed an oar and pushed the curragh away from the boat and made the long row toward shore.  The pirates were too focused on the booty to pay us any mind.  But Philip's blood was up and he gritted his teeth and grumbled as we rowed away.

 

Philip viewed the landscape where we landed.  "It's a bog, man.  No one lives here.  What are we to eat?  Where is shelter?  We should have been men and stayed on board and fought.  Instead we fled like frightened mice.  I would rather fight and die than starve to death in an Irish bog." 

"First of all Philip, this land is filled with people.  There are many watching us right now.  Wait patiently until they figure out what type of men we are then someone will come and want to trade us for our boat.  Sure, we could have remained and fought.  You might have killed some O'Malleys but not all of them, and they would have killed us and pissed down our dead throats from my ale.  You may think of me as a coward if you must but I would rather to struggle and live than die for property or the greater glory of Clan MacAlisdair."

 

It wasn't long before we were approached.  Three men appeared quite suddenly and mysteriously and we negotiated.  For the curragh I bargained for dried salmon, brown bread, and a pair of pampooties or bog shoes if you like. 

"Give them your boots, Philip, and put these on.  They are better for the bogs. I am going barefoot." 

Philip looked at the men and said in English, "Timid men of a conquered race." 

I was thankful none of these "conquered men" spoke English or we would have their hawthorn sticks over our heads. 

"The road is this way Philip, follow me." 

"I see no road." 

I replied, "and yet here is the road, follow me and keep up."

 

We moved quickly along an ancient path.  To an Englishman or a Scot no road could be seen at all but to a native Irishman, who knew what subtle signs to look for, the path was apparent. 

"No wonder Heber calls you a bogtrotter!  How do you know where to step?" 

In two days we moved into the territory of Clanricard Burke.  The Burkes are an ancient Norman family who displaced the native Gaels centuries ago and claimed this corner of Ireland as their own.  Similar to the other Norman families like the Fitzgeralds of Desmond, the Burkes began to dress like the Irish and speak Gaelic.  The New English would say they had gone "native" and become more Irish than the Irish themselves.  The Burkes even observed the Brehon laws, when it suited them, and obeyed the ancient laws of hospitality.  They actively supported Irish arts, music, and culture by being patrons to traveling poets and storytellers and musicians.  Philip and I presented ourselves as such artist to get a bed and a warm meal.  My stories were familiar to the Burkes and politely received but Philip's poems were both novel and quite good.  Staying in the Clanricard compound one hears and observes much.  The Burkes were constantly maneuvering against their neighbors and had started courting the favor of the new English of Elizabeth's reign like Sir Richard Bingham.  These new English were searching for tax revenue and hearing that the O'Malleys had captured a shipment of spirits destined for a Scottish port sparked their interest.  They wanted the tax revenue.  I learned that we were persons of interest.  It was time to leave.

 

Philip didn't want to leave. "Why do we go?  We have food, drink, and shelter.  Are you jealous?  They love my poetry.  Or are you becoming timid again?" 

"Philip, feel free to stay.  Stay as long as you like or until the Burke sells you out to Bingham when he tires of your poetry. I have friends among the O'Connors.  It's there I am going."

 

Before dawn I arose and crept away form the dozing guards of Clanricard and was out on the road.  About two hours on my way I heard the stumbling ruckus of one unaccustomed to travel on an Irish path.  I steeped off a discreet distance to allow whoever it was to pass and observed the Warrior-Poet of Clan MacAlisdair stumbling along in his pampooties.  "Would you be going my way, your lordship, o great poet of Scotland and the Isles."  "Maitiu', you timid but also sly Irish mouse, I overheard a conversation that lead me to believe I might soon be a guest of Sir Richard Bingham, Elizabeth's toad.  I fled.  It is against my Scottish nature to flee but I am adapting."

