The Emerald Isles

By Jared Kavanagh, Paul Hynes, Dara Boland and 10 more

Ireland is a country that is, in many ways, still defined by the British occupation and the nature of its partition and independence and so there is much room to explore how it could have evolved differently in different circumstances.What would home rule have looked like in practice? What struggles would an Ireland that won independence in the late 18th century have faced? How would Ireland have positioned itself if the Nazis had won the Second World War?In this collection, thirteen talented writers will show you glimpses of the Irelands that never existed.

 

Stories

Among the Brothers by Jared Kavanagh
"One of this, one of that?" by Paul Hynes
The Death of Old Ireland by Dara Boland
The Dragon and the Lady of Uliad by Andrew J Harvey
The Dreamer Exfiltration by Matthew Kresal
The Last High King of Ireland by Gary Oswald
Operation Spectre by Charles E.P Murphy
The Phony Raven by J.A Belanger
Irelande du Nord, Douze Points by Richard Hunter
The Harp and the Lion by Lilith C.J. Roberts
Sun Spotted in Ireland by Charlie Allison
Tales from the Brothers? War by Blaise Burtulato
Get Carson by Ian Bertram

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sea Lion Press
• Release date: Oct 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223644354

Book preview

This book is a work of fiction. While ‘real-world’ characters may appear, the nature of the divergent story means any depictions herein are fictionalised and in no way an indication of real events. Above all, characterisations have been developed with the primary aim of telling a compelling story.

Published by Sea Lion Press, 2022. All rights reserved.

Contents

Foreword by Gary Oswald

Among the Brothers by Jared Kavanagh

One of this, one of that? by Paul Hynes

The Death of Old Ireland by Dara Boland

The Dragon and the Lady of Uliad by Andrew J Harvey

The Dreamer Exfiltration by Matthew Kresal

The Last High King of Ireland by Gary Oswald

Operation Spectre by Charles E.P Murphy

The Phony Raven by J.A Belanger

Irelande du Nord, Douze Points by Richard Hunter

The Harp and the Lion by Lilith C.J. Roberts

Sun Spotted in Ireland by Charlie Allison

Tales from the Brothers’ War by Blaise Burtulato

Get Carson by Ian Bertram

Foreword

Gary Oswald

I am not Irish. Some of the writers here are; some others have Irish blood, or at least have spent some time in the island of Ireland. I can make no such claim. I have spent pretty much all of life within a small area of North East England.

But the history of my own country is irrevocably bound up with that of Ireland. It was the first British colony, our tutorial lesson in the art of bloody imperialism. It was where some of our worst crimes were committed and some of our greatest heroes were born. And the bloody scars of that relationship has persisted to this day in terrorism, bad blood and border problems.

In lighter consequences of that relationship, many of us have mixed Irish and British ancestry. Irish immigrants have had a huge effect on British cities and towns such as Liverpool, Glasgow and Birmingham. Likewise, British settlers transformed Irish cities like Dublin, Belfast and the city on the banks of the River Foyle which I will not attempt to name. Some of my most well-liked teachers, friends and co-workers have been Irish, as well as some of my sporting, musical and comical heroes.

The Irish and British are, somewhat to the discomfort of both sides, bound together by our history and by our geography. To this day if you ask a British person about ‘best foreign band’ or ‘best foreign footballer’, they will almost certainly assume you mean ‘best non-British or -Irish’ and so U2 and Roy Keane are rarely mentioned. Ireland, as a smaller neighbouring country, has been forced somewhat into our cultural and political orbit, for all she has won her independence.

But this relationship didn’t have to go this way. In the aftermath of the Roman retreat from the UK, it was the Irish, not the British, who took the offensive, raiding and invading British lands. The centuries that followed saw many alliances between Irish and British forces as equals, most notably against the Normans in the late years of the 1060s, when Irish ships carried Saxon rebels back to England.

And even after the Norman Invasion of Ireland, there were numerous Irish revolts and potential points in which they could have won their independence long before Cromwell’s conquest or the Great Famine.

