Chapter 76
All My Children, or, The Breaking of the Final Geis
Artistic Depiction of the “Death of Caoimhe by Angmar Thorson. Note the artist’s decision to break convention and depict Caoimhe with blond, rather than black, hair. Thorson based his depiction of Caoimhe upon his own recently deceased Mother who had been blonde in her youth.
“Although traditionally depicted in such a way as to highlight her masculine traits and virtues, there can be no doubt that the mythical Caoimhe’s greatest strength comes from that quintessential feminine role of Motherhood. For it was in her role of Mother - of not just her own children but, indeed, the entire nation of Dal Caoimhe – that she would find her greatest victories and pay the ultimate price.” – Dr. Edgbert Athalwolfson
Following the Fall of Rome, Emperor Feardorcha wasted little time, for he wished to return to Ravenna and officially be crowned and take the throne of his Father, the late Emperor Teir. But he also burned with a different desire – to be wed, for since his victory, Caoimhe and others had wasted little time in filling his ears with tales of the virtues of Sadhbh, his bride to be. He was told how she possessed the great beauty and passion of her Mother, had been educated by the greatest Bishops of the realm and came to exceed them in both knowledge and virtue. Surely, no other girl in all the realm was better suited to wed an Emperor and sit by his side?
Only one member of Caoimhe’s entourage did not encourage the Emperor, and this was her son Ciaran. Ciaran had long distrusted Emperor Feardocha and victory over Lachtna and his Roman allies had done little to ease the young man’s concerns. Even worse; of all of Caoimhe’s children, no one knew Sadhbh’s heart as did her older brother – though she was younger than he, the two had been inseparable in childhood and grew to be close friends. They often roamed the field and hills of their home together, hunting, fishing and telling stories. Sadhbh was particularly in touch with their homeland and seemed to know every valley, frield and stream, and some even said that she could speak to the birds themselves.
On these jaunts, Ciaran was Sadhbh’s dutiful protector, his sword arm ready at a moment’s notice to end any threat to his beloved sister. Once, while walking through the wood, they were set upon by a Mother bear. Ciaran subdued the beast and was ready to end its life, when Sadnbh begged him to stop – the bear had cubs, she said, and couldn’t bare to see them orphaned. Ciaran has long been famous for his fantastic temper, but it was said that he only once was overcome with it in the presence of his sister – to his own and others’ great sorrow. And so he had spared the she-bear as his sister beseeched.
“I know my sister’s heart, and she would not wish to marry that brute of a man,” Ciaran told his Mother one day as they rode back to Ravenna along with the rest of Emperor Feardorcha’s host.
“Be that at it may, we all have a duty to perform,” Caoimhe said, “and hers is to be wed. It is for the good of not only our people, but the Goths as well.”
“Mother, when you were her age, did you not set your blade deep into the hearts of all of your potential suitors because you did not wish to marry?”
“You know the answer to that question Ciaran, just as well as you know that Sadhbh is not me. I was meant for the battlefield, to found an Empire, and for that I needed to wait to find a man worthy of me. Your sister is different – she is wise, yes, and witty – far more than I am; for my tongue is often like a club swung by a giant – but she is no warrior, set for the life of raiding and fighting. She is not like you or your brothers. Emperor Feardocha will make her happy, he will protect her, and she will give him many heirs that will tie our people together. Her battlefield will be the royal bedroom. Now, enough – your sister has already been sent for and will be awaiting us in Ravenna. I shall hear no more of this, do you understand.” [FN1]
And hearing this, a white-hot rage flashed upon Ciaran’s face, but he held his tongue and simply nodded before riding off. But when he was far away from his Mother, he let out such a scream of anger that the hills themselves shook; and some say that travelers can still hear it echoing amongst the cliffs of Monte Falterona.
Feardocha and Caoimhe’s host traveled for many days, and every time they came to a village or town, the Gothic people rushed out to meet them, so happy were they that the tyranny of King Lachtna and the Romans had finally been ended. This slowed down the travel, as many towns insisted on throwing great feasts for the heroes. At these feasts, the warriors and their leaders supped and made merry – all save Ciaran who feel deeper and deeper into a sullen and dark mood. He kept his eyes always on Emperor Feardocha, keen to observe any behavior which he felt was unbecoming of a suitor of his sister. And the Emperor did not disappoint in this regard, for he was known as a man of great appetites – for food, for wine, and also for women – and many a night ended with the Emperor escoting a beautiful daughter of the village back to his own personal tent. All of this Ciaran saw, and all of this Caoimhe turned a blind eye to. [FN2]
Finally, after many weeks, they arrived in Ravenna – the city’s gates had been thrown open and the people rushed out to celebrate the true Emperor of the Goths. Feardocha, unwilling to disappoint, staged a grand procession where he and his allies marched through the city, throwing coins and wealth to the population. As they arrived at the Imperial Palace, Feadorcha was raised upon his shield and Ravenna’s bishop emerged to concecrate the new Emperor. Standing upon the steps of the imperial palace, Feardocha turned to the crowd and announced a week’s worth of games and celebrations to mark his coronation, and this to be followed by his marriage to Queen Coaimhe’s daughter Sadhbh. At this news, the crowds began to cheer and it was only with the upmost effort of the city guard that a celebratory riot did not break out. [FN3]
Sadhbh arrived in the capitol along with an escort of Gaelic warriors the following day. The travel had been hard on her and left her shaken, yet she was still the picture of beauty. When the people of Ravenna saw her entering the city gates and make her way to the palace, their revelry stopped as they were taken by her otherworldliness, and to the man, all knelt to the ground and bowed to her. Seeing this display, and moved by it, she smiled to the crowd and this caused nearly everyone to burst into tears for they felt that they had just gazed upon a goddess or a saint.
