Chapter Two, Part One: The Coming of the Fánaithe, 537-577
The Plague marked the end of the Skin People of the Insulam de Benedictus (which, despite Brendan’s refusal to use the term, remained the universal term at this time), and it also marked a clear shift in the history of the island. Modern historians debate whether one can truly divide time periods into “ages”, with most holding them to be constructs- but in this case, one can truly see the end and the beginning of an age.
For Irish interactions on the island had been, til 537, ecclesiastical in nature. Sure, the monastery acted as a trading post and a wintering spot for the Skin People, but that was not its purpose. The only non-native residents were monks or a few interested laymen, who came for religion and naught else. This would change as knowledge made it back to Ireland of the tragedy of the Plague.
The office of King of Ailech at this time was jointly held by the two sons of Mac Ercae- Forggus and Domnall. Mac Ercae had ensured that his realm would be the point of entry for the furs and other goods of the Insulam de Benedictus, and had managed to make a small fortune by virtue of this position. His sons enjoyed the benefits of wealth- for wealth was what greased the wheels of kingship. It ensured the faithfulness of vassals, it bought the loyalty of retainers, and it ensured good matches for one’s children.
Therefore, they had momentary consternation when no currachs returned from the island in 536; and they were sorely disappointed when they saw an empty currach arrive the following year, telling the news of the Plague. Forggus and Domnall put their heads together at this, and determined that the only way to preserve their fortune was to ensure the flow of trade. As the monks made their voyage back to the island, they carried vague promises of “aid” to the survivors from the co-Kings- which comforted Brendan.
He would be less comforted when he saw what this “aid” was.
For during the winter of 537-538, Forggus and Domnall put out a call for men willing to risk their lives for wealth and glory. This being Ireland in the 6th Century, there was no small shortage of those who traveled to the Grainan of Ailech, the hill fortress of the Kings, to present themselves. However, many of these men were surprised when they learned that they were not being given the chance to launch a cattle raid or a slave raid against the Britons or Anglo-Saxons.
No, they were receiving the chance to sail to the Insulam de Benedictus to reopen the trade there. Several of them, upon hearing this, immediately left. They knew of the perils of a long sea journey both ways, and wanted noting to do with it. They could control somewhat the flow of a battle, but they could not control the whims of the sea. Others left for more concrete reasons, revolving around the size of the reward for the risks involved in such a venture.
This left Forggus and Domnall with fifty men, who still remained eager despite the dangers. They were to travel in the spring, departing in March, in currachs built by the Kings’ retainers. The fifty wintered at the Grainan of Ailech, drinking and plotting and boasting of what great deeds they would accomplish. Guided by a monk who had spent four years on the island, they set out on an unseasonably warm day in March, with Forggus and Domnall there to send them off personally.
Six would not get the chance to live up to their boasting, as they perished in the way. Thus, when Brendan received the “aid” from Ailech in June, he saw 44 men bristling with weapons, equipment, and stinking of stale beer, piss, vomit, and sea foam.
He was understandably angry.
“Who are these wanderers?” He asked incredulously. The 44, thinking this a sort of “challenge and response”, replied.
“The bravest and boldest!”
Brendan was not amused. But the 44 were. They adopted the name “wanderers” for themselves, or, in the Gaelic- Fánaithe [1]. And it is by this name that they and those that followed them are known in the records of history. Brendan’s challenge would also become the traditional greeting of the Fánaithe.
The 44 Fánaithe (as this first group was called) soon dispersed from the monastery, partially hounded by Brendan. To their credit, under pressure from the monk they left most of their remaining supplies for the monks to distribute to the small band of surviving Skin People, claiming that they could collect food for themselves from the land. Breaking off into smaller groups, the 44 soon discovered that the island, despite being so far from the edge of civilization, all but teemed with game.
Living off of freshly-killed reindeer meat, the 44 Fánaithe began to collect the pelts of beavers, river otters, black bears, and any other animal they could get their hands on. Having yet to develop the traps that later generations of Fánaithe would rely on, the 44 took their prey with bow and with spear, limiting their catch considerably. They were still soon burdened with enough furs early on that they were forced to stash them in secure locations to allow them to collect more.
