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11/04/2022 09:23 PM
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INTRODUCING: Maire Mac Domnaill
Maire mac Domnaill is a fictional character with a very historically accurate bloodline.
She lived in the High Middle Ages, 1000-1020 AD
Her father was Mael Sechnaill mac Domnaill (nickname Malachy), A King with bloodlines dating by to the Kings of Tara. He was of the House of Ua Neill, High King of the Northern provinces of Ireland 980-1002, and then King of Mide including control of Dublin.
Her mother, Mael Muire ingen Amlaib- daughter of the powerful warrior and Norse King, Amlaib Curarin. His Viking name, Olafr Sigtryggsson. (Norse-Gaul) He was King of Northumbia, England 941-944 and King of Dublin, Ireland 944-952
Maire was born at the turn of the century and lived in a ringfort home, Dun na Sciath on Croi Inis at Lough Ennell in Westmeath Co Ireland.
*The Irish Queen, Gormlaith was married to both her Norse grandfather, her father, and Brian Boru.
Brian Boru was the true King of Southern Ireland and rogue warrior from Munster in Ireland at this time.
: Maire, unhappy, unsettled. The political climate is causing unrest among the people in and around Dyflin (Nordic spelling for Dublin.). Native Kings North and South have come together to attack the strong city, which really is a mixture of native Irish and Norse population. Maire has friends in Dyflin. She is uneasy as to where her loyalties lie. Ultimately it should be with her father….but she sees the strength of the Norse culture…..
The story will be ~her struggle to be loyal to her own beloved Irish heritage and still believe in the future.
Logline
It’s about a girl who lives in medieval Ireland at the time of the Brian Boru . She struggles with the loyalties she has to her Irish roots and the Nordic influences which are now part of Ireland’s future.
The following are some snapshots of Maire in various places in Ireland...Her cottage in Dublin, Her home on Cro Inis, and her travels to Glendalough:
#1 snapshot. At the cottage in Dublin
(at the seashore cottage in Dublin)
…and there was a small cottage along the big sea, nestled in some bushes where Maire went for alone time. On this morn she rose to sit outside it along the rocks to enjoy the quiet. There was not even a ripple to lap upon the shore and the sands were firm and wet with stillness. A perfect time for thinking….. Restless and slow, the huge ball of orange fire, lifted out of the sea in the distance, and a cloudy Irish sky welcomed it. Maire welcomed it as it was reliable. The Irish believed that water, along with air, earth, and fire were the elements of life. Her people were grateful for it.
Downstream, there would wake, a bustle on the wooden quay; as shipbuilders resumed their work once more. Maire thought about the way used to be in Fingal Town. Three cultures living in harmony; the Picts, the Norse and the Irish….even she had them in her veins….and she desired that she would live to tell the tale.
# 2 At her home in Cro Inis
(on the island near Lough Ennell, Westmeath Ireland)
With a single satchel in tow, the princess climbed upon her patiently waiting mare, Bridie. Feelings of melancholy filled her as she sauntered slowly away from the cottage, and the water that she loved so much~ It was a passion which had been nourished by both of her parents through cherished tales, told and retold. Their tales had been wrapped in the mighty and mysterious waves of the sea; tales of immortality and love.
She dreamed about them now, not wanting to think about the business which would be before her when she arrived at Cro Inis.
Snapshot #3 In Glendalough
(When she traveled to Glendalough Abby, Wicklow Ireland.....south of DuhbLinn)
Magical images of a faerie steed, flying fairly over the waves of a foamy ocean! Surely ‘twas Oisin and Niamh! She knew the story well…and then Manannan mac Lir, son of the Sea, Himself stealing Fand for his fae queen! Pure romance and wonder, she admitted
with a sigh.
Yet, as they crossed over the River Liffey, and continued to head southwest, Maire took in all the shades of velvety green and gold which were the thick turf ground for as far as her eyes could see. Hilly plains of it dotted by ruined stone remnants of rituals from years gone by. Here, again her mind drifted to the champions in the Irish legend which had been told to her mostly by her father this time, for it was in his veins that the words of the earth had been woven.