Upon her arrival at the palace, Sadhbh was immediately taken to see her Mother. Although Emperor Feardocha was anxious to finally meet his bride, he wastold that she and her Mother had important matters to discuss and that it would reflect badly upon the union for him to override Caoimhe’s wishes. To this, he begrudgingly agreed, though not without some rumblings of his famous temper. But he had witnessed far too much of Caoimhe’s own rages – as well as those of her sons – and had no desire to instigate a war over the matter.
Indeed, the reason Caoimhe wished to speak to her daughter was that she had taken Ciaran’s words to heart. Not that she had any intention of allowing Sadhbh to back out of the wedding, but she recognized that her daughter might possess trepedations at the thought of the marriage an she wished to steel the girl’s spine.
Due to Caoimhe’s rank and esteem amongst Emperor Feardochas allies, she had been granted a small hall to hold court in during her stay in the capital, and it was to this hall that Sadhbh was brought. As the door opened, the girl cast her eyes upon her Mother, Brothers and many countless friends for the first time in months, and she was overcome with happiness. She ran to her Mother and threw her arms around Caoimhe, and then turned to Ciaran and did the same.
“Mother, Ciaran, brothers – I’ve missed you so much, and it fills my heart with gladness to see that you are all right, for I dread every time you march off to war that I will never lay my eyes upon your again.”
“Such is our duty,” Caoimhe said to her daughter, “ours is to fight and, possibly, die for our people. IT is not something that we do lightly, but it is something that we do happily. Do you understand?”
“No,” Sadhbh said truthfully, “I cannot hope to understand, for I am not made for war as you and my brothers are. Instead, were the choice my own, I would choose to spend my life contemplating the mysteries of God and work to better the lives of his people.”
At this Caoimhe frowned deeply, and all of the joy went out of her face. “But it is not for you to decide, I fear, my daughter. Because you too have a duty to perform for our people, and it is a very important one as well. For though our brothers and I go to war, you shall be thebringer of peace. With your marriage, you shall tie our House to the Amalings and secure our people peace and freedom. Can you understand this?”
“Yes, that I can understand,” Sadhbh said. “And I wish nothing more than to bring peace to the world after years of bloodshed. If that is what God is calling me to do, then I will accept it happily. But, Mother, can you promise me one thing?”
“And what is that, my Daughter? For I would give you the heavens and the Earth themselves, if you only asked.”
“I do not wish the heavens nor the Earth, Mother – even if those were your’s to grant, which they are not. I wish only a promise. Can you promise me that Emperor Feardocha is a good and true man? For many tales have come to me of his hungers and lusts and I fear that he will never hold himself true to me alone.”
Caoimhe smiled at this, yet inside she trembled for she knew the nature of the Emperor. She had not been as blinded to his weaknesses as she had pretended. “My daughter, I can promise you that he is a good man, and he will love you, and you alone, as a wife and Mother to his children. Do not trouble yourself with rumors and stories, for they often contain nothing but lies and half-truths.”
As these words passed Caoimhe’s lips she knew that she had made a grievous mistake, for she had lied to her daughter in front of her sons and closest friends – and understood also that they knew what she had just done.
Indeed, no sooner had she uttered these words than Ciaran lept his feet. “Liar,” he cried! “Liar! You have dishonored yourself, Mother. You know our Emperor’s lusts as well as we all do. I have seen him take numerous village girls to his bed and know them as a man does his wife, and so have you. So have we all. And now you lie to my sister and tell her that these things which you have seen with your own eyes are not true? Shame! You have brought shame upon yourself and shame upon us all.”
Caoimhe turned to her son in shock. She knew well Ciaran’s character, his tempers and passions, and he had often spoken loosely to her, but never before had he challenged her openly before her own court. “Sit down,” she ordered, “and hold your tongue. You are my son and I love you deeply, for you are the very image of your Father who I loved before anyone else. But you are challenging your Mother and Queen, and I shall not abide this.”
“Do Mothers not strive to protect their children,” Ciaran asked? “Do Queens not speak truthfully and honestly to their subjects? You do neither! With your own words, you damn yourself as a false-Queen and a false-Mother.”
Hearing these words, Caoimhe paled and her eyes widened, “Son, please, hold your tongue and speak no more ill of me. You do not know what you are saying, nor where these words are leading.”
Sadhbh herself turned to her brothers, her face a mix of sorrow and horror, “Brother, please. Do not follow the currents of your thoughts. It is all right. Now I know the truth and though Mother was wrong to hide it from me, I still accept my fate willingly. It is my duty and I shall embrace it as you do your’s when called to war.”
In the past, Sadhbh’s words had always been able to calm her brother, but not today. “No, sister, I will not hold my tongue. You are sweet, and pious, and I know you would happily take this fate if it means bringing peace to our peoples. But it is not right. Our Mother condemns you to that very fate which she once fled. And why? Because she cannot bring herself to overcome her own pride? To acknowledge her own mistakes? And you, my beautiful sister, are the one who must pay the price for her folly. No. It is wrong!”