As one of the great losers of history, there is vast potential in Irish alternate history, because so much of its culture was changed by British occupation and the nature of its partition and independence and so there is so much room to explore how it could have evolved differently. What would Home Rule have looked like in practice? What struggles would an Ireland that won independence in the late 18th Century have faced? How would a neutral Ireland have positioned itself if the Nazis had won the Second World War?

Ireland could have turned out a great many other ways – and in this collection, thirteen talented writers will show you glimpses of the Irelands that never existed.

Among the Brothers

Jared Kavanagh

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There’s a woman in the abbey!

Whispered voices repeated the rumour, carried from monk to monk. Brother Augustine heard the tale from three brothers before midday, and steadfastly ignored it. Brothers were only meant to speak on essential business, in prayer or reading Scripture, or in the warming-room. Hushed gossip did not belong in the abbey.

Besides, the notion was preposterous. Few boats came from the mainland, and all were inspected carefully. How could a woman sneak onto the island, let alone into the abbey?

His scepticism did not outlast luncheon. The brothers gathered in the refectory for their main meal of the day. A repast of bread, cheese, dried fruit, and plentiful ale, accompanied with a reading from the Book of Isaiah. That much was commonplace. What followed was not; Prior John gestured for him to follow into the inner parlour.

Brother, I have a duty for you. Search out the woman concealed within our walls.

Augustine’s eyes widened. "It is true."

Assuredly. Two lay brothers reported seeing a woman yesterday, in the west garden. They could be mistaken. Brother Olcán could not. He witnessed her, momentarily, fleeing behind the smithy.

I have an initiate to guide this afternoon. Shall I—

Bring him with you. Say you’re showing him the abbey. The ideal excuse. That’s why I chose you.

Augustine bowed and withdrew. He forced his face to stillness, despite his swirling thoughts. A woman, on sacred ground! How? Why?

The initiates’ dormitory stood to the west, past the lay brothers’ quarters. A decent walk, as such things went, though nowhere in the abbey could truly be called far away.

Six boys of varying ages and one supervising monk clustered around a small table. Initiates should never be left alone. Novice Erc.

The oldest of the boys – old enough to be called a man, really – stood, nodded to the seated monk, and then followed Augustine outside.

You’ve resolved to continue at the abbey?

Yes. A grand calling, which—

Augustine held up a hand. Your piety does you honour. Words, though, should be reserved for when needed.

I hear and obey, Erc said.

A nod would have been sufficient, but Augustine kept the thought to himself. Initiates needed to be taught proper customs, but should not face constant reproof. Honey needed to be mixed with the medicine. In that vein, he said, Good. Your Gaelic is excellent for one new-come to the abbey.

I found a tutor when I felt the One God’s call.

"Laudate Dei, Augustine murmured automatically. The initiate looked blank, so he translated. Praise God."

Evidently his tuition had not included Latin. Well, he would learn with time. Gaelic was the everyday language of the monastery. All brothers could read Latin, but outside of reciting Scripture, only the abbot and a few senior monks spoke more than a few words of it.

Where to, Brother?

Augustine hesitated. Prior John wanted this done with discretion. Hurrying from hither to thither would draw suspicion from the initiate, and probably questions. Dissembling would be difficult, and a lie was inexcusable. This must not be spoken of to anyone.

After the initiate nodded, he continued. A woman has been seen in the abbey. I must find her, without others realising.

Erc frowned. Why is a woman a problem?

You shouldn’t have been accepted as an initiate. You’re too old. Older students were too inclined to challenge teachings. Most initiates were very young children when brought from the mainland; foundlings, orphans and suchlike. Erc was a rare exception. No matter his divine calling, he had only been accepted because of his father’s prominence.

Women don’t belong here. They’re forbidden, and a temptation.

I don’t understand. Surely the brothers can be trusted.

Well... yes. So much for using honey. Now the initiate saw himself as an equal, not a student. But it’s deception, sneaking into grounds where they are forbidden.

What if the woman, too, feels the calling? Where else could she go?

Augustine turned, and began to walk back to the lay brothers’ quarters. She could... go to a nunnery.

There isn’t one.

