Cave of Secrets by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

back felt broken.
    The crescent moon shed no light. The blaze of stars alone was enough to reveal a tiny island just ahead; it was littlemore than a tree-covered rock rising above the surface of the bay. Tom heard the familiar music of the oars as another currach detached itself from the shadows and came towards them.
    Séamus called out, ‘Are you ready?’
    ‘We are ready,’ Muiris called back to him.
    In the second currach were Muiris and four other men, including Seán. The two boats lightly bumped each other. ‘Take my place,’ Muiris said to Séamus.
    ‘I still think we should have brought a timber boat tonight,’ Séamus replied. ‘The sea is rough and we may have a heavy cargo.’
    ‘The decision was mine to make,’ Muiris reminded him.
    Tom noticed that he spoke with calm authority. The voice of command.
    Séamus quickly changed places with him.
    ‘We need boats agile enough to move fast and keep us out of trouble,’ Muiris explained as he settled himself beside Tom. ‘Is your father still away?’
    ‘He is still away.’
    ‘Are you feeling strong this night, Tomás?’
    ‘I am feeling strong,’ Tom insisted. Knowing it was not true.
    Muiris laughed. ‘Glad I am to hear it, but save a bit for the work ahead. Give me the oars and rest yourself.’ Muiris took Tom’s place and said something in Irish to the other men.
    The currach leaped forward like an eager horse at the touch of the spur.
    Tom tilted his head back so he could gaze up at the stars. He had never seen anything so beautiful. An immense glittering tapestry stretching from here to forever. Was there a boat that could sail to forever?
    ‘Ahead of us is Dún na Séad,’ Muiris remarked after a time.
    ‘The Fort of the Jewels,’ Tom responded. ‘The English call it Cape Clear island.’
    ‘Well done, lad.’
    ‘Are we going ashore there?’
    ‘Not tonight. We will row past the southwest point of the island, where a rocky headland juts out into the sea. Atop this promontory is a half-destroyed castle. We are not going to land there, not this time, but watch for the place as we pass by. It is quite famous. Perhaps you have heard of it?’
    Tom searched his memory. ‘Never in my life,’ he said.
    ‘Are you certain?’
    ‘I am certain.’
    ‘That is a pity – though perhaps not a surprise,’ Muiris said mysteriously. ‘We have some time before we put you to work again, Tomás. Would you like to hear the story of Sir Fineen Ó Driscoll and the Castle of Gold?’
    ‘Yes please!’ said the boy.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Castle of Gold
    ‘C lann Ó Driscoll takes its name from a king called Eidersceoil,’ Muiris began. He fitted his words into the rhythm of the rowing, so they became one with the boat. And the night, and the sea. ‘Eidersceoil ruled a vast portion of Munster in the tenth century. He was a direct descendant of Lugaidh Laidhe, founder of the Corca Laoidhe , for whom Cork is named.’
    Tom wondered how these people who were long dead could have anything to do with him.
    ‘The Castle of Gold, Dún an Óir, was built early in the thirteenth century,’ Muiris continued. ‘It stood a full three storeys high. From its heights one could see a great stretch of the coast, or look across five miles of Roaringwater Bay to Mount Gabriel and beyond.
    ‘In the sixteenth century the castle was a favourite stronghold of the Ó Driscolls. Theirs was an ancient and honourable name, and the clan was prosperous. Their territory stretched from Kinsale to Kenmare. In 1573 the clan electeda new chieftain, Fineen Ó Driscoll. In accordance with Gaelic law, he took an oath to protect the territory belonging to his clan.
    ‘Fineen’s ancestors had been kings on this island since before the before, all through the Viking years and after the victory of Brian Boru. Then came an invasion the Irish could not repel. Led by a man called Strongbow, the invaders were of Norman blood and Catholic faith. In the name of an English king they occupied