Then it wasDomhnal’s turn to stand – the youngest son of Caoimhe. He turned to his Ciaran and said, “Brother, we all admit the mistakes of our Mother – her words were ill conceived, but they stem from a desire to do what is best for us and our people. Please, sheath your tongue, and do not bring strife upon this hall.”
But Ciaran was beyond listening to reason, all of th resentment which had been building upon this campaign came forward like the explosion of a volcano. “Sit down, whelp! You may be my brother, but none even know who your father is – yet you have risen so high in her esteem. Our Mother condemns our sister to be married, yet she knows little of marriage and its confinements, insteading laying with whatever man catches her attention.” And with that he struck his brother in the face, sending Domhnal to the floor.
“You have an ill tongue,” Domhnal said as he collected himself, “but I will not respond to angry words or slaps in kind, for we are family. You dishonor yourself more than our Mother has with your actions.”
But Ciaran had already turned his attention back to his Caoimhe and drawn his sword. “Since you are no longer worthy of our respect as either a Mother nor a Queen,” he said.
“Ciaran,” Caoimhe begged, “do not do what you are thinking of doing.” And inside to her horror, she felt that the old battle rage building, coursing inside of her like a raging inferno, but she bit down on her tongue so hard that she nearly severed it and held it back with all of her strength.
“Then I challenge you for leadership and the right to hold that sacred silver blade, Saol ó Bhás,” Ciaran finished
And with these words, Caoimhe’s heart was rent in twain. For she had just been challenged and it was her geis – the final one which had never been broken – that she could not turn down a challenge freely given. But so too, she could never bring herself to strike down her own son, one of the children of her first true love. And, faced with this crisis, she could say only one thing: “No.”
Ciaran stared at her, his eyes wild with frenzy and anger, “What? You willingly turn down my challenge, before all of your host? You would show such weakness?”
Her voice trembling, Caoimhe replied, “No, I will not fight you. But know that this is not weakness, for I have never fled from a fight. But if we were to fight, then you would die, and I would have the blood of my beloved son upon my own hands. This decision comes from love, not fear – for you know that a gies was placed upon me that I could never turn down a freely given challenge. I have broken my other geis, but that one was the last, the one which kept me safe from death. But, no, I would rather die than fight my own child who I once held to my own breast. If that is weakness, then so be it, but my own life is not so precious that I would protect it at the cost of yours, or any of my children.”
Ciaran, hearing his Mother’s reply, let out a great and angry shout and stormed from the hall, and a third of Caoimhe’s host followed him out, for they felt that he had been in the right and that their Queen had forsaken herself. From these men, Ciaran would fashion a strong army and go out to raid and reave as his Mother and Father had done before him. In time, he would conquer the isle of Oileán Mór and from there become one of the greatest pirate lords of the Mhuirmhór. Many tales are written of his daring adventures, but none relate directly to our tale and so, for the time being Ciaran Fitheach Mara [The Sea Raven] passes from our narrative. [FN4]
As Ciaran retreated from the Hall, Domhnall and his other brothers rushed to their Mother’s side, but she waved them off. In shock and pale, consumed by rage and sorrow, she made her way to her own chambers and collapsed upon the floor, letting our a mournful, keeing wail. This wail was heard throughout the city and all who heard it were struck into a stupor of deep sadness.
Caoimhe lay upon the stone floor of her chambers, weeping for hours, before she felt a gentle caress upon her shoulder. “Why do you cry, my daughter,” a voice said.
Drying her tears, the Queen looked up to see the figure of her own Mother, the Goddess Badb, standing before her. “Mother,” she said, “I have doomed myself. I have broken the last of my geis and know now that I will die.”
The Badb reached down and stroked Caoimhe’s hair – once black but now streaked with whisps of grey -
“Yes, you will die. But why does that fill you with sorrow? Do we all not die? Your death was assured before you broke a single Geis, because you are mortal, and all mortals must pass from this realm to the next. Such is the way of life. It matters not that you will die – what matters is how you choose to face it.”
“Did I do right,” Caoimhe asked. “I could not drive Saol ó Bhás into the heart of my own son. Even if it meant by own death at that moment, I could never bring myself to do such a foul deed.”
“There are many heroes, such as the Hound of Cullan himself” Badb said, “who when faced with that choice, would have acted otherwise. But that does not make them stronger than you, and maybe they are to be pitied in the end. But do not regret your actions – my Grandson still has a part to play and he will birth a line that will be strong indeed. You have set in motion your own death, this is true, but you have lived a glorious life, and there will still be more to come your way.”
“So then,” Caoimhe said, “my death will not occur this moment?”
“Steel yourself,” the Babd said, “and think not of such things. Your death will come when it will come. Now sleep, and let your sorrow pass away, knowing that Ciaran and all of your sons shall leave behind many sons of their own, and you have created a people who shall never die away as long as the wind does blow over the ocean. You will still have one last important role to play, this I promise you, and when it is done we shall meet again.”
And with these words, so vague and mysterious that Caoimhe could ot fully understand them, her Mother faded away and she fell into a deep sleep which lasted for three days.