Maire can adapt to stories that take place in the British Isles and Scandivania, and Ireland. She is an Irish/Viking.
Please send a starter! Let's write!
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11/05/2021 11:02 PM
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Chapter 11 The Banshee
Chapter 11 The Banshee
Because she was an O’Neill, she heard it and she knew what it was. The faint wailing in a distance beyond the lake made Maire flinch.
The moon was just appearing through the trees in the east, its cutting edges crisp against the black sky. The princess pulled her hooded cape close as she rose to follow the sound. It wasn’t that she relished the sight of the wretched one, but she feared that her keening may be an omen.
The cries became louder with Maire’s every step, and even as she moved away from her serene spot by the lake, she had regret. The shadowy figure which had interrupted her conversation with Isolde had also disappeared. It had been a weird series of events, leading her to believe the gods had something curious in store.
*********Tony’s post
It started out like a low wail…but rapidly it grew, to a long shriek-like scream. It was the kind of sound that grates on one’s nerves ..shaking the will of lesser souls. Thorfinn found his hand on his sword, drawn without realizing it. A menacing snarl emitted from his tightly drawn grimaced mouth.
“What evil is at work here?” He asked of his traveling companion. But the gentle man of the cross gave no answer. Just a quickening of his strides.
Thorfinn watched him draw forth his cross, as they entered deeper into the darkened wood. The cry had stopped at last, but the young warrior’s mind was not eased by that in the least. The air grew heavier, as sharp thorn-like berries seemed to fight each other, for the privilege to snag at his clothes. They fought their way nearer.
‘Have a care Father!” Thorfinn uttered softly. But the slight-figured man paid the warrior no mind.
Quite suddenly, a cry of anguish split the night. This scream was a woman’s voice. That was the last vestige of restraint for Father Cinaed.
“Maire!” he cried.
For the first time in many a moon, Black Thorfinn knew the taste of fear. The Princess, who’s beautiful visage, so sweetly haunted his dreams, was just ahead. And somehow in danger! He roared an oath and began to bullrush his way to her voice.
In moments, Thorfinn burst into the small clear rung by the menacing lake. There, he found her! Her eyes meeting his, she rushed to him at once. His broad arms cradled her to him. As his heart throbbed with the sheer rush of emotions at her safety, and her beauty. Her soft face nuzzled up into his neck and Black Thorfinn searched out, and then found the reason for her terror. He knew that he would also never leave this woman unprotected in anyway, ever again.
He raised the tip of his sword slightly, “Be gone you evil thing! Your Darkness has no power here!”
Her shrieking laughter instantly proved the folly of his words. It pierced his skull, like a thousand blazing shards of glass. He cried aloud in pain!
Just like it began, it ended. It took Thorfinn a hard moment to collect his wits. His concern for Maire was eased now, by the look she gave him. She was okay. Her small smile steadied his soul, as he stared into her eyes.
“Look!” she spoke to him. Thornfinn turned to see Father Cinead in a heated discussion, with the vile apparition, that only a moment ago, had been terrorizing them to their core. It held no concern for him now though. No meaning. Nothing did like the feel of this extraordinary woman, seeking safety and comfort in his arms. He would relish this single moment, for all of his remaining days.
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10/03/2020 10:28 PM
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Waves of Love
Chapter 8 Glendalough and forward....
Chapter 8
Glendalough Chapter 8
It was still dark when they set off for Glendalough.
Nicholas knew the way, as it led to Wicklow, where his family had settled years before. Maire was looking for a place to hide, so it was a sensible choice. The smell of the blanketed bog fields and sweet peat were no hardship for Maire. The aroma filled her with memories of home near the hearth with her father, and even as the morning skies became a bit brighter through the heavy rolling clouds, there was melancholy as well. It was time she found a way for herself, and as they traveled, she believed she would find purpose.
