Free Cave of Secrets by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

faggots. ‘We use them for fuel in the bake-oven,’ she explained. ‘The outer edges blaze up quickly to warm the inside surface of the oven. The heart of the faggots burns with a deep, steady heat which is perfect for baking.’
    ‘My father claims furze is useless,’ Tom said.
    ‘Nothing fashioned by God’s hand is useless, Tomás. Furze also makes good fodder for horses. You chop up the green tops and pound them on a flat surface with a mallet. A horsefed with green furze will stay more fit than a horse given dry straw.’
    While the bread was baking Seán showed Tom how to shape soft leather footgear from untanned deerskin. The old woman taught him the words of an ancient Gaelic lament. Donal’s mother let him scale fish for the cooking pot. He tore the flesh badly at first, but Bríd just said, ‘Try again.’
    Everything he learned was a gift. Neither work nor play, but a treasure he could keep. It was great to feel useful for a change. He was having a wonderful time – except when he found himself imagining his father on a ship. And the pirates coming.
    As the evening approached he knew he must go home. But first he asked Muiris, ‘What do pirates do to the people on ships they capture?’
    ‘They usually let them go after they surrender their valuables .’
    ‘Usually?’
    ‘Not always. Why do you ask?’
    ‘My father is sailing to Dublin. He left yesterday morning.’
    The skin tightened around the man’s eyes. ‘I see. When will he return?’
    ‘He never tells us. He has business there, that’s all I know. But about the pirates … are there any pirates on the way to Dublin?’
    The smile was in Muiris’s eyes again. The smile which didnot reach his lips. ‘There are always pirates, on land and sea. Is your father armed?’
    ‘I don’t know. He took some baggage with him, there might be weapons inside.’
    Muiris said, ‘If his ship is boarded by pirates he should be safe enough. Unless he resists.’
    Tom’s mouth went dry. ‘He would never give up his valuables without a fight.’
    ‘Then pray God, Tomás, your father never meets any pirates.’

CHAPTER TEN

Rowing
    A fter Tom left, Donal set to work weaving a willow basket. His father needed some new lobster pots, but the boy had not yet mastered the complicated design. Baskets were good practice.
    Yet even weaving a basket presented a problem this evening . All of Donal’s fingers seemed to have turned into thumbs. His concentration was elsewhere.
    His parents were talking about Tom Flynn.
    No conversation in a cabin could be totally private. People who lived in cabins were expected to ignore anything not meant for them. Donal had grown up observing that ancient law. Tonight he broke it. He listened with all his might to the conversation between his parents.
    His father was praising the other boy’s courage. As far as Donal could tell, Tom had done nothing brave. He had sat in a boat. He had helped load and unload cargo. Nothing special, nothing manly. Nothing Donal could not have done himself, if his father gave him the chance.
    Muiris said, ‘The first time the lad was ever on open water, and he not seasick. He was born to it.’
    I was born to it, Donal thought sourly. Tomás was born to the land.
    He did not want to resent Tom; he liked Tom. They were good friends. But did his father have to praise the other boy so much? Muiris never praised his own son, at least not within Donal’s hearing.
    Donal stared down at the basket he was weaving. He had soaked the strips of willow in salt water to soften them, and waited until they were just pliable enough to force into shape without losing their springiness. He had done it so often the task was second nature to him. He did not even have to think about it, his hands knew what to do by themselves . Everything in the cabin, and the cabin itself, had been made by his family.
    Tom Flynn said there were China plates in his house. And silver spoons, and glass bottles. He did not have to