…
Caoimhe awoke from her sleep, surrounded by her daughter and her sons – save Ciaran. Although the betrayal of Ciaran still rested heavy upon her heart, the words of Mother and the long sleep, had strengthened her resolve and cleared her mind. Looking up at Sadhbh she said “My daughter, I see now that I acted rashly when I promised you to Emperor Feardocha – in this your brother was right. Although I still see the marriage as the best chance to cement friendship between our people and the Goths, I cannot force you into a marriage that you do not want. Therefore, the decision is yours and yours alone – should you decline, I am sure that the Emperor and I can still find some accord.”
But Sadhbh shook her head, “No Mother, it is you who were right – though it pleases me that you have seen fit to give me a choice. My duty is to our family and people, just as it is yours, though my role is different. Knowing the full truth, the last gift that my Brother was able to give me, I will still accept the marriage. Though I fear it may be an unhappy one, for though I believe that Feardocha may come to love me I do not believe he will ever be faithful, I shall accept that burden.”
Then Caoimhe turned to her remaining sons and said, “I do not wish you to have any hatred in your heart towards your brother Ciaran. What he did was rash and fills me with great sadness, but it does not diminish my love for him. I hope and pray yet that, in whatever time I have left, that I may still be able to reconcile with him. And if not, should the embers of my life flicker out before that time, I hope that you wil be able to accept him once again as a brother.”
At this Domhnal, who Ciaran had struck, frowned – for his eldest brotehr’s words had cut deep and bruised him far worse than Ciaran’s fists. Although known for possessing the wisdom of his father, the God Lugh, his pride had been savaged and he found it hard to forgive the slight. But he spoke to his mother said, “Though it is difficult for me, I shall honor your wish, and strive to do my best to forgive him and welcome him back into my esteem.”
“That is all that I can ask,” Caoimhe said. “Now leave me, for though I have much recovered I feel a great weariness coming once again. I shall sleep for another day and then, I feel, I shall be ready to once again face the world.” And it was just as she said, for she soon fell back asleep and dreamt of her beloved Eterscél and in her dream they were both young again and filled with love for one another. He embraced her and said that they would see one another again soon and promised that their twin sons would both make him proud, through in different manners. And when it was time to wake again, she begged Eterscél not to go, but he kissed her passionately and faded away in her arms.
Three days after she awoke from her heartsickness, the wedding between Sadhbh and Emperor Feardocha took place. It was a glorious affair and the Emperor spent greatly to make it so – all of the guests praised the new Queen for her beauty and charm, and all of this praise paled im comparison to those given to her by the Emperor himself. But many noticed the look of disquiet upon the bride’s face, as if she knew that she was taking on some heavy burden, and though she felt joy there was beneath that a sort of secret sorrow which was rooted into her heart as well. And this sorrow was well placed for, though Feardocha came to love his wife deeply, he was unable to be fully true to her, and he would bring to his side other wives – as was the custom of the Goths – and many other women besides. Though Sadhbh would bear him three children, the efforts left her weakened and physically frail. But the greatest sadness she felt was her grief in causing the Ciaran’s row with their mother, and his flight from the court. Although taking joy in her children, Sadhbh would strive to reconcile her brother and mother, but her efforts were always in vain, because her brother’s pride would not allow himself to forgive or be forgiven.
Following the wedding, Caoimhe, her remaining sons, and their warriors would return home to Esphallis. There they would take to their lands to rule – all of her sons would marry upon their return, and many began to draw to them hosts of young men seeking adventure and wealth, and would set out upon great expeditions of plunder and trade, much as Caoimhe had in her youth. Their names were soon feared and respect throughout the Mhuirmhór and beyond, and this brought the Queen great pride and joy.
These were years of peace and plenty for the Kingdom of Dal Caoimhe. Caoimhe herself ruled wisely and fairly, and there was never a year where the crops failed. Monks and scholars came from Gaelia and established monasteries and churches throughout the realm, improving lands as well as the minds and souls. Countless warriors made their way to Caoimhe’s court or those of her sons and grew rich, so that there was never a lack of warriors to help defend the land. So prosperous was this time, that many forgot about the breaking of the last geis and the inevitability of the Queen’s demise. Yet Caoimhe herself never forgot and, knowing that her death was certain, she chose to dedicate her remaining time towards the realm she had purchased through blood and steel.
Now, at this time, across Carraig Mor, in the lands of the Berbers, there reigned a great King by the name of Warmaksan. Warmaksan was the youngest son of King Ibiger who Caoimhe had defeated when she first came to rule the lands of Esphallis. A young boy when his father had gone ot war, Warmaksan had been left behind in the care of his Mother who was known as a great sorcerer. Before leaving for war, Ibiger had gone to his wife and asked her to prophecy his success. She replied, “You shall gain much wealth in your endeavor and gain your reward. But these shall pale before the glory that your son shall win for himself, for he will kill a great warrior which you will be unable to overcome.” By reward, she meant that he would gain his eternal reward and be killed, though Iblis did not understand this.
Following Iblis’ death, Tiblis fell into civil war. Since Warmaksan was still a minor, he was unable to rule in his own name and so his Uncles, each more wicked than the last, sought to steal his birthright for themselves. Fearing for her son’s life, and trusting in her own powers of foresight, Warmaksan’s Mother fled with her son deep into the desert. There they lived together for many years; though his pained her to do so, she humbled herself and married a herder who offered to protect her and her son.
