The Hebridean E-Book

alastair macleod

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

"The wind was from the sea and the smoke drifted over the links to the land beyond.
He had noted the wind. The air never seemed still here.

He had learned his bride’s name from Morfor.
She was called Mairwen, the fair one.
He would soon see. He hoped for some signs of the fairness, for so far she had been so cloaked and covered in feathers that he could not say, except that her eyes were of amber and the lips nicely shaped. Thick dark hair had strewn out below the feathers indicating vigour"

Leseprobe

alastair macleod

The Hebridean

To the Magic of Orkney - between two oceans, between two tides, that’s where the magic hides. between high and low water, between sea and sky, between man and woman, between thee and I, that's where the magic hides. BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

The Hebridean

Prologue 

It was not until later, in the time of Columba (521-597 AD), that there began in Alba (the old Roman name for Scotland), a concerted effort to convert the general pagan population of the Scotti, and later the Picts, to Christianity. These Culdees, or Columban priests, spread their faith by setting up, in an often hostile heathen world, a model self sufficient“Christian community,” much as Iona became.

   However if we step back to about 400 AD, for the pagan Irish and the Picts then, Christianity was still a new faith, gaining ground gradually through interaction with lone Christian priests from Roman Britain. By the time of this story, 492 AD, the Roman part of Britain was slowly crumbling under Saxon heathen invasion. In Alba there was also conflict; the Western Picts in Argyll had been under pressure for some time from the pagan Scotti invading from northern Ireland. Yet little pockets of Christians, the Papa, probably already existed on the west coast, in the Hebrides.

   The method by which this early Christianity first spread, seems to have been by anchorites or celtic priests moving as individuals or in small groups, seeking remoter islets and promontories as sites for their people to live in safety and contemplation. Once such place was Orkney.

     He leant forward in the curragh. Just as Dicuil said it would, the land was opening up beyond the narrow strait of The String. The islands here were low lying, something he was not used to. His home islands were high, eagles soared above them and salmon leaped in the rivers. Here the fulmar played around the boat and dolphins had led the way through the narrow passage.

     Finnbarr was here on a mission. The Picts of the west were looking for sites to expand to, new land, to bring their flocks, and their families. The Scotti were pressing up ever further into his homeland, the Ebudes, the islands of the west.

     Finnbarr was tall with hair like copper, worn long and tied back in a pony tail; on his arms he bore the salmon tattoo. Dicuil his foster father had sailed here ten years ago with some monks on a voyage of exploration. 

“The faith,” Dicuil said, “was to expand, but not by the sword.”  Patrick had shown the way, a way of argument, of persuasion that this new faith was superior.

     The women responded readily to the message. They were sick of the constant feuding between the clans, the killing of the young men, the taking of heads, the enslavement of themselves and their children.

The men of the clans viewed the new faith with suspicion. Was it manly to lay down your arms and treat your enemies well? Who would protect your family and your land?

The warrior band were the most suspicious. War was their credo, they lived and breathed the warrior way; training every day in the nine styles of fighting and in the eleven methods of killing.

     As men of faith, the druids were curious. They believed in the one god as the embodiment of several gods; it was not such a leap for them to accept the idea of one god and the new faith still had people like them, priests to intercede, to communicate on behalf of and lead the people.

     The skin boat flew over the water towards the shore.

Finnbarr raised the peace flag, the green banner.  He donned his white robe also, a garment the people recognised all over the north and the islands as the sign of the priesthood.

     As gifts he had with him seven hebridean sheep, black, small, nimble and thrifty eaters that could survive on heathery slopes.

He also carried woven cloth for the women.

And crucially the message was of love. Not of sexual love but of caritas, the caring for all, for inclusion of the weak, old and of children. This religion was for all. All were to be accepted, even slaves.

And he carried gold to purchase land. If need be to persuade a chieftain, to let him have the land his people needed.

     The people of the island were always curious about something new. They flocked out of the huts of the Dun and down to the shore. As the small vessel approached, the warriors grip slackened on their spears when they saw the green flag and the white robed figure in the prow.

     Anchorites, probably like before; priests. But this man was tall, had the air of a chief about him. He stepped boldly onto the shingle strand as his men, already in the water, steadied the boat.

Above the shore the warrior band made way for their own chief.

     Morfor was now of advanced age, experienced, wily, but he knew his time was running out, that change was coming. He had heard of the Scotti, pushing in to Pictland, breaking open duns and pushing clans to war, defeating them and taking their land.

He called out in his accented Pictish,

“I am Morfor, chief of the Bay people; stranger, you are welcome if you come in peace.”