 

The O’Connors are a proud Connaught clan.  They once held the High Kingship of Ireland.  Surrounded by enemies they too sought favor with the English.  Henry VIII of England implemented a policy of "Surrender and Re-grant".  The Irish chieftain would surrender and renounce his Irish title for an English one.  Many a dimwitted and ignorant clan chief submitted in this way believing the changing of titles meant nothing.  Their status was intact.  In reality it left them and their predecessors open to the implementation of English common law and "shiring" into their once Irish Gaelic domain.  Clan O'Connor had submitted and was now suffering the indignity of English intrusion.  There were O'Connor factions that resisted and that is where Naccadin O'Connor came in.  Naccadin and I had campaigned together in our youth and he was an old friend.  There was a grand celebration when we arrived.  There was a great gathering of the O'Connors who clung to the ancient traditions and wanted to hear stories and the exotic poems of the Scotsman.  Philip became, once again, the center of attention.  My stories were familiar and politely received but Philip's poetry was new, novel, and exciting. 

Even Naccadin remarked, "where did this fellow come from?  Never has a Scotsman been so articulate.  All of our young ladies are gob smacked." 

I replied, "He's Philip Alexander MacAlisdair from Kyntyre, that's all I know.  He's none too fond of Argyll, that's for sure." 

Naccadin replied, "Argyll's reach is not quite down here but if you continue north you will find many friends and enemies of that blagard.  Shane O'Neill has assumed the title of "The O'Neill" and is trying to enforce the ancient subjugation rights and rents on O'Donnell, MacMahon, and Maguire.  Shane and Argyll and O'Donnell are somehow connected although it is not clear who supports whom.  I find the politics of Connaught confusing enough let alone that of Ulster."

 

Naccadin took pity on an old friend and gave me a modest sum of gold to pay for our future expenses.  A ship ride from O'Neill country was less perilous than any other alternative.  Our next step was to go to the Maguires with letters of recognition and goodwill from the O'Connors.  They might be future allies against Shane O'Neill.  From there we hoped to find a ship to Scotland, without alienating O'Neill.

 

Arriving at the Maguires stronghold we had another surprise.  When my daughter Mary and I made our failed pilgrimage to Rome we met my sisters at Salamanca.  There was a small Irish colony that resided there.  Among my sisters' neighbors was a young Irish priest named Thomas James Maguire.  Thomas and I shared in common a devotion the Church and a love of ale. Good ale is difficult to obtain in Spain but I brewed a batch for the Irish fathers there and as a reward we were remembered in the Mass.  I am certain that is how we survived the Serbs.  Thomas was home and received us with open arms.  He arranged a recitation of Philip's poems and again Philip was an acclaimed celebrity.  The Maguire was so impressed he said, "I'll send this Scotsman to O'Neill as a gesture of goodwill and hope it reduces his demand for rent."  Bidding Thomas farewell we traveled with an armed guard of Maguires into O'Neill country. 

Philip was basking in acclaim and commented, "Maitiu', there is not a corner in Ireland where you are not unknown.  It will be the same with me and my poetry soon."  Philip was growing fond of Ireland.  His proud Scottish nature blinded him to the dangers we were soon to face.

 

Shane O'Neill was a fierce and ruthless warlord.  This powerful man moved freely in the circle of the powerful.  He intrigued with Elizabeth.  He had the audacity to appear in her court and submit to her authority but dressed in his flowing saffron leine.  He spoke to her in Irish Gaelic even though he knew and could speak in English.  He corresponded also with Mary Stuart, her rivals and deputies.  O'Neill's wife was Catherine MacLean, former wife of the 4th Earl of Argyll and stepmother of the current Earl.  Upon entering O'Neill's domain Philip appeared quite at home, brimming with newly gained confidence.  He could better understand the Gaelic of Ulster as it was closer to his own dialect.  Besides the accents the customs and dress were also more similar.  One similarity, however, brought a source of trouble for Philip.  Shane was dealing with Argyll for galloglass troops and Argyll's agents were present in his court.  An insult to Argyll would not disturb O'Neill himself but it might offend his wife, who was fond of her stepson and it may get back to the Earl himself and place their deal in jeopardy.  Philip's bile for Clan Campbell boiled up in his guts and one night, in the presence of O'Neill, his wife, and retainers and guests he recited a satire poem highly critical of Archibald Campbell.