As Warmaksan grew up, his Mother taught him the wayers of her sorcery, because she knew that he would need it if he was ever to take back the throne which was rightfully his. She also encouraged her husband, who had once been a soldier before retiring to herd, to train her son in the arts of war. Warmaksan excelled in both pursuits and soon he had gathered to his side a group of local boys and men to raid the pastures of rival villages and tribes. He was never defeated and, in such a way, he gathered to his side a mighty host and won for himself great prestige and recognition.
Soon word reached the current King of TIblis, Meddur, of the remarkable young man. Meddur, Warmaksan’s uncle, was a wicked man who had slain his remaining brothers to help take the throne. Because of this, he was not popular and had grown to see threatens everywhere. Despite this, he was very clever, and he saw in this young man not only a threat, but also an opportunity. Popular leaders were always dangerous to tyrants, but if they could be turned and made loyal, they could also be a boon. Not realizing that Warmaksan was his nephew and the rightful King, he invited him to the court in Tiblis with a goal of either winning his loyalty and aid or killing him.
Warmaksan had never forgotten that the thone should be his, and he leapt at the opportunity to meet his Uncle. Turning to his Mother, she told him to never trust his Uncle and to appear to play along until the time was ready to strike. And so Warmarksan traveled to Tiblis with but a fraction of his men, for he wished to appear weaker than he really was. While in the city, he presented himself a country rube, awed by the size of Tiblis and its great wealth. When Meddur heard this, he laughed, for the boy might be a great war leader, but it seemed as if he still had much to learn about the world.
Finally, the time had come for Warmaksan to meet his Uncle. He arrived at the palace of his birth and was ushered into the courtroom where Meddur sat with glorious golden robes; at each side stoof three women, each more beautiful than the last. Meddur smiled and offered the young man any of the women he wished for a wife as well as however much wealth he could carry, if only he would pledge himself a loyal general.
At this, Warmaksan laughed and said “Why limit myself to only one wife, or only as much wealth as I can carry? I strive to have all that was taken from me, and much more besides, Uncle. Do you not recognize the face of your own nephew and rightful King? I have long been told that I share the look of my father Ibiger.”
Then Meddur realized how grave of a mistake that he had made, but it was too late. For as he rose from his throne, his nephew began a chant, and soon a great sleep fell upon all of those present in the court room, except for Meddur and Warmaksan himself. Meddur fell upon his knees and begged forgiveness, saying that he had thought his nephew dead and had planned only to rule the kingdom as regent. But Warmaksan was unphased by his Uncle’s lies and began a second incantation. Soon a great host of serpents slithered into the room and surrounded the King. As he begged mercy, they struck, biting him time and time again, until he fell dead, frothing at the mouth and swelling from the poison. As he died, the rest of the court awoke in horror to find their King dead, and Meddur sitting upon the throne.
Having slain his faithless Uncle, Warmaksan vowed to restore Tiblis to its position of power and wealth as well as to finally get revenge upon the witch who had slain his Father. Although many expected him to strike at Caoimhe immediately, he preferred patience, and to strike when the time was right. Instead, he subdued the tribes to the South and west of himself, returning Tiblis to its role as the greatest power in western Libya and he made peace with the Vandal Kings of Africa. Only once his Kingdom was secure, did he begin to plot his revenge against Caoimhe and the Gaels.
By this time, Ciaran had become one of the greatest Sea-Kings in all of the Mhuirmhór. Although he had many enemies – seeming to enjoy raiding the lands of Italy and Gothland especially as the Empire’s navy remained weak – none could defeat him in battle. He was like a man possessed, driven by his anger to prove himself the equal of his famous Mother and Father. As such, he became greatly respected and feared and the sight of his fleet was enough to fill most men with dread.
Warmaksan had followed the stories of Ciaran Fitheach Mara with great interest for years and knew about the feud between Caoimhe and her son. Wishing to test the man, he sent word to the Pirate King that he wished to hire him for a campaign and requested a meeting. Due to the bad blood between their families, he offered to meet in a neutral location upon the isle of Formentera which was to the south west of Ciaran’s island kingdom. Ciaran was leary, but he also sensed an opportunity for great wealth and glory, and so agreed to the meeting.
Warmaksan and Ciaran both arrived on the island, as agreed, with a small host of men. Feeling confident due to the presence of his men and nearness to his own kingdom, Ciaran spoke first and said, “So, you are Warmaksan, the son of the man who slayed my Father?”
“Yes,” Warmaksan replied, “And you are Ciaran Fitheach Mara, the son of the woman who slayed my own Father.”
“I am,” Ciaran replied, “and what would you have of me that caused you to come so far into dangerous waters?”
Warmaksan laughed, and his laugh disquieted Ciaran in ways he could not hope to describe for it seemed otherworldly and contained the hiss of snakes and the skuttering of insects. “Oh, I am not worried about that. But, come, let us speak, for I have an opportunity for you, should you be so willing. You see, I know of the feud between your Mother and you and know also that she lied and disgraced herself in the court of Emperor Feardocha. And so I wish to make you an offer – I too feud with your mother for reasons that are evident and wish nothing less than to see that witch chastised. So, will you not join your strength to mine in a great attack upon her? We can drive her back to the sea and, when we are done, it shall be you who shall rule her Kingdom and it always should have been.”