If a woman truly felt God’s call, she could found a nunnery, Augustine replied, putting some iron into his voice. This initiate needed to be reminded he was here to learn, not to argue. Now, I’ll show you around the abbey. I would’ve done that anyway. But I’ll be slower than usual, and looking into every out-of-the-way nook. If you identify where the woman might be hiding, tap me on the elbow. If you think of a spot I’ve missed, point it out.

Moments later, they reached a cluster of three buildings. Augustine stepped inside the nearest one. Only a couple of lay brothers were here; most would be out working. For their benefit, Augustine spoke loudly. And these are the lay brothers’ quarters. For those who serve God here, but have opted not to take vows.

More spacious than the initiates’ hut. Erc glanced back and forth. If he had wit, he was using the opportunity to look for anywhere a woman might be hiding, rather than admiring the minor luxury.

They fit more, when full. Three dormitories, each to hold twenty men. Though these quarters had not been filled in his lifetime.

Can I see the others, too? The initiate’s voice had grown louder. He was speaking for the others’ benefit. Clever for one so young.

Augustine gave a brief nod to the two lay brothers, then led the way through the other two dormitories. Both were empty, both of lay brothers and of any intruding woman.

The smithy next, Augustine said. The building stood just north of the lay brothers’ dormitories. Unlikely the woman would still be hiding here if she had been seen earlier, but maybe she cunningly thought no-one would search the same place twice.

Alas, their inspection revealed an abundance of blacksmith but an absence of women.

We’ll examine the fields and outer precinct, Augustine said. More places to hide, fewer brothers present to notice any intruders.

He led the initiate in a search of the outbuildings. Despite diligent attention, they found nothing out of the ordinary in the brewhouse, vineyards, fishponds, cow paddocks or herbarium.

Only the sheep-fields and barn left. If she’s not there, we’ll inspect the abbey.

The sheep-fields were on the east side; five pastures with fences between them. Two lay brothers watched the sheep, but nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.

Until Augustine stepped around the barn and into clear sight of the sea.

A ship had anchored off the beach. A larger vessel than he had ever seen before. Three towering masts with triangular sails. No boat from the mainland reached a third of that size, and all had only one mast.

Erc asked, Is that an abbey ship?

No. I’ve never seen its like before. Does it come from somewhere in the mainland that has no trade with the abbey?

The mainland has no such ships. Surely you’ve seen that yourself.

Augustine shook his head. I’ve never been to the mainland. Only Brother Brendan goes, if there’s a need.

Who’s Brother Brendan?

The abbot always takes that name on his election. It’s traditional. Named after the abbey’s founder.

But... you must’ve been on the mainland. No-one is born here.

Yes, but I was brought here too young to remember. Augustine tore his gaze away from the ship. So, a foreign vessel. Must be from very far away. We’ll report it when we reach the abbey proper. First, we check the barn.

The barn contained a large pile of wool which awaited weaving into clothes, but still no sign of the woman.

Augustine sighed. He had never expected to fail in his search. Yet the main buildings of the abbey seemed unlikely for the woman’s hiding place. Back we go, then.

When they reached the double-storeyed wall of the main abbey, the initiate asked, Will we search every room here?

Not all. Some will be filled with brothers, such as the library and scriptorium. Nowhere to hide there. We’ll go where needed. Starting with— 

Pardon the interruption, but I have an idea.

Augustine gestured for Erc to continue.

It seems to me the brothers will already have looked most places.

True. With gossip comes curiosity.

Well, then, shouldn’t we first think where no brothers might have been for hours? Surely that’s where to start.

He considered. The suggestion made sense, but where could such a place be? Solitude was not a common feature of abbey life. Most rooms would have several monks in them, or been in use since the morning. The abbey was not large enough to have much unused space. Except... Aha!

Wait for me! Erc shouted.

Augustine skirted around the southern side of the abbey, feet thumping on the ground, until he reached the western range. A double-storeyed wall, but the upper quarters could wait. What mattered was the part at ground level. Three rooms filled with food and other supplies for the abbey... two with cellars beneath them.

Inside, a rotund monk asked, What’s so pressing, brother?