Soon they came upon the Lake of Blessings, and Charlotte broke the morning silence with a song. The air was cool and damp, even as a stubborn ray of sunlight poked through to welcome them.
“This is where we usually make a stop to rest, Maire. It seems that we are going to get a shower soon. Are you feeling hungry, mo choi?”
Maire smiled and nodded, “I am ready for a break, Sister. Do you think it safe?” She looked around both behind them and ahead.
“I can wait for a more seluded spot if you think it wise.”
This time she directed her attention to the elder man.
“This will be fine, Maire. We won’t build a fire, but just rest and have a bite.”
Maire could feel her stomach roll and her back ached. She knew the journey onward was long and arduous ahead so was grateful for the respite.
It was good to walk along the lakeshore and stretch but after a quick bite they continued eastward to their destination.
Maire kept her gaze at the horizon for a hint of mountain shadows, hoping all the while, to find a safe retreat.
Just as plains turned to purple moorlands, a low flying falcon cast a shadow over the three friends. It rested in the ash tree nearby, and called loud and eerie notes as if a warning?
Maire drew her woolen, hooded sweater close. Under it, she wore a tunic, with cowl collar, part of a habit Charlotte had lent to her. Her gown was brown as well. It was all the nun had to offer her, and yet they both grinned at the trickery. There was nothing settling about this escapade, yet as they drew closer to the aura of the shadowed mountains, Maire felt a certain determination and courage overcome her.
“There used to be a group of abandon huts near in the wood before we get to the old settlement, Maire.
Many a renegade gypsy, clan or drifter has found a home here away from the noise.” He smirked, “not that you are one of those, but you need not feel alone. After all, Glendalough was founded by a traveling monk, who craved time and place to meditate on spiritual things. It was believed that he was in love, and wanted to sort out his emotions. There is a bush of prickly thorns near here, into which, it is said, that he threw himself as a sort of penance for his sin. When we get to the valley I’ll show you the tower where he wrote amazing words of worship and praise. These beautiful mountains, forest, lakes and streams were his sanctuary. Nature was his church.”
Nicholas’ words were like poetry to Maire’s heart. As they moved between Oak and Spruce and listened to the song of the Red Start, the trill of the warbler, the very ground that they trampled on became a carpet of mosses, ferns and wood sorrel. And as they continued up the rocky trail, she could hear frogs in the distance and smell the pine sap.
Maire was forced to stop at one point and just inhale the scene before her as they began to get a view of a violet sky, the backdrop for the two lakes lying low in the valley of the verdant hills.
“I think I should like to live here.” She stated with fervor only to hear her two friends laugh. “I would
eat off the land…I love mushrooms, you know?” she smiled…”and I would hike, and swim, and write.”
“Oh, would you?” Charlotte asked with a grin. “…and what would you write, Maire?”
Amazingly she didn’t even have to think..it just spilled out, “I’d write stories, sister. Stories that I know and stories that I would dream of. I would write them so they would never be forgotten.”
“Well,”
Charlotte said, “That sounds lovely.”
“How far is it to the monastery of St. Kevin, Nicholas?”
“It’s down there, in the valley…we’ll be there soon.
They descending slowly entering the settlement; a collection of stone buildings and the round tower the conspicuously tall “cloigtheach” refuge for the monks in case an attack. Scattered Celtic crosses
reminded Maire of the pagan ancestors who ultimately were lured to believe in the Christian God.
“Dunchad, the old abbott resides in the hut just ahead, Maire. The old church of St. Kevin was burned down by Vikings during the battle of Glenmama.” Nicholas stated. “He will not be pleased with your ties to the Mida King. It could bring trouble to the holy place once more. You will have to stay quiet.
“Mayhap it be best if he knows not my identity?” she answered.
“No, I think he should know who he is hiding. Come, let’s talk with him.”
