More Kings,Fathers Daughters and Blood of Finns:And Other Tales Told From The Bottle.

Chapter 5


Very Early Centuries A.D.

In the days when Herod was king of the Jews, and the lord Christ was being born in Beth-lehem, the Irish were fighting the English: Romans they were at the time.

The great King Creevan had made many a grand raid on Britain, and brought back many a Roman/English head, which he stored in Dun Creevan: along with a golden chariot; a conquering sword; a spear, from the wound inflicted by which no one recovered; a sling from which no erring shot was discharged; boats; their women; pots and pans and many other remarkable things, leaving the Romans standing on shore, shouting and waving what spears they had left.

The Roman governor of Britain at this time was a man named Agricola, and he was not pleased. Who were those heathens? Did they not know that this was the Empire of all Empires? That all of the world fell under the shadow of Rome? We’ll show them!

His aids then and there organized an expedition from their best legions to invade Ireland.

“We’ll only be needing one legion,” he said. “With one little legion we’ll be beating them all over there!”

“My Lord,” cried his discontented generals. “It will take many legions…more than we have at hand! They’re worse than the bloody Picts!”

So Agricola, with his generals on their knees crying to their many Gods, and, after his spies, the one’s that made it back alive, told him how undoubtedly difficult the job would be, changed his mind.

“Bloody heathens…leave them alone!”

The Empire didn’t strike back.

Now it is true that no Roman soldier ever set a hostile foot on Irish soil. But hostile feet were already walking on it and had been for some time. With the Firbolgs in the west and the descendants of the Tuatha de Dananns all about the land, were exasperated by the airs and graces of their rulers…for the Milesian aristocrats did not work and extracted high tribute from all. So it was this way when the Firbolgs and the Tuatha de Dananna, farmers and tradesmen all, thought up a scheme for changing the situation.

They invited all the kings and nobles to a great feast at Magh Cro, Galway, and a grand feast it was, taking them three years to prepare it and they taxed themselves a third of their earnings to provide for it.

Now the proud and arrogant Milesians came from all over the country and ate, drank, boasted and enjoyed themselves for nine days and nights, till the Firbolgs and Tuatha de Dananns cut their heads off: and so was marked the first organized Irish rebellion… the others being unorganized and more of a informal family affair. And very successful it was, which few of the Milesians survived.

Now it was by the will of God, some say, that three Milesian pregnant chieftainesses escaped to Britain of all places, but nobody worried much about them, as everyone was to busy brewing, drinking, breeding, singing sad mournful songs and in general having a grand time celebrating.

But after a time they did elected a king, and he was called Carbry Cinncait… Cat-headed Carbry, because he had ears like a cat… and like all Irishmen after writing new laws or naming a new king, they proceeded to ignore him: and after a time there was no rule, no organization, no law, no taxation, no temperance and no work done, except about the brewing vats.

So there was a famine, and a great number of the celebrating rebels died of it…including Cat-headed Carbry.

Carbry’s son, who had ears like a human being, refused the crown.

“There be no future in it,” he said. “I know…it should be going to one of those children over in Albion, born of the women who escaped the feast!”

“Feast?”

“Massacre!”

“Aye…he’s right!”

Now it was that three princes had been born to these women and they were brought back and a young prince named Faradach, the son of Creevan himself was elected king.

With Carbry’s son, who’s idea this was in the first place, administered the law on Farasach’s behalf and got the people back to work. A very clever man, and a power in the land. His name was Morann: some called him Morann the Smart, or Morann Ollava (Ollava: an educated gentleman…if you been reading the chapters in order…if not, then you’ll be starting over again, thank you), or Morann the Just…and that he was.

He invented a collar for judges to wear, and whenever they gave an unjust judgment it tightened itself up and choked them to death. A fine thing it was, and I wish we had a few of them for some of the judges that sit on the benches today. In Morann’s day, they’d be gaspin’ and choking’ from one end of the country to the other.

So it was that everyone went back to work, because Morann and Faradach were worse than the Milesians when it came to raising taxes. And after Faradach died, be it by the hand of man or the hand of God, history can not tell us, there was another rebellion, and Morann placed the crown upon his head, only to have it removed by Elim the king of Ulster at the battle of Maghblog. Morann was the first Ollava to be killed in the history of Ireland: if you remember that the Milesians having great respect for their kind. But Elim was no Milesian.

So it was that Elim, a grand God-like figure of a man (like I said, he was an Ulsterman) became king of Ireland. And the brewers were busy again and everyone got drunk again and sang mournful songs again, till everyone starved again and cursed Elim.

Now when everyone is jealous of everyone else, sometimes the best thing to do is to appoint a stranger, who doesn’t know anybody. This is still a good rule, especially when looking for judges for beauty contests or baby competitions.

Now it was that some thought it best, that a prince of the name of Tuathal, one of the young one’s born in exile, might be a good man to be king.

Tuathal accepted the invitation and killed Elim in a battle at the hill of Skreen, in Meath.

Now to be telling you, Elim was asleep at the time Tuathal killed him, after a night of drink and enjoying many of the wives of a number of his followers. As stated before…he was an Ulsterman!

Tuathal had a number of sons and daughters, and one daughter he married off to the king of Leinster. But the king of Leinster decided he didn’t like her very much, it becoming the time of beauty of a woman and not her battle arm, so he told king Tuathal that she was dead and married the next daughter, her being as stated in the old scolls… a looker.

As a result of this, it came to pass that both daughters lost their heads and Tuathal, not wanting to be out-done, placed a tribute (tax) on Leinster, which lasted for 500 years. It was levied every second year and consisted of 150 cows, 150 hogs; 150 coverlets, or pieces of cloth to cover beds; 150 cauldrons, with two passing-great cauldrons, consisting in breadth and deepness, for the king’s own brewing; 150 couples of men and women in servitude, to draw water on their backs for the said brewing; together with 150 maids, with the king of Leinster’s own daughter in like bondage and servitude.

Tuathal reigned for some thirty years as king, and did his best to exterminate the Firbolgs and the Tuatha de Dananns and others from the land, until one Mal (it is believed that his great-great-great-ever-so great-great-grandson from the lands of the bottom of the world, were devils walked, is Mel of the Movies, better known today as Mel of the Drinking Mouth), exterminated him and took the crown.

But Mal didn’t enjoy it for long.

It was that the late king Tuathal had a son named Felimy, who was born of Baine, the daughter of Scal king of Finland, who as everyone knows, are the kinsman of the first Fomorians: the Scandinavian pirates from African. Many had emigrated across the north sea many centuries before, those who’s bodies that did not lay on the Dublin plain, and did well for themselves.

Felimy, as you might well know, killed Mal and ruled as Felimy the Lawmaker. And as one of his first laws: instead of cutting the head off of a man who offended you, you fined him and let him live so that he could pay the fine. Like father, like son Felimy was.

A grand time was had under Felimy’s rule, with more breeding than drinking, and the injection of Finnish blood added to the complicated mixture that all Irishmen carry in their veins and perhaps in their heads.