"Morgan Llywelyn - Lion Of Ireland" - читать интересную книгу автора (Llywelyn Morgan)

their seanchai, their historian and storyteller, and on a night such as this he often congratulated himself for
having a talent that earned him a place at the table and a dry bed.
Bebinn selected the choicest contents of the pot for his bowl, and poured his mead herself, rather than
entrust it to the serving woman.
тАЬWill he tell a tale tonight?тАЭ the woman asked eagerly, almost treading on BebinnтАЩs heels.
тАЬHow can I tell? The physician lives with your family, does he not? And does he set a broken bone every
night, or brew a potion at each meal? It is the business of the tribe to care for the members of the filidh,
the artists and physicians, the poets and harpers and students of the law, and in return for
that they share their talents with us when they are needed. It is not my place to tell the seanchai that one
of his stories is wanted tonight, Maire. Nor is it yours.тАЭ
The woman snapped her lips shut and returned to her chores, but she frequently rolled her eyes toward
Fiacaid, alert to the possibilities of his magic. If he began to talk she would abandon her tasks and run to
the other cottages with the news, that all who could crowd into CennediтАЩs house might come and listen to
the legends of their people.
So it happened this night. The old man finally pushed his bowl away and wiped at his stained beard with
a square of linen. He tilted his head back to gaze at the underside of the thatch, listening to the rain on the
thick straw. He smiled.
тАЬIt is a fine night,тАЭ he announced in a deep and musical voice.
A little sigh of pleasure went up into the smoky air. Bowls were pushed back, hands folded.
тАЬA fine night,тАЭ Cennedi echoed, taking up the thread of tradition.
тАЬItтАЩs a fine night,тАЭ many voices repeated.
тАЬRain is good for the memory,тАЭ intoned Fiacaid. тАЬWhen there is rain on the roof and meat in the belly, it is
time to look over our shoulders and remember.тАЭ
тАЬWe will remember,тАЭ chanted his audience. The shanahy had educated all of CennediтАЩs tribe; they knew
the litany by heart. Since the days of Saint Patrick and before, even to the misty dawn of their race, the
chieftains of the islandтАЩs numerous tribes had vied with one another to possess the most gifted and
knowledgeable seanchai the. Fiacaid was a great prize, as Cennedi often reminded his family when he felt
their whispering and under-the-table pranks jeopardized their ability to learn from the story-tellerтАЩs
words.
тАЬAs you all remember,тАЭ Fiacaid began, тАЬour last discussion was about the invasions of Ireland in ancient
times. Long before history was written down, this land was settled by the descendants of Nemed. They
were attacked by the Fomorians, a race of sea pirates from Africa. These Fomorians were great
warriors and conquered the land, but some of the Nemedians escaped. Of these, some made their way
to distant Greece.
тАЬThere they were enslaved by the Greeks and called Firbolgs, a term given them because they were
made to carry leathern bags filled with earth to enrich the rocky Greek hill- тАШ sides. After a long bondage
some of them fled from Greece and made their way back to Ireland, armed with Greek weapons and
knowledge of warfare.
тАЬThey overran the Fomorians, defeating them by stealth and treachery, fighting in hidden places, and
always attacking by night. The victorious Firbolgs partitioned the land into I those five sections we know
today as Ulster, Leinster, Munster, Connacht, and Meath.
тАЬBut the Firbolgs were a dark and contentious people, never at peace with themselves, loving argument
and discord.тАЭ The seanchaiтАЩs voice dropped to a lower tone to indicate the sinister nature of his subjects,
and Niall kicked Conn under the table and hissed at him, тАЬYouтАЩre a Firbolg!тАЭ
тАЬI am not!тАЭ Conn cried, punching his brother in the arm. There was a general shushing and scowling, but
Fiacaid
merely smiled.
тАЬNo, boyo, you are not a Firbolg. It is true that many of their blood are still in our land, stirring up
trouble; every gossip and liar, every sneak and thief and hater of music may well be a descendant of the
Firbolgs. But the sons of Cennedi are of another tribe, and we will learn of them in good time.тАЭ