The 44 Fánaithe also did better than Brendan in gathering geographical information of the island. Brendan’s trip with Arjalinerk’s tribe had not taken him to the Southern reaches of the island, and his descriptions of that territory were based on second-hand testimony. The 44, though not the most thoughtful of explorers, filled in the gaps of Brendan’s and the greater Christian worlds knowledge of the island.
Soon enough, however, these men returned to the monastery, often taking several trips to bring their furs with them. Brendan refused to look at them; the same did not go for the young women of the Skin People. For of the few that had survived the Plague, many were indeed “comely maidens.” Though the Irish monks were not explicitly bound by any sort of vow of chastity at this period of history, Brendan had still personally discouraged such relationships, eve after their erstwhile Christianization. The Fánaithe were not as effected by the Abbot’s displeasure. Therefore, by the time they departed in September, many women were shortly to be found with child.
Brendan seethed, but he could do nothing- he sent letters to the Kings of Ailech, in a currach of his own, but the Kings, in essence, replied with basic platitudes.
The 44’s return trip to Ireland would beset with hardships. One vessel sank, carrying 12 bold men to the depths with their precious cargo. Three others died of various illnesses. Hence, of the 44 who departed the Insulam, only 29 remained to be greeted by Forggus and Domnall.
They had brought enough, however, to make themselves just a bit more wealthy, and to make the Kings of Ailech breathe a sigh of relief. They would learn some valuable lessons, however- the first and foremost being the risk of a sea voyage in fall. This would cause Forggus, Domnall, and the surviving Fánaithe to reevaluate their strategy.
The stories told by the survivors of the summer exploits of the 44 would spread quickly throughout Ireland, especially as they became more and more embellished. Storytellers moved fast to adapt old tales to the newly popular setting, laying the groundwork for the Fánaithe genre of Irish folk tale and legend.
The popularity helped to offset the obvious risks, and the 15 men that decided to make a return trip the next year were joined by others.
Their strategy had changed, for they realized that to return in the fall was dangerous. Therefore, they now resolved to spend a year on the island and return the following spring, even more laden down with wealth. This drove Brendan into a depression, especially as the Fánaithe continued to go into the huts of the eleven or so women of the Skin People. Their children, produced from their unions with the 44 the year before, were placed under the care of the monks.
“These vagabonds have turned the innocent daughters of this land into naught but harlots,” lamented Brendan in a letter to a fellow Abbot. The children that came from this “unholy coupling” would be the first of a new ethnicity on the Insulam- the Measctha, or “mixed”.
For the remainder of his life, Brendan hid from the new order that had been established, locking himself in his office and writing while his monks tended to more and more semi-abandoned children. The Fánaithe would spend the year, hunting and trapping and roving and fighting and drinking. They even found new ways to make some money on the side; acting on advice from their mistresses, they sailed across the narrow strait and opened up trading relations with the natives there. They would bring back occasional walrus ivory, more furs, and additional women, adding to the population of Measctha.
The Fánaithe would stay for a year, arriving in June. The next year, after the Judas season, they would sail for home laden with the wealth of their labors. While there were never more than sixty Fánaithe on the island at any time during the forty years following the plague, they were able to make the Kings of Ailech (by the end of this period the sons of Forggus and Domnall) very wealthy… wealthy enough for other eyes in Ireland to begin to rove, and plans began to be made.
But Brendan would not hear of this. For he passed in 577, at an extremely old age. Buried in the cemetery the monks had established for the victims of the Plague, his funeral would be attended by a few hungover Fánaithe, his fellow clerics, and many Measctha. His death marked the complete transition from the early period of development on the island.
For after his death, the island would become another avenue for the petty Kings of Ireland to feud with one another…
[1] I do not speak Gaelic, nor do I pretend to, so please correct me if this is incorrect conjugation.