 

Tha Laird’s Satire

 

 

Aye, the nigh it be cold,

            On tha nor’ shore o’ Scotland -

Tha lads be most bold,

            When they fight fer our homeland.

 

We feud an’ we war,

            An’ tha English appear –

‘Tis such a boar,

            Ta Hades, no tear….

 

An’ I say ta ye gents,

            Put yer feuding aside –

As though it ‘twer Lent,

            Let tha land be yer bryde.

 

Together we stand,

            An’ ta Argyle we fall –

He consumes all tha land,

            Mi Laird walks and strides tall.

 

Lady Jean be ‘is bryde,

            Though some may most wonder –

She doth ha’ her pride,

            Be it something ta ponder.

 

An’ ‘is eye it doth rove,

            An’ move all aroun’ –

Watching ‘is trove,

            An roaming ‘is ground.

 

Tha’ good Mistress Katie,

            Didst enter ‘is eye –

She came somewhat lately,

            From the Island o’ Skye.

 

Watch out fer MacLeods,

            An’ Clan Alasdair –

Their lasses be proud,

            And kill on a dare….

 

Campbell be but a fox,

            Who thinks he’s a bear –

He dost follow John Knox,

            Into tha Devil’s own lair.

 

The recitation caused a great stir in the gathering.  I thought I saw O'Neill smirk initially but when he saw his wife's reaction he was stirred to a false anger. 

"I will dispose of this Scottish poet unless someone objects." 

For the love of a friend and companion, myself, the timid Irish mouse roared, "I object.  This man came to you governed by the ancient laws of hospitality and you threaten him.  You are not worthy of the title 'The O'Neill'." 

O'Neill's pride was impugned.  "You, little Munsterman are his friend and you want to save him?  You are a scrawny spawn of Munster." 

"I remind you I serve the interest of Gerald Fitzgerald, the Earl of Desmond in Scotland.  I am no match to you with the sword but I can match your wit, o Shane, the proud."  " Your name is Maitiu' of Desmond.  I rename you 'Maitiu', the Maltworm'.  So Squire Maltworm, if you can answer these next three questions I will let you and the Scotsman go free.  Answer incorrectly and you both will hang together."

 

Shane asked his first question: " What was the first thing I thought of today when I awoke?"  The man was a known glutton so this answer seemed easy enough. 

"You thought of what you should eat to break your fast." 

Shane yawned, "You are correct little man."

 

Shane asked his second question:  "How many buckets of sand are there in Ulster?" 

I could not believe the answer that came out my mouth.  "One, sir, be the bucket big enough."

 

Those present politely applauded and Shane seemed annoyed.  Now came the third and final question. 

"How much am I worth?" 

That was a loaded question and Philip's life was at stake.  I said a silent prayer and the Holy Spirit gave me this answer. 

"Your are worth 29 pieces of silver." 

"How did you come to that sum, you blagard?" 

Looking at the priests present in the company I said, "Our Lord Jesus Christ was sold for 30 pieces of silver.  Surely even the Great O'Neill is not greater than the Son of God."

 

The priests in attendance applauded until O'Neill stared at them, then they stopped.  "Very well, send that little man and the Scotsman out the door.  Make haste Maltworm before I change my mind!" 

Out the door we flew.  A man, standing in the shadows wearing tartan trews whispered, "Flee to the Glens of Antrim where friends will await the great poet of the MacAlisdairs."  We turned east and broke into a trot. 

Philip said, "Sorley Boy MacDonnell dwells there.  He is an ally to Clan MacAlisdair."  But I too had heard of Sorley Boy MacDonnell.  "I hear he eats Irishmen for breakfast.  I fear I am running to my doom."

 

We weren't a day of fast walking when we encountered Scottish settlers.  They were unique in both their dress and speech.  It was a delight to Philip's ears and eyes.  Before long two horsemen approached with a saddled third horse trailing. 