Before they could get close, the abbott, himself met them before the tower, as if he were expecting them.
“Greetings, Father Dunchad. You know my daughter, Sister Charlotte, and this is Princess Maire mac Domnaill. She comes looking for asylum. King Mael Sechnaill knows not where she is, nor does she care for him to find out.”
“Welcome, Nicholas, Sister Charlotte, and Princess.
His smile moved from his lips to his warm, gentle eyes. “You are friends with Father Cinaid of Lambay Island, are you not?” Maire’s eyes grew open in surprise. How would he know her before she even had a chance to speak? She wondered if God had whispered this to him.
“Well, yes, Father. Cincaid and I were both students at Cilla Dara. How did you know that?”
He laughed and answered, “Cincaid has stayed here with us. He has mentioned you, and of course you may stay with us.” He thought about the small room in the back of Our Lady’s Church.
“You will be safe here for as long as you need to stay.”
Maire lowered her head, then slipped down off Bridie. “My sincere thanks, Father Dunchad.” She looked to her
friends knowing they were anxious to return. “I am very grateful for your escort, dear ones. Be safe as you return.” She smiled and waved as they turned to go.
.********
Father Dunchad carried a mere candle
as he led Maire through the low door into the stone church. He had seen to it that she was fed and rested, but made it clear to her, that he didn’t want it to be common knowledge where she would stay. He led her straightaway to the small room at its rear, quietly explaining that there were two nuns who cared for the church , but no priest to shepherd it at the moment.”
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05/11/2020 10:31 PM
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Vikings in Ireland
An Irish Viking Empire In the middle of the tenth century, Olaf Cuaran Sictricson (a.k.a. Amlaíb Cuarán) was a Norse descendant who became king of Dublin. Olaf was part of the Uí Ímair dynasty of Ivar the Boneless, and like Ivar, he was ambitious.5 Olaf crossed into England and took the city of York.6,10 He procured and alliance with Scotland through marriage to King Constantin’s daughter.10 He also took possession of the Isle of Mann.11 Thus, Olaf Cuaran began to build an empire on both sides of the Irish Sea.
As Olaf gathered power, he began fighting (and winning) against the larger Irish kings. Olaf was a Norse king, but many Irish and Scots fought for him. But King Máel Sechnaill II (great-great-grandson of Turgesius’s killer) crushed his army at Tara in 980. Defeated, and heart-broken over the death of his eldest son, Olaf’s empire fell apart and he retired to a monastery.5,10 The End of the Viking Age in Ireland Olaf’s former victories in Ireland left the way open for Brian Boru to become High King.6,10
Brian was a great warrior and a skilled diplomat, but Máel Mórda mac Murchada, the king of Leinster, was not ready to accept that all of Ireland was to have a single, strong ruler. His rebellion was eagerly joined by Sihtric Silkbeard, Olaf’s younger son and heir. Seeking allies, Máel Mórda turned to the Vikings of Ireland, Orkney, Mann, and even Scotland.12 In 1014, after a series of tangled, tragic events worthy of a saga, Brian Boru and Máel Mórda fought a great battle by the sea at Clontarf (near Dublin).6,13 The battle is remembered as the event in which Brian Boru drove the Vikings from Ireland, but this is not quite accurate.
The Vikings fought on both sides, and only made up about half of Mórda’s army.12 It was a pyrrhic victory for Brian (for neither he nor his heir would live to see the next day), but Mórda and most of the Viking leaders were killed. It is recorded that 10,000 men died, which would be about five out of every six that fought.13 It was Máel Sechnaill II who profited the most, for he had backed out of most of the fighting but was basically the last Irish ruler standing, and soon became high king.6,13
The Battle of Clontarf in Ireland and the Battle of Stamford Bridge in England (52 years later) is where historians end the Viking Age. The Norse continued on in Ireland, though distinctions between the two ethnicities faded as their mutual interests continued to grow. Soon there was no point in worrying about who was Norse and who was Irish.
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