Chapter 2
Early Centuries A.D.
Now when we last left our tale, the Firbolg’s having emigrated back from Greece ( where they were enslaved as human “man bags”), taking what they could from their Greek masters/kinsmen, and were able to land back on the shores of Ireland without opposition: as they were afraid that some would remember the time when they emigrated from there…and would be wanting their pigs, weapons and wives back; even after 200 years… and one thing that could be written in stone about the sons of old Parthalon, is that they may not remember your name, but do know what belongs to them…and that would be everything.
At the same time the black hearted pirates, the Fomorians (Scandinavians from Africa) were still living (just south of Dublin) and riding the country side. And the Nemedians, after the Fomorians made their meaning quite clear, left the coast and went inland and lived in the forests for another 200 years.
Now it was the Firbolg’s ,being welcomed back home without a battle cry, began to breed and multiplied faster then the others could kill them. Here they divided the country into five sections and each of the sons of Deala the Grand ruled over the whole five in turn. They ruled also over their relatives the Nemedians, who were still in the middle, but who weren’t numerous enough (most of the males dying from Fomorian spears , Firbolg swords, plague, bad drink and a woman‘s hand to many a time to count) to alter the situation.
Now after fifty-eight years or so, the situation was dramatically altered by another group of relatives…the Tuatha de Dananns, descendants of the refugees who had gone to northern Europe. Not a lot is known about this parting, as they hadn’t removed their neighbors belongings when they emigrated, and without anyone shaking spears on shore, no one noted that they were gone.
Nuad of the North, was their leader; a fine, confident fellow, as where his fellows, for as soon as they landed on the Irish coast they burnt their boats, so that they could not be tempted to retreat. They landed in a fog, which is know to be anytime in the year, but for one week in May, and were half way across the island before anybody saw them.
And the first to meet them were the Firbolgs. Now when relatives come to visit they generally bring small gifts to mark the occasion, and you welcome them by opening your best bottles, and in some cases your daughters, and busy yourself in the kitchen. But these visiting relatives brought spears and battle axes and were welcomed with the same.
It was a most satisfactory family affair, with nearly all the Firbolgs getting themselves killed, including their King.
Nuad lost a hand in the battle and a silver one was made for him. Seven years in the making it was, with every bone and sinew and nerve and blood-vessel in the right place and working. Aye, it would be true to say, that they don’t make artificial limbs like that in these decadent times. There wasn’t a thing he couldn’t do with it: He could throw a spear with it ten times as far as any man, and pinch a colleen’s bottom as delicately as anyone pinching a colleen’s bottom would. Many a song was sung and tales told about the silver hand, right from the mists of antiquity down to the present day, and if you allow for a certain amount of exaggeration on the telling, I would have you remember, that there was never an Irishman born who was ever guilty in the whole of his life of exaggeration.
Now to the Tuatha de Dananns, hunting Firbolgs was a grand sport, and with a cry of “Man bagsssssssss oooooooooooooooo!” there were not many left alive when Nuad and his clan sat down to brew strong drink and celebrate.
Those Firbolgs who managed to emigrate, this time without their neighbors belonging and not many of their own, sailed to the Isle of Man, some to the Hebrides, Britain, and others went west looking for a new world, and in all these places they stirred up as much trouble as they could. They told great tales of the wonder and beauty of Ireland, and how the ‘invader’ was not fit to inhabit such a sweet gentle and fertile country. Sure there were only a few of them and they’d be no trouble at all for a hand-full of brave Fomorians: Hadn’t the world seen for the centuries, and wonder, what fine seamen and fighters, what upright gentlemen were the Fomorians? The Fomorians that had been there and not been killed, enslaved or died of plague or bad drink were a wee bit afraid, as they only knew of the coast and not the dark island within. Yes, but didn’t Firbolgs know every hill, every lake, every tree and rock? Sure the Fomorians after knowing only the coast, and what’s on a coast but sea and rock? It’s inland where the fine sweet easy living is, and with the Firbolgs as their partners to share the adventure, sure how could they miss?
And the alliance was formed. Under their King the Fomorian pirates and the Firbolgs sailed to wage war on their impertinent relatives and a wonderful adventurous time was had by all.
The Tuatha de Dananns killed the Fomorian King and nearly all of his fellows, along with a grand number of the persuasive tongues of the black-haired Firbolgs.
The Tuatha de Dananns were fine gentlemen, and why wouldn’t they be, with the same blood in them as their fighting Firbolgs cousins that now lay across the field. Didn’t they all sit down to drink together after that grand battle, as friendly as could be, with agreement reached that the Fomorians would have Connaught as a home for themselves and their sons of their sons forever. And even if some of the surviving Fomorians married Tuatha de Dananns, what matter?…they didn’t marry Firbolgs. Those that didn’t die of battle, plague, drink or marry went back to pirating on safer shores. As for the Firbolgs that survived, and that was not many, they once again emigrated to other lands, leaving with less of their own as before.
The Tuatha de Dananns ruled most of the country, and welcome to it they were, but they didn’t rule Connaught. And there was peace in the land for almost 200 years.
The Tuatha de Dananns crowned their kings on the ancient Lia Fail, which cried out with a loud voice whenever it was touched by the rightful heir, and was silent as the grave under the hands of all imposters.
Now if your of the mind not to believe in the Lia Fail, the talking stone, then how could you expect to believe in anything, being ignorant and untravelled, for if you took you time, instead of mine, you could go and see it for yourself: for it still exists.
It was the Irish that civilized Scotland in the sixth century and set up kings there. Preserved in the monastery at Scone, it was, with all due reverence paid to it, until that dirty plague breeding Edward 1 of England took it away in the year 1300 and put it in Westminster Abbey, and named it the ‘Stone of Scone”.
There it sits, quiet as the grave, never to say a word, till it is back in the hands of the Six Counties and Ireland is united again and the rightful heir is chosen to sit again on the royal throne at Tara. And if supposing that day ever comes, and their brothers the Scots, with the help of the bloody English, stated that it wouldn’t come back to it’s real place on earth, then every Irish lad, even many generations removed, would persuaded them…grandly.
There are those that state that Ireland was never united, or in all it’s history that all Irishmen were ever once in agreement on anything, and was there ever a king at royal Tara that ruled by consent instead of the sword?
In the times of the Tuatha de Dananns there were three kings who were brothers. Their names were Eathur, Teathur and Ceathur, and famous they were. They married three sisters, whose names were Eire, Banba and Fodhla; and as the Tuatha de Dananns were very respectful to women, well to their own, the country was known by all three names at one time or another.
But only one name has survived, and that in the southern lands only, which is called Eire…the northerners prefer the name Ulster, to distinguish themselves from the barbarians in the south…but that distinction came later. The land was called one of the other when the Tuatha de Dananns were visited by the what they would call the Milesians, the Spanish of Egypt.
And the soil was fertilized again with the blood and bones of wild-eyed men, and the end of the long peace.
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