Dublin Saga 1 - The Princes of Ireland by Edward Rutherfurd

Author:Edward Rutherfurd
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-02-01T06:00:00+00:00

The horses were coming ashore now. From where he was standing on the beach, Peter had a good view of King Diarmait, who had already mounted a horse, and the lord de la Roche, the Flemish nobleman who was directing operations. They were disembarking at some distance from the town of Wexford. Roche had already taken care to set up a defensive position, but no one so far had come out of the town to challenge them. It was a small port with modest ramparts not unlike the ones he had known in south Wales. Compared to a proper castle, or the great city of Bristol, it was nothing: they'd take it easily. For the time being, however, there was nothing for Peter to do but wait.

"Well, goodbye then." His friend was bidding him farewell. While the soldiers set up their camp, it was time for him to depart. During their journey together, Peter had had cause to be very grateful to young Father Gilpatrick. The priest was only five years older than Peter, but he knew far more. He had spent the last three years at the famous English monastery of Glastonbury, south of Bristol, and now he was returning home to Dublin, where his father had secured him a position with the archbishop. He had joined the ship to Wexford because he wanted to go up the coast to Glendalough for a brief stay at that sanctuary before he arrived in Dublin.

Seeing that Peter was young and perhaps lonely, the kindly priest had spent much time in his company, learned all about him, and in return told him about his family, Ireland, and its customs.

His learning was impressive. From his childhood he had spoken Irish and Norse, and also become a good Latin scholar. While at Glastonbury in England, he had made himself familiar with English and Norman French.

"I suppose I could be a "latimer"-that's what we churchmen call an interpreter," he had said with a smile.

"You're probably better than King Diarmait's interpreter Regan," Peter suggested admiringly.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Gilpatrick laughed, though not unpleased.

He was able to reassure Peter that he would be able to learn the Celtic that the Irish spoke without much difficulty. "The languages of Ireland and of Wales are like cousins," he explained. "The principal difference is in a single letter. In Wales, when you make a "p" sound, we make a "q" sound. So in Ireland, for instance, if we say "the son of," we say "Mac." In Wales you say "Map." There are many differences of course, but in a while you'll find you can understand what is said easily enough."

He gave Peter some account of Dublin-it sounded to Peter more like "Doovlin" when the Irishman said it.

The Irish port was almost on a scale with Bristol, it seemed. And he explained some of the politics of the island.

"Whatever success you bring King Diarmait against his enemies, he will still have to go to Ruairi O'Connor of Connacht-that's the High

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