With these words, Ciaran felt his heart drop into his belly. Long had he dreamed of the day of his return to Esphallis and to see his Mother beg for mercy for her sins. But, now that it has being offered, he could only feel loathing – both for Warmaksan but, more over, for himself. Finally, after many minutes, he spoke and said “I fear that you have come all this way for nothing, friend. Although your offer is good, the sons of Caoimhe do not turn against one another.”
“Ah,” Warmaksan said, “and so is that the reason that you struck your own brother in your mother’s court?”
A deep shame filled Ciaran with these words, but with that shame also came anger, for he knew that he was being mocked. “Best to sheath your tongue, oh King – for kingdoms have been lost by words alone. And you will find that I am as much of a warrior as my Mother and Father before me.”
Warmaksan began to laugh then, and there was both merriment and menace contained within. “Oh, yes, that I do not doubt. But your mistake is that you see me as a warrior like my Father. I am much more than that for, like you, I also take after my Mother.” And then he began to chant and a great sleep fell over all of Ciaran’s men, leaving the Pirate King the only one awake.
“What trickery is this,” he cried, “you fight with magic and not steel, like a coward!”
“No,” Warmaksan replied, “I fight with both. Which is why I will win.” He gave the signal and his men descended upon Ciaran and found him tightly and, after he was bound, they killed all of his men who lay slumbering upon the beach. And that beach is still known today as Leaba na Marbh – the Bed of the Dead. Then they took Ciaran back to their ship and sailed back to Tiblis.
Some time later, a messenger arrived at Caoimhe’s court in Esphallis. Having been granted entry he fell to his knees and said, “Oh Great Queen Caoimhe, Slayer of Ibiger, I come with a message to you from Warmaksan, Son of Ibiger, Great King of Tiblis. Your son, the rebel Ciaran, has been captured while raiding deep within our lands. To show that his highness shows no ill-will to your family and seeks forgiveness for the deeds of his own Father, our King offers to ransom your son back to your care where you may do with him as you like. He asks only that you both meet a place of your choosing, so that negotiations can commense and peace may be made between our peoples for generations to come.”
Hearing of her son’s capture, Caoimhe leaned forward in her throne. “Tell me, is my son safe and well kept?”
“He is, my Queen,” the messenger said, “no harm has come to him, for we recognize his worth to you.”
“Very well,” Caoimhe said, ”go back to your master and tell him that we shall meet in person at Carrick Mor in one month’s time. If what you say is true and there is no treachery within his heart, your King shall have won peace between our peoples for, despite the ill-deeds of his Father, I am willing to see us move forward as friends.”
The Messenger bowed his head and left the Court to carry this news back to Warmaksan. After he had left, Domhnal turned to his Mother and said, “Is this wise, Mother? There is every chance that this is a trap, and stories tell us that Warmaksan is a powerful wizard. Why risk your life simply to save that of Ciaran who betrayed us?”
“Oh Domhnal, I have every expectation that this is a trap, though my heart hopes that it is not – the deeds of Ibiger were dark indeed, but peace must be made between our peoples eventually. But, even if it is a trap, I would gladly walk into it to save your brother. Have you not forgotten my words in Ravenna? I know you still burn at the dishonor your Brother did to you, but his true target was me and not you. The time has come for peace between you and he as well.”
“Be that as it may, Mother, this is still not wise.”
“I know that, you stubborn son,” Caoimhe said, “but I have been living in the shadow of my death since I refused your brother’s challenge. If it is fated that this is the time for me to face it, so be it. None of us can live forever, and I would gladly risk my death to see my son one last time.”
And knowing that she could not be persuaded, Domhnal bowed his head. “Very well. I shall call our men so at least you have an army at your back, and I shall fight by your side as well all of your sons.”
“I would ask for nothing less,” the Queen replied. “And sent word to my old friend Coire Ceol Dóiteáin, the greatest poet I have ever known. For I will need his help once again, I fear.” [FN5]
…
True to his word, Warmaksan arrived with a great host at Carrick Mor a month later to the day. There he found Caoimhe’s forces drawn up behind her. Seeing the Berber King, she walked forward and said “Great King Warmaksan, I thank you for honoring your offer. Let none doubt your true parentage, for I can see much of your father in your face.”
“Indeed, “Warmaksan said, “it is said that of all of his sons, I am the most like him in form and substance.”
“Let us hope that you possess more wisdom than he,” Caoimhe said. [FN6]
Warmaksan raised his hand and motioned for Ciaran to be brought forward, still bound but otherwise healthy. “As promised, I have brought your son. Now let us discuss how best we can settle the debts between us.”
Caoimhe nodded, uneasy. Her warrior instincts, undulled by all of these years, screamed that she was being led into a trap. “And what can that payment be?”
“Mother,” Ciaran said, seeing her for the first time in years. “Mother, I’m sorry for what I did.”
“Hush,” Caoimhe called back, “It is I who am sorry – you were right about me and I was too blind to see it, and I will regret not listening to you until my last breath.”
Hearing the two, Warmaksan laughed and, once again, his laugh was full of the hissing of snakes and scuttering of insects. “You asked what payment would settle the debts of our people?”
“Mother,” Ciaran scried, “listen to me. It’s a trap! He plans to kill you all.”
