Darerca

Darerca is the sister of Saint Patrick and a holy woman in her own right.

It’s said that she married twice and that her seventeen sons became bishops and that her daughters also followed saintly paths. The tale opens in the late 4th century before sweeping into the 5th and closing in the 6th just as the monasteries were growing stronger.

The story is an expansion of my earlier work ‘Paddy’ and indeed may incorporate that fine work.

A tale of early Ireland. A time when the druids ruled and marauding bands of raiders kidnapped slaves. A time when Patrick himself was kidnapped and taken to Ireland. A time when High Kings and Chieftains ruled the land. A time when legendary warriors, Cu Chulainn and Cailte, waited in line to speak with Patrick.

An Extract:

After thirteen days of hard travelling, he breathed a sigh of relief as he got close to the harbour at Wicklow. He’d been forewarned in a dream that a boat would take him. There were several boats, and one seemed to be preparing for sea. He approached the captain, assuming that the peaked cap on the man’s head signified rank.
The man scowled at his approach. He was a burly individual with black hair concealed under a woollen hat, unshaven and a hard face.
“What you wanting, boy?”
“I need to get to Britannia. Willing to work for a passage.”
The captain shook his head. “We’re going to Gaul. No passages here. Sorry.”
Paddy nodded, aware that a few seamen were looking at him curiously. “Gaul would do,” he said.
The captain shook his head. “No,” he insisted. “We’ve a full crew.”
Paddy started to walk away. There was a small church nearby and he paused to pray.
Some of the seamen noticed this, and being a superstitious lot, they appealed to the captain. “Ah, sure. Take the lad. What harm can it do? He might bring us luck on our voyage.”
The captain liked to keep his crew happy. He called out to Paddy. “Hey, boy. Come back here.”
“Yes, Sir?” Paddy asked.
“We’re bringing a load of dogs to Gaul…have you any experience of looking after animals?”
“Yes, Sir. I shepherded sheep.”
“That’s good enough,” the captain decided. “Go aboard, son. The men will show you your quarters. Report to the first mate in two hours for work duty.”
“Gur a mhaith agat,” said Paddy.
The captain smiled at Paddy’s use of the Irish lingo. “Cad is ainm duit?”
“Padraig,” Paddy replied. “Paddy.”
“That’s a right Irish name, Paddy. Okay, we’ll see you later. Get a bit of sleep and some food into you.”
“Sir.”
As he made his way below decks, Paddy made the sign of the cross.
The first mate caught the captain’s eye. “A holy boy,” he exclaimed. “You did right to take him.”
The captain nodded.

From the author of Paddy, King Brian, The Scribe, The Nationalists, Exile, Vigilis, The Soaring Spirit and Land of Our Father.