Before they drew near Philip grabbed my shoulders, "During this whole trip I thought you a coward and a timid mouse.  You wouldn't fight on the ship and you were ready to run at the slightest provocation.  You trotted through the bogs like a skittish marsh deer.  Then, then you stand up to that tyrant O'Neill for my sake.  I shall never forget."

 

The lead horseman announced, " Are you Philip Alexander MacAlisdair of Kyntyre?"  Philip nodded. 

"Your fame proceeds you.  Sorley Boy desires to hear your satirical wit.  Take this horse, compliments of himself". 

Philip gave me a troubled look and said to the horseman, "What about my friend?" 

The horseman sneered, "He is a bogtrotter is he not?  So let him trot." 

So off we went to the castle of MacDonnell, three horsemen and me trailing at a jog.

 

The MacDonnells are a sept of Clan Donald, a powerful Scottish family and rivals to the Campbells.  They carved out this corner of Ireland by routing the MacQuillans out of their ancient lands.  Ireland has thus been plagued by invading usurpers since the days of the Milesians.  These MacDonnells were hard men created by hard times and harder enemies.  Their contempt for the MacQuillans was the same for the O'Neills as it was for any Irishman, even from far off Munster.

 

Sorley Boy received Philip with honor and me with suspicion.  After reciting the Argyll satire as well as a few other favorites Philip tried to portray me in a positive light. 

"This is my friend Maitiu' MacRoibeard de Faoite.  He is a brewer and seanchai' and hails from Desmond." 

Sorley Boy stared at me with a knitted brow.  "You are the son of Roibeard de Faoite, the Grey merchant from Waterford who swindled my family out of cattle and sheep years ago.  You are probably an English spy." 

Philip protested, "I know him not to be.  I knew not his father but he could not be all bad to raise up a man like Maitiu'." 

I feared Philip's efforts were in vain.  I will never be the great man my father was.  My Da cast a great shadow over my life though he was always good to me. 

"Philip, I cannot risk this man to run loose on my lands.  I will remand him to your custody and place at your service one Andrew Clyde Bell, to guard him.  Bell is a veteran of the Border Wars and was sent here on contract to train my troops.  He is heading back to Dumfries on the morrow.  Go with him to home and family and I will ask the March Warden and his inquisitor to question this man to make sure he is indeed not a spy."

 

That night my Da appeared to me in a dream.  " You have always made me proud.  In the hard times to come remember who you are and fight to live."

 

Bell was a nice enough fellow for a Borderer.  We might have even been friends in another life.  When the ship pulled into the harbor Philip and I were separated.  As I was taken down into the hold of the ship to be interrogated Philip called out,

"Maitiu', I will do my best for you.  Trust and have faith." 

What would they do to me?  I heard they cut off fingers until you told them all you knew.  I prayed I would face them bravely like a son of Roibeard de Faoite.  Then I heard vaguely familiar voices.  Philip was laughing.  I walked to my inquisitors.  Cullen Elliot and Guy Maxwell saw me and laughed. 

Cullen said,  "So this is the spy that daft MacDonnell sent us to interrogate." 

Sir Guy then said, "Maitiu', do you want an ale?" 

 

Upon returning to my Scottish home I reported to Sir James Mossman who seemed unusually understanding.  "If Gerald and I can work out a deal, you will be brewing your fine ale here and perilous trips to Desmond will be unnecessary.  I promise to hire no more Norwegians."

 

Finally back at the Wicked Eye, sitting by the same fire and staring out the same window with Philip we listened with amusement as Akira and Elena, Heber's sister, debated who was the best seamstress in the area. 

I bellowed,  " Can a man not get a quiet pint around here?" 

Akira, in perfect Gaelic, replied "Du'n do bheal, Squire Maltworm." 

"Philip", says I, "the service around here is dreadful.  Do you want to go back to Ireland with me?" 

Philip gave a startled jump and fell off his bar stool.