“Blood,” Warmaksan finished. And then drawing his sword he sent it slicing down through Ciaran’s stout neck, sending the man’s head rolling to the sand. Then picking it up, he hurled the head at Caoimhe feet “As you did to my brother,” he laughed, “Now I do to your son. And I shall have my revenge for all that was taken from me!” And then he began to chant, and a great weariness came over all of Caoimhe’s forces.
But no sooner had it begun, then another chant echoed forth from Caoimhe’s lines. It was the poet-wizard Coire Ceol Dóiteáin and though he too would fall asleep, he used his powers and cast the same spell over Warmaksan’s army so that they too fell into a deep slumber. And so it was that only Warmaksan and Caoimhe remained awake and aware.
Seeing her son’s head land at her feet, Caoimhe felt the greatest rage she ever possessed seize her. There was no holding it back, nor did she wish too. Her jaw fell open so that all could stare down her gullet, her face turned first red then black as one eye bulged from its sock and the other feel inwards. She seemed to double, then triple in size, and her hair stoof straight on end so that her head seemed covered in needles three feet in length.
At this Warmaksan felt the first stirrings of real fear in all his life – for he looked upon the woman who killed his father and saw not a moral but the very spirit of vengeance and rage itself. But conquering his fear, he drew his own blade and threw himself at his enemy.
The two fought for hours, so evenly matched where they. But, in the end, it was Warmaksan who gained the upper hand, for he was still younger and more powerful. Finding an opening. He drove his sword deep into Caoimhe’s breast, piercing her heart. She let out a loud piercing scream and fell to the ground. As she did so, the men of both armies began to awake and when they saw Warmaksan standing over Caoimhe’s bleeding body, a great roar erupted from both forces – one of joy for the Berbers, while the Gaels wailed in horror and rage.
“See your Witch-Queen,” Warmaksan laughed, “bested by my spells and my steel! She murdered my Father, but he was right in that the mightiest of his sons would avenge him some day.” Then, placing his hands beneath Caoimhe's chin and neck, he began to strain until all of his muscles bulged, his teeth clenched with effort and his eyes grew wide, for was attempting to rip her head clear from her neck.
But his boasting was his downfall, Caoimhe was not yet dead, though she was mortally wounded. Using the last of her strength, her hand tightened upon the hilt of Saol ó Bhás and she thrust it upwards deep into Warmaksan’s heart. The Berber King let out a terrible shriek as the silver blade cut through his flesh and bone and buried itself within his chest. And there were those who saw a great blue and wicked flame issue forth from his dying throat. Warmaksan's blood flowed from the wound, and down the blade where is spattered upon Caoimhe’s arms. Then, he fell backwards, dead. And the two lay with with one anothers swords jutting forth from each other’s still hearts.
Then, seeing this, the Gaels threw themselves forward in a frenzy and they cut down any of Warmaksan’s forces they could find. It was a dreadful slaughter and only a small handful made it back to their boats to return to Tiblis and share the news of Caoihe and Warmaksan’s death. It is said that the Gaels did not lose a single man during that battle, so great was their grief and rage over the death of their Queen.
That night, as the Gaels were burning and burying the dead, Domhnall stood over the form of his Mother, weeping. Warmaksan’s body had already been hacked into pieces and burned so that its evil could not poison the ground where he lay. As the tears flowed from his eyes, he noticed a woman walking towards him with pale white skin and hair as black as the night. With her was a wizened old man with a silver hand, and a young man with blond hair and eyes which twinkled with cleverness. These three led a small procession of hooded figures, which trailed behind them.
“Who are you," Domhnall demanded as a sense of awe and fear washed over him
“You already know the answer to that question,” the dark-haired woman replied. “Why do you cry? Today is a day of great victory, Domhnall Mac Caoimhe.”
“Aye, a great victory indeed,” Domhnall replied, “but at what a cost? I weep tonight for the death of my Mother as well as a brother who I had thought lost.”
“Ah, but your Mother is not dead,” the woman responded. “She simply sleeps. Did you forget the name of her sword? Saol ó Bhás – Life from Death. When the blood of Warmaksan flowed down its blade and landed upon her, it sent her into a deep and healing sleep. We will take her now, to an isle far to the West where she may slumber and heal. She was not your Mother alone, but the Mother of a great nation. And she shall come again when her children need her most – sailing from the West with a fleet to liberate and restore. This I promise you.”
And as she spoke these words, her attendants placed the body of Caoimhe upon a great shield, with Saol ó Bhás across her chest. And in the flickering light of the corpse-flames, Domhnall swore he could see the years melt away from his Mother and her chest began to rise and fall with shallow breaths. “Wait,” he cried as they began to carry Caoimhe back towards the sea, “will I ever see her again?”
“Perhaps,” the Woman who he now knew to be Grandmother said, “for our blood flows in your veins as well. You shall make a great King yourself, Domhnal an Cliste. Though the youngest, your family will find you most fit to rule. And you shall grow your Mother’s kingdom and make it great, strong and prosperous. When the storm comes from the North to wash over the Gaels, Goths and Germans, your Kingdom shall stand tall and its light shall push back the darkness. And then your people shall find new lands to call their own and shall build the Empire which was promised to your Mother and her descendants. But that will come many years later, I fear and it shall be your descendants and not you who face that storm, and the promise which comes after. But when your rule is done and you grow tired and weary of this world, we may come for you too – and then you shall see your Mother again in the lands of the West.”