Just... showing... an initiate... where everything is... in the abbey. Augustine paused to recover some breath, and Erc caught up.

Brother Macculind, this is Novice Erc, soon to take vows. Erc, this is Brother Macculind, the cellarer. That is, he manages the goods needed for the abbey.

The initiate bowed.

Augustine asked, Have you been downstairs into any of the cellars?

Not since last night. Nothing needed.

May I show the novice? Let him understand the scope of goods needed to maintain our abbey in its splendid state.

Macculind shrugged. You know where the cellar doors are. You can use that lantern on the wall there.

Augustine led the way down into the nearest cellar. Faint sunlight filtered in from grille windows near the ceiling, but the lantern provided more convenient illumination around the rest of the room.

Erc drew in a breath. So much... Where does all this come from? Again, he spoke in a raised voice, for the benefit of anyone who might overhear.

Augustine surveyed the rows of shelving, many with pottery containers, others with wooden. Most of it comes from here. Where else? That’s the lay brothers’ work. The grain comes from a priory at the other end of the island.

Was that a shadow out of place, behind one of the larger barrels kept on the floor? Augustine moved closer as he spoke. Plus gifts from the mainland. Many rulers there have been generous, after Brother Brendan resolved one dispute or another between them. He coughed. And you, milady, must be from the mainland, too, but I doubt you came as part of a gift.

The woman rose from her crouch. In a manner of speaking, I did.

Augustine raised an eyebrow. And where did you learn Gaelic? Few on the mainland knew the language, even if Erc had found a tutor somewhere.

My father taught me. He comes here from time to time.

With his eyes adjusting to the dimness of the cellar, Augustine got a clearer look at the woman. She wore black robes remarkably close in shape and cut to a monk’s habit. Her disguise was incomplete; she had no covering for her head. Her long hair marked her as a mainlander, since at the abbey even the lay brothers kept their hair short.

And who’s your father?

She shrugged. His name matters not. You can call me Brigit.

You can call me Brother. He knew an alias when he heard one. Doubtless she had her reasons, but if she would not give her name, she did not deserve to know his.

She frowned in response, but said nothing.

Augustine considered his options. She claimed her father had visited the abbey. That left many possibilities; more than a few notables had been guests here. Usually while Brother Brendan acted as mediator between the mainland principalities. Guessing the name of her father would be futile.

Why have you intruded on the abbey?

I want sanctuary.

You’ve chosen an unusual way to ask, Augustine replied, with a smirk. Why not ask at the gatehouse, rather than this elaborate stealth?

No-one can know I’m here.

Sanctuary is impossible for you. Women are not permitted in the abbey.

She sighed. I can give a generous gift for it. I know you’ve granted others refuge when they’ve made donations.

Donation or not, our rules do not permit you to be here.

Erc shuffled his feet, and Augustine nodded for him to speak. Why do you want sanctuary?

She looked down. Because I’m being forced into marriage with a man I detest. My father cares more about his pacts with his neighbours than me.

That’s wrong, the initiate said firmly.

Augustine had some sympathy too, but it would not be fitting to reveal that. Erc should have known better, but he was still young. Nothing can let you stay here. But... I was charged with finding a woman on the abbey grounds. What I do after that is at my discretion.

He stroked his chin. We’ll go out first from here. Talk to the cellarer, if he’s still here, and keep him distracted. Most brothers are still working. If you go around the near side of the abbey, that way, then head east, you probably won’t be seen. There’s a foreign ship anchored just off the coast. Make your way down the beach. Hide from any brothers who might see you from the cliffs. Maybe the foreigners can help you. We can’t.

The woman still did not look up, but she said, Thank you... Brother.

He gestured for Erc to climb out first. Best not to leave an initiate out of his sight and next to a woman.

Back at ground level, Brother Macculind had left the room. Augustine crossed over to the door to the next room, where he found the most well-fed brother inspecting a shelf.

All complete.

The initiate added, A well-stocked cellar. Always plan for tomorrow, my father says.

Macculind laughed. Better to plan today than have to explain myself to a hundred hungry brothers tomorrow.