And then a heavy slumber fall over Domhnall and he slept until he was found the next moring. When he told his brothers of the incredible vision he had had, they looked at him in wonder, for all could plainly see that the body of their Mother was gone. And everything was as his grandmother said it would be – Domhnall was elected King and he would end the threat of Tiblis forever and make Dal Caoimhe a great and proud nation. His descendants would play a hand in the liberation of the Gaels from the Theut, and afterwards they, along with their Gaelic cousins, would take to the seas in exploration and found great Empires to the West. And who knows, maybe he and his Mother still wait in the West, ready for their time to come again and light their people’s darkest hour. Or, maybe that is just a story we tell to children. [FN7]
[FN1] Why is Caoimhe being so tone deaf and unsympathetic here? After all, her own story would seem to suggest she would be sympathetic to the plight of her daughter. My best guess is that Caoimhe has grown into her role as a ruler and her main goal has become the protecting of her realm at all costs – especially now that her grudge match against Lachtna has been settled. She is also older and has grown distant from the passions and desires of youth. Finally, its fairly typical in mythology to see elder heroic figures become obstinant; thereby provoking the heroic exploits of their children.
[FN2] Of course, Feardocha was not the only one. A particularly bawdy rendition of the Caoimhe myth, preserved mainly in ballads but also in some prose texts, recounts that Feardocha and Caoimhe were involved in a contest to see how many lovers they could take prior to their arriving in Ravenna. Caoimhe won, not only in number, but also by explaining that each victory was worth more due to her age. Naturally, as this account is aimed more at children, this part of the tale has been left out.
[FN3] Much of this account seems to be inspired by coronations within the Roman Empire. Just what traditions marked a Gothic coronation have yet to be established.
[FN4] Mhuirmhór translates as Great Sea and is the Gaelic term for Mediterranean in this universe. Oileán Mór is OTL Majorca. At some point, the Belaric Islands come to be conquered by Dal Caoimhe, and the kingdom of Ciaran is used to help lay claim to them – although how and when this occurs has not yet been established in the timeline. However, the islands do end up gaining the name of Talamh Ciaran (or Ciaran’s Land) in the ATL.
[FN5] Coire Ceol Dóiteáin was last seen helping Caoimhe in war on Carthage. A mysterious figure in the legendarium, he wanders in and our of the narrative, suggesting that he might have been a legendary figure himself whose stories merged with those of Caoimhe. Sadly, save for some fragments here and there, most of the independent tales of him have been lost.
[FN6] This is interesting because, although in this story the two are meeting to potentially seal peace between their people, this dialog instead resembles the ritual taunting that often occurs between warriors and kings in mythology. This may reflect an earlier version of the meeting which was initially more antagonistic and which has now been lost.
[FN7] One final note, of some sadness. After hearing of her brother and mother’s death, Sadhbh threw herself from the tower of the Imperial Palace to the ground and died. This event has become rather popular in art and she is viewed as a tragic figure not only in Dal Caoimhe but throughout Europe. However, I was unable to find the proper place to put this information in. Considering it out author leaving out some of the more disturbing details of the story as it is aimed primarily at children. Finally, I've tried to indicate that Domnal Mac Caoimhe is more of a semi-historical king in the description of his accomplishments - that is, there are still a great deal of mythic tales swirling about him, but there are also concrete accounts of his achievements as well. No one is going to be walking about in the ATL arguing that Domhnal doesn't exist.
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And, oh my god, its finished! I started the mythic cycle of Caoimhe No Beard largely on a lark. I had been creating this semi-mythic history for the character in my head for some time (in fact, even since before Caoimhe existed. My original intention was to have her be named Domhnal and be a male warlord. As the story developed, I realized it would be far more exciting for her to be a woman, and it would also give me a chance to comment on views of gender in this TL in general and in Gaelic society in particular) and had also hit some writer's block in my main narrative. I felt writing a one-off chapter describing her myths would be a fun and might well help me break through said block. One chapter became two, became six. Now, almost a year later, and one hundred pages on (I kid you not! The Caoimhe Cycle is literally over a fifth of the length of this entire timeline), it has finally come to an end.
I don't usually comment on the emotional side of this - after all, this is a all a fun timeline - but having spent a year with Caoimhe firmly lodged in my head, this last chapter was both satisfying and sad to write. I hope I did her justice with her death(or is it?) scene and that I depicted her as a three dimensional character with strengths and flaws throughout. I'm not sure a timeline such as this can ever have literary pretensions, but I like to think that I wove certain themes throughout her life, and that the breaking of her geis flowed into one another so that the ending became inevitable once that point was reached.
In any case, I hope you'd all enjoyed this side story that turned into a 100+ epic
We shall now, at long last, turn back to the historical narrative as promised. I wish to stick with the current theme and do a post or two following the development of the Gaels and Gaelic culture - only 'historically' this time - and then we shall turn our attention back to the continent. I know the Franks and Saxons deserve some attention and they will be getting it sooner than later; though I also wish to begin moving through the 7th century for the Goths as well. After all, we have the Ruination and the Fall of Rome to be building towards; and they shall be as dramatic and glorious as Caoimhe's myth makes them sound; although expect some of the events to be quite different as depicted here.
As always, comments and conquests are not only requested, I kinda demand them
Dan