Faint footsteps sounded behind. He carefully did not turn around. Perhaps Erc here will become brother one hundred and one, if his resolve continues until the moment of vows.

It will. God calls.

Blessed news indeed. Augustine nodded to the cellarer. Thank you. We won’t interrupt you any further.

Outside, the afternoon sun turned the abbey walls golden. A reminder that evening approached. He said, Task accomplished. Regrettably, I can’t show you the rest of the abbey now. Duty calls. I’ll ask for someone to guide you tomorrow. You must see the church when you do. For now, I’ll escort you back to the other initiates.

How can... I mean, can I ask a question?

Augustine started walking. Not now. I’ll report to the abbot. He can decide whether to accept my solution or implement another.

The walk passed in welcome silence. This afternoon’s conversation had been necessary, but Augustine still preferred the calmness which came without speech.

With Erc back in the company of his fellow initiates, Augustine returned to the abbey. The quickest way was back through the storage rooms – the abbot’s quarters were directly above them – but he took the longer route through the church that formed the northern side of the abbey. Better to savour the solace of the church than disturb the cellarer again.

He paused at the narthex, the covered porch that formed the western entrance to the church. Faint sounds of chanting reached his ears. No formal service would be called for several hours, but it was rare to find the church silent during daylight.

Sunlight streamed into the church through the many glass windows, turning the interior the same golden hue as the western walls. He waited in the centre for a few minutes, letting the sonorous rhythm of the chanting calm his thoughts to stillness, then quietly left.

A brief climb upstairs brought him to the abbot’s quarters. He knocked, and waited a few minutes before Brother Brendan ushered him in.

The abbot wore the same black robes as every other monk. He had no need to shave a tonsure; his hair had retreated to a thin white fringe. He was the most senior monk, having been chosen as abbot decades ago, shortly before Augustine took vows. The only sign of his status was a plain gold ring on the middle finger of his right hand.

Brother Brendan. He knelt and kissed the ring.

Sit and be welcome, Brother Augustine. I presume you come with word from your search.

Two tales. First, while searching, I saw a foreign ship to the east. Three-masted, much larger than anything I’ve seen before.

The abbot nodded. It’s been reported. I’m considering who should greet them.

"Second, there was a woman in the abbey."

Was? Brother Brendan raised an eyebrow.

I – that is, we, Novice Erc helped – found her in the cellars. Called herself Brigit, but plainly using a false name. She claimed to be fleeing marriage from the mainland, from her father who is of some status, and requested sanctuary.

Ah. The abbot rose, and paced around the room. Not the reason I expected. Her father is most likely... it doesn’t matter. What did you do?

Declined sanctuary, and directed her to hide on the shore near the foreign ship. Pending your final decision, but I dared not give her any permission to remain on sacred ground. She withdrew from the cellar without being seen. Whether she reached the foreigners I cannot say.

If she had been seen, word would have been brought here. The abbot bowed his head and resumed pacing. The identity of these foreigners is of more import, I conclude. I need not decide anything about this woman unless they decline her sanctuary. But the abbey should be represented at their decision. Go to the beach, brother. Greet these foreigners, hear what they say, and tell me.

Augustine rose, bowed, kissed the abbot’s ring again, and headed for the shore. The sun had sunk near to the horizon by the time he reached there and climbed down the path to the beach. He saw a shuffling from the nearby bushes, and glimpsed a bit of black robe before it vanished again. He smiled; better that not-really-Brigit had reached here than remained on sacred ground.

He stood on the closest part of the beach to where the foreign ship still stood at anchor, raised both hands, waved repeatedly, then waited. Several minutes later, the foreign sailors lowered a small boat into the water and rowed toward shore.

Strange men indeed, Augustine concluded as they drew close. They wore clothes of grey, white and blue, of forms so unlike those of the abbey or mainland that he could not even put a name to them, except for the hats, and even those were of unfamiliar design. Their skins were pinker than any he had witnessed before.

As the rowboat neared shore, a man jumped out and waded through the shallows. The sleeves around his wrists were